"What is the music of life?"
It was ten years after the Stormcloak rebellion, the Skyrim Civil War and the assassination of Titus Mede II. The land of Skyrim, cold and harsh, had been quite peaceful after the war. Ulfric Stormcloak sat on the throne and ruled the country with justice. And for ten long years, not a single assassin had dared raise their steel to anyone. The Dark Brotherhood had been obliterated. The Dawnstar sanctuary, old and renowned had long since been forgotten, and destroyed, buried in a disaster causing the mountain roof to collapse, killing every single assassin. Except one.
She turned her footsteps down the narrow alley, slowly but surefooted she pursued her prey. In her fist was cold steel, it's bite ready to draw blood any second, now. The prey was a drunk man of fifty years, brown-haired, blue eyes. An imperial ambassador, stumbling from one alehouse to another in the city of Windhelm. Two guards, equally drunk, followed the fat man whereever he went. She had to deal with those first, she realized. That would not be hard, of course, they were drunk and she was a professional.
The three men went around another corner, which gave the girl a chance. Fast as a viper, she snapped out and put a hand over the guards mouth, muffling his cries. Her dagger flashed in the moonlight and she drew blood. A small gush of blood splattered across the stone wall to her side. Then she decided it was time for the next one.
"Where the hell did the other one go?" The fat politician muttered.
"He's probably sleeping in some alley." The second guard proposed, stumbling on his words.
"Let's carry on without him, fella." The fat man said, patting the guard violently on the back. "The night is young and the best alehouse has barely opened yet. Follow me."
The girl followed the two persons. The chance of her loosing them in the maze of streets was minuscule, she just had to follow the mutters and laughs, and the jingles of golden chains. Eventually, she saw her chance. She pulled up another dagger from the belt running diagonally across her chest, aimed, and threw. It sailed through the cold air and hit it's destination perfectly, the steel burying itself deep through the guards undefended neck. Without a sound, he fell backwards. The assassin was faster, and caught him mid-air, and slowly she put him down on the ground without a sound.
The ambassador had stopped now, wondering in his drunkness where his guards had gone. He was feeling weird, like someone was watching him, following him. He was the prey, he realized after a second, and when he saw the girl emerging from the shadows of the alley, he ran.
After two steps, he was down on the ground, his left ankle pulsating with pain. She had cut his heel sinew, he understood, and he silently cried out from the pain.
"Your useless attempt of running has failed."
The girl stood over him. She was no more than fifteen, he realized, and already such an experienced killer. He feared her, but at the same time the fat man respected her. He knew that his time had come.
"Please don't kill me!" He tried. "I'll give you gold! If that's what you want of course! Or a castle, perhaps?"
"Don't." She said. She had long yellow hair in a ponytail, and blue eyes. A Nord. She was cute, but her eyes told a different story. The story of steel and blood. She was a born killer. He was not going to live through the night, the ambassador understood.
"Someone offered me a price for killing you, fat man." She whispered. "If you scream, I'll be sure to kill you slowly. No one can help you now."
"Please..." He pleaded.
The girl bent down and whispered in his ear,
"The night mother says goodbye."
And with that, the girl finished him off. One cut was all she needed, and her steel cut through his heart as a knife cut through butter on a summer day.
Liss Nightingale she was called. Her real name was Elissa, but she preferred Liss. More incognito that way.
Even though the entire Brotherhood was destroyed, Liss obediently continued to exert the will of the unholy matron. It was her duty, the meaning of her life. She killed only through rumors. She patrolled the streets every day, listening, and sometimes, she would hear about someone who had done the black sacrament. And that was her signal. She located the one who had attempted to summon her, and heard their prayers of death. And whenever she got a target, Liss never failed.
Liss was the last of the Brotherhood. The daughter of a former leader of the guild, Astrid. Liss now lived the life of a servant, a simple serving girl in an alehouse in Riften, the Black-Briar inn. No one knew Liss true role in life, the assassin, the cutthroat responsible for the deaths of many noble men and women. This contract, the nobleman of Cyrodiil, she had received from a farmer tired of the Imperials residing in Skyrim, trying to infiltrate and control the villages and cities. Even though the war was over and Skyrim was free, the Imperials never stopped trying to increase their reach. A thousand gold septims she had got as a reward. Soon, she would not have to sweep the floors of the Inn anymore. She'd by a house somewhere. Or an old fort.
And eventually, Liss would restore the Dark Brotherhood to it's former self.