#kareck

[frstgr]

Eine kleine Beschreibung unserer Tour zur Weilheimer Hütte Anfang Mai

[keebin]

Dusklight/Dawnshade Part 4

Title: Dusklight/Dawnshade

Chapter: 4

Words: 3001

Notes: hhh this chapter wasn't supposed to be so long but Dawnguard Scooby Gang of Nerds is really cute to write. 

Part 1 here

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Chapter 4: Kareck

The messenger who brought the grim news yesterday is up at dawn with the rest of the troupe and gaping at the high energy in the keep. For a mobilizing unit of vampire hunters, people are cheerily packing supplies and chattering among themselves. A vampire attack in Solitude! A priest of the Temple of Divines found dead, puncture wounds in his neck, and no evidence of a struggle in his chambers. When Isran asked for volunteers to investigate, almost the entire keep leapt at the chance to get out. At his glower and growl that SOME of them needed to stay behind in case Durak tried to come back and finish the job, a few sheepishly sat back down.

Kareck felt truly sorry for Gunmar, who watches with drooping spirits as almost everyone else cheerily packs. Mogrul was staying behind too, but he'd been unflappable the entire week in the face of Isran's unstable temper, so he only stoically oversaw the process. Florentius almost certainly got the brunt of Isran's rage, but he was also around their belligerant leader more, going in and out of Celann's room to check on his condition.

Celann would survive - they were pretty sure of that at this point. But Kareck saw first-hand the deadliness of a vampire lord's bite; even with restoration magic pouring from Florentius's hands, the wounds across Celann's throat refused to close; it took a mixture of Florentius's magic, an entire bushel of healing herb, and a third of their stock of potions just to stabilize Celann's condition. And even then, the lacerations weren't sealed so much as cauterized; it was a good thing Celann had passed out already at that point from blood loss, because the pain of the flame against his skin would probably have been enough to send him to madness.

The entire week since Durak's attack, Isran hadn't left Celann's bedside. Celann had woken only for brief periods of time, eyes fluttering halfway open as his hands reached for the heavy bandaging around his throat. Half the time he'd fall back asleep before his fingers even managed to brush the bandages; other times, Isran would feed him the water laced with sedative before falling back to unconsciousness.

"He'll live," Florentius had said to an anxious crowd, three days into treatment. He was washing his hands after changing the bandages. "Arkay has spared him his life this time. Can't guarantee he'll be able to talk again, but Isran never listened anyway so there won't be much change anyhow."

He had been lucky that Isran was all but enchanted to the chair next to Celann's bedside; Isran would've whalloped him across the room for that comment, and several of the Dawnguard leaned their heads out the door, in case Isran came around the corner ready to fight. Because Isran's temper was infamous before Celann's injury, and now it was downright scary. The few times he'd left Celann's bedside, whether to update the castle defenses or to hand out bounties for recent vampire attacks, the Dawnguard scattered before him.

"Maybe if we're lucky, all that sleep Isran's been missing catches up to him and he just knocks out until Celann's better," Gunmar is muttering, arms crossed over his chest as he stands in the door and gets in everyone's way. His voice drops to a low tone. "If we're REALLY lucky, Celann gets better and then fucks Isran so hard he can't walk for three days. Isran's wound up so tight, that's probably the only thing that'd take the scowl off."

Despite himself and despite the grim topic, Kareck can't help but chuckle a bit at Gunmar's grousing. "Is that how they are?" He asks. "I'd wondered, but I didn't want to assume."

Beleval chimes in as she reaches past Gunmar's shoulder for a small bundle of sun-enchanted arrows. He shifts to block her reach, but she snags the arrows anyway. "Oh, we're all certain that's what's happening. Isran won't never admit it, of course, and Celann never says anything about it, but the way they fight and fret over each other? Can't be any other way."

"Ooh," a new female voice says from the doorway, "Are we talking about Isran and Celann's way-too-obvious relationship?"

Gunmar looks over his shoulder and smiles for the first time since the Solitude mission had been announced. "Sorine," he says, and actually moves out of the way for her. "It's good to see you again."

"Gunmar," The Breton woman says, and steps into the room. Instead of the Dawnguard uniform, she's dressed in a version of Dwemer plate that looks lighter, pieces of leather underneath the metal strapping it together for easier movement. She gives Gunmar a short look and then peaks around the room, her short auburn hair ending just above her shoulders. Her high cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes give her almost an Altmer look, but the soft curve of her cheek and jaw betray her human ancestory. "Can't say I'm all too happy to be back, but I heard that you all needed the help."

With almost a hopeful tone, Gunmar says, "We're always happy to get help from you."

Sorine ignores the comment and looks around at the members still packing. "Some new recruits, I see?" She nods towards Kareck and Agmaer, the young Nord who'd had the unfortunate timing of signing up for the Dawnguard within the past few days. He still hadn't properly met Isran, but, he'd said, maybe going along on this mission would be enough of a proper initiation.

"Kareck," he says, and holds out a hand to her.

Sorine's grip is a strong and steady; the callouses on her hands aren't in the right places for swords or axes or maces, but they're perfect for bows. "Welcome to the happy family," she says.

