Hearts of Dark, Blades of Black

t was comical, really. They streamed through the air at unsurpassed velocity, screaming at me with such volume it became an almost inaudible whine, hurling themselves with quaking force at my perforated body with their mindless millions. I found their futility pleasant, as though a reminder of the cauterized, rage-enflamed cesspool a living mind could be reduced to. But as I reared back my hooded head to stare into the black clouds tumbling in perfect sync across the sky, as the frigid drops glassed my face and cascaded through my hair, I felt the subtle cracks of human instinct come winding through my brain again, sharply ripping me out of my idyllic mental meanderings.

I kept my head down, and tilting my face slightly, I observed the windows and rooftops to my right in an attempt to not seem too conspicuous. I kept mulling over specifics in my head... should I hug the wall of the building? But that'd make me an easy target for someone on the right side... but what if they were on the left side? If I walked down the middle of the street, it'd be a halved chance... but one I wasn't honestly willing to take. There were too many options, and yet, not enough outcomes.

I glanced up, and the street was deserted, not surprisingly, seeing that most people didn't go gallivanting around in the back alleys in the dead of night. Unless they had coin or blood that they had little need of.

I took a left and strode into a wide, splendorous plaza. Then halted.

I slowly turned my head, from left to right. There was the constant ominous sensation of a barbed arrow finding its mark between my shoulder blades, yet the true event never made its appearance.

I continued to scan the rooftops, the windows, the shadows for any distinguishing figures. No... nothing. But that made sense, really... they'd want me executed in a secure place.

Glancing over my shoulder (to find naught but an idly patrolling guard), I took a piloting step and made my way to the door of an impressive triple-storied inn, windows bright as day. Yes... that would do.

I placed my gauntleted hand on the handle... and felt a sharp, almost unbearable pain lance up through my spine into my brain. I straightened... what was that feeling?

Ah, yes. Blind relief.

I opened the door, closed it softly, and strode forward to the front desk. My eyes hazed past the tapestries and gilded furniture, the gold and silver; my mind was elsewhere. The lobby of the inn was abandoned... A good sign; no one was expecting me. Either that, or they didn't want me to know they were expecting me. A dangerous game I played.

I placed my hands on the polished wood and tapped my index finger twice against it. The innkeeper glanced up, and eyed my rather shady appearance with apprehension.

"One room for one night," I stated simply.

"That'll be one hundred gold," she replied automatically, with a small snap at the end... as if she were implying that I had that much to throw away on a bed without a woman in it. How insulting.

I reached within my coat and withdrew a small, neatly tied brown bag that tinkled cheerfully as I placed it on the desk.

She opened a drawer and retrieved an iron key with the words 'Tiber Septim Hotel' carved into the shaft. "Third door on the right." She handed it to me without touching my fingers. She was quite the collector of faux paus, I noted silently. They might catch up to her some dreadful day.

I turned, ascended the stairs, and opened a door to an impeccably set dining chamber. Hmm... except that fork should’ve been on the left, not the right. Ah well.

I opened another door to find myself in a long hall punctuated with a number of heavy doors. The third on the right, I recalled. Looking back over my shoulder once more, and walking as silently as I could up to the designated door, I inserted the key, turned it, and with an uncomfortably loud click, the door opened to reveal a lavishly furnished chamber. I stalked inside, closing the door, and pulling back my hood, I fell into a crouch and slowly, thoroughly, searched the entire room for anything incriminating at all. Traps, illegal substances, secret passages, removable bricks, every single underhanded trick that could be implemented into architecture. Content, I rose back to my full height, and glanced at the wax pooling around the base of a nearby scented candle. Now... they would play into my hands.

I threw down the (already searched, thank you) covers of the bed, and placed the pillows cleverly underneath to simulate a human shape. Covering my handiwork with the sheets, I looked around for anything else to make it more convincing... ah! I grabbed a nearby bowl of fruit and placed it at the side of the bed. Ah, yes. Subtle, yet so, so convincing.

My staged slumber in place and all evidence of forgery removed, I placed myself against the wall perpendicular to the door. It could only be sheer luck that this establishment's doors opened inwards.

My back flat against the wall, I reached down and drew my sword. I looked at it, and, despite having lived with it practically my entire life, I was again captivated by its exquisite forgery and flair... it was a mosaic, composed of snowy silver shards instead of glass. I breathed contentedly, and placed my hands on my knees. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

An unknown increment of time had passed when I was roused out of my open-eyed dormancy. The door clicked softly, and opened on oiled hinges. I held my breath... the opening door stopped perhaps a heartbeat away from touching me. My breath was still in bondage, however.

