Geon and Yvenn bio (Subject to change.)

There were once two boys who lived in Solitude.

	 First was Geon Perinnius. He was the second son of a Breton nobleman by the name of Marcier Perinnius, and had just been ordained a knight after serving as a squire for two years, the latter of which was spend being educated by a veteran soldier turned courtly knight by the name of Gastane Weyloff. With his newfound freedom (and the fact that as a second son, he would never inherit his father's title), he turned to the untamed, monster-infested wilds of Skyrim as a place to seek his fame. Solitude was to be the roost to which he returned after every successful hunt, as it reminded him of the grand stone castles of his homeland. He was a rather brave and cocky sort, always willing to rush forward and lead his companions straight into battle, filled as he was with the seeming invincibility of youth. Inside the city walls he was notorious for his raucous celebrations with his fellow hunters, constant womanizing, and the occasional drunken brawl should he perceive someone as insulting his honor or bravery. Despite this, his exploits as a monster hunter ensured he would never find himself completely hated by the populace, who were always grateful to know there was one less horrid thing that would prowl about the edges of the woods. Although, there were some who felt that as time passed, he had begun to grow a bit too reckless in his quest for glory.

	The second young man was a Nord by the name of Yvenn Mjarnessen. Truth be told, he was lucky to have not been stillborn, as he came out of the womb weak and frail, barely uttering a cry as he lay on the bed, near limp save for the subtle movements of his lungs. But his parents (A pair of well-off craftsfolk by the names of Kluas and Lydna) refused to let him slip away. This was the only child they could produce after years of attempts, and through loving diligence they managed to keep him alive through those dangerous early years. But as he grew, they could not help but notice that he was not as he should be. His skin was pale, paler even than the typical fair skin of most Nords, and his body remained frail and weak, as he was unable too eat too much in one sitting, lest he become ill. So it was no surprise that as he developed, he grew to rely more on his intelligence than his muscles. He grew to become an avid reader, devouring book after book of accounts of wars and grand adventures, living vicariously through the actions of others. Of course, his constant reading and studying came at the cost of social interaction, and he would often have difficulty carrying on a conversation or really just making friends in general.

	It was sheer chance that brought the these two vastly different people together. Geon was walking about a small library in the city, searching for a specific tome that dealt with the habits of the species of his newest target, a particular Sabretooth that had turned maneater, when he heard a loud thud followed in quick succession by several smaller thumps. Upon going to investigate, he found a pale figure sprawled across the floor, along with a sizeable selection of books. Geon promptly went to help as the figure staggered upright and began to gather their cargo. As the two picked up fallen books, Yvenn and Geon introduced themselves and made small talk. As Geon mentioned the reason why he came here, Yvenn quickly responded that he knew the exactly location of what the knight errant sought. As Yvenn led Geon to the section of the library containing the tome he desired, the slender Nord fired question after question at him, clearly excited to be in the presence of a genuine adventurer. Geon answered them as best he could, and while he was at first irritated, he began to warm up to Yvenn's enthusiasm. As he was handed the book, Geon took his leave, but promised that he would return and seek Yvenn's help should he require such assistance again. Which he did, multiple times. And as they grew to know one another, a fast friendship grew between them.

	After a few short months after the two first met, Yvenn was firmly entrenched in the social circle that Geon had cultivated. While not a knight like Geon's fellows, his general knowledge and near encyclopedic ability to recall the location of any book within the libaries he frequented proved to be a valuable asset to the group, and many a fatal error was prevented from happening thanks to the bestiaries and guides he procured. And while he was by far the most quiet and reserved of the group, he made sure to attend every festivity they invited him to. For the first time in his life, he had a real social life. This, of course, greatly pleased his parents, who often wished for just that. And Geon, too, benefited from this relationship. Just as Yvenn slowly grew more confident and social, Geon's penchant for rashness and rushing into danger was tempered by the crucible of leadership combined with a newfound desire for knowledge, crystallizing into a keen tactician's mind that carefully cut off any means of escape for his prey before charging forth and landing the killing blow. But underneath the surface, all was not well. For all the camaraderie and joy he experienced, jealousy gnawed at him, deep in his mind. He was born a Nord, after all. Were they not supposed to be hale and hearty warriors? Muscled barbarians who stood fast against any foe? Was this not the birthright of his race? And yet, there he was, trapped in the frail and sickly body nature had cursed him with, unable to see the world he read so much about. Just once, once, he wished to have an adventure of his own, to slay some great foe and return home victorious to the sound of cheering within the town. As fate would have it, the chance for such a thing occurred, one foggy day in the dead of winter.