"Times have been happier," Gunmar says.

"I heard," Sorine replies. "Part of why I came back. Someone's gotta keep up with all the paperwork while Isran's pining over his boyfriend."

"I am not PINING," comes a gruff, icy voice from the hallway. Gunmar nearly trips over his own feet excusing himself back to the forge, and Kareck suddenly becomes very interested in making sure that he's taken exact inventory on the amount of arrows and food rations he's bringing.

Sorine merely turns her head to Isran's approach, a much softer smile on her face. "And there he is. Rumor has it you've had a close brush with a vampire lord."

"It was Durak. He got turned, and then he tried to turn Celann."

For the first time since her entrance, Sorine's expression changes from neutral confident; her eyebrows arch up and her mouth hardens into a small line. "It was Durak? I hadn't heard that part. That's very surprising; he was always so -"

"It's a reminder," Isran interrupts. "That nobody is infalliable." He turns to those still packing, and Kareck lingers over the arrows even though he's counted and recounted his quiver approximately four times at this point. "When you see a vampire, don't forget what happened here. A vampire is so evil at its core that it will corrupt everything it touches."

Nobody responds. Sorine moves towards Isran and puts a hand on his shoulder. "What kind of paperwork have you been letting build up, Isran?

Isran goes quiet for a minute, and when he responds his voice is low and almost, for the first time, sheepish? "You're not going to be happy with me."

With a sigh, Sorine turns to the hallway, where Isran's office is. "I'll deal with it. Maybe I'll finally get you caught back up on your reports. Go back to pining."

The irritation snaps back like a rubber band, and Isran is scowling again within seconds. "I've NOT been PINING," He insists, and follows Sorine out as the rest of them do their best to suppress their laughter.

<>

Their first major stop is in Dawnstar, where they Ingjard joins them. She's been stationed here for a few days with some of the new recruits, and they cleared out a small vampire nest a few miles away.

"You should have seen the look on their faces," Ingjard says, smiling. Seated around the table in the inn, she still has grateful residents coming up to her every so often. "They laughed at first, when we said that we were the Dawnguard. They were so arrogant. All I had to do was land one blow and the fear of the Divines shone in their eyes."

"Word will spread," Kareck says. "They'll learn to fear the Dawnguard."

Ingjard agrees with a small hum, but then a contemplative look settles over her face. "Be careful, Kareck. That may be a good thing or a bad thing."

"You think they'll start hunting us back?"

With a shake of her head, Ingjard takes a long swig of her ale. "I think that fear is a powerful motivator. I think it will be unlikely they don't fight back, and I think it best not to underestimate them and what they'll come up with. Don't forget - all vampires were just power-hungry mortals once. They won't so easily give up what they worked to get."

"We should take advantage of the time we have now, then," Kareck says. "Before they have a chance to do that. Though they'll be hard-pressed to find a way to fight against the sun itself."

"There are always ways," Beleval says. "Tamriel is home to ancient magics that we couldn't even imagine. Who knows? Maybe there's an Elder Scroll out there that holds the power to destroy the sun."

Ingjard replies, "Kareck is right, though. We should use our time now wisely, while we still have surprise up our sleeves."

"Tomorrow, though. We can make it to Solitude in a day if we leave at dawn." Beleval is yawning already. "Isran might insist that sleep makes you vulerable and weak, but myself, I like being well-rested before going hunting."

<>

Solitude is bustling when they ride into town, even though dusk has almost turned to night; the very tips of the sun are only barely peeking over the horizon, and the streetlamps have already been lit. Then again, Solitude is a port town accepting merchant ships from all over Tamriel, and the docks are always bustling.

They get a few second glances as they walk through the streets, but anyone in full armor who isn't a guard draws attention. Usually they're either emissaries or bodyguards from another province, or they're adventurers looking to spend money, and lots of it. Their group splits into two; Kareck and Beleval head towards the Temple of the Divines, while Ingjard and Agmaer head to the market to question the townsfolk there.

More than once, Kareck notices, they're flagged down by hopeful street merchants. Beleval gets distracted by a bowyer's wares, but she's catching up before Kareck has to double back and pull her away.

"I'm sorry, Kareck," she says. "I've only been to Solitude a handful of times, and the city changes so much each time I see it. It must be so exciting to live here."

Kareck can't help but agree. Even this late, the energy and bustle of the city is almost contagious, and he finds his own eye wandering. Savory scents waft from stalls smoking venison or beef; there's a small stand selling freshly-baked loafs even at this time of night, and the welcoming warmth of bread right out the oven is an irresistable pull to Kareck. He buys himself and Beleval a loaf, because it's not like he doesn't have bread in his bag but it's starting to go stale already and they haven't stopped to eat supper yet. He takes a bite of the fresh roll and savors the feeling as his teeth sink into soft interior and a tiny bit of steam caught in it warms his face. Vampires may have immortality and night powers, but they're actually missing out; drinking blood could never be this satisfying, and the two of them scarf down their rolls as they approach the Temple of the Divines.