A black, seemingly formless shape stalked into the chamber, sluggishly yet deliberately, as though a stagnant stream. Its head was locked in the direction of the bed; I couldn't help but feel slightly prideful knowing my trap had worked. Oh, yes.

The figure continued to sneak, and it was perhaps ten feet away from the door before I began to inch out of my hiding place, ever so silently. If I made the slightest noise... I'd be dead. You've never heard of a man winning a fight from behind a closed door, have you?

I managed to slither about of my hiding place, and now I had the perfect opportunity... I raised my sword.

The candle reflected off of the blade of my sword onto the silver fruit bowl. The assassin spun around, and I brought my blade down.

Only to have it be met by a short blade. The assassin stared at me behind his mask, and I could tell, he was surprised... yet pleased.

Breaking the hold with a minor application of force, I spread into a more comfortable combat stance, yet my adversary wasn't one for elegance; he made a stab at me whilst I was adjusting my position. I made a rather undignified parry, and made an even more undignified kick to his legs. He jumped, and I made a slash at his midsection. It was strange... it was as though my blade was just... pushed away from him. I took a step back, and my opponent attempted to make a high stab, but I twisted slightly and grazed his arm. He took a step to the left in an attempt to balance himself, and made another swipe, gouging my thigh. My step stuttered slightly, but not enough to let his next stab be a successful one. Fueled by contempt, I grabbed his arm with my left hand, and as he attempt to pull away, I dropped my sword, grabbed his left shoulder with my right hand, and gave him a businesslike knee to the balls. I felt that odd deflection of force again... was it an enchantment? Yet I had gotten my point across, and my foe fell to one knee, his grip on his sword loosening. However, he took the chance to stab me in the waist as he fell.

I grunted, more in anger at myself than in pain. I can't believe I fell for that... well, there was little time to dwell on it. I swatted away his sword with a brutal kick to the arm, and as he lay sprawled on the carpet of the chamber, he looked at me with an awestruck gaze.

"Praise Sithis..." he rasped, his voice contorted by shock and disbelief, but mostly disappointment.

"Praise this, you wretched bastard!" I growled at him, and I drove my sword into his throat. He cried out, a gurgling sound drowned out by blood, and out of spite, I stabbed him in the throat again. Just to get my point across.

As the floor became slick with blood and the carpets dyed with crimson, I bent to retrieve my sword, and to examine my assailant. I removed the mask from his face... just another nameless Breton. It was to be expected. I pulled his black, seemingly shapeless cloak away and it seemed to writhe in my hands, as though wanting to escape. I tossed it unwisely onto a candle; it was consumed in a heartbeat and disappeared in a puff of jet smoke.

I was more interested in my assassin's armor, however. I pulled the cuirass from his body, and held it up to the light to observe it.

A myriad of black metal chains, crossing each other again and again in a bulwarking pattern. Black metal plates were fused into the chains to strategically reinforce it, and in the center of the cuirass, there was a large, blood red handprint. The Mark of Sithis. The entire piece of armor seemed enshrouded by a black and crimson glow... So, it was enchanted. Interesting.

I straightened, but suddenly froze as I heard the loud crank of a crossbow being primed. I turned to see another assassin, this one clad in midnight leather, armed with a small, black metal crossbow, aimed for my heart.

The assassin fired, and in a splay of reflexes, I threw my arms up to defend myself. The black, barbed bolt deflected off my sword, almost knocking it out of my grasp. As if expecting such amazing abilities, the second assassin grabbed a dagger from her belt and lunged at me. In a moment of pure, unprocessed stupidity, I threw my sword at her with all my might.

It impaled her through the chest, sending a spray of blood back into the hall, and she faltered in her step, dropping her dagger in an attempt to regain balance, only to fall onto her back, pushing the sword out of the chest cavity.

I approached her, and she looked up at me with tears in her eyes.

Smiling mirthlessly, I yanked my sword from her chest, causing her sob in pain, and without the slightest bit of remorse, yanked the black leather from her body, harvested the chain mail, short blade, dagger, crossbow, and bolts, and made my way for the door.

As her eyes clouded, I looked upon her nude form once more. "When you meet Sithis, tell him to go praise himself."

I closed the door, locked it, and left her to die.

Striding down the silent corridor, loot in hand, I mulled over one disturbing thought. The Dark Brotherhood wanted me dead, I thought, taking a bite out of an orange I had plucked from the fruit bowl. The question was... who was their employer?