Part 2

A rather violent shiver shook me from my eternal slumber. My limbs felt as though they were weighed down by steel, and a cold so deep, so penetrating, clung to my skin. It was almost as though I had been dumped in the freezing ocean north of Bruma, only to be dragged out several minutes later to lie on a bed of fresh, powdery snow.

The memories of what had conspired some unknown time before returned to me in a sudden torturous flood. Through pure instinct, I reached for my weapon as my eyelids shot open, only to discover it wasn’t there. Panicking, I scanned the room beyond.

I was home.

In my little cottage.

Relief filled every portion of my body, and it was only after this comforting revelation that I realized my wife was sitting over me, dabbing sweat off of my brow with a cloth. Tears welled in her beautiful eyes like vast waves, each one crashing down onto the beach that was my shirt. I looked at her, a small, genuine grin forming on my lips. She returned an intensified version of my own smile, and reached down to embrace me.

I gasped, waiting for the wave of pain from jarring my wounds to smother me and possibly send me into another dark, restless sleep. To my surprise, it didn’t come. I sat up, ignoring my wife’s protests, and looked at my body.

The only sign that there had been any sort of damage was the discolored new skin that was forming over my injuries. My wife, answering my quizzical gaze, said, “We had to take you to the chapel healer. You had lost a lot of blood, and we didn’t know if you would make it. You’ve been out for three days.”

She went on to weave the elaborate tale of how I had been returned to Chorrol and our house. My friends, fearing for my safety, had braved together and walked the same path I had into the deep ruins. Whatever had attacked me was gone when they reached my battered body. My face was as pale as snow, and my eyes were glazed over. My pulse fluttered with barely any sign of life, and the trek back to the hustle and bustle of the city was going to be long and difficult.

The Nine seemed to be looking out for me that day. My friends arrived back at the city just in time, and rushed me to the chapel healer where they tended to my wounds. At some point during the healing process, my wife had been alerted, and she came to my side. She’d been with me through it all. After being declared stable, I was moved back to our house to lie on the bed.

She finished her story, and I nodded to her to show my comprehension, for a fatigue unlike any I had felt before was setting in. I could not bring my mouth to form words, much less entice my vocal chords to vibrate in any sort of fashion.

“Rest,” my wife told me, “you’re going to need it.”

I leaned back down onto the bed and shut my eyes. I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

The dream came shortly after.

A sleeping form lay on the bed of an unknown house. In the corner of the room, a dark shape seemed to form from the very shadows themselves. It glided seamlessly over to the figure on the bed, placing its hands on the beautifully carved wood of the bedpost, pausing for a moment. Then, quite unceremoniously, the dark shape buried its teeth into the neck of its victim, drinking the dark, warm blood. Having sated the need to taste blood, to leech life force from its victim, the vampire’s features filled out. It was only then that I realized I was the vampire.

Part 3

I sat up in bed, soaked in sweat. It was about midday by the time I awoke, but all the shades in the house were drawn, keeping out any light. My wife, nowhere to be seen, was most likely out shopping for our weekly groceries. I clasped my hands to my face, taking deep, slow breaths. My face felt, for lack of a better word, strange. Filled, rosy cheeks had deteriorated so that only skin remained over bone. I dismissed the unsettling thought; trying to soothe myself by saying it was probably because I had not eaten in days.

Food. As soon as the word touched on the outer rim of my mind I became acutely aware of an unquenchable thirst in my mouth. My throat, scorched by some unseen desert, gagged. My hands rushed up to my neck, hopelessly thinking that it might stop the pain. A pitcher of water lay on the table across the room, and I knocked furniture and other accessories out of the way in my quest to reach it.

I gorged myself, downing the water in mere seconds, and placed the pitcher back down on the table. The thirst remained. Insanity slowly engulfed me as I curled up into a ball in the corner of my house, attempting to will the pain away. I sat up after what I thought to be several moments later, feeling somewhat better. However, I was still in no fit condition. I stumbled over to the window in my house, and opened the shades. I had been wrong. I had not been out for several moments, but instead for several hours. Darkness now crept around the town, and a small shiver lightly touched my skin.

