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Recently I have played the new game Vampyr, a vampire game that really captures the feeling of thirst a vampire should feel, it warps your mind at least for me from viewing the characters and NPCs as people and rather as a resource for your dark desires, if they aren't useful to you in any other way they might as well be eaten for your hunger to be satisfied. It does this in a few ways which I hope we can somewhat translate into Skyrim and holds; Draining the life out of an NPC gain you experience. I think we could translate this into giving the player perk points whenever they drain an NPCs, draining an NPC should be a dialog option and always kill the target, so it is more brutal than just feeding. Being able to affect the Blood quality of an NPC. of course this is harder to do in Skyrim, but much like in Vampire you could offer the NPCs in dialog potions or healing spells to make their health go up, a healthy npc should give the player better benefits from feeding then a sick one, perhaps the perk points are given out as you lvl a hidden lvl witch you normaly don't see, this lvl is vampirism or something along those lines, and for eatch lvl in it you gain a perk point. some sick NPC gains you little XP, while a healthy friend gives you a lot of XP when feeding. Being able to lead away a target, as long as the player meets the required levels in vampirism, speech or illusion the player should be able to take control over the NPC and lead them to a more discrete area for feeding, this of course is only avilebal during night time and means the player can easier feed on its targets. Combining all of this should hopefully make the player chooses to go down a darker path, feeding isn't just Important but draining the life of a victim is more rewarding, keeping you feed for longer and gains you more power. when facing a hard boss a vampire might choose to go out and find some NPCs to feed on to strengthen him/herself before the battle. another thing I feel we can expand on is the different levels of Vampire in the world, I don't want to add too much here as having vampires everywhere would make the world feel unbalanced, this is Skyrim and vampires should be somewhat rare, but making classes of vampires would be cool, with cave and sewer-dwelling vampires being the lowest class, savage vampires living in hiding, and political vampires being the upper-class, like the once hidden among humans, more elegant vampires manipulating their surroundings. we already have the foundations of this in the game, but it could be expanded upon.
The Tsacesci and their Relationship to the Vampire's of Tamriel by Corvio Mallonox Bretony Historian of Wayrest Circa.212 3E When one hear's the term "Vampire" most would envision a bloodsucking creature of the night, An undead monstrosity that rises from the dead to kill your loved ones or A depraved being who lure's the inoccent to a dark ally where they will then proceed to drain the unfortunate of their bodily fluids but are all vampire's the same and are we ones to judge to quickly? In the evening of the 22nd of Evening Star in the year 2920 of the first era, The Akaviri Potentake "Versidue-Shaie" gained absolute Control of what was the Reman Empire and thus began the Akaviri Potentate, He would proceed to rule for the Following 400 years until 2E 324 when he was assasinated by the Morag Tong of Morrowind, but what few would think was that the Potentate Ruler Versidue-Shaie was infact a Vampire....Or was he?, It is commonly Known amongst those who study Akaviri Lore that the Tsacesci Snake men seem a bit unusual in their culture to the uneducated but then again so does the culture the Bosmer of Valenwood who practice something called the green pact, "A bit vampiric the Tscesci are" some might say but being vampiric does not mean you are a Vampire as so many would believe nor does that give you any relation to the father of vampire kind himself. According to a reliable source from the Arcane University of Cyrodiil, The body of the Akaviri Potentante was allowed to be examined under the authority of Savirien-Chorak, the son of the Potentate for any signs of a various known Strain of Vampirism as to distinguish the Tsacesci with the Vampire's of Tamriel as long as the corpse was not ravaged in anyway, but no connection was found even after tedious hours of study with his corpse and with a captive vampire who had been imprisoned within the Imperial City prison for the past 9 Months that did show no resistance or restraint, Sooner rather then later it was concluded that the Tsacesci were not actual Vampire's but instead a race that feasts on Blood as a natrual part of their diet in the same manner as the various species of bat that actually do have a connection with the Vampire's of Tamriel, but this simply Makes the Tsacesci vampiric as blood is a part of their culture and they don't lust after it unlike the unnatural Blood lust the actual Vampire's have for reasons we have yet to discover. Yet the Tsacesci snakemen live for extraordinary long period's of time, but a long lifespan does not mean they are undead as the Various Elven Races who we know living among us, who are very much alive also share heightened Longevity far greater then that of your average Human and they are able to live for hundreds if not thousands of years, Hence the Telvanni Mage lord's of Morrowind among others thus and the only thing the Tsacesci Share with the Vampire's of Tamriel is a taste for Blood but most likely for different reasons, and are as closely related to Tamrielic or as the Dunmer call them "blood vampire" as the ash vampire's of Vvardefell, However much of the writings may infact be false as it is just a theory that was a mere conclusion of those that studied the corpse of the Potentate, that holds no concrete evidence and is not supported by a vast majority of scholars throughout the Empire.
