The Night Patrol
In the dark of night, with the two moons of Tamriel shining brightly at their fullest, a patrol of Thalmor Justicars had captured a Stormcloak soldier whilst on patrol, and were taking him in for questioning.
The prisoner grunted, his sounds muffled by the cloth gag about his mouth. Ellecar, the leader of this patrol, shoved him, making him stagger.
"Shut up, your words are pointless anyway, regardless of the gag. We'll get you up on the rack and then you'll be talking." Her words are met with a glower, and the prisoner's cheek twitched, just once, below the pale blue eye. All around, the noises of the road and fields of Whiterun continued: crickets chirping, the occasional fox chasing a rabbit, a mudcrab scuttling from one pool of water to another. And there was a chill on the air that night. It was the second of Frostfall, and the winter wind was creeping into the valleys of the hold. Ellecar increased her pace, moving up in the line, taking point from her second, Malleka. He wore the famed and feared Thalmor robes that signified a mage, and all about him there crackled the power of his magicka. As she passed him, she heard a small squelch, and then a thud. She stopped then, and looked back over her shoulder. Malleka was not there anymore. She looked down, and saw him dead on the ground, an arrow through the back of his skull.
"We've got company! Fan out, search the area. Some poor fool took a crack shot with a bow. Find him, and make him pay." Her words are quiet, but all hear her. They are gentle, but carry malice and venom that would make a Frostbite Spider quiver. Off the trail, to the left, there is a small sound. A thump, not unlike an errant footfall, such as one would make fleeing into the night.
"Go, over there. Check that out." She hissed the command into the night, and her people obeyed. She felt a presence, though. Something tickling the back of her neck, as if something was once there but suddenly was gone. She furrowed her brow and gritted her teeth. Something was not right. Another soft thump, this time right behind her. Gods, she had just looked there! Where once there was a prisoner bound and gagged, now there lay a prisoner dead with his throat cut, bleeding profusely into the street. And still, no sign of an attacker. Well, other than the two grisly corpses. Whoever this was, they were good. Very good. Ellecar had heard whispers, tales almost none dared to speak of, tales of a brotherhood of darkness. A brotherhood whose assassins fell like shadows in the night, descending upon their unwary prey then vanishing into the darkness. But they were all nonsense. She'd never seen one, or had any rumors verified to any extent. But… That would be just the way of such an organization. Silent, deadly, operating from the shadows, where no one knew for certain that they really existed.
Suddenly she snapped back into reality. She chuffed and cursed her own distraction from the situation at hand. She had two good Elves handy, but she knew she could be a target as well. She scanned the brush, tall grass that looked like figures moved behind every shadow. Her people returned to her, empty-handed.
"No luck captain. Whoever it was, they're gone now, surely?"
"Look! See for yourself! Our prisoner is dead. He was killed the moment I looked away. We must be on high alert. Let's get moving, though. Double time."
The patrol, now only three moved on, leaving the corpses of their two fallen members lying in the road. In the darkness, a blot of shadow moved, and nimble fingers tipped with ebon claws deftly removed the valuables of the Thalmor mage. Then it was gone, and the shadows resumed their unity once more.
As the party of three moved on, they shared unnerved glances with each other, constantly changing the order of their march. No one wanted to be in the back. However, no one dared question Ellecar's lead either, so the two lower members took turns at the rear guard. As time passed, and the night drew on, the restlessness eased some. They began to have thoughts like probably some robber looking to make a quick septim, must've fled away after he saw who we were and It has been some time, surely we're not being followed still.
They did not see the yellow eyes, watching them from the bushes. They did not hear the silent footfalls of a trained assassin and thief. They could not imagine that one person could be their end. They were fools.
Faeren was ahead of her compatriot when she heard a muffled grunt. She stopped dead in her tracks. And she listened. There was silence. No night creatures uttered their cries, there was only the wind, and a rushing creek nearby. She swallowed hard. Slowly, she turned her head, then her body.
"Ellecar!" She screamed into the night. And Ellecar came, and they both looked upon the corpse of the third member of the party. Same as the prisoner, he lay in the road with his throat cut. It was a clean cut, too. No doubt done quickly and with precision, Ellecar observed in a morbid moment of instinctual analysis. Faeren was hyperventilating. She bent over, hands on her knees, panting like a dog about to die from heatstroke. Ellecar could actually hear her sweat drip from her forehead to the cobble. It made a soft drip… drip drip… drip sound, barely audible but yet somehow loud as a blizzard in her ears. Time slowed then, and she thought she might faint, but was brought back from the brink by the scent of fresh vomit as Faeren lost her nerve… All over the road. And then she coughed and began to speak very rapidly. Prayers to her gods, pleas of her innocence, of her righteousness. And interspersed throughout were the please no's and the why nows and the occasional I'm too young to die. It was sickening to watch a fellow High Elf reduced to such cowering terror. In another time, in another war, she would have ended Faeren's life right then and there, lest she scare the troops into unusability. But the fear was overtaking her, and her hands shook and her sword, the finest glassware, rattled in its scabbard as she took the hilt. Then she took a deep breath, and seemed to gather herself. And her jaw set, and a furrow appeared in her elegant high brow. She strode forwards, past the sick and the corpse and her snivelling companion. And it was not three paces before she heard that now all-too-familiar sound. A muffled grunt of pain, then armor clattering to the cobblestones.
Ellecar did not look back, for she knew what had become of her compatriot in arms. She simply ran, and like a fool she ran straight as an arrow, how she knew she would be fastest. Blind fear and adrenaline overtook her, and there was nought but the wind in her ears and the thumpthumpthump of her boots hitting the turf in quick succession. And so she almost did not feel the shaft tipped with glass, her own companion's arrow, shot from her own companion's bow, as it buried itself into her spine, and through her heart.
A Khajiit purr rumbled from the Dovahkiin's chest, up his throat, and out between his fangs.