Divec reaches back, still in a crouched position, and grabs his ebony bow. He hides in the shadows, where his target can't see him. High up on a balcony across the street, he waits for the perfect timing. A single steel arrow comes free from its' quiver on Divec's back. It's notched, and the string is drawn back to his slightly pointed, bluish-black ear.
The mark comes out of his house. A tall Redguard, dressed in a blue and green outfit and plain shoes. What looks like a steel longsword is strung onto his thick leather belt.
The redguard steps out for a breath of fresh air.
Divec breathes in…
…breathes out…
…releases the arrow…
…and ducks back into the shadows of the third-story balcony.
He doesn't need to see the arrow enter the redguards throat to know it hit. His aim has been perfected from decades of practice, his stamina in keeping the taught, hair-thin string in place while he waits for the target impeccable. He is quite possibly the greatest marksman of his generation, which had long-since passed on.
Divec's leather armour creaked slightly as he snuck back through the house he had entered to reach the prime spot. The house belonged to a small family of Imperials. The balcony he had shot from had been connected to a small girls room, she who had been asleep, a would-be witness to just another battle in the silent war that was being constantly waged through the night-cloaked streets and shadowed alley ways of every town and city, waged in the grass-choked valleys and bone-strewn caves that covered Cyrodiil. Divec crouches down once more, assured as always that even in his under-oiled leather boots he will not be heard. He has infiltrated countless houses, just like these.
At first, when he was still a boy in his twenties and thirties, he had been a thief, working his way up the hierarchy of the infamous Thieves Guild until he reached the coveted rank of cat burglar.
For a time he had been hailed in his shadowy guild as one of the most skilled members in the guilds history. He had even had the honor of meeting the Gray Fox himself, and received a small dagger as reward for a particularly difficult heist, one that was said to be able to slip through all forms of armour, mortal and daedric alike, as if it were not there. The blade had been a shockingly deep blue, and the Fox had told him it was called Myst.
He had had it appraised by one of the guilds few magic users, a former thief-turned-fence known as Skylark, who never seemed to own a house, and simply wandered the streets of the Imperial City. Though she had no home, Skylark had the look and the aura of a noble countess, and was always dressed in a unique dress, coloured as gray as the ocean after a storm.
By even Skylark, with her seemingly limitless knowledge of magicka of all types, had been unable to discern any types of enchantments of any sort. Nor had she been able to discover whether it was an unholy daedric demon bound into the form of a dagger. But perhaps the lack of enchantment was a good thing. Without magick to detect, infiltrating a mages lodging was as simple as any other job.
As the years passed, Divec made his living as a wandering thief, stealing from the greedy noble, the tyrannical baron, and giving to those who needed it. He was doing the Gray Fox's work, just as he had wanted it. However it was one day in a small roadside tavern that his views changed.