Night had fallen abruptly upon the city of Windhelm, snuffing out lights and muffling sound. Thick waves of fog rolled in over the sturdy stone walls, invading homes with their damp, chilled fingers. The night was dark, both of the moons black, and only the bravest stars dared to shed a dull silver glow. Silence stole into everything. Rambunctious children went quiet and slipped beneath their covers. Elderly lungs that rattled loudly with fragility and the weight of age hushed their chuckles or stopped altogether. Guards, rather than patrol the wintery darkness, huddled together in the barracks. Torches, left unattended and at the mercy of the wind, died. In a murky corner, fingers rasped against icy stone. A soft exhale sent the fog dancing in delight, and as a black and scarlet clad figure began striding down a road long since claimed by grey, it followed him in looping swirls. He made little sound as he strode through the halls of grey-white silk, and what he did was brushed off as fancy, windows tightened and locks checked. A blade, too short to be a sword but too long to be a knife, kissed the air at his hip. Shapes occasionally materialized out of the fog, indistinct and shadowy blobs hurrying about their business. They were the beggars, the hunted, the thieves. None saw him-and all the better for them.

He left no survivors.

He entered the richer districts of Windhelm, populated with large mansions with gates twined with hanging moss and exotic flowers, each grander than the next. The owner's rivalry mattered little when the fog made all homes, no matter how large or small, a faint splotch of discolored grey. He cared nothing for the riches that would be lying within the unguarded doors, even the ones the Thieves Guild had taken the time to etch their marks into. He was intent upon one house, and one house alone. Murmuring a soft spell, he stopped at the gate of a smaller, but just as expensive mansion. A tiny flicker of light flared into existence, pulsing off of the fog and blinding him. Closing his eyes, his fingers danced across the lock on the door. Seconds later the orb of light vanished, and the lock popped open. He'd left no traces of his deed on the metal gate. Not a soul remained awake to illuminate a window, and a quiet sigh of displeasure escaped him. No one made it interesting…

The kill would be nothing to one of his talents.

He faced nothing but the disappointment of the fog as he popped the lock on the manor's door and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind him. In cases like these, he would normally be worried he had brought the chill in with him-but it was just as cold outside as it was within the building. He made his way up a curved wooden staircase, not a solitary creak escaping the wooden boards. He knew exactly where his victim lay, and made no detours as he padded down a hallway, floorboards smooth with ages of feet walking upon its knotted surface. He'd learned long ago to seek out only that which was essential to his mission. To explore led to being discovered.

And he would never tarnish the reputation of the Dark Brotherhood.

The door made no sound as he swung it open, and he drew the odd blade at his side, a dark smile lifting lips shrouded by a deep cowl. The room was finely furnished, expensive trinkets that served no purpose other than to be costly gathered like dust on shelves and tables. His victim lay asleep in a four-poster bed, traditional gauzy curtains hanging limply around the motionless body. A book lay open next to his victim's hand, and a brief glance at it had him stifling a chuckle. It was one of the pathetic romance novels both he and his Sister, the Listener, hated. Disgust flooded him. He prayed to Sithis his victim wouldn't wake. He wanted nothing to do with her petty daydreams-and he could practically hear the Listener laughing that he, Rhordric, had entertained a little girl's fantasy. He pushed a fistful of curtain aside harshly, and his blade whistled faintly as it headed for her heart. Her eyes flickered open just as his blade shattered her flesh, and her body jerked upward. No sound escaped her lips but a faint sigh, and she went still for the last time. He wiped his blade clean on the curtains, and left the way he came. The only sign he had been there was the gate, left swinging freely on its hinges, and the blood staining his victim's mattress. The fog rushed him as he stepped out of the quiet building, swallowing his figure completely.

It was time all of Skyrim knew the Dark Brotherhood was back.