When they came for him, Arch-Mage Scythe was ready.
He knew the watch wouldn't remain ignorant forever, that his position in the Dark Brotherhood would be noticed at some time or another. But he'd been bored. Since the defeat of Mannimarco and the considerable amount of celebration that followed, including his promotion to Arch-Mage proper, there had really been very little for Scythe to do. He'd perfected the death spell. Alchemy held no interest for him. What was he to do?
Then, after a field test of the death spell (which inflicted huge amounts of damage in a combination of all three damage elements to avoid any magic resistance) in which he had murdered-no, euthanized a beggar on the waterfront, the man had come to the tower.
Scythe remembered the night vividly, even though it had been over three months ago. He had been writing at his desk, an excited letter to his friend and ally Jauffre, grandmaster of the Blades, informing him of the spell, when he had fallen asleep. It must have been for less than a minute, but the next moment, the air grew cold. In the same instant, Scythe's enhanced psychic abilities sensed somebody, a shadow in the dark.
He had spun, unleashing a bolt of icy lightning towards the shadow, but it hit nothing. Instead, there had been a deep laugh, and a man stepped into the light.
He was an Imperial, clothed in a jet black robe, his head and some of his face covered by a hood. A silver shortsword hung in a simple leather sheath at his waist, and his very aura sent a chill running down Scythe's spine.
"So jumpy, Arch-Mage...to be expected from a murderer." The man's voice held a tone of mocking in it, and his mouth moved disembodied from the hidden eyes under the shadow cast by the hood. Scythe found the courage to reply.
"Who are you? How did you enter my quarters?" Scythe's voice was shaken, and his defined Breton features were set in an expression of fear. The man's face did not change from his smirk.
"The secrets of levitation are not confined to those fortunate enough to reside in Vvardenfell, Arch-Mage. I am Lucien Lachance, Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, Arch-Mage, are a murderer."
"No!" Scythe snapped at the man, forgetting his fear. "He was only a beggar! Useless and starving! I was putting him out of his-"
"Misery?" Lachance interrupted, his grin broadening. "And was it your place, Arch-Mage Scythe, to judge whether dear little Ancus was miserable?"
The use of the beggars name, which Scythe had not even known, made him wonder what he was facing here. The man was a powerful mage, as was clear from his knowledge of levitation, and presumably invisibility and chameleon spells.
"I...he was...I'm not..." Scythe could only stutter. Lachance held up his hands in a surrender-like gesture.
"Peace, Arch-Mage. I come not to judge. Rather, I come to make you an offer. An offer of brotherhood."
"You mean...become an assassin? Like you?" Scythe could not contain his surprise at Lachance's words, and it was all too evident in his voice. Lachance chuckled.
"Does that concept disgust you so much, Arch-Mage? Consider this; your once-great life has become a tedious schedule of frivulous tasks; the Relics of the Crusader gather dust in your Skingrad residence, you sold the Imperial Dragon armour to buy a horse, the Shivering Isles wither and die without the guiding hand of the true Sheogorath to guide them."
"How do you know this?" Scythe's shock was at an all-time high. Fair enough, being the Champion of Cyrodiil was hardly something he could hide, and the Crusader Quest was easy enough to discover what with the Knights of the Nine galloping around doing heroic things, but his exploits in the Shivering Isles were known to him and him alone. He had never told anybody.
"My dear Arch-Mage, it is my job. Now, tell me, what of my proposal?" Lachance's hood had slipped slightly, revealing eyes that were dark and cold yet glimmered with an unnatural spark that gave the impression of humour and joy.
Scythe thought. Lachance had a point; his adventuring days had been left in the dust since his promotion to Arch-Mage, his duties overshadowing all else. The Crusader Relics had rejected him since the murder, and he hadn't visited the Isles in over a year. Maybe Lachance had something to take away the tedium of his everyday life. Scythe looked up, and outstretched his hand.
"Mr Lachance, I accept." Those four words would seal Scythe's fate, if only he knew it.
"Excellent." Instead of shaking the hand, Lachance pressed the hilt of a small black dagger decorated with elaborate gold detail into it. "This is a virgin blade; on the Green Road north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen, inside which sleeps a man named Rufio. You, Arch-Mage, must take his life. Know this: Rufio sleeps his days away, and you could kill him even without awaking him should you wish it."
"But why must he die?" Scythe asked.
"Because it is the will of the Night Mother, Arch-Mage. We do her bidding." One last smirk, then there was a gust of wind through the now-open window, and Lachance had vanished.
Scythe looked down at the dagger in his hand, then stripped off his blue Arch-Mage robes. He pulled on a set of plain mage's robes and covered his head with the hood, then stowed the blade under his robes and set off out of the portals and into the night.
Since that night, Scythe had reaped exactly four souls for the Night Mother; the pirate Gaston Tussaud, the old man Baenlin, his old jail-mate Valen Dreth and the High Elf Faelian. But then it had all gone wrong. A side-assassination, given to him by the irritating Khajjit M'raaj Dar. Kill one rogue mage in Bruma. It was simple.
But it had been a trap. The mage had known they'd come for him. When Scythe blasted him with the death spell, the town guard had burst from the basement and attacked, resulting in a very frantic escape. His hood had slipped. They knew who he was.
They had turned over the Arcane University looking for him; searched every guild hall including the ruined one in Bruma; and now, they had come for him in his last refuge. Frostcrag Spire. And now the Imperial Legion were marching towards him.
Scythe stood up, and headed for the door of his study. He had to complete the other traps, even as he heard the screams of men caught in the blasts of lightning triggered by their footsteps. The Legion was not perturbed, and continued onwards. A small smile tugged the corners of Scythe's mouth.
This was going to be interesting.