It was dark outside when the Khajiit returned to his room.

He spent about three minutes on his knees, thanking me for coming and verbally kissing my boots before he could compose himself and tell me what was to be done. Frankly, he annoyed me - the Khajiit I had dealed with previously had all been a lot tougher than this pathetic excuse for one.

He eventually managed to tell me about the target - a Breton called Arasbjord, who lived in Markarth, my currently least-favourite city. Great. At least the Khajiit paid well.

Arasbjord's supposed 'crime' was ripping off this Khajiit. The majority of the Khajiit were merchants, traders, who valued their money greatly. When they were cheated out of it, they tended to retaliate disproportionately.

A deal made, I left the inn, quickly dispatching a suspicious guard and leaving his body propped up on a bench, and left Riften.

Markarth was literally on the other side of the province, and I took about two days to reach it. I made a stop at an inn in Falkreath along the way. The thing about Dark Brotherhood armour is that it is so instantly recognisable and so synonymous with an instant, unexpected and untimely death that you tend to get lower prices from merchants and innkeepers, none of whom fancied annoying a career killer.

The city of Markarth was, thankfully, not in the cold part of Skyrim (the majority of it), and was relatively warm. However, the fact that I was travelling there in the middle of Evening Star (one of the coldest months) lessened the feeling of satisfaction this brought me. The Sanctuary was not a warm place, being near the top of a mountain, so I tended to enjoy what warmth I could get. I would have to make do with this for now.

When I arrived, I left the horse in a stable, making sure to intimidate the stable boy, who recognised me from my last visit, into not telling the guards I was here on pain of death (not for him, for his horse). Horse settled and stable boy terrified, I made my way into the Hold.

Every time I entered Markarth, I had to hold back an involuntary gasp of wonder. The city was built up from ancient Dwemer ruins, in what used to be an expansive cavern before the ceiling fell in, leaving natural rock walls with an open sky. To my immediate right was a bustling marketplace, with a meat stall run by an impatient-looking man and a jewellery store, run by an enthusiastic-sounding woman. I walked into the market, knowing I'd find my target there, rather than going left towards the waterfalls, streams and workshops.

A brown-clad guard eyed me suspiciously through the eyeholes of his helmet, before his attention was caught by a drunken brawl several meters away. He hurried over to break it up, and I rushed past him before he could return his attention to me.

Arasbjord was a merchant who had set up a fruit stall in the marketplace - however, he was currently away from his station, so, checking to make sure nobody was watching, I quickly scaled the wall of a house less than effortlessly, grunting with exertion. This would have been easier a couple of years ago…

Once I was safely perched on the rooftop, I readied my bow, picking out an arrow from my rather extensive collection. I decided on a Dwarven arrow - it was the most deadly kind I owned, but I didn't have many. The Dwemer had died out long ago, and Dwarven weaponry and metals were getting harder and harder to come by. So, fully prepared, I began to wait.

Eventually, the merchant returned. Calmly and slowly, I raised my bow, aiming for his head. I pulled back the arrow in the bowstring as far as it would go, then, when he as perfectly still, I released the bowstring and let the arrow fly. With a resounding thunk and a splatter of blood, the arrow found its mark. Arasbjord fell backwards, having time for nothing more than a surprised yell. The heads of every person who had witnessed the murder who turned to me, and people started to point and shout. Below, a guard took out his own bow, aiming it up at me. Several others drew swords as one more grabbed a ladder from a pile of building equipment and steadied it against the wall of the house I was stood on. I swore, and leaped forward and off the roof, landing in the crowd and using an unfortunate spectator to cushion my fall. That'd be another forty Septims on my head, then.

I clambered back to my feet and sprinted away from a group of pursuing guards as an arrow whizzed past my head - great, they were shooting at me.

I flew around a corner, pushing past an older woman who fell to the ground in an angry heap. I stopped as I came to the edge of a stream, looking down into the rushing water and listening to the rattle of metal boots on flagstones as guards rushed to catch me. I heard a sword being drawn, and a guard spoke to me in what sounded like a Nordic accent.

'You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defence?' The words were well rehearsed, and this guard had clearly spoken them often.

I turned around to face the guards, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth.

'Goodbye.' I said, as I spread my arms wide and fell backwards, plunging into the freezing water below. The stream was more shallow than I had expected, barely submerging me. Back aching from the impact, I climbed to my feet and up to the other side of the stream as behind me a guard drew his bow and fired, while the others ran after me. I rocketed through the streets and sped through alleys until I looked back and was sure the guards had lost me, at which point I stopped running, got back my bearings and returned to the front gates. I reached to open the gate, when I felt the tip of a sword at the back of my neck.

'Stop right there, criminal scum!'

'Again?' I asked, exasperated. I turned around to face the guard, his face hidden by his helmet, leaving only his eyes visible. He spoke.

'You violated the law,' The guard told me like that hadn't been previously established. 'Your stolen items are now forfeit. Pay the court a fine of serve your sentence.'

