Good day everyone! This is your friendly neighborhood Dr. Scrubs MD, you can call me the The Doctor however. This is the first event I have been involved in where two authors are combining their writing styles to write a single story. We prefer the name, Da Boiz.
As the good Doctor mentioned, two authors are combining skills to write a story, I am Shakes the Orcphan, call me Shakes. We've set out with the goal of bringing you a trilogy of tales set in Tameriel. This is the first installment in said trilogy. A majority of these characters were born of our own imagination. This first tale takes place during the Oblivion Crisis towards the end of the Third Age. We hope you enjoy our take on this amazing world Bethesda has created.
Shakes here is going to take you on your first journey, I'll pop up every once in a while to make sure Shakes is treating you right and give you witty banter, after all, what's a story without its Doctor? Just one quick thing that must be noted: we do not own any of the Oblivion/Skyrim plot, we do however own any and all OC's you'll be reading about. Shakes? Wanna take the good folks on our first chapter?
Will do Doc. And now without further ado... Welcome to Descent into Darkness.
Descent into Darkness:
Chapter 1: Sign on the Dotted Line
It was an average night at the Inn of Ill Omen. Manheim Maulhand stood behind the bar, cleaning up the place for the night. His dark apron stained with ale and mead. His eyes darted over to the group of Imperials who had been there for the past few hours. They joked and laughed loudly, making quite the scene. Manheim scoffed and turned around to fetch them some more mead. Just then, he heard the front door open and turned to see a Bosmer woman walk in, her eyes scanning the room as she entered. She was average height for a Wood Elf, standing about five feet tall. She had dark black hair, with several braids along the sides and back. She had fairly tanned skin and tattoos decorated her face, swirling around her eyes and mouth. She carried an Elven bow and a quiver full of arrows on her back, and several daggers lay on the belt upon her waist. She wore simple leather armor, the same generic type favored by bandits and mercenaries alike. Which one she was, he did not know. He looked at her quizzically. She caught his gaze and approached the counter. "How can I help you tonight, ma'am?" He asked politely.
"I'm looking for an old man named Rufio," she said with a stern look on her face.
"May I ask what this visit pertains to?"
"My name is Ria and I bring urgent news from Claudius Arcadia. The manner is private." Manheim was a bit skeptical but figured that it must truly be an important matter.
"He stays in the basement room," he said, "the ladder over there will take you right down to him." Manheim pointed to a wooden ladder in the corner of the room, just beneath the stairs. The Elf nodded and made her way to the ladder.
"Damned fool," she thought to herself. Her name wasn't Ria and she wasn't bringing any news to Rufio. Her name was Arlia and she brought only death to Rufio this night. She climbed down the ladder into the dimly lit corridor below.
Arlia stood outside the door to the basement room of the Inn of Ill Omen. She felt as if the darkness in the corridor was consuming her. She swept her long black hair out of her face and took a deep breath. She took a moment to tighten the fastenings on her leather armor. She knew that she was just stalling, putting off the kill to come. Killing wasn't the thing that made her nervous. She'd killed plenty of times before.
What made her nervous was that this kill signified the signing of a contract. A contract bound in blood. She took a moment to recount the events that had led her up to this point.
"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer." The deep, smooth sound of a man's voice shook her from sleep. In instant, she was out of bed and held her dagger to the man's throat. The Imperial smiled at her from underneath the hood of his black cloak. "Dear sister," he said "I did not come here for a confrontation. I came here extend an offer."
"What kind of offer?" Demanded Arlia.
"An offer to join a family," he said, "a Brotherhood." Arlia's black eyes grew wide as she realized where this conversation was going.
"It can't be," she said, "I always thought you didn't exist. That they were all stories. Tales to be whispered in the dark." The man chuckled.
"We are very real. Our agents walk the same streets you do, right under your very nose." Arlia lowered her dagger.
"Go on," she said, "I'm listening."
"Certainly. I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And I have been watching you for quite some time. You are Arlia. A Wood Elf born and raised in the Imperial City. And I'm quite familiar with your work. That Argonian that you claimed as your first victim never stood a chance. I have followed your career with great interest since that night."
