Bold and italic- Antoinetta's thoughts (may switch to other characters, will tell you)
Normal and italic- Mhezsura's thoughts (throughout whole story)
This type of writing is any other character's thoughts.
Everything bold is normal.
Any spelling 'mistakes' during Mhezsura's thoughts or speech represent the way she talks.
IMPERIAL LEGION NAMES THOSE RESPONSIBLE!
THERE HAVE BEEN MANY MYSTERIOUS SLAYINGS IN THE IMPERIAL CITY OVER THE PAST FEW WEEKS AND YET, UNTIL RECENTLY THE IMPERIAL LEGION HAS REFUSED TO RELEASE DETAILS ON THE VARIOUS CRIMES. OR EVEN WHO MIGHT BE BEHIND SAID ATROCITIES.
THAT HAS CHANGED. FROM BEHIND THE DESK HIMSELF, ADAMUS PHILLIDA [CELEBRATED GUARD CAPTAIN OF THE IMPERIAL GUARD] REVEALS HIS THOUGHTS ON THE MANNER. WE HAVE THE EXCLUSIVE DETAILS BEHIND EVERY MURDER AND A POTENTIAL SUSPECT.
SO, WHO ARE THE VICTIMS OF THESE CRIMES? WHAT DO THEY HAVE IN COMMON?
The victims of these crimes were mostly defenceless- in other terms, very easy to overcome quickly. There appears to be no apparent connection between each of the victims, except they have been male.
WAIT, WHAT ABOUT THE FEEDHOLE MASSACRE?
The 'Feedhole Massacre' we believe is irrelevant to the rest of the crimes- evidence suggests that only either a small group of people or one single, highly-trained 'professional' would have the skill necessary. The murderer for the other cases, however, seems to be... reckless almost.
HOW ARE THEY ALMOST RECKLESS? PLEASE EXPLAIN
He [or she] are very theatrical. Each of their kills have an element of gore and shock. Almost like advertising. In the art of catching these types of murderer, they usually make one mistake. It only takes one mistake to catch them
WHAT ABOUT THE MURDERER? ARE YOU ANY CLOSER TO IDENTIFYING THEM?
I have ideas of who- or what- it might be. That's all I can say at the moment, unfortunately.
WHAT ABOUT THE LATEST MURDER? CAN YOU TELL US WHO THE VICTIM WAS?
Sure, I can tell you. The victim was called Stefan Levefre- another Imperial as people are being told. In fact, he was Breton; but that does little to diffuse the situation. The manner in which Mr. Levefre was killed was similar to Valen Dreth and Gaston Tussaud [the past two victims]- he was hung. And his upper body was nearly ripped off, from his legs.
VERY NASTY INDEED. WHAT DOES THIS SAY ABOUT THE IDENTITY OF THE MURDERER?
I'm afraid I can't release those types of details, for the safety of all citizens surrounded by the Imperial City walls. However, I can say that the killer wasn't strong enough to cut clean through the bone.
SO, IT COULD BE A WOMAN?
Perhaps.
AND SO WE HAVE ADAMUS PHILLIDA ON THE CASE.
How? How can they! S'wit, n'wah, xuth!
Antoinetta grew worried. She could see the storm, and yet she couldn't find any shelter from Sonnerset's anger. The Black Horse Courier grew slack in her hands; the corners dipping slightly in her porridge. Or sludge, as Uvani would say when it was one of his 'bad' days. She could see the anger build up in Sonnerset's cheeks. As could everyone else.
Lucien looked bored. As per the usual.
Bellamont had an eyebrow raised with concern.
Gogron looked alarmed.
Vincente was smirking along with Arquen- they both noticed that, and sort-of smiled at each other. In a creepy way.
M'raaj- D'ar was grinning.
Telaendril was the first to make a move. She reached a hand across, and lightly touched Mhezsura's shoulder. The Dunmer glared at her, the red-fires of her eyes burning into the wood-elf. She rejected Telaendril's attention, her face heating up. Shook her head. And stormed out of her chair.
That made M'raaj- D'ar grin even harder.
Later, 'Netta walked past a small room, on her way to the kitchens. It was her turn to cook- she had decided on a nice soufflé , stuffed with spices and garlic. Stifle and shuffle. She overheard something- a sob? Her small ear pressed against the oak door, and listened.
To an orchestra of sadness.
She could hear the pitiful sobs, but they struggled to make sense to her. What on Nirn? Something propelled her to twist the doorknob, and forced her through the door frame. There, as a small bundle on the ground laid Mhezsura. Her little face had dark strains falling from the corner of her eyes. Her black hair was wild and untamed. Antoinetta sighed at the pitiful sight.
"You probably think I'm stupid, right?" Mhezsura said, curling herself up. She wiped her arm across her nose, her eyes gleaming slightly.
"No, just misdirected" answered Antoinetta. Mhezsura looked startled. "The Dark Brotherhood 'accounts' people for business and entertainment and for no other reason. Especially fame" She looked sternly at Mhezsura, whose mouth was stuttering slightly. "The only reason I'm telling you this is because it is the truth" Antoinetta had crouched down beside her whilst she had been telling the truth. Mhezsura nodded.
"Come on. You can help me cook soufflés." Antoinetta stood up, reaching a hand towards the dark elf.