'I don't have time for this.' I growled as I grabbed my dagger and plunged it into one of the eyeholes of the guard's helmet. Blood streamed from the hole, and he fell back, pulled off his helmet, and clutched at his eye as he screamingly in blinding agony. Blood splattered the ground, forming a dark red puddle. Another strike with the dagger, this time through his chainmail armour, and the unfortunate guard was silenced, falling back and hitting the ground with a thump. By this time a large crowd had gathered, watching me with mixtures of horror and distain. I nodded a mocking salute, then turned around, opened the gate, and stepped out of Markarth.

But of course, it wasn't that easy.

As I stood with Markarth's front gate behind me, a trio of guards confronted me. They took no time with threats, instead attacking as one. I parried the first guard's lunge, knocking his greatsword from his hands. I picked it up, quickly sheathing my dagger, and swung the heavy blade, removing the guard's head from his shoulders. A shower of blood flew up from his neck and rained down on me and the other two guards.

Another guard attempted a swipe, but I blocked with the greatsword and pushed forwards, knocking the guard off his feet. He fell back and clattered down the stone steps, crashing to the hard ground below and groaning in pain.

The final attacker had fear in his eyes - he'd seen what I was capable of, and was certain he'd come off worse. However, in a feat of bravery, he attempted to plunge his sword into my stomach. I dodged just in time, yet his sword still scraped my side, opening up my armour and leaving a painful cut. Enraged, I swung the greatsword with all my might, and opened his belly. He keeled over backwards, not even having time to scream.

Finally finished, I limped away from the fight, ignored the moans of the guard I had pushed down the steps, instead hobbling past him. I whistled, and within ten seconds my horse was before me. I climbed onto its back, and tugged on the rains. The horse began to speed away as, behind us, guards crashed through the gates. They were too late.

It was almost two days later when I returned to the Sanctuary. Leaving the horse tethered in the stables outside Whiterun city, I turned around and began a two-hour hike across the rolling green plains of Whiterun, taking care to avoid the giant camp nearby.

As I entered the Sanctuary, I heard hushed, whispered voices from up ahead. Curiosity piqued, I quietly proceeded down the entrance hall. I hugged the wall as I came to a corner, and looked around it to see Harvar, Jorrel, and Saras, an Imperial Sister, huddled around a table, examining a map of Skyrim. There were several red exes adorning the map, two or three with iron daggers plunged into them.

'What's this?' I asked, revealing myself. Harvar looked up at me, his expression going from deadly serious to welcoming in about half a second.

'Serebro,' He greeted me. 'I trust the job is completed?'

'Yes. The target was a Breton, named-'

'I'm sure you can tell us all about it later.'

'Sorry. So why the map?' I asked.

'Just planning out a couple of jobs that need doing. We've been contracted to kill an Imperial officer over in Dawnstar. His name's Caecil Derennius.'

'Who's doing the job?' I asked, already certain of the answer.

'You are.' And there it was.

'Good. I'll get onto it tomorrow.' I started to walk away to my quarters.

'Oh, Serebro?' Came Harvar's voice from behind me.

'Yes?' I sighed, turning back to face Harvar.

'M'aiq wants to speak to you.'

M'aiq the Liar, as he and several of his ancestors were known, was a Khajiit. He was also the leader of our Sanctuary. He was also a genius.

M'aiq was a good assassin, to be sure. One of the best. However, he was getting older, and preffered to now spend his time wandering Skyrim disguised as a priest, feigning insanity to draw suspicion from him and using that lack of suspicion to gain information about targets, which he'd then relay back to us younger and therefore more capable assassins. He'd fight when he had to, but only when he had to.

I sat down opposite M'aiq, who looked up at me from a map and smiled.

'Hello, Serebro. M'aiq smells much death on you. You should probably wash that off.'

Okay, when I say feigning insanity, I mean pretending to be more insane than he already was… even if that was already quite a lot.

'…I will,' Was my answer to the leader's ridiculous statement. 'Why did you want me here?'

'Oh, M'aiq just wanted a quick chat,' Explained the Khajiit. 'About murders.'

'Okay, so what do you need?'

'There is a job that needs doing, Serebro. One that our Brothers and Sisters cannot know about.'

'So why me?' I queried, confusion in my voice.

'You're the best, Serebro. You're the one with blood on your hands that will never wash off. You don't enjoy your work, do you?'

I was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. 'No,' I replied honestly. 'I do what I do because it's all I have left.'

'M'aiq knows,' Said M'aiq. 'That will be all for now.'

'But what about the job-'

'Not now.' M'aiq smiled. 'M'aiq just wanted to chat.'

'But you said you had a job to give me.'

'Later.'

'But why tell me you were going to give me a job?' I was confused.

'M'aiq wanted a chat. Now rest, Serebro. You have an Imperial to kill tomorrow, do you not?'