Stepping into the Temple is like stepping onto another world; as soon as the door shuts behind them the sound of the city is sealed out and all that can be heard are the reverant murmurs of worshippers and the sound of quiet steps in the halls. Kareck takes two steps and his footsteps are thunderous in comparison; nobody else is in heavy armor, and even Beleval looks a little embarassed (but she's in leather, and her steps are almost masked by the echo of Kareck's.)

They're approached rather quickly by a priest, though to be fair, Kareck can't help but draw attention to them. With some hesitation, the priest informs them that the Temple is almost closing up for the day, weapons are not allowed, and that they're welcome to come back tomorrow morning unarmed if they wish. Annoyed, Kareck opens his mouth to respond, but Beleval beats him to it and jumps right into,

"We heard a priest was killed here by a vampire. We're from the Dawnguard, and we're here to investigate it.'

The priest's demeanor changes from antagonistic to downright nervous. He leads them away from the other worshippers, who look up at the news in alarm. A vampire attack right here in Solitude? In the TEMPLE?

"You could STAND to be more discreet," The priest hisses at them, once they're out of earshot. "Didn't our messenger tell you that we were trying to keep this OUT of the public eye?"

Kareck and Beleval look at one another, both of their brows knitting in concentration. Truth is, Kareck can't remember anything after the words "vampires in Solitude" - the room had basically exploded into energy after then, everyone leaping at the chance to get out of the keep. If the messenger had remembered to leave that part in, probably nobody except Isran heard it.

"My apologies," Beleval says. "I didn't realize. I was just trying to - "

"Cause a panic?" The priest snarls. "Divines help you." He pulls his hood off of his head to reveal an attractive blond Altmer with sharp green eyes. His hair is slicked back and he runs his thin fingers in it, loosening some of the locks pressed down by the hood.

"Kalanar," He says, and holds out a hand. "I'm leading the investigation into Priest Ulseth's homocide."

"Charmed," Kareck can't help but drawl, gripping Kalanar's hand only momentarily before pulling away.

With a sneer, Kalanar replies, "Careful now. These floors were just cleaned, and your sarcasm is dripping."

Beleval steps in again, literally this time, and she places herself between the two because Kareck's hands are balled into fists, and he's ready to go at this priest.

"Anyway," she says, "Kalanar, can we see the crime scene?"

He takes a deep intake a breath, shoots a glare at Kareck, and then turns down the hall. "This way. He was found dead in his own bed. No sign of a struggle, not that we could see. Ulseth was always a very meticulous man, and not even his bedsheets were in disarray. His window was open, and that's how we think the vampire got in."

"And you're sure it was a vampire?" Beleval said. "It wasn't just an assassin?"

Kalanar scoffs. "At first we weren't sure. There was only one puncture wound, so it could've easily been an assassin's needle. But he was so drained of his blood that when we found him, there wasn't enough to stain his mattress, and that's what led us to 'vampire.'"

"Vampire with a snaggletooth," Kareck says. "Not too common. I'm betting we find the vampire with one fang, we find our culprit."

With a jingle of keys, Kalanar unlocks the room. "Feel free to take a look." he says. "We haven't done anything except move Ulseth's body out."

"Why a priest of the Divines, though?" Beleval asks, running her hands over the single tiny spot of blood on the bedsheet. "Surely there are easier targets that would draw less attention."

Kalanar shrugs and looks out the window. "We don't know either. Ulseth was a well-liked man, with a large congregation. He specialized in helping people deal with loss and sickness, and spoke often of Arkay's role as the god of both death AND life."

"Would there be a reason for anyone to dislike him?"

"Not that I could think of. Surely, all men have pasts that they're not entirely proud of. But enough to make someone KILL? And after all these years? Ulseth was one of our most senior priests. He surely knew that he too would fall to Arkay's cycle, but perhaps not in this manner.

"Unfortunately, vampires don't often need the best reasons to do what they do. Perhaps this is a message. Killing a high-profile member of society in this fashion - maybe it's more to do with the publicity? Strike fear into the heart of Skyrim? The vampire have always been here, but lately they've become far bolder. Attacking villages and cities out in the open, sometimes even in daylight, just to make themselves known. Perhaps this is a part of a larger plan, but I'm just conjecturing."

"Let's not give them what they want, then." Kareck says. "Keep news of this within the Temple. If Priest Ulseth was getting on in his years, it's not unreasonable that he could have suddenly died of age."

Kalanar nods. "Of course. We at the Temple had agreed to keep the news silent unless the perpetrator was caught. Who knows - though evidence suggests heavily, maybe it wasn't a vampire at all, just a very clever assassin. But then you - " he says, with an edge in his voice at Beleval, "Perhaps would do well to keep the secret to yourself as well."

"Of COURSE, sir," Beleval says, drawing out the middle word.

With a sneer, Kalanar responds, "Get a towel before you mess up the scene of the murder. You're dripping too."

<>

[keebin]

Dusklight/Dawnshade Part 2

Title: Dusklight/Dawnshade

Chapter: 2

Words: 2,772

Notes: Yo the Dawnguard are probably not actually this cute but I like headcanoning them as a big terrible family with Isran and Celann as the long-suffering parents of overly-zealous vampire killing children. (mostly Celann because Isran's basically a kid himself)

Part 1 here

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Chapter 2: Kareck

Kareck gapes at the pile of paperwork he was told to sign, then looks over at the hopeful face of his recruiter.

