Chapter 3. 3E 223, 15 Frostfall.
The early morning sun was streaming in through his window when Drathos Arris fell unwillingly back into consciousness. His tongue lashed out across his parched lips and for a long while he simply laid in bed and tried to will himself back to sleep. As he did so, short flashes of the previous night began to slowly work their way back into his memory like grains of sand trickling into the bottom of an hourglass. First drinking at the Black Skalk, then being thrown from the whole foreign quarter by force, then finally falling into the bed at the Inn that he was laying in now sometime around dawn. He also seemed to remember a rather attractive young woman being there at some time. Smiling to himself he reached out across the top of the blankets, searching for the soft touch of bare skin that would confirm his fantasies. This eventually turned out to be useless, and to make matters worse, he had to piss. With a groan he brought his arms underneath himself and opened his eyes.
"Oh good, you're awake. I was beginning to wonder if I would be of any use at all" A deep and sensual feminine voice poured out of the far corner of the room like blood from a wound. "Though I must say, drinking yourself to death would have been quite a bit less painful."
Drathos spun to face the owner of the voice. As he sat up, his stomach heaved from the rapid movement causing him to lean over the side of the bed and vomit up what remained of the previous night's frivolities.
Whoever it was, was lounging in a chair watching him, their legs crossed and their arms wresting on their knees. Their face was covered by a strange looking leather mask that in some ways resembled the face of a dunmer man, but then again in some ways resembled the face of a Guar, and an unattractive Guar at that.
The masked one laughed and lithely swung up from the chair, as they did so they brought up a gloved hand and pulled away the mask. Revealing a cascade of tousled bronze hair and a youthful angular face that admittedly was quite beautiful, save for her eyes. Unnerving and strange against her all too human skin her eyes were a deep, hungry crimson, just like his own. Her face was blank, almost serene as she surveyed the room, but those eyes were wild, even feral as they danced frantically over the scene before her, taking in every detail and her nostrils flared with every breath as if she were scenting the air for something. Up this close she was short, so short in fact that her chin would probably have come only to his chest were he standing, but her frame was that of a worrier, with strong shoulders large breasts and wide hips.
As she crossed the room towards him, absently her hand found its way down to the hilt of her sword where she began to run her fingers over the pommel, like a child fiddling with their favorite toy for lack of something better to do with their hands. When she was his side, she casually ran her hands through her hair, pushing several rebellious tawny locks back out of her face.
She then grabbed the rest of her hair and lifted it off the right side of her neck, twisting it around her fingers and laying it over her left shoulder, exposing a pierced and pointed ear, as well as a very fresh tattoo. The skin around the lettering was even still red. The elegant daedric characters scrolled across her neck, appearing to be the beginning of a poem or a sermon, it began "Blessed are the Murderous, for they have found beauty in the grotesque." The next line began similarly with "Blessed are the…" but the rest disappeared further down her neck under her cuirass.
"Who the hell are you?" Drathos demanded.
She smiled as she replied "Housekeeping."
Everything moved very quickly after that. Almost at once she had pounced and was on top of him, straddling his waist with one of her knees against his groin and her blade pressed up against his throat. His mind, still foggy from the previous night spun and he feared that he would vomit again. He blinked several times still struggling to comprehend what had happened.
"I wouldn't bother screaming were I you." She said, her voice still serene and collected, as if she were trying to sell him alchemical ingredients " You'll find your personal guards to be quite indisposed at the moment, you see, I'm here on behalf of Sillmerria, you do remember her don't you, tall, Altmer long black hair?"
He didn't respond, his face blank with fear and lack of understanding, she disregarded his silence and continued.
"No matter, because she certainly does remember you, you did rape her sister after all."
"No No I…" Drathos stammered, but she placed her hand firmly over his mouth, he wriggled his arms underneath her but she leaned forward hard in to his groin, prompting a muffled yelp from the other side of her hand.
She shook her head, her tone now taking on that of a mother disciplining a young child "Now now, were I you, I wouldn't try to move around much either. You see, the quicker we get this over with, the quicker I can be on my way, so I'll tell you how it's going to go."
Drathos swallowed hard, trying desperately to fight against the growing lump in his throat. He did remember Sillmerria, he remembered how she'd found him all those weeks ago, her unconscious sister in his arms, the way that she'd cried when she'd learned what he'd done to her, and even after the guards had burst in, and taken him away in shackles, he'd spent only a week imprisoned over the whole incident. After all, the Imperial judges were rather fond of him, and more to the point they were rather fond of his ties to house Hlaalu.
"I'm going to slit your throat from ear to ear, then I think I'll stay to see what happens, because I really am wondering…will you suffocate, or will you drown in your own blood first?"
Drathos started to struggle wildly, his muffled screams were shoved back down his throat by her strong grip as she pressed the blade against his flesh. His vision blurred with tears as she pulled the icy metal through his skin. Bolts of acidic sensation crawled across his scalp, followed by an unbearable searing pain, then came the sickening and audible "pop" when his windpipe finally gave way under the pressure. She pulled her hand away from his mouth and his diaphragm convulsed, his lungs trying to expel the blood that was now pouring into them. Though as his throat closed he only gaged, sending what little was still in his stomach up and into the gaping hole now in his neck.
With tears now streaming down his face the girl brought her blade through the very last right portion of his neck, immediately he was drenched in his own blood, hot wet and acrid it poured from him and onto the sparse straw mattress.
Seemingly satisfied with her work the girl sat back and re sheathed her blade. Slowly dismounting him and placing her feet back on the floor. Smiling as she began to pace back and forth in front of the bed.
As his mind began to cloud, Drathos felt his bladder release, flooding the pool of blood now surrounding him with urine, though he almost didn't notice. Something heavy was pulling at his very soul, dragging him away from the horror. It was almost as if he was being slowly submerged in a tub of deep cool water, the pain was slowly draining away, being replaced by a frigid emptiness. Black spots began to appear in front of his eyes, first dancing; disappearing and reappearing at will as if they possessed some kind of ethereal consciousness of their own, harbingers of the next world, calling for him.
"Do you feel that?" came a voice, sweet though distant, as if the speaker was on the other side of a pane of glass. "You're dying Drathos."
His lips parted, he wanted to tell whoever was speaking to be quiet, to leave him to the stillness that he was so quickly approaching, he wanted quiet, but the voice wouldn't stop.
"Now, I've never experienced this for myself. But I must admit that I'm quite fascinated, and am rather knowledgeable on the subject, but this is meant to be a learning experience, so do please feel free to stop me if I've got something wrong." She continued "I've been told, that your scenes should be leaving you in a rather ordered manner. Right now your vision should be going, in a couple seconds, you wont be able to see anything. Then touch and taste, and as they say, when one diminishes the others flourish, well following that logic, I'd wager that you can still even smell my perfume."
Drathos could feel himself slipping away, he needed to go, whatever was pulling at him was gaining strength, but that voice. Now it was even louder than ever, as if it were only inches from his ear. Pounding against his fading mind.
"The last to go, is your hearing, and if my sources are correct, then you'll be able to hear my voice….even after your heart stops beating."
((Short I know, but I'd rather have it be short and sweet than long and ramblish. So I'm planning on doing frequent but short updates, so stay tuned (: ))