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8pm, Last Seed 16
Evermore Castle 
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The Altmer vampire lord Nyrehtaud was not a patient man. Then again, patience was not a virtue most vampires were known for. Despite having the potential to be immortal, no vampires had lived much longer than regular mortals. Well, no vampires other than Wrudh. There was a reason Nyrehtaud pledged his loyalty to Wrudh. Wrudh taught him to control his hunger, to use his powers manipulating the herd instead of dying in a bloody confrontation with them. Being Wrudh's scion meant more than being a killer; they were shaping High Rock's future.

However, his current assignment had been trying his patience to the extreme. He had a dozen of younger vampires, all of whom eager to prove their worth and earn an "apprenticeship" under the legendary Wrudh. However, these new-fangs had given to their instincts all too easily. Sure, some of them had almost gotten as good as Nyrehtaud himself in illusion and blood magic, while others researched diligently on the intricacies of court affairs. Patience under pressure was one thing not easily learned; it was an instinct honed through decades of survival, and something none of the neophytes acquired. 

The idiots that suppose to sneak in among the servants decided to drink on the job, then got busted by an Imperial "waiter" (at least they crumbled to dust before the guards could catch them). The men that went in the back door died, and that's all Nyrehtaud knew. The agents in charge for harvesting blood for the death ritual let a clown slip through their grasp (and ending the plan of blowing up the castle). To top it all off, none of the monarchs and generals showed their face. No doubt it's security precaution his incompetent underlings failed to foresee.

The only one Nyrehtaud could still trust was Sylette, a Breton vampire that also had enough years to not bury her fangs in the first neck she saw. Additionally, Sylette was a talented cryomancer, capable of great icy feats like a Kamal. She was about to take center stage to recite Tsaesci haikus, something both a disguise and a geniune hobby of hers.

With time rapidly expiring, Nyrehtaud decided he had to act now, in the old fashion way. He knew the VIPs were likely meeting in the Duchess' personal quarters. That area had been sealed off with heavy guard presence. His earlier attempt to enter with illusory aid was foiled by guards in magic-resistant gear. Now, he could only get in if there's a big commotion elsewhere. Thankfully, Sylette had agreed to take the remaining vampires and make it happen.

As Sylette had been welcomed on stage by the seneschal of Evermore (following a tear-filled rap tribute to the late Tmeip'r), she weaved a small frost rune to the applause of banquet guests. Out of nowhere, she turned the rune toward the seneschal, freezing the old fool in solid ice. The crowd gasped, guards surged forward, and Sylette smashed the ice, breaking the seneschal into tiny pieces. On cue, several vampires burst in through multiple entrances, and preceded to tear into the nearest guests. In the center of the crowd was Nyrehtaud himself. People all around him were panicking, and Nyrehtaud fed on that energy. Then he let the buildup free in a mass mayhem spell. Scarlet magicka aura flooded the room, making everyone see monster in the next person.

All Oblivion broke loose in the dining hall. Guests and servants were all out brawling with each other, using steak knives, plates, fists and hurling food. Necks were sliced open as vampires drank from their victims. The few that had resisted the mayhem spell had ice spikes shot at them from Sylette. Nyrehtaud rushed out of the room, sprinting in the opposite direction to the throngs of guards. Few paid attention to him, as panic was spreading across the castle, causing most to either flee or hide. Those that tried to stop Nyrehtaud had their life drained, mind destroyed by his illusions or stabbed by his penumbric dagger. All along his path, a trail of death followed Nyrehtaud.
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The monarchs were arguing, tempers were rising, food was barely being consumed, and the negotiation was going absolute nowhere. Duchess Emmeria had been locked in with the most powerful individuals of High Rock for nearly three hours, and all she had gotten were passive-aggressive insults sprinkled with the occasional childish tantrums (which mostly originated from Prince Hrolfr Iron-Arm of Jehanna). Well, so much for a miracle. The monarchs of High Rock all had gigantic egos (Emmeria herself included, she admitted begrudgingly), which meant the only people they listened to were themselves and their bootlickers. Going into this, Duchess Emmeria thought Prince Narcisse Vincens-Septim of Camlorn (as expected from his name) to be the most problematic person around the table. But no, that man-child Nord decided to showcase all the obscure insults learned from a dictionary to everyone. If not for Hrolfr's father, King Frithjolf, he would have surely gotten into a brawl and knocked himself out with his own stupidity.