"What's all this?" he asks, tentatively picking up one sheet off the top and turning it in his hands. The text on the page is tiny; Kareck has to bring the page to his nose and squint at it before he can make any of the words out, and he can hardly understand half of them.

"Oh," Durak says, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Just general recruitment papers. Organization like the Dawnguard is tied to the court of the High Emperor. An archaic thing, really, but we've gotta have the right documentation for all of our members."

Kareck takes a few more pages and flips through them. Dawnguard membership contract, acknowledgement of uniform, acknowledgement of duties and responsibilities, twelve pages of a handbook identifying and fighting vampires, a five-page waiver detailing options if he were to sustain an injury so bad he couldn't fight anymore, and that was only the first fourth of the stack. Court-ordained organizations always had a certain amount of beaurocracy associated with them, but this was ridiculous.

"Look," he says, "Isn't there just a generic thing I can sign and be done with?"

"Afraid not. Gotta know what you're getting into, friend. Vampire hunting's dangerous business."

Kareck makes a neutral noise, trying not to agree or disagree with the other orc's statement. He'd fought vampires before; hell, helping to repeal that attack in the little town near Kynesgrove was how he caught Durak's eye in the first place. Vampire magic stung for sure, and it was always hard to tell how injured one really was, with their blood magic shenanigans. But he'd never run into a problem that his trusty mace and shield couldn't solve, and vampires weren't an exception.

"By your silence, I take it you don't really believe me. You haven't fought a vampire lord then, eh?"

Kareck looks up from the paper he's scanning, something about "upholding the history of the Dawnguard," with a raised eyebrow. "Vampire lord?"

"One of the Volikhar clan. They're based somewhere way up north, scouts think they're somewhere near Morthal."

"I've never heard of them," Kareck says. "They're just stronger than normal vampires, I guess?"

With a small snort, Durak digs through the pile of paperwork and pulls out an old, small booklet. A gaunt, grey creature with bony wings haunts the cover; it's got glowing amber eyes and impossibly hollow cheekbones, sharp claws and teeth so long their mouths shouldn't physically be able to ever close. At first glance, Kareck thinks it's a particularly well-preserved Draugr, except the Draugr look closer to human than this thing does. "You'll be lucky not to run into one unless we find their hideout."

Kareck gives another neutral grunt and flips through the booklet. Most of it is scare stories with overexaggerated illustrations. Actually - he frowns as he looks closer at the small packet - there's hardly any useful information about them at all. He looks up, confusion on his face, but he doesn't have to ask.

Durak takes the booklet and places it back on the pile of paperwork. "Very few people who have ever seen a vampire lord live to tell about them. Even fewer understand, or can remember anything but the death and destruction these things bring." With a low exhale of breath, Durak leans against the table. "But that's what we're here for, isn't it? Protect the people, wipe out the danger. Make it so no one loses a loved one, or several, again."

With a nod, Kareck grabs the first paper off the top of the pile, and begins to sign.

<>

"What makes Dawnguard equipment so deadly to vampires," Gunmar is saying, as he fits the spaulders on Kareck, "is that it's specially enchanted with the blessing of Auriel."

"Auriel?"

"Lower your arms a bit - Yeah, Auriel. Akatosh, you might know him as. Under the name of Auriel, he's known as the god of the sun. You can - how's that fit? - you can probably imagine that he's not terribly popular among vampires."

Kareck puts a hand on the armor as he loops his elbow in circles in the air. "Too tight in the left shoulder," he says, as the metal clatters against itself and keeps him from raising his arm higher than his neck. Gunmar grunts and pulls that pauldron off, setting it back on the workbench.

"You orcs and your broad shoulders. Anyway, you don't wanna fight vamps after dark, but sometimes you don't have a choice," Gunmar says, between strikes of the hammer against the steel of the pauldron. "Sometimes you get lucky, catch one out in the open in the day. Best not to kill 'em right away. Get the info out of them. If there's a vampire around, there's probably a vampire nest around."

"How many in a nest, usually?"

Gunmar shrugs and presses the reworked spaulder against Kareck's shoulder. It's significantly looser now, and Kareck easily rotates his arm with a full range of motion. "Depends. Usually one master, three to four lesser vamps, probably several thralls. Careful about killing the thralls. They're still living, haven't been turned yet. Do what you have to, 'cause they'll be out for your blood, but if you can kill the vamp controllin' them, they'll come to their senses."

Kareck moves around in the armor and picks up a Dawnguard-enchanted mace. It's lighter than the one he's used to, but vampires are swift creatures, and the speed he can swing the weapon with will be helpful. "And the thralls stop attacking, if the vamp controlling them is dead? What if they willingly became thralls?"

With a snort, Gunmar pulls several steel ingots from under the workbench and gets to work modifying a pair of greaves. "No one sane would want to do that. You wanna know why Vamps would bother keeping around mortals, instead of turning them? They're kept as living cattle, for vamps to feed on willingly when they want. I've seen the way thralls act around their masters. You'd think that vamp was the High King of Skyrim, the way their thralls fawn on them. And you know that ain't the only way they're gettin' taken advantage of." With a sneer, Gunmar spits into the forge. "Disgusting."

