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The sounds of a struggle and hoof beats riding away brought Erik to his senses, the copper taste of blood in his mouth stirred a hunger in him as he dragged his torn and beaten body through the deep snow to a nearby cave.

Once more he cursed Kyne for the fickle bitch that she was, all those years ago why had she not just taken him for her own and spared him this humiliation time and again.

True enough he had sought power and wealth and all the comforts that brought, all he had needed to do was to take the power from his father, and brother.

Yet every step of the way Kyne had placed obstacles.

He sneered at the memory of his defeat in Cyrodiil that had brought him to make his pact with   The Clan in return for his.. Life.. if you can call becoming an undead thing life.

He had shown Kyne.. he had turned his back on her and chosen to be a god in his own right.

He would have what he wanted. He would have his power.. And the Clan would have him.

Every man it seemed had his master, even if it were Molag Bal.


Propping himself against the frozen wall of the cave he let his mind drift back to the past few days, he had wondered at the skill of these Nords who had tracked him here.

He had used his skills and even had taken to taunting the younger weaker man partly for amusement partly, to unnerve and frighten him.

The feeding had been.. Incidental.

He knew that the young Nord was the weak link and once separated he would eliminate him.

Once the old man was lured away it had been easy to attack the younger. Not so easy to defeat him he had had to resort to the Daedric poison. Once poisoned he could not feed from him.

Pity that, but far better than having him rise again to hunt Erik again.

Best to be sure Kyne would not again thwart him.

Now he knew how the old man and the young buck had tracked him.

He had gotten the scent of him as he had approached him. Before the battle had begun, The old Nord was a wolf, and had fought Erik  literally tooth and nail.

The old man was overcome with rage and grief over the youth and had been sloppy.

For this Erik was grateful, he came to know that escape was possible  by laying there as if dead.

By doing this his attacker had turned his attention to rescuing the young pup..

He grinned through his ravaged mouth, it was too late for him and the anguish he had heard from the old man would likely keep him away from the hunt..

Erik knew that the Daedric poison would eat the young man from the inside and there was no antidote, yet he would feed and within a few days he would hunt again.

He felt confident that this time would be the final hunt.

Alysande would hear of the death of her comrade and she would come to Skyrim.


He looked at his scarred hand, deep burns still evident in the palm and on the wrist where the sliver chain had eaten into the flesh. He had touched her skin, he had made contact with her and he could feel the remnants of that. A link that he would use to finally bring her to heel. He knew that she was vulnerable. He knew who that weakness was.

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