"Well it appears you have been a busy little bee," she said.
"Indeed. You are one of the finest archers I have seen throughout the years, and I've seen quite a few. Your blade work is also worthy of mention. I am impressed with what I have seen from you, and I am not so easily impressed."
"So you're giving me a chance to join the Dark Broterhood?"
"Precisely," he said as she reached into his cloak. He pulled out an ebony dagger in a leather sheath and offered it to Arlia. She took it in her hands and unsheathed the blade. A well-balanced, straight-edged blade, she twirled it between her fingers. She took a moment to examine the blade; the black metal ornately decorated with inlayed gold. She had never used a blade of such fine make. She looked to Lucien who was now smiling, looking very content.
"But there has to be a catch," she said, "there always is."
"Indeed. You need only carry out one task. Travel to the Inn of Ill Omen, just north of Bravil. There is a man there by the name of Rufio. He has rented out the basement room for the last few weeks. Kill Rufio and you will be welcomed into our family." Arlia stood silently for a moment, contemplating what Lucien had just told her. She sat down on the edge of the bed, twirling the ebony blade between her fingers. Lucien stood silently, patiently awaiting her answer. After a few moments of silence, Arlia rose to her feet. Her dark eyes met Lucien's.
"I will carry out this task," she said confidently. Lachance smiled at her, a sort of sick and malicious smile.
"Good," he said, "this test will represent the signing of a contract. That blade will be your quill and Rufio's blood the ink. Upon the completion of this task, I will contact you soon thereafter. The Dread Father will be most pleased."
Arlia snapped back to reality. She took one last deep breath and slowly opened the door Rufio's room. Her eyes quickly scanned the room. Completely empty save for a small bed and table in the center of the room. A man lay in the bed asleep, presumably Rufio. Arlia stepped quietly into the room, her steps hardly making a sound. She unsheathed the Ebony dagger as she reached the side of the bed and looked down on her target. An elderly Breton man, white hair balding at the top. He stirred slightly in his sleep.
"So peaceful," she thought, "but soon he will sleep eternally." She raised her dagger, the blade reflecting the dim candlelight. She took a deep breath and lost herself in the moment. It was always this moment that made her feel so alive. The moment before the kill. All of her senses came alive. She could smell everything. Hear everything. See everything. She took in all of her surroundings in a rush of euphoria. She exhaled sharply and brought the dagger down, right into old Rufio's throat. He woke with the blow and struggled to scream. But the only thing that escaped his mouth was a flow of blood, soaking his bed sheets and pillow. His green eyes full of pain and fear. He choked on his blood again, coughing some up on Arlia's face. She smiled maliciously as she thrust the dagger yet again, hushing Rufio's attempts to scream. One final breath escaped his lungs and he faded away. Arlia pulled the dagger roughly from his neck, spraying blood into the ceiling and wall. She reached into the small pack on her belt and pulled out a bloodstained rag. She used it to the wipe the blood from her tattooed face. She then used the rag to wipe the dagger clean before promptly sheathing the blade. She glanced down at Rufio once more and scoffed. His lifeless eyes staring blankly into space. His mouth agape, blood still leaking out from it onto the bed. His throat a mangled and grotesque mess of flesh and blood. She looked up to the wall, which was now sprayed with blood. In that moment, Arlia thought of herself as an artist. The blade is her brush, blood is her paint, and the wall is her canvas. A sick and twisted smile spread across her face as she turned and walked towards the door.
She exited the room, closing the door behind her. She walked over to the ladder and climbed back up, seeing the room much the same as when she'd left it. The drunken Imperials still yammering on and making fools of themselves. She glanced over at the innkeeper who shot her a polite smile. "Did you get him that important message?"
"Oh yes," she replied with a smile, "he seems to much more at ease now."
"That's good to hear. Would you like a room for the night?" Arlia shook her head and made for the door. "Have a good night ma'am! And be safe out there!"
Arlia stepped out into the cool night air. Closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the air rushing into her lungs. She exhaled smoothly and started out at a jog, disappearing into the dark forest. Little did she know that Rufio's death had sealed her fate. She had started down the path towards her destiny; her descent into darkness.