An Assassin's Diary

Entry One: 
I am keeping this diary to tell of my experiences following my indoctrination into the Morag Tong, a guild of professional assassins. My first assignment was to honorably execute a man named Serpal Arubar. He was a young Dunmer, perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six years of age. And so I killed him. He walked home alone during the night, having recently patronized a local brothel. I covered his mouth and slit his throat, leaving his body before his wife's home; she, having ordered the execution for his infidelity, would greet his body with mixed emotions the next day. 
It is more fulfilling to kill for writ than to kill out of mere necessity. Nature forces us to be brutal, to take what's there simply to survive. I've killed only for personal reasons in the past, but it was always painful; there is a certain freedom in the anonymity of this profession.

Entry Two: 
I am fresh from completing my second honorable execution. A Nord, Unferth, had recently killed the client's brother in a bar fight in Narsis, crushing the victim's skull against a statue just outside the bar with his massive arms. The client, however, was a member of Great House Hlaalu, a member with a number of friends in power. I was ordered by my Grandmaster to execute the Nord. Surprisingly, the man was stupid enough to visit the very bar where he had recently killed my client's brother. I sat down next to the Nord, bought him a drink. As the night progressed, I slipped a little bittergreen into his drink every so often; thanks to the alcohol and his own disposition, he was unaware of its effects until too late. He died on his way home that night.

Entry Three: 
The sun set on Sadrith Mora as Elyssa fell to her knees. She pleaded for her life. I was even tempted to spare her; it is such a pity to crush a beautiful black rose. She cried before I killed her, weeping to the gods to save her. I ordered her to stop, to rise and accept the honor of an execution. She looked at me for a moment, pure hate in her eyes. Then, she spat at me and stabbed herself in the stomach before I could react.
Her father immediately sold all of her possessions away, earning back a little more than the price of the writ.

Entry Four: 
A double execution. A Bosmer man, Avelom, and woman, Marya. I executed both of them in open light as they opened their shop, a small trading post in the open market of Gnisis. What ills had they committed to deserve death? They could not pay their lord the taxes they owed. So, he had them killed, purely to make an example to the rest of the people living under his rule.

Entry Five: 
I have killed six now, the sixth being one of our own. Oleyn Bavul, a Morag Tong assassin simply trying to leave the guild. He scorned the master by refusing to accept a promotion for being such a proficient killer. And so, for this, I was ordered to kill him, to take away his life. When I slipped the knife into his side, he didn't scream, he didn't cry out. He merely whispered in my ear. "May a free man's blood save you." I didn't take my knife back.

Entry Six: 
When I slit the seventh's throat, felt his blood coughed into my hand, it did not feel the same. There was something amiss, something not right with what I did. I think often of Oleyn's words. "A free man," he said. And he was right. I do what the guild tells me to do. I must live a callous life, I must care not whom I kill, I must fulfill the writ. I must not weep . . . but I do. I give tears to those I killed.

Entry Seven: 
I no longer remember who last I killed. I say "killed" deliberately, for it was a killing and not an execution. There was no honor, there was nothing right in what I did, there was nothing to separate it from any other senseless murder. The walls of the home, the place where a man is meant to be shielded from the world, from killers, were splattered with innocent- yes, innocent- blood. No one should have to confront an assassin instead of the person they wronged. This is a profession designed to attract cowards. 
What can I do? What hope is there for me? I cannot leave the guild, for I will surely be hunted down and gutted. Perhaps it would be a fitting end for me, but that is not a fate I am yet ready to confront.

Entry Eight: 
Guilt has prevented me from writing. To write is to solidify my crimes. However, in the time which has passed since last I wrote, I've realized that only we assassins deserve death. I write now knowing that there will not be another entry. I will die, or I will be free of the guild. The Grandmaster must pay for what he has done, what he stands for. May his blood begin to undo our crimes.