Fura Bloodmouth was in ecstasy. After so many months of hearing about the latest group of vampire hunters, and after so many years since she had a true hunt, she was knee deep in death once more. Lord Harkon had commanded her to accompany the party in the search and retrieval of his wayward daughter and in doing so had unleashed his greatest killer.

  For months the task had appeared to be little more than an insult, a waste of resources, time and effort in the retrieval of their lord’s progeny who had been lost long before the births of the longest lived of the Volkihar. There were hundreds of vampires in the clan, and hundreds more affiliated or aligned with the Volkihar, but Fura was among the oldest. She was a true vampire ancient, experiencing more history than most would read about, and even old enough to remember leading the necromantic hordes of the Wolf Queen during the War of the Red Diamond. Despite this even she had been born two millennia after Serana's disappearance but ultimately she didn't care about such trivial matters. Through numerous wars and crises, assassinations and murders, and the better part of a thousand years, she had killed in the name of Lord Harkon, and done so with relish.

  While the other members of this hunting party sated their thirst for blood, thralls and playthings, Fura was different. She slaughtered everything and everyone in her path, murdering every hunter she could find, without pause or restraint or taking prisoners like the rest of the pack were doing. Mercy was something she didn’t even know how to spell, and her Lord had commanded her to kill any threats they encountered, and she was more than happy to obey.

  The other pitiful members of Harkon’s court could concern themselves with other things like with herding the cattle and fleshing out their stocks of thralls, but she was a killer to the core. Let the likes of Orthjolf and Vingalmo have their petty schemes and ceaseless bickering. A thousand years of dealing with them allowed her to know that they only desired political power and would never understand the true power of the blood.

  It was this power that drove her onwards through the halls of Fort Dawnguard. She swirled through the darkness, wrapping it around her like a cloak but unlike the halfbreeds and weaklings following in her wake she chose to reappear within full sight of her prey. To simply fall upon the cattle and feed was not good enough sport and she was not going to simply let this killing be over with before she had her fill of death.

  One of the hunters was borne down screaming, his throat ripped to ribbons by her fangs even as he tried unsuccessfully to jam a sword between her ribs. Another died as she ripped an arm away, sword and all and left the shrieking vampire hunter to be born to the ground by another of Harkon’s court following her like a newborn slaughterfish following in the wake of an ocean-dwelling shark. Some blood had already gone down her throat but she was seeking better prey to slake her thirst. More worthy prey for a being such as herself. The leader of the hunters would have been preferable, but with the fast moving nature of the assault she was resigning herself to the possible fate of consuming his subordinates instead.

  It wasn’t as though Fura was limited in her selection at least. A few hundred mortals made the fortress their home and primary living quarters housed a considerable number of them. Even with a hunting pack at her spine and a collection of thralls following there were so many to choose from. To a vampire such as herself the fortress was a buffet of flavour and souls, and her instincts drove her ever onwards towards the largest source of beating hearts behind a pair of enormous, double doors.

  Her pack was readied, the collection of thralls prepared to charge forward, but the doors were locked closed and barricaded. No doubt the hunters were realising their folly of taunting the true masters of the night and were desperately trying to hide, to fend off the deaths and enslavement that awaited them. Maybe they realised that the very beating of their hearts were drawing the predators right to them, maybe they didn’t. It didn’t matter to Fura as she stepped in front of the doors and kicked them open with an enormous crash and splintering of wood.

  “Oooh. You made it.” Standing off to the side of the collection of hunters, Sorine Jurand grinned fiercely, her petite frame covered in a leather harness completely festooned with silver pots, firesalt explosives, and even dual pairs of handcrossbows and exceptionally rare, Aldmeri matchlock pistols. “Congratulations.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The Dawnguard had been waiting for them, and there were no screams or cries or pleas for mercy, just two ranks of hard faced, determined hunters arrayed in a semi-circle around the main entrance to the barracks. While underdressed and recently roused from their sleep by a woman who positively reeked of alcohol they were all half dressed, clad in varied pieces of armour they had hurriedly put on. Despite their half dressed natures however, what none of the thirty hunters lacked were their weapons.

  If anything, there was an overabundance of weaponry in the hands of those staring at the vampiric intruders, that suggested the barracks was actually more akin to an armoury with beds. One by one, Fura and her small pack of vampires and mortal thralls came to staggering halts as their minds caught up with the shock of what they were seeing, realising that every single sword, pike, crossbow and bolt thrower in the room had been pointing and waiting for them even before the doors were kicked open.

