A lone figure stood at the edge of a steep hill, shrouded by brush and shadow, waiting for the perfect time. A single wagon, lightly guarded, rolled its way along the road beneath, pulled by a pair of horses. A child's sleepy laugh burbled up from the wagon, following a particularly funny part of his mother's story. She hushed him, and continued to tell the tale, as her eldest son and daughter strode along the sides of the wagon, their father driving the horse in its near-tireless trek.
A smile slowly crept on to the figure's face, and his hot coal eyes lit up as he began his descent. Further down the slope on the opposite side of the road, two other figures took the cue and emerged from their own positions, a soft rustle following. One stopped, and turned back, eyes narrowed as it searched behind them. After a moment, they resumed their climb to the road, and perched just out of sight.
The wagon now rolled, almost within arms' reach, between the duo and the first figure. "Atta-" the first started, before an arrow found its mark, burying itself to the feathers in the speaker's throat. With a roar, three large Vigilants of Stendarr burst from inside the wagon, torches catching fire to reveal the three assailants - a trio of vampires. Two more Vigilants erupted from the brush behind the duo of vampires, balls of brilliant holy fire searing the vampires' backs. A sixth and final fighter barreled out of the brush from behind the first vampire, torch held between his teeth, and a massive, shining warhammer in his hands.
He grunted, and spat the torch out of his mouth, the fiery wooden stick rolling down towards the wagon. "Slay them!" Saruriil cried, as he charged down the slope, hammer held high. By now, the first vampire had managed to pry the arrow from his throat, but could manage no sound save for an angry, terrified wheeze. He leapt forward, his body a blur, and savagely hacked at the bow-wielding Vigilant that had wounded him. With blade, he cripple the Nord woman, and with teeth he drank his vengeance. She screamed, but it quickly turned into a gurgle as blood welled up out of her mouth and neck. In seconds, she was dead, and the vampire threw his head back with inhuman, almost howling, laughter.
Saruriil arrived as her body fell to the ground in a heap, and he swung his silver warhammer, its spiked head punching into the vampire's back and downing him. He viciously kicked at the creature's head, the vampire's neck snapping back for a moment, before he turned a bloody grin up at Saruriil. With a look of disgust, the high elf brought his warhammer down into the vampire's face, his skull crunching beneath the force as gore splattered all about.
On the other side of the caravan, a Vigilant was down, his throat torn open and his body riddled with bleeding slash and stab wounds. The vampiress held her side, a large gash under her right arm made worse by constant movement, as she held off a mace-wielding Vigilant with her short sword. The other vampire was locked in combat with two others, before a swift scratch took one out of the fight temporarily, the right side of his face covered with blood.
The vampiress made a desperate move, kicking at her assailant before diving forward, blade held out. Her aim was true, and her steel blade slid into the Vigilant's stomach, but his own spiked mace swung down, smashing into her skull and sending them both tumbling down into the brush. As they rolled, her blade caught on a rock, and it ripped free of the Vigilant's body, his entrails spilling out over the hill as he rolled down the rest of the grassy knoll.
Realizing he was alone, the final vampire took his cue, and quickly cloaked himself with an invisibility spell. The Vigilant fighting him took no solace in his apparent attempt to flee, and began swinging about wildly, trying to catch him before he escaped. A hand emerged from the shadows, though, beneath where he'd been swinging, locking onto the Vigilant's throat. The rest of the vampire's body followed suit, as he stood up - lifting the struggling Vigilant clear off the ground. Squeezing his hand, the vampire's claws dug into the man's neck, blood rushing out over the ash-colored hand and down his arm.
Surariil took the opportunity, and swung his hammer, tripping the vampire onto his back, and bringing it back down in a swooping loop-de-loop into the vampire's stomach. Over and over, he swung, crushing every bone in the vampire's torso, puncturing the skin, until all that was left was a bloody, pulpy mess. As Surariil's breathing began to slow, so did his swings, until they finally came to a halt. He looked at the mutilated body with detached disgust, and went over to the fallen Vigilant.
"Ooohh," the man groaned, still covering his bloody face, and looked up at Surariil with a pleading whimper, "the pain, make it stop. Can you stop the pain?"
Dawn had arrived, bathing the blood-soaked battle with glorious sunlight. Already, the family had moved on, their role in the reverse-ambush complete, and it was now a receding dot on the road heading south. Surariil basked in the glow of dawn, before turning his gaze on the whimpering Vigilant. Already, the man's skin was slightly ashen, and Surariil noticed the telltale burning of skin that came with the curse of vampiric blood. It would only be a matter of time, and he had no poultice to stop the change.
"Can you- can you stop the pain?" The man pleaded once more, tears already rolling down his face.
"Yes," was all Surariil said, just before his hammer struck home.
Numbly, he turned away from the battle, and headed north. Crossing the massive Dragon Bridge, passing through the town holding the same name, Surariil headed north. North, to Solitude. To someplace as far from home as possible.