My wife was still not home from her expedition, so I had to find some way to entertain myself. I walked over to the mirror that lay above our dresser, gazing into it. My initial assumption about my face was indeed correct, for it was now abnormally gaunt, and my teeth were just a little bit too sharp. But the thing that scared me the most were my eyes. They belonged to some other person. That had to be the answer. My eyes would never be as pale as if someone had painted over them with white, and then tinted my actual pupils with a light pink. My hands began to shake silently, but eventually spoke loud enough so that the rest of my body joined in the conversation as well.

I backed into the far wall, away from the mirror that showed me truths I did not want to see. My wife entered the house at that moment, and greeted me with a smile, happy to see that I was up and about. I tried to hide my face from her as best I could, I did not want her to worry about me. So, I did the only thing that I thought was sensible. I donned my traveling cloak and brought up the hood, saying, “I’m going to head down to the tavern. Maybe get a drink or two.”

She nodded to me, concern clearly written across her face, but did not stop me when I brushed past her and out into the sleepy town. The street lamps were on already, and as I strode down to the tavern, I leaned my head back, letting the cool night air sweep all of my worries and fears away.

I arrived at the tavern, relatively calm and collected. Placing my hand on the door, I paused for a second, and my calm and collective nature was diminished in one foul swoop. I could feel the presence of people on the other side, even though I had cast no spell. My senses seemed to suddenly become extremely sharp. The grime that covered some of the residents of the bar protruded from the walls, and the scent of it hit me like a brick wall. My eyes focused, taking in every minute detail about my surroundings. The voices of people talking and the gulping down of alcohol pounded at my ears, along with something else, the beating of their hearts, and all of the blood rushing through their veins.

I began to back away from the door very, very slowly. I was about to leave when the door opened, and the surprised face of the bartender appeared in the doorway. She was a khajit of medium stature, and small patches of gray peppered her otherwise tan coat, showing her age. Her hair fell in small, pretty curls to a length just below her ears, and her earrings jingled slightly as she looked at me. I never had the time to learn her name, and she had never known mine, but we were good acquaintances who liked to chat with each other on my frequent outings to her tavern. Surprise suddenly turned to a very large smile, and she spoke to me in a very soft tone, saying, “Hey! I’m so glad to see you’re all right! You’re not going anywhere are you? Come on, have a drink on the house, you of all people need one.”

Apparently news of my condition had spread throughout Chorrol, and it comforted me ever so slightly to know that others cared for my well being. I was about to tell her that I couldn’t stay, that I had other business to attend to, but hey, I needed the company. And there was a free drink waiting for me.

I nodded my thanks to her and stepped into the tavern. It was packed, as it usually was after a hard day of work. I walked over to the bar and sat on one of the stools, smiling as the owner poured me that free drink she promised. Watching the sweet ale fill the mug reminded me once more of the desert my throat had become, and I had to physically stop myself from lifting a hand to touch it. When she was done serving the beverage, I thanked her once more, and downed it in a few gulps.

I decided that I would hang around the tavern for a while longer. The atmosphere was pleasing to me, and I needed any distraction I could get to keep my mind from wandering to my horrible thirst. After about an hour or two of mingling at the bar, my head began to throb. My vision blurred, and I suddenly became very dizzy. As I stood up from my stool, I realized that my coordination had gone down the drain as well. I stumbled to the door, and fell out of it into the open street. The guards took no notice of me. They probably thought I was just another drunk coming out of the bar to head home and go to bed.

I had to get to my cottage, but with my body refusing to cooperate, there was no way to tell where I was headed. I picked a direction and walked along in a rather curvy line, until I arrived at a house that I hoped was mine.

wow, this story is good! really creative SecondSight. hope u post another part soon ;)