"Illusion magic?"

There's a pause. "Mind control," Gunmar says. "Or something close. Almost every thrall I seen, they come to their senses and don't even know what's happened. No memory of being controlled, last thing most of them remember is feeling fangs on their neck."

"Better than being killed, or turned," Kareck says.

Gunmar pauses again and takes a deep breath. The forge crackles behind him, a few embers floating upwards from the mix of coal and wood stoking the flames. "Hard to say." He finally responds. "I seen all kinds of thralls. Some just happy to be alive and out of there. Some presumed dead, and it's too much of a shock to their families to go back. Sometimes... it's rare, but sometimes they remember, or sometimes they're just kept prisoner, don't even have the benefit of delusion. It's an awful thing, being kept alive just to be fed on, or used.

"The worst - The worst case I ever saw, this little Redguard girl, couldn't have been more than twelve at the oldest. They'd been using her to lure fresh cattle back to the nest. Because who doesn't trust a little girl in trouble, eh? Soon as that mind magic wore off... She was one of those rare ones who remembered everything. Never talked again, from what I hear.

"Don't tell that story around Isran, by the way," Gunmar says, voice dropping low. "The girl wasn't related to him or anything, but she was still a Redguard. It's a sore spot."

Kareck nods and swings the mace harder. It sings through the air and he imagines wielding the power of the sun.

<>

Dawn hasn't broken yet when Isran and Celann start arguing again. Loud shouting echoes from the direction of the main entryway. Kareck grumbles and rolls over in his bed, but when the shouting shows no signs of stopping, he pulls himself out from under his covers and gropes for his uniform in the dark.

From behind his door, he can't quite make out what they're yelling about. But he catches Durak's name, his zealous recruiter, and that piques his interest. He opens the door just a bit, looks down the hall, and sees several other doors cracked. Gunmar isn't even being inconspicuous; he's leaning on the balcony overlooking the scene, half-dressed in civilian clothes and his long red hair in tangles.

Emboldened and curious, Kareck steps out of his room and over to where Gunmar is, greeting the armorsmith with a quiet nod. Gunmar scratches his beard and nods back, then goes back to watching the scene.

Celann is standing between an enraged Ismar and a figure bound and lying prone on the ground. Kareck looks closer and it's Durak there, seemingly passed out.

"He's a traitor!" Isran bellows, trying to side-step Celann. Celann steps with him though, body taut and hands outstretched.

"It's a disease, Isran!" the shorter man responds.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kareck can see Ingjard stepping from her room. She's fully dressed in her armor and her light brown hair is wet and slicked out of her face. She takes a position next to Gunmar, though without acknowledging him with nod. She crosses her arms over her chest and frowns at the scene below.

"He CHOSE this. You think the Volikhar clan freely turns? He had to seek it, and he turned his back on us."

"You haven't even heard what he's said!" Celann's voice reaches a particularly irritated note. "He came to us for a reason and you just attacked him!"

"He's a vampire now, and in case you've forgotten, we're vampire HUNTERS, Celann. You know better than to let your guard down around them!"

"It's Durak! He was one of the first to join us, and you're just going to execute him like some criminal?"

Others have started joining them on the balcony now. Beleval with her hair pulled back and eyes narrowed (though with Bosmer, they always look slightly disapproving.) She looks like a juvinile willow standing next to Ingjard's muscular Nord frame. Mogrul, another orc, has a heavy scowl on his face wrinkled. What little hair he has turned white long ago, and he watches with his good eye with only slight interest.

"The nest at Fallowstone cave, just west of here. Should've been an easy take-out. Durak himself said so - he was the one who scouted it! And then what? Three Volikhar vampires waiting in ambush? How could they have possibly known, except for an inside informatant? One who just HAPPENED to receive their gift, after five of our brothers were slaughtered like sheep?"

"You're assuming the worst," Celann says, and has to sidestep again. "If Durak was so keen on betraying us, why would he have come back? He's a message, and we have to help him!"

Isran roars like an enraged frost troll. "WE. DO. NOT. HELP. VAMPIRES."

Celann, while not matching him quite in volume, stands on his tiptoes and roars back, "WE DO HELP OUR BROTHERS."

Isran turns. He doesn't step away; more like paces in an aggravated path back and forth across the room, but he looks up at the balcony where almost all the rest of the Dawnguard have gathered by now, and a sour look settles on his face.

"So untie him," He finally says, voice low. To Kareck's left, Gunmar nods to himself as Ingjard and Beleval scoff. To his right, Mogrul makes no indication of his opinion, but he's clearly showing more interest than a few moments before.

Celann drops his arms to his side and turns to Durak, still lying prone on the floor. He undoes the bonds and shakes the orc's thick shoulder.

Slowly, Durak blinks awake. He groans at first, a hand going to his cheek, where a nasty bruise has formed stark against his skin. Celann helps him to his feet, and Durak looks around at the gathered group. He's pale, and his eyes have changed to a sickly bright orange, with an unmistakable hunger in them. It even throws Celann off, who has to clear his throat and look somewhere to Durak's right.