"Soufflés?" Sonnerset asked, taking her hand.
"I'll show you."
"No! You're supposed to melt the butter first!" Antoinetta shrieked. Mhezsura had added the white, snow flour to the iron pan too quickly.
"Was I? Shit!" Mhezsura cursed loudly, making Antoinetta giggle. "Don't laugh a' me! It's not funny!" Mhezsura said, shaking her head as she banged the pan against a worktop, trying to get the flour out.
"I can see you already failing alchemy- and somehow, there might be an explosion involved" Antoinetta said. A hard knock to her ribs nearly took the breath out of her. "Hey!" she laughed.
Mhezsura smiled brightly at her. That's better- that's the Mhezi I know. "So, can you tell me why?" Antoinetta asked, her tone serious.
"Wha'?" Mhezsura asked back, her voice bouncing across the wooden worktop. She sat herself down on a tired chair, tucked in a small corner. Antoinetta grabbed an old chair- the wood cracked in places- and sat in front of her; her chest resting on it's frame.
"Why you think that being in the Dark Brotherhood will mean fame." Antoinetta said simply, trying to keep her voice fairy-light. Mhezsura tried to look away but found she couldn't: I should jus' tell her.
She tidied herself up, brushed her wrists free of flour and said:
"When I was a teen, I ust to live with me aunt an' uncle. Me aunt told me one day: 'You'll die and nobody will ever knew you even exis'ed. Nobody will even care. I cer'ainly won'. From tha' day, all I could t'ink about was tha'" Mhezsura finished, feeling numb. "But wha' you jus' said, abou' money and fun- I guess tha's more impor'ant."
Antoinetta smiled slightly at that. Mhezsura smirked a little.
"You know'- Antoinetta began, in a conspirator's whisper- "Vincente is allergic to garlic. And M'raaj-D'ar absolutely despises having to eat it."Mhezsura's smirk widened quickly. She stood up and strode over to the counter. The counter was where all the food supplies were- especially her objective. Glistening like a treasure, the garlic cloves shone to her eyes. She ripped one off the stem, and began to break way the layers. Antoinetta had the sharp knife in hand. They grinned manically, as they mixed it into the creamy roux. Antoinetta chucked a fistful of cinnamon into the roux, folding the flavour over the wood spoon- the air stank of cinnamon and spice as it cooked in small portions.
Dinner. A full table and on each spotless plate was a steaming, light-brown soufflé . Vincente was surprised- Antoinetta managed to cook something for a change. And it looks nice as well. Mhezsura smiled politely at him. He snarled silently, at that pug-like face of hers.
"You may eat my brothers and sisters." Antoinetta said simply, from her sat position at the head of the table. They tucked in eagerly- apart from Mhezsura, who seemed to be grinning too much. Vincente tried a small slice- the cinnamon had overpowered his sense of smell. A cold heat swarmed over him.
Oh shit.
He spluttered. And coughed up his food, over his plate. People began to try and drink the taste of garlic and cinnamon off their tongues, until they found the wine spiked with more garlic. An epidemic spread across the table- with only two people smiling.
Mhezsura and Antoinetta high-fived each other and giggled at Vincente's angry face.
"Poison. A deadly, efficient weapon that strikes silently," lectured Lachance. His face was shrouded in black, as he paced across the small hall. Mhezsura nodded. "You have another contract to do. One that requires stealth and technique- something the Legion won't suspect." He had leaned close to her, and whispered that in her ear. A cold shiver ran down her spine. "You are to kill Dark'eth Hare- a Redguard necromancer in the Imperial City, a staunch opponent to the next candidate for the Arch-Mage position. You are to poison him. How you do so, is up to you"
And he marched off, slipping a vial of green liquid into her hand. She walke din the opposite direction- with Antoinetta's words in her head. They made sense.
And for that, she was grateful.
Men! Show 'em a lit'le skin, and they trip over. It was easy to ge' in tha' Arcane Ooniversi'y place- a lo' of people around tho'. Mages. Never liked 'em- cowards I t'ink. But Lucyen needs this dun. S'eps leading up to a posh en'rance, wit a mage ei'her side. I push throo' and come in'o tis small room- twu small benches lying opposi'e each o'her. Comfy carpet, I give 'em tha'. Dark'eth Hare- I asked round for him. Talked to a lit'le wood elf 'bout 'im. She said he was havin' dinner, in his quar'ers. Dumb betch told me righ' where 'e were- in the norph wing.
Careful. Mus' ge' there. Slip poison. And leave. Simple. Righ'? 'Rong. I had to ge' past these guards. Then in'o his quar'ers wit'out Hare knowing. Ther' was a' lees' twu guards ou'side his door. Lured them away like a fish to bai' by thumpin' my boot's agains' the flur. They ran on over bu' I'd already gone behin' a pot plan'- sneaked pas' un' all. Easier tha' I though'.
Dark'eth Hare sa' at the table, wit his lunch. He didn' see me un'il I made my way across the room. He didn' seem upse' tho'- I tol' 'im, nuh, your dead. He said he was as wel'. I go' my poison ou', and someting came over me. Someting exciting. Someting nuw. I liked i'- I pulle' his head back gen'ly and poure' the poison down his throa'. His eyes faded to black. And I le' go of his head, and run.
Now, I tink murder will never be the same.