	Yvenn was staying up far too late, as usual. He often did when he was reading something of particular interest. As he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes strained from reading text in dim candlelight, he glanced out the window of his second story study into the misty streets below, chancing to spot a lone beggar wandering about near the edge of the houses adjacent to his own, on the opposite side of the pavement. Pity stirred in his heart as he watched the old, shivering wretch look about for any sign of shelter. He was transfixed, wondering if he should do something. That was when he saw a pale hand suddenly reach out from a nearby alley and drag the poor man within.

	Yvenn's heart stopped. This was something that shouldn't be happening, he understood. And especially not here, in Solitude, of all places. He quickly put out his candle and threw on a thick black cloak, making his way down the stairs, careful not to wake his parents. By the time he made it all the way down, his heart was pounding in his chest and he felt sick from the exertion. But he gathered what strength he had, and quietly opened the back door of his house, slinking out the garden and peering out the narrow exit between his own and his neighbor's homes. And it was there that he realized the gravity of the situation. For in the alleyway facing his own, he saw the beggar, eyes rolled up into the back of his head, seemingly floating inches above the ground, unconscious. But then the mist thinned just barely, and he could see the true nature of the horror before him. Now the sight was clear; the beggar was being lifted and restrained by long, pale arms, and the upon the man's neck a shriveled face was latched, blood leaking past the creatures lip. A vampire. And one who's identity was known to Yvenn. Several days ago, an Imperial had arrived in the the local tavern he frequented, mentioning he'd have to stay in the city for a few days before moving on. The creature standing before him bore the exact same visage, its long, immaculately maintained charcoal hair instantly recognizeable. This would be the night before he would have to leave, Yvenn recalled dimly as he tried to process the sight in front of him. His thoughts were interrupted by the creature letting the corpse drop to the ground. The figure looked at it with disgust, and with a wave of his hand, a ghostly hound sprung into existence. The vampire motioned again, and the hound obediently tore and the throat of the beggar, mangling it, and then clawed and bit the limbs and torso of the body. The vampire nodded, as if satisfied, and sent the hound back to wherever it came from with another flick of its hand, before stalking off into the night. Yvenn shakily returned to his bed and pulled the covers up over his entire body as thousands of thoughts raced across his mind at once. Should he call the guards? Or Geon? Or-

	No.

	He was struck by a thought. This would be his chance. His opportunity had arrived. If the creature had just fed, it would not need to do so again for a full day, he thought. Surely... neglecting to inform the guard wouldn't get anyone else hurt. But if he could kill the fiend himself, he would be remembered as a hero. There was clearly no downside. And so after a fitful sleep, the next day was spent preparing for the encounter, with Yvenn sequestered in the library for nearly the whole day as he poured through all the information he could find on vampires, trying to commit it all to memory. He came to the conclusion that the best way to kill the creature would be to follow it out of town and wait for it to sleep when dawn came, when he would sneak up on the creature and set the thing on fire as it slept with the torch he'd bring along. As an afterthought, he left a note explaining the situation inside his study, where it would probably not be found until the afternoon of next day, if he didn't return earlier. The rest of the day crawled by with agonizing slowness as he watched the inn. And then the day crept into night, and Yvenn began to think that the beast would never come out. But he did.