"What's happened, Durak?" He asks. Behind him, Isran's pacing grows more and more agitated, and he's muttering to himself.

"We were ambushed. I managed to kill one of the Volikhar, but the other two overpowered me." He stops, and leans his neck to the right, and the puncture marks are visible even to Kareck, up on the balcony. "I think they were going to drain me dry, but they decided not to. When I came to, I was like this."

Kareck thinks he hears Isran hiss "Horseshit" under his breath, but he can't be sure. Celann ignores him and instead puts a hand on Durak's shoulder.

"We'll find you a cure, brother."

Durak smiles at him, places two hands on Celann's shoulders, but something's off. Looking around at the others on the balcony, Kareck realizes he's not the only one who picked up on it. Durak is too calm, too collected for having just been turned.

"No." Durak says.

Isran stops pacing and swivels, warhammer in hand.

"Sorry?" Celann responds.

"You don't understand, Celann. I came here to share the gift. I never knew that the darkness held so many colors, or the night air smelled so sweet. There is power at my very fingertips, Celann. Magics I could never properly wield flow through me like water now."

Celann says, very slowly, "Please remember where you are, Durak."

Durak shakes his head. "No. I know where I am. You don't understand. I didn't either, until now. This power is exhilarating, Celann. Let me show you."

Isran springs forward, but not fast enough to stop Durak's fangs from sinking into Celann's neck. The balcony freezes for a half second, then springs into action; Kareck and Ingjard both leap over the railing and to the entrance hall below. A few seconds later, his mace clatters on the floor next to him, and Kareck looks up to see Gunmar pushing weapons into others' hands. He snatches the mace up and runs after Ingjard, who has already started charging.

Celann chokes, but manages to get a foot against Durak's stomach, even as the two of them go crashing to the floor to avoid Isran's hammer. He kicks at Durak as Kareck and Ingjard simultaneously barrel into the turned orc; their combined strength sends Durak careening away, but the fangs drag two bloody lacerations across Celann's throat.

Isran bellows for Florentius before sprinting, weapon poised, at Durak. He's swinging the warhammer in an arcing slash when a burst of power flings all three of them back, and Durak's body twists and changes.

Skin-stretched, bony appendages that look more like claws rise out of his back as his face hollows; teeth and ears elongate and bones crack as they morph. His green skin turns ashen; fingers shapen into claws and when he laughs an artic chill runs down Kareck's spine. That doesn't stop him from flinging himself right back at him though, mace gripped so tightly he thinks the steel handle is bending.

His mace goes right through a cloud of bats, and then Durak appears behind him, sending him into the wall with a kick to the back that knocks the air out of his lungs. Ingjard's luck isn't any better; Durak flies up to avoid her attack, hovers above them and laughs again, spraying the floor with a mixture of spittle and Celann's blood.

An arrow lodges in one wing and sends him spiralling down to the ground again. Beleval is on the balcony still, notching another arrow into her bow. Durak sneers at her. He pulls the arrow out of his wing but doesn't take flight again. Instead, he disappears into bats again as Isran swings the warhammer through him with such force that the stone wall cracks on impact.

Kareck's eyes can hardly keep up with the bats as they dart to the door. When Durak appears, he sneers at them and smashes the heavy wooden door with a single claw swipe. They run after him, but Durak sprints with an unnatural speed, and by the time Kareck reaches the door, the vampire lord has long disappeared into the thick forest around the fort.

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[keebin]

Donuts

Title: Donuts

Words: 1036

Warnings: Could possibly be construed as NSFW but really nothing happens

Characters: College AU Rathsin and Redef's college AU Kareck because I will never ever stop writing about these two and how cute they are