From CCP games... the owners of the infamous space MMO, Eve Online and the new F2P Playstation title, Dust514 comes a new kind of MMO.... In 2008 CCP announced a partnership with White Wolf Studios, creator of the famed Vampire: The Masquerade franchise in developing a sandbox styled MMO set in the realm of the World of Darkness. Now 2012 the team has worked in obscurity for these years, devoting most of their time to helping fix EVE Online. Constantly in rotation with their staff this team has accomplished so much that they are unwilling to share. But this year at CCPs annual "Fanfest" in Reykjavik, Iceland something emerged from the dark recesses of CCP... From the darkness.... came a beauty pale and cold.... A gem to glisten in the future. Vampires... emerged from the darkness and soon... We all will belong to them. All I can say is...... I WANT IT!
I got the exceedingly weird urge to write a western in Cyrodill. So I did. Set post-Main Quest, though that should be obvious. Also, atmosphere: The sun broke slowly over the hills, as though it didn’t quite expect to. The sky was coloured a ruddy brown, and the green pastures around Skingrad had turned to dust. The vineyards were demolished, the walled city sealed off to keep out any more hungry mouths. Three figures appeared on the horizon, walking the cobblestone road, with purpose. All wore long cloaks and had weapons visible about their person: One man, to the left, wore a belt of throwing knives, and wore a shortsword at his hip. To the far right, a woman, with a bow across her back and a quiver of arrows. In the center, a man with a long sword in a black scabbard. They walked the road above a hill and looked down at the walled city, their shadows slicing down towards it. The man with the knives nodded the brim of his hat, the hat that kept the sun off his neck and out of his eyes. “Skingrad,” he said, the word dropping in the air and staying there. The man with the sword, his long, black hair swept behind his weatherworn face, nodded. “Skingrad.” “Looks like hell.” The woman scoffed. “It looks like the rest of them.” “Don’t much care what it looks like,” the man with the sword said, resting a hand on the hilt. There was a ring on each finger. “A few dry meals and some pay. That’ll do.” He nodded, and they walked not towards the city, but the castle nearby. They walked in silence, the man with the long sword ahead of the rest of them, as though by instinct, as though by natural order. The sun laboured in the sky, as though it was exhausted, but still the long heat came. Cyrodill hadn’t felt such a drought in centuries. Some men said it was Dagon’s doing, his last curse after the dragon split him, but the man with the sword, the man with the knives, and the woman with the bow didn’t care. They had a business, and their business was good come rain or shine. As a matter of fact, the sun was, in their case, particularly profitable. The road to Castle Skingrad was long, but much shorter than the road they’d come to get there. Each of them bore scars; all three might have been called handsome once, but they wore the marks of their trade. The man with the knives, fittingly, had a face criss-crossed by thin scars. The woman had a burn mark that ran from her neck to one ear, and a slash from her eyebrow to the top of her head, cutting a strange pattern in her hair. The man with the longsword had no scars, but his brown eyes were wearier than either of his partners’, and the hand with the rings was too comfortable on its sword. The three walked the road to Castle Skingrad, their shadows claiming a piece of countryside for themselves. They came to the Castle doors, flanked on either side by tired guards in crimson mail. The man with the longsword nodded to them and presented an old, wrinkled sheet of parchment. It seemed likely to crumble to the touch, but miraculously, it survived the passing of hands and the guard read it. The guard did nod, and open the door. The door was heavy, and it took a long time, but the three were patient, and when the courtyard opened to them, they walked through the way they had walked the road. Their boots thudded against the cobblestones, though each of them walked light. The air was dry and the roads dusty, and when they walked they kicked up dust, the