	As soon as the vampire walked out of the tavern, Yvenn's senses flaired to life. The creature was making a beeline towards the gates, with the Nord following from a fair distance away. Soon the both of them were outside the city, with Yvenn crawling in the bushes and hiding behind trees, slowly and steadily so as not to expose himself or run out of energy, as the monster walked nonchalantly down the path. Many a time Yvenn was certain he would be revealed, but he always managed to keep himself concealed, and the vampire continued down his path. Eventually the sky began to grow lighter, and right about then the vampire turned into the woods and vanished into the undergrowth. Yvenn was nervous at first, but followed some time after, trying to keep the same direction. It was only a few short steps down the path that he found himself in front of the mouth of a cave. This had to be where the vampire had gone, Yvenn thought. He waited for a few hours until the sun was up in the sky, so as to be sure it was asleep, and then lit his torch and descended into the black mouth of the cave.

	After a seemingly unending amount of twists and turns in the cave, which seemed to be a single tunnel, Yvenn came up into a wide chamber with many exits deeper into the cave, and in the middle of which a black shape lay on the floor. This was it. He carefully snuck over to the shape, and with a quick thrust of the torch set it ablaze, and jumped back. But something was wrong. Where were the screams, the flailing? on closer inspection, the burning pile seemed rather too small for a vampire. Yvenn's eyes widened, and he started to turn, when he felt firm hands grab him and pin him to the floor, where his head collided with the ground. The last thing he felt before it all went black was a feeling of overwhelming terror, and that of two fangs sinking into his neck.

	When he woke up, it was pitch black. He could find no torch, and he did not seem to have any backpack. He began to panic, and started walking forward, desperately hoping it was the right direction. He walked for ages in the dark, with only the maddening drip of water in the depths to keep him company. He felt pangs of hunger as he walked further, and further, and further. It felt like an eternity before he finally collapsed, his energy spent. His eyes closed. He dreamt of drowning in reddish-black liquid, gasping for air that he just couldn't find. He felt so weak, so hungry. It was almost a relief when the liquid poured into his lungs, and everything went silent, save for the faintest sound of cruel laughter in the far distance.

	Yvenn woke up again, but this time there was something different. He could see! The walls of the cave were dimly visible around him. He must have managed to come close to the exit! He climbed to his feet and started to lurch forward when his heart came up to his throat.

	He was walking downhill.

	There was no way, no way at all, that natural light could be coming from downhill, so how could he see? And how could he even stand? By all rights he should be dead. None of this made sense. But it did make sense. He tried to keep the thought down, to suppress it, but no matter what he did the thought rose higher and higher in his mind until it burst aloud as a scream that echoed across the winding tunnels. No human could see in complete darkness. No human could stand after near starvation. No mortal human, anyway. And so he ran deeper into the cave, screaming and crying and rambling and begging the gods to help as he wandered the depths of the earth. The pitiful Nord ran for so long, longer than he ever thought he possible could. Sometimes he fell to the floor and slept, but soon got back up and continued his manic route. Eventually his running became a walk, his rambling turned to ragged breaths, and all he felt was burning hunger. He hardly even noticed when he found himself walking up hill. But he did notice when he found himself in a familiar, large chamber. His eyes widened, and he looked about for an upward-facing path, finding one opposite to him. With regained vigor, he sprinted upwards, speeding through the tunnel with unnatural stamina, until he finally breached the surface, where he was met by stars and the pale light of the moons. But before he could truly appreciate the view, he heard a snorting and the sound of shuffling, and whirled to the left. He saw a great bull moose a few feet away, hear reared back in alarm at this sudden intrusion. Everything went red after that.

	When he came to his senses, he was standing atop the animal's corpse. Or rather, the largest chunk of it. The moose appeared to have been dismembered, with various chunks of it scattered about the cave entrance. He barely had time to register it before he noticed it was getting light out, and his skin was beginning to hurt. Knowing what it was, and knowing there was still time before he had to flee back into the cave, he stayed out to look at his surroundings as they were lit up by the sun. When he saw the world outside, he let out a great cry of anguish and fled back into the dark, where he wept. Grass had covered the ground, the trees an bushes were verdant with leaves, and the sound of birdsong could be heard throughout the forest.

It was summer.