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A new Dunkin Donuts opens up a block away from campus and that's when I learn that Rassin's never had an eclair before. I'm shocked, but apparently he's never had much of a sweet tooth and he didn't have a lot of store-bought sweets growing up, mostly just fresh fruits and candies from the Asian mart downtown. So I drag him there opening day, of course, because you can't live in America and go for this long without knowing what an eclair is. It's packed, but we manage to grab a tiny little table in the corner. I've got a blueberry jelly donut, which is next on the list of things for him to try, and he's got a chocolate-frosted eclair sitting on the napkins in front of him. "So it's... just a long donut?" He asks, looking at it. "I've had donuts before, once or twice." Not wanting to ruin the surprise of the custard inside, I make a vague motion with my hands and bite into my jelly donut. Blueberry sugar jam oozes out and it's incredible, delicious, the best kind of donut out there. "Kind of. You'll have to try it to really understand." He picks it up and looks at it for a moment, because Rassin does this with food he's never had before and it's cute but also a little maddening at the same time. He just continues to observe it, turns it over at every possible angle, and at this point I've finished with my donut and half of my milk already. "You uh, you gonna eat it?" "Yeah," Rassin says, and holds it lengthwise. It doesn't cross my mind that he's not going to start from one of the ends until his teeth are already sinking into the side of the eclair, and at that point it's too late. Rassin's eyes widen in shock as the eclair - for lack of a better word - explodes. Custard bursts out from the impact point of where his teeth broke the dough and just expands outwards, covers his hands and his lower face. There's a staggering amount of custard in that thing, and it just keeps going. Rassin drops the slowly gushing donut back onto the napkins and looks at me with a wounded expression, like I've betrayed him. It's true. I have. I have betrayed him. I am in hysterics. There's a glob of custard that's about to plop off the tip of his nose. His fingers are covered in the stuff and he looks like the aftermath of a triple eclair moneyshot. The idea makes me laugh harder. I'm having trouble breathing, and people are staring. Rassin swallows and then says, in an accusing voice, "D-Dere was somefing in it!" I have now stopped breathing. I'm not even making noise anymore, I'm laughing so hard that I have bypassed the noise-making threshold. I'm just shaking silently in my seat and if it wasn't for the expression of absolute mirth on my face I'd probably look like I was having a seizure. My boyfriend is going to kill me. Assuming I don't die of asphyxiation from laughter first. He sits there and stews and waits until I've finally started to calm down before asking, icily, "Done?" "Yeah," I manage to say. "Sorry."   I really am sorry, a little bit. I start to rise out of my chair. "Let me get you some napkins." "Don't need 'em," Rassin says, and then starts licking the custard off his fingers one at a time. And first he starts off doing it like cat licking its paws but then it becomes a full-blown obscenity, multiple fingers in his mouth that he's sucking on, his tongue lapping at the spaces between his fingers, the whole nine yards. When he finishes cleaning his fingers he starts on the custard on his face, wiping it off with his thumb or lapping at it with his tongue. I am frozen to the chair. Rassin looks at me when his face is clean and then leans down to the bitten eclair. A lot of custard has spilled onto the napkins, but there's still a good amount in there. He tilts it upwards to his face and I think he's going to continue eating it but instead he keeps eye contact with me and, no, he's not planning to eat the eclair, apparently he's going to eat it OUT. He dips his mouth into where he bit it and starts lapping at the custard inside, making sure to clean around the edge of the opening first before diving in. I'm talking, tongue as deep as it can go in this eclair. I can see him prodding at the sides of the dough. Lapping up custard as he's bent over, making a mess all over again around his mouth. I am so hard right now it's painful. I don't trust myself to talk so I just sit there and watch him give this eclair oral. It's agonizing, and he can't have been doing it for more than five minutes but it feels like an hour. An hour of watching his tongue slide in and out of his mouth, curling around thick custard. An hour of feeling like I'm going to cum straight into my jeans in the middle of a packed Dunkin Donuts. Finally, FINALLY, he finishes, sits back up and cleans the area around his mouth again. "You were right, Kareck," Rassin says, "It was good." "Hrgh," I say, because that's all I can really formulate right now. Rassin stands up and tosses the rest of his eclair with the napkins into the trash. "Ready to go?" I shake my head. I can't stand up now, because I'm pretty sure just the friction of my jeans against my dick is going to end up making a mess. Plus, I'd be showing off this tent to literally everyone in this packed shop. Rassin shrugs. "I gotta study. T'anks for the eclair; I'll see you later?" "Welcome," I say, and nod to the second part of his question. He runs his tongue over his lips one last time and then exits the shop. It's another half hour before I can safely stand up again.

[keebin]

First Impressions are Always the Hardest to Make

Title: First Impressions are Always the Hardest to Make (part 1)