sun’s rays showing up in them, as though as a reminder. The man with the knives adjusted his hat again, and muttered, “You two are fools.” The man with the long sword smiled, and said nothing. The woman rolled her eyes and said, “We have hair.” The man with the long sword smiled while the man with the hat shook his head and spat. The sound of it was dry. The door to the Castle interior swung open, wearily inviting its new guests. The three walked inside, passing by the guards and the servingmen. They were expected, that much remained true wherever they went. The three of them never showed up somewhere without need, and their services were in high demand. They walked the staircase towards Count Hassildor’s quarters, and this time, the man with the long sword led the way not by instinct, but be clear cut demand. He knew the way to the Count’s private chambers. They approached the Count’s chambers, and a guard stood outside, wearing heavier, higher-quality armour than the others did. He raised a hand and said, “Weapons.” The man with the long sword raised his eyebrows, but said no more. He undid his sword belt and handed it to the guard, then pulled a dagger from his boot. He frowned, then took off his coat, leaving him in his simple cotton shirt and tough, boiled leather pants. The coat rattled with the sound of metal, wood and glass in its pockets. “Best take this too,” he said, before waving a hand to his companions, indicating they follow suit. The man with the knives removed his knives, his shortsword, and produced a small, curved dagger from the sleeve of his coat. The woman unslung her bow, and handed over her arrows. The guard took a look in her quiver and saw a single dagger strapped to the inside. The woman grinned and handed over the quiver, as well. The guard gave them a long look, but was under orders, and let them in. The Count’s quarters were vast, sparse, and punctuated by odd bits of finery, such as a large table and a bookshelf. The Count was sitting at the table, and waved them over, drinking from a wooden cup. The three of them went to the table and sat at the three chairs arranged there. The woman sat across from Hassildor, while the men sat at either side. Hassildor glanced at the man with the hat and frowned, but said nothing. He offered them all wine, carefully pouring three silver goblets, and while the man with the hat eagerly accepted a glass, the man with the long sword and the long, black hair raised a hand and politely declined. “Sorry. Old habit. Don’t drink anything I don’t prepare.” The Count seemed pleased by this, while the man with the hat was embarrassed. The woman’s glass remained untouched. “It’s good to know you haven’t changed, Roderick,” the Count said, his deep voice cutting coldly through the dry air. The man with the long sword, the one named Roderick, nodded and leaned forward onto the table, resting his hands there. He looked to the Count. “You said you had some business you needed taking care of.” The Count nodded, and said, “I do.” The woman, her brown hair filled with dust, shook her hair out and raised her glass. She sniffed it, then tipped something in from her glove. After a moment, she was satisfied, and drank. “Good wine, milord. Nice to find such in times like these, but I wonder … how do you two know each other?” she asked, pointing from Roderick to Hassildor with the hand holding the cup. The Count laughed, and said, “Why, he tried to kill me. And very nearly succeeded.” Roderick nodded as confirmation. “And now I’d like him to try for someone else.” The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, while the man in the hat said, “I wondered why someone like you wanted someones like us. If you’ll pardon the, uh, forewardness, I didn’t expect a man with your, er … reputation to want to have much to do with our sort.” The Count didn’t respond, but Roderick did, slowly turning to look back at his companion. His voice sounded weary, as though explaining the obvious. “The Count here has a vampire problem. And it’s one that he can’t get handled himself. So I’m thinking we’re in for the long haul, friends. The very long haul.” “That you are,” Hassildor confirmed. He raised his glass and took a long drink. What was in his cup was red, but it smelled nothing like wine.