The Ritual of Purification
An Oblivion Sketch

I scarcely wanted to believe what was happening, what I had done and had yet to accomplish, but the slick, Argonian blood on my blade told no lies. Her body, clad in the blacks and grays of the Dark Brotherhood, hung off Ocheeva as if a funeral gown. Her own funeral. My Sister's funeral. Death's crimson ran on steel, vital fluids choking, caressing my hand in a final squeeze from brother to sister... before death's final plunge, final whisper, marked her passing to the Void.

"...N-night Mother... forgive me..." her hoarse voice croaked, before my sister's eyes paled with the fog of death. Enough of this. I was a trained assassin. For nearly a year I've been fulfilling contracts, ending the lives of others. I was a walker of the shadows, the blade of Sithis! I am but a tool. Does a shovel object to a farmer's work? A sigh escaped my lips, pressing a single booted foot to her stomach and wrenched my blade free, her corpse unceremoniously folding into a bloody heap on the ground. Lucien Lachance's orders must be carried out without hesitation and immediately, to the letter, she had told me. Indeed they were, dear sister, indeed they were.

"May Sithis accept your soul into his loving embrace." My own voice intoned. Just like the perfectly obedient lap dog I was.

No! The will of Sithis is as mine! I had chosen to do this, and it was too late to have second thoughts. There had never been a chance for second thoughts! Welcome to your new life, Lachance had told me.

Ocheeva lay dead in front of me, the puncture wound where my silver longsword had penetrated her heart still leaking fresh blood, which had done so just moments before in tandem with her now still heart. I cleaned my blade on the cloth of the fallen, returning it home to its sheath. The annoying Bosmer had fallen to a cleverly placed, poison-laced apple, the rest I had slain in their sleep, the once-virgin blade Lucien himself had given me now steeped in the blood of many. All but two.

The insufferable Khajiit still yet lives. I had spotted him earlier in the training room... a pity I couldn't stick him with my rust-stained knife like I had done the others. I smiled. Then again, what fun would that have been? The years of training in the art of stealth and murder had benefited me with more than enough skill to open the heavy, wooden door with no more noise than a whisper of a leaf in the wind. Ah... there he was. Slinging spells at the same board he had been doing so to for so long. Did he ever get bored of that? And better yet, why hadn't that damn thing broken yet? My Imperial fingers were rock-steady, my step sure and silent, my heart cold and hard, my head clear as a Bruman night as I reached for the hilt of the sword at my side.

Inching closer... almost there...

"Brother!" came the catty, scratchy voice as the Khajiit turned to face me. I quickly crossed my arms from the same motion, fluidly destroying all suspicion of his imminent murder.

"What, I'm not a foul-smelling ape this time?" I asked, eyebrow raised. The feline's ears flattened back on his head, a frown curving around the muzzle I've wanted to break of few teeth out of with a well-aimed punch for so long.

"Ah, you know..." he said, seeming to collect his thoughts and form the works in his head. "I-I've been thinking... and... well, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for the way I've treated you all of this time. I mean, look at you! Such a short time with us, and you are an Assassin already." He breathed inwards after that short outburst, as if he had to force himself to say it. "I guess... well, you're an invaluable member to this Sanctuary. So what do you say? Let's start over, eh? I bet we could be great friends."

Well, this was certainly an unexpected twist. I blinked, genuine surprise on my features, before the Shadow of Death's mask fell on my face again. I nodded. "...all right. I'm all for it... friend." The twinge of irony was not lost on me, as well as the pang of regret. No, steel your nerves, Morgan. Be strong. Such is the will of Sithis... "I've noticed you getting stronger. Why don't you show me what you've been working on, as far as spellcrafting goes...?" I winced internally. It was lame, at best.

He fell for it, thankfully enough. "I'd be glad to, my good friend!" he exclaimed, smiling at me, turning his back to me and placing his arms into the spellcasting position.

"Apology accepted."

The last mistake he'd ever make.

I left the training room, cat and lizard blood both mixing, staining the once flawless silver of my blade as I carried it at my side, tip dragging the ground and leaving a distinct, dusty trail of ruby red. Only one left, and now I can leave this god-forsaken place. One left...

One left...

My heart froze. Vincente Valtieri. I pushed open the wooden door at the lower level, with the same grace and expertise as the one before it, but it was all in vain. He was waiting for me.

"So now you've come to finish what you have started, have you?" he asked, a smile on his face. I frowned.

"You knew? Why did you help the others? Try to warn them?"

He sighed. "And violate the will of Sithis? It is not I who have brought his wrath upon this Sanctuary, of that I can assure you." He stood from the table he was seated at, setting the book that was in his lap on the tabletop. With a grace I had never seen him exhibit before, he closed the distance between us in but a moment. "But the Cleansing must not be hindered. If that means facing my own death, after two-hundred years..." he turned his back on me, stalking away with the same grace. He clasped his arms in front of his chest... almost in a praying position. "Then I am ready to join the terrible love of my Dread Father in the loving embrace of the void..."

"So you will not fight back, will you?" I asked, twirling the longsword in front of me, droplets of blood flying off of the bloody radius before I held it to a standstill in front of me. "That's... that's too bad, Vincente..." I sighed, shoulders sagging a bit. "I was almost hoping you would kill me, my friend. You are more skilled with a blade than I."

"That may be, Brother. But the word of a Speaker is the law of Sithis and the Listener... but allow me to warn you. I never had an intention of giving up."

"But I--"

"Prepare yourself, brother," the Vampire told me, the katana at his belt whispering free of the sheath in a beautiful, silver arc. "I will not make this easy for you." He a cruel grin found its way to his pallid, blood-starved face.

"Spill some blood for me, dear brother!"

Vincente Valtieri's body slumped against the wall, more than a few trickles of borrowed blood running from the pale flesh of his forehead to drip off his chin below. Heaving, my breath wheezed out in uneven waves of warm air, the wound he had given my arm stinging more than just a little. Nothing some restoration couldn't fix. It was finished. Over. The deed was done. The Purification complete. My heart searched for Sithis' warmth, gratitude, but it found void.

"May Sithis accept your soul into his loving embrace." I told the body of my old friend. Where was Sithis?

By the nine... what had I done? For the first time in years, I began to tremble, a leaf shaking in a gale. The blood-red silver weapon seemed to weigh a ton as the blood on the hilt caused it reason to fall, and it slipped from its owner's hand. Metal on stone sounded as the weapon clattered on the cobble, and I fell to my knees, ruby-stained palms mixing with the blood and dust and bloody dust on the floor. My heart must remain cold... the killer's soul had no room for useless emotion. I had killed my friend. My best friend.

My only friend.

I wept.

Fin

Frostfall the 17th, 2:43 AM
The Purification is complete, each of my family slain. I should report to the Speaker to inform him of my success.