Words: 1448

Characters: Redef's Kareck and my Rathsin

Warning: still pointless

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Rathsin opened his eyes to a light, but insistent thumping on his chest. For a moment, senses dampened still by a sleepy haze, he wondered if he had been in danger, and that it was by the grace of the Light that he was waking up at all. But when his eyesight focused it wasn't the concerned face of a medic staring down at him. Just Faiza, and she seemed very cross with him. He grunted and sat up, and Faiza tumbled into his lap. It was hardly even dawn - the sun was still mostly under the horizon, only brightening the slightest bit of sky at the moment. They usually didn't wake up for hours, but he wasn't getting back to sleep now, not with his raptor hatchling still drumming her feet against his stomach. Vaguely, Rathsin could hear the sounds of movement in the distance. Nothing too unusual; the forests of Pandaria were filled with life, from creatures to villagers. He wasn't aware of a village closeby, but he wasn't an expert on Pandarian geography yet. It sounded like a woodcutter, short grunts followed by the heavy sound of metal thunking against wood. Except no Pandaren would be up at this time. It had to be someone from an Alliance or Horde camp. Only one way to find out. Rathsin stretched and wiped the remnants of sleepiness out of his eyes. He stalked towards the sound, movements growing slower as he neared the source of the noise. The woodcutter didn't seem to be moving, at least, which was unusual, but fortuitous. It certainly made tracking much easier. As he drew closer, Rathsin decided to climb up a tree. That way he wouldn't be caught flat on the ground, and if he really did stumble on an Alliance camp, he'd be in a much better position to scout it out. Anyway, Rathsin always liked the vantage point from the trees better. Made him feel sneaky, like a rogue, and he peeked through the branches at his quarry below. They were facing away from him, so at first Rathsin couldn't exactly pinpoint what they were. Certainly Horde, though - besides the Draenei, the Alliance didn't comprise of any races that could reach that kind of size, and he didn't see a tail. But were they... Tauren? Orc? Trolls and Undead tended not to be as bulky in stature. Rathsin leaned forward a bit more, looking for hooves. He rustled a few leaves, but a small wind was blowing through at the time anyway, and his query didn't seem to notice. No discernable hooves or horns, so almost certainly an orc. Good, that was one mystery solved. What wasn't a mystery at all was the fact that this was clearly not a grunt sent out to collect wood. The orc was training, swinging an axe at a rudimentary training dummy. But... training? This early in the morning? Who would get up this early to train? Faiza was curious, too, craning her head out of Rathsin's loose grip in order to get a closer look. He waited until another breeze swept through the small clearing and then slunk to the branch of another tree, then another, traveling with the cadence of the wind in a semi-circle around the orc's small training circle. To Rathsin's disappointment, he couldn't see the orc's face. Not that he expected to recognize him, anyway; Rathsin much preferred the solace of the wilderness to the bustle of the cities, but he was very curious about what this hardworking orc might've looked like. Regardless, he stayed perched there, watching the orc train from above. The sun was over the horizon by now, but Rathsin wasn't worried about being discovered. Nobody ever looked up, and anyway the orc was preoccupied with his training. Sometimes, it was nice just to be an observer. The orc's fighting style was... well, unique, at least. He was certainly leaving him open in favor of strong arcs, and seemed to be putting his entire weight behind each swing. It would certainly hurt to get hit by that, but that was assuming you didn't just step out of the way. And he also seemed to have a hard time recovering after each attack; those heavy swings almost seemed to throw him off-balance, just a little bit. Below him, the orc grunted and buried the axe deep into the dummy's side. Then he threw the helmet off and let it land beside him with a heavy thunk. In the tree, Rathsin's activated his camoflauge again, being sure to stay perfectly still. No reason to give himself away so easily, especially since he was doing such a good job of going unnoticed until now. "You gonna say somethin', blood elf, are you just gonna keep staring?" Rathsin was already still, but now he froze. No way, there was no way. "Yeah, you. You're not being sneaky, you know." Embarrassed, that was his first reaction. Humiliated, but really to no one but himself. He didn't have to face the orc; he could leave now, and he'd probably never see this orc again. Rathsin broke camoflauge and turned to jump into a lower branch of another tree, which would eventually deposit him on the forest floor. Faiza had different plans, though; she wriggled out of Rathsin's grip and jumped down completely the other way, landing on her huge feet with a soft flump. Rathsin reached out to try and grab her, but when his feet were going one way and his shoulders the other, well, that wasn't too conducive to balance. He slipped and tumbled out of the tree, felt like he managed to hit every single branch on the way down (though he must have missed SOME), and landed ass-first on the ground. Rathsin groaned and sat up. Maybe, before climbing up the tree, it would've been a smart idea to remove the heavy mail armor. But it was too late for regrets now. He had bandages in his pack, but that would require removing his leggings, and he wasn't about to do that in front of a stranger. Faiza had her tiny hands covering her eyes, as if she was embarrassed now by him, too. Rathsin couldn't blame her. Of all terrible first impressions, this had to be one of the worst. The orc was just staring, though his expression was unreadable. Rathsin wobbled to his feet, and was pretty sure that the backs of his thighs were bleeding from the impacts. "H-Hi," Rathsin said, and held out a slightly bloody, scratched-up hand. "Rassin." The orc looked between his outstretched hand and his face. "Kareck," he finally said, though he didn't take the hand. "What were you doing watching me?" "Er, just, uh, curious." Rathsin admitted, and let the hand drop to his side. "Not many up at dis time to train." Kareck snorted. "Well now you know," He said. "Gotta practice my form somehow." There were much better ways to practice form than with a training dummy at the crack of dawn. Most notably, the training dummies didn't fight back, and bad habits would tend to stick. Rathsin didn't consider himself a master at martial fighting, but he was trained, and it was rare to find someone with this kind of dedication. "Need..." he paused. "Need a sparring partner?" The orc looked between them, an impassive look on his face. The size difference was, well, in a pure match of strength and bulk, Rathsin would've gotten stomped flat in half a second. "That doesn't seem fair." "More to fightin' besides just strenff," Rathsin responded. "Probably better den beating up on a dummy, at least?" Kareck looked him up and down again, doubt still written on his face. "You must think highly of your combat abilities, blood elf." Rathsin attempted a smile, though his legs were still burning. He was going to need to find a healer soon (or right now, really, right now would've been even grander) or even just a secluded area to bandage up his legs. "No harm in trying it out? Er... Later?" "Sunset, then. Here." Kareck said, with a tone that clearly implied he didn't expect Rathsin to show up. Rathsin simply nodded and picked up Faiza from where she nudged his ankle with concern. "Sunset. See you den." He could've walked out of there with some semblance of grace. He was sure that he could have. It would've been one foot in front of the other. An exit that may have been able to redeem how he crashed in on the orc's training session. Instead, Rathsin turned around, took two steps, and with a resigned groan, passed out cold on the forest floor.