  In some abstract part of her mind as Fura struggled to form words, the ancient vampiress noticed how two of the orc hunters were wielding arbalests so enormous they were practically dismounted ballista. Even for a creature like herself, one capable of dodging and catching arrows in mid flight, there were too many enemies to escape from, and nowhere to hide.

  “Oh, fuck me.” Fura stammered, a split second before she and her pack were punched off their feet by the first volley of silver tipped bolts.

  From Haafingar to the Rift, the hunting pack had travelled for months in their search for Serana, doggedly following their lord’s orders to retrieve his wayward daughter. They had heard of the Dawnguard’s successes in removing smaller nests and aligned minor clans and bloodlines throughout Skyrim, and many within their pack had yearned for a chance of showing the upstart hunters the power of a true vampire clan. Now, with the fortress breached and numbers on their side, they flooded the interior, spreading out and causing death and destruction wherever they could. Some were hunting down and killing whoever they could find, but there were others who had their own tasks. Vampires like Stalf and Salonia were seeking out Serana, others like Raghal were acquiring new thralls, but there were others with tasks of their own. Rumours of a Moth Priest being present at the fort required investigation and unfortunately for Dexion he was quickly found by a small pack of the creatures, who had quickly turned to tormenting the blind, old man.

  They surrounded Dexion in his private quarters, shoving, pushing and striking him, growling and taunting him and filling him with a terror that he had never thought possible. Despite still blind from his reading of the Elder Scroll, Dexion knew that he was surrounded by at least half a dozen vampires and several of their thralls. He could feel their presence in his room, on occasions feeling their breath on his flesh as they tormented him, but through it all he heard his door open once more, and a new voice filled him with hope and relief.

  “So you were right, Arkay. There really are vampires in here.”

  Unarmed. Unarmoured. Dressed only in his travel-worn orange robes of the God of Birth and Death, Florentius showed no sign of concern at the vampires and their thralls as he casually strolled into their midst. As a single entity the undead and their minions had turned and stared, amused and somewhat confused as he continued his seemingly one-sided conversation with the ceiling.

  “Are you seeking your death, priest?” Growled one of the vampires as Florentius moved closer to his elderly friend. “Or do you think that your god will protect you?”

  “Hold your tongue. The dead do not speak.” Even for the vampires, there was something strange with the gleaming expression on Florentius's face as he made sure that Dexion was unharmed, giving the Moth Priest a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning to face the creatures. “Arkay has been watching over me for years now, not that I will need his help with rabble like yourselves.”

  “Some confidence you have there. Let’s see how it makes your blood taste.”

  “See how they doubt us?” There was a sigh from Florentius as he spared a glance upwards. “It is my sworn duty to see Arkay’s wrath delivered to all the undead. Will you and your kind dare to raise an army, fall into ranks with those mortals who embrace a heretical order, and expect to stand uncontested? Arkay will not allow it. I will not allow it!”

  The star shaped pendant with the rounded citrine gem was plucked from his throat, and all the vampires present had their gaze drawn to the collection of beads hanging from the amulet. Each of the beads were crudely made, but were undeniably silver and they watched with amusement and confusion as Florentius wrapped them around a fist.

  “You know, I once killed thirty vampires with my bare hands.” The manic gleam in his eyes was growing stronger by the second as drew his hands across his chest and adopted a variation of the ancient Yokudan fighting stance, Shehai Shen She Ru. “I’d tell you to ask Arkay, but it’s easier to show you all instead.”

  The Elder Scrolls: Redguard naval cannons existed on warships and saw active service. There are heaps of other references to gunpowder and its derivatives in the setting as well, including some of the card art from the unfortunately now-defunct The Elder Scrolls: Legends and more than enough hints scattered through other games.

  Pacific Rim sized walking blasphemies haha.

  Bloodtide universe so there's no chance of this suddenly changing to the pike-and-shot era or the Dominion and Empire suddenly going all Napoleonic warfare on each other.

  Shehai Shen She Ru, The Redguards used to know how to do something called 'Sword Singing' where highly trained members of their society could channel their own souls and use them as swords. The true masters of the Sword Singers apparently was the reason why the continent of Yokuda was destroyed by a single one of their number.