Heart and bones
A heartbroken Nord summons the Dark Brotherhood, but it does not work out quite as he thought it would.
Edvard shivered. Frostfall had announced itself this year with sharp polar winds that had made their way from the Sea of Ghosts and now swept over the tundra. Or perhaps he shuddered at the thought of his intentions for that night.
'I swear I saw a dragon at High Hrothgar!'
At first, Edvards feet were nailed to the ground. He regained control over his body just in time to dart away towards the Temple of Kynareth and crouch down. Two guards were patrolling the area an hour later than Edvard had expected them to. For the past few weeks he had closely monitored the patrol routes and schedules, and he had chosen the night the laziest guards were supposed to be on duty. Too lazy, so it seemed. Their yellow garb seemed oddly orange in the light of the torch one of them was carrying.
'Please, Arne, I have never seen you ascend the staircase to Dragonsreach without catching your breath halfway there. You can understand my skepticism towards you climbing the Throat of the World, eh?' the torch-wielding guard snorted, his Nordic accent thick.
'This was in another life, before I had -'
'Yes, yes, your knee injury,' Arne's interlocutor sighed. 'Let's get you to the Bannered Mare so you can tell me all about this dragon.'
Soon enough the guards were gone and Edvard's eyes had to adapt to the darkness once more. He snuck back onto the road and then down the staircase to the Hall of the Dead. Inside, he was relieved to find the priest had fallen asleep in front on the Shrine of Arkay and he was able to make his way to the catacombs unhindered.
The many candles lighting the catacombs gave the low-hanging vapor an eerie hue. Some of it filled his nostrils with the scent of herbs, embalming oil and a slight undertone of decay. Edvard shivered once more, but the crypts were actually not all that cold. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls as he made his way to the eldest alcoves - where the eldest corpses lay.
He chose his victim at random and approached the body, of which only the bones remained. Edvard was just about to touch the clavicle when the ribcage moved and squeaked. He recoiled. The sudden surge of panic nauseated Edvard and he threw up.
Upon closer examination he saw a rat scurrying about in the ribcage. He grabbed the animal and threw it far away, projecting on it the anger he felt towards himself for his cowardice.
His fingers lingered over the bones of the anonymous body and he searched his feelings. He looked down upon the wedding ring he still wore and filled up with so much hatred that it dispelled any lingering doubts he had about desecrating the grave. One by one he placed the bones inside the jute bag he had brought with him. He was fully aware that he was loitering, but he needed some time to mentally prepare for what he was going to do next.
Eventually he swung the bag over his shoulder and made his way back to the entrance of the catacombs, where the recently deceased lay. Again he picked a random alcove, but was shocked to find the body of a child. He quickly sought another body and found the recently embalmed body of a man who had reached a ripe old age.
Edvard took the silver dagger from his belt and plunged it into the man's chest. The sound of bones cracking was distasteful to say the least. Bodily fluids poured out of the cavity Edvard had created. He tore apart the man's chest with his bare hands, ignoring the bone splinters that were carving into his hands as best as he could. Edvard collected the heart and a pectoral muscle and left for home.
Within the privacy of his house he lit the candles he had bought and placed them in a circle to enclose the effigy he was about to build. When the lighting was proper he rearranged the bones to resemble a human body again and placed the heart and pectoral muscle accordingly. Finally, he took some Nightshade from his alchemy supplies and rubbed the bloodied blade of his dagger against the petals. He knelt down in the middle of the circle and whispered: 'Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.'
Sadira sighed impatiently. Most people who had performed the Black Sacrament were shocked when an assassin actually shows up. This Nord was no different. The man was pale and trembling as he got up from the effigy.
'I presume you are Edvard?' Sadira asked somewhat bored. She plucked at a strap of her Shrouded Armor.
'Y-y-yes,' stammered the blonde Nord.
'Right. Well, your case is a bit… unusual. Which is why you're required to pay upfront.'
'Unusual?'
'Yes, but rest assured that I can still help you.'
The Nord seemed to trust her and searched the strongbox in his bookcase for the reward. Or perhaps he was just too scared to defy her and saw no other option than to do as she had said. Either way, he returned with what seemed to be a very expensive amulet.
'This should cover the expenses.'
Sadira examined it and concluded that it would probably suffice for two murders.
She grinned and said: 'It should indeed. Now, I'm informed the intended victim is Dagmar of Rorikstead, your former lover?'
'This is true,' the Nord nodded.
'Consider it done.'
'Thank you… Wait, how do you know about the fact that she's my former lover? he asked Sadira warily.
Sadira smiled and replied: 'Because she sends her regards.'
She gave the man some time to process what he'd just heard. His blue eyes widened and filled with terror when the implication of her words sunk in. Before he was able to act upon it she had already drawn her dagger and slit his throat. With a loud thump his lifeless body fell to the wooden floor.
Sadira fled the building and made her way back to Rorikstead. One contract down, one to go.