At least Hrolfr liked his dinner. A little too much, as most would notice. There was a stack of messy plates and half eaten food strewn before him. At some earlier point, the servants stopped trying to clean up after him.

Speaking of food, some weird chef decided to surprise her guest with the latest import from Pyandonea. As one could imagine, S'arah, a clan-mother and renowned mediator from Pelletine, literally hightailed out of the castle upon learning the main course was barbecued Khajiit. It was a shame, because that cat was the only one who could talk some sense into both sides. The other mediators were duds; the Synod hieromancer saw everyone as beneath him, the Wyrd diviner smelled too rotten to be taken seriously, the Zenithar priestess claimed everyone's too stupid for turning their backs from her lord and savior, and the Hlaalu trade broker openly wanted war, so that he could sell his siege weapons.

Duchess Emmeria found herself staring at the stained glass window overlooking the castle garden. One of these glasses depicted Emmeria's ancestor forging an alliance with Orcs and Redguards. The Guimards ruled Evermore as mediators and peacebringers. How did they accomplish such feats? A court historian suggested that the Guimards were once vampires. Surely that's just nonsense derived from the ancient gargoyle statues littered around the castle, such as the four present in this very room. King Ferrand Bellemont of Daggerfall had gone on one of his typical rants, and most of the table rightfully put their palms against their faces. Some of her guests found the life-like statues unsettling at first, but the duchess reminded them that they were a tradition of the Guimard family for eras and they were perfectly safe, or so she was told.

"And so, for the fifth time, you have absolute no right in this dispute, my dear Narcisse." Bellemont concluded. Many had already tuned him out.

"No," Narcisse rebuked, "just no."

"You spoiled brat!" One of Bellemont's supporters fired back. "Show some respect for your high king!"

Frithjolf shook his head and banged his fists down on the table, making several people jump. "Enough! He's only 'high king' because he cuddled up to the emperor!"

Then there was another bang, but it was from nobody in this room. Another followed, and this one clearly emitted from beyond the doorway. Arguments fell silent.

"What was that?"

"[url=https://youtu.be/9FHw2aItRlw]Aàáâähhh!!![/url]" A deathly wail pierced through the walls, then the heavy oak doors that were barred for security and privacy literally flew out of its hinges. A dead royal guardsman, shriveled up and drained of life, came tumbling in with the door remains. Behind him was none other than Nyrehtaud himself, with dagger in one hand and blood magic pulsing in the other.

"Magnus' rays, what is happening!?" Lord Hesse Arnault screamed in terror.

"About time; I was really getting bored." Hrolfr leaped up. "Here comes a new challenger!"

In a typical display of Nordic hot-headedness, Hrolfr went charging at the vampire lord with his bare hands. Nyrehtaud's response were tendrils of illusory energy, stopping Hrolfr dead in his tracks and taking control of his mind. The Nord's meaty hands went to grip his head. 

[i]Snap[/i]! Hrolfr twisted his neck all the way around.

[i]Thud[/i]! Hrolfr's lifeless body hit the floor.

Two more vampires charged in from behind Nyrehtaud. One of them bared its fangs and made a beeline toward Duchess Emmeria, but the duchess was ready. She flung a concealed knife from her sleeve and sent it straight into the vampire's eye, instantly killing it. Meanwhile, the other vampire grappled with the combat-experienced lords and ladies.
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As for Nyrehtaud, he found an Argonian had followed his trail. This Argonian was a mage, a necromancer with two thralls (that wore cooking aprons). The Argonian brandished a Falmer chitin sword and had a slight limp in one of his legs. A steel cuirass and some leather padding looked hastily put over the Argonian's kitchen attires. Around his scaly neck was a coral amulet glowing bright red.