	As Yvenn screamed his mind away in the cave, Geon and his friends numbed their pain with drink. They had been woken up by the frail Nord's distraught parents, who showed them the note he had left. The band quickly assembled their gear and rode off into the night, searching for a full week before returning empty-handed. A funeral was held, and an empty casket lowered into the earth. Yvenn's parents never left their home again, save to purchase the bare minimum of food needed to get through the week. Geon and his comrades barely talked to one another. They couldn't even meet each other's gazes. It was their fault, they thought. Had they not included Yvenn in their ranks, they would never have filled his head with these foolish notions of being a hero. He could have lived. That was what they thought in the beginning, anyway. Over time, that regret turned to anger. It wasn't their fault. It was, of course, the fault of the murderer, the vampire who stole his life away. Geon and his band felt their hearts harden. This was the first time they had lost a comrade. But it would not be the last. From that day on, they became known as notorious slayers of the undead, from vampires to skeletons and anything in-between, all dispatched without pity or mercy. A reputation grew around them of their willingness to slay any vampire, even those who were secretly sheltered by their family or lived in self-imposed exile, few though they were. With every monster that crumbled to ash beneath his blade, more of Geon's youthful optimism dribbled away. However, his face never grew gaunt, nor did he close himself off from society. Should one not look to closely, he would not seem very different from how he had been before. But since that day, his smiles never reached his eyes.

	Meanwhile, Yvenn himself kept his sanity by hunting the animals of Skyrim in the most isolated of wildernesses. Occasionally he encountered vampire clans hiding in caves like he had, who often were rather displeased that a new contender had entered their territory. Yvenn originally was terrified of these encounters. Well, he had grown to become fearful and paranoid in general, but of vampires especially. However, he eventually realized that these things did see him as one of their own, and while distrustful, bargains could sometimes be struck. He found himself wandering about old ruins and scouring them for items of value, which he would offer to any clan he came across that didn't immediately attack or demand he leave, in return for being allowed to stay for awhile. Sometimes these cohabitations were awkward affairs where they just pretended he wasn't there and glared at him when it was time to go, practically booting him out. Other times, he managed to strike up a conversation with one or more of the things. And so, little by little, his knowledge of the vampiric underworld of Skyrim grew. He learnt which clans would try to kill interlopers outright, or would be willing to trade, or demanded immediate obedience from lesser clans or lone wanderers. He also learnt of ancient arts like the practice of reanimation, or how to preserve blood in specially brewed concoctions so it could be carried whilst traveling. His unease when dealing with his fellow monsters never truly went away, and oftentimes he felt like a lamb thrust into the wolves den and forced to live among them. But he dealt with it for as long as he could, so he could gain the knowledge needed to eventually re-enter mortal society. Eventually he felt he was ready, and for the first time in almost a year, stepped into mortal life again. Or something like it, anyway.

	Nowadays, Yvenn lives a nomadic life, traveling from settlement to settlement (vampire and human) periodically, doing odd jobs and never staying in one place for too long. Sometimes he'll find a library and spend a few hours reading stories of heroic men overcoming impossible odds to slay foul creatures, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach as he inadvertently imagines himself on the end of their swords. He survives off of hunting animals and preserving their blood to consume for later, being very careful to ensure he never runs out, terrified there may come a day when the only blood he can find is that of a sentient being. He dreads the thought of such a day, more than anything else. Overall, he has lost the confidence he once had when he still had friends, and prefers solitude, even when completely sated. No matter what he does or where he goes, however, he finds himself unable to escape the iron grip of despair and grief that holds him, as he is constantly plagued by memories of a life he can never return to, and friends and family he can never see again.

	Geon, meanwhile, has met great success in his quest to slay the creatures of the night, gaining the glory he always wanted. Women want him, men want to be him, sometimes it feels like the whole world is throwing itself at is feet. He seems to be the same cheerful and bawdy hero that the citizens of Skyrim have always known him as. But deep down, he knows he doesn't really enjoy it. All he can think about is who he's lost along the way. First Yvenn, then other members of his band, one by one, until only a few hardened veterans remained. But he carries on. Because he believes that he must always keep fighting, must always keep the world safe as best he can, and serve as an example for others to do so as well.

In the end, while both have left the city they grew to knew each other in, they continue to live solitude.