The Argonian charged, dragging his damaged leg and letting out a guttural cry. His thralls followed. Although the Argonian's form was clumsy, Nyrehtaud found himself unable to deflect the larger sword with his dagger, while dodging the undead thralls flanking him. The Argonian had stuck his chitin blade into Nyrehtaud's stomach, and then pulled it out with a splatter of blood.

Nyrehtaud fell. He crawled away, covering his back with illusory runes. But the Argonian walked through them unaffected. The coral amulet had purged all thoughts beside hatred from his mind.

"Who, what are you?" Nyrehtaud asked. He was backed into a corner now.

"I am Tslee-" The Argonian's voice was monotone and forced. However, Nyrehtaud could sense the amulet taking over completely. What came next could only be described as [i]gangster[/i].

"No. I am Tmeip'r, the Fiftieth-Sent." The Argonian started...rapping? "Many men, many, many, many, many men, wish death upon me."

Both thralls lunged at Nyrehtaud. He rolled away from one, but the other got him. That thrall ripped and clawed, destroying Nyrehtaud's expensive suit. He could feel his own blood leaking from not just the sword entry now.

"Interlopers!" Roared Nyrehtaud. "Out of my way!"

Muscle expanded, claws and fangs extended, wings unfurled, and the regal Altmer transformed into a monstrous vampire lord. The thrall that attacked Nyrehtaud was ripped in half, and the other thrall was crushed against the wall. "Tmeip'r" was blasted away with magic. Nyrehtaud made his way into the meeting room, finding both of his lesser vampires dispatched by his targets. No matter, he had learned that gargoyles statues sat in the castle's interior, relics from the Guimard dynasty's vampiric ancestors. Mortals thought they were nothing but inanimate objects, but Nyrehtaud knew the secrets to bring them to life.

"What? You think a lady's defenseless in her own home?" Emmeria stood her ground. She and several others had retrieved ceremonial (but still deadly) swords from display cases around the library, while some wielded the sharpest dining utensils.

A total of four gargoyles statues rumbled. The closest one suddenly leaped and smacked Cammen Goring of Wayrest flat.

"Never mind..." Emmeria backed down.

As gargoyles began smashing nobles, Nyrehtaud expected to pick off the stragglers. Turned out, the Argonian hadn't had enough yet. With his undead thralls gone, the Argonian found his replacement in the form of a frost atronach. That atronach didn't go after Nyrehtaud, though. Instead, it sacrificed itself to destroy two gargoyles (and saving the lives of many important individuals).

The Argonian himself charged Nyrehtaud again. This time, lightning runes were thrown alongside sword strikes. The attack was relentless, so Nyrehtaud had to use every inch of magic and brawn to protect himself. The vampire lord blocked the hardest sword swings with his bat-like wings, and found them chopped off (instead of his hands, luckily). Then lightning had to be dissipated through negating spells, and enduring some that had overpowered his defenses. However, the Argonian tired quickly. Although he kept up his offensive (and rapping), he had soon left an opening for Nyrehtaud to exploit.

"You gon' get shanked, homie!" The Argonian reared back with his sword, only to leave his shoulder unguarded for Nyrehtaud to grab onto. A finishing stab disrupted, the Argonian slashed across Nyrehtaud's exposed torso. Blood didn't faze the vampire lord; he took the Argonian's sword arm and detached it.

Painful screaming came out of the Argonian, and it somehow became even more deafening as Nyrehtaud drained his life out. He kicked his feet and thrashed his tail, but Nyrehtaud's magic-imbued grip held tight. Scales that were sleek and full of life withered and dulled. The glowing amulet dimmed with every bit of essence leaving the Argonian's body. Finally, his struggles ceased, and his resilient amber eyes rolled back into his head.

Nyrehtaud ripped off the Argonian's head. He drank from the neck stump, though there weren't much blood left (the side effect from life drain magic); it would not be enough to heal his injuries. What was left of the Argonian's body was thrown through the stained glass window, shattering it and landing in the garden below.

The confrontation between beastfolk and vampire lasted no more than several minutes. Gargoyles were still attacking people. Nyrehtaud's plight would continue when several mercenaries arrived on scene.
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