Looking around the relatively few buildings, Sable was reminded again why she didn't like coming to Morthal. If there was such a place that could be described as the arm pit of Skyrim, this was it. There was an inn, the jarl's residence, one alchemy shop, and a handful houses that made up the Hold city of Hjaalmarch hold. How the mass of swap land had become a hold, she could only guess. Perhaps it was because no one else in their right mind wanted the land and so it was made into one so the rest could define the borders of their holds as not being a part of Hjaalmarch.
The White Deathbell was here to find her target, an orc named Brugdul gro-Durog. Details weren't normally given on minor contracts, so she didn't know why the orsimer was wanted dead, but she really didn't care. This would be her first opportunity to prove death powerless since the disturbing 'meeting' with the priest of Arkay and the ensuing nightmare.
The orc was known to live out in the marshes alone to the west of Morthal so Sable had hired a carriage driver to take her to the hold city, figuring she could make her way from foot from there. However, the carriage ride had taken longer than she anticipated and now the sun was beginning to set. Travelling through swamps infested with frostbite spiders and chaurus was dangerous enough in during the day, but with dusk already giving away to night, she resigned herself to staying the night in Morthal.
The white-haired assassin walked towards the inn making sure to keep her long cloak pulled close so as not to reveal the black and dark red leather armor of the Dark Brotherhood she wore underneath it. As she passed by the jarl's longhouse towards the inn just beyond, one of the guards walking in the opposite direction reached her. He had studied her the entire time as they approached each other and as he came within earshot of a hoarse whisper, the guard gave her a shock.
"Psst," he whispered, "I know who you are."
Sable's left arm shot out and grabbed the guard. An instant later, she spun him to her right and into the shadowed gap between the longhouse and the inn. Before the guard knew what happened, she had him pinned again the wall of the inn with her elven dagger slid up under the full face of his helmet. The edge of the blade was poised just a hair away from the skin of his neck.
"And just who do you think I am?" The assassin whispered back menacingly.
"I only meant that I know you are of the Dark Brotherhood." The guard stuttered nervously, his eyes wide. "I know the pattern on your boots from … dealings … I've had with them. I meant no ill will."
"I think it would be best if this … misunderstanding had never happened." Sable suggested. The guard nodded carefully.
"Of course," he stammered, "my apologies. Hail Sithis."
Sable removed her blade from the man's neck, let him off the wall and walked away. The shaken guard took a moment before resuming his patrol.
The next morning, Sable left just after dawn. She struck out west into the marshland hoping the camp of Brugdul gro-Durog wouldn't be difficult to find and that she wouldn't have to deal with many pests along the way. She kept her cloak wanting to remain as unremarkable as possible until she actually made it to her target.
Fortunately, the assassin only had to deal with one relatively small frostbite spider before eventually finding the orc's camp. The camp was not large. It had a small fire in the middle and a tent pitched on the north side. He sat on a log running west to east near a stew pot set over the fire with a large battle axe resting close to his left, wearing only a pair of hide pants. He was much larger than most orcs with a heavily muscled torso and arms to match. There was a long scar that ran down the right side of his face barely missing the brute's eye. He hadn't seemed to have noticed her yet just sitting there poking at the fire or stirring whatever was bubbling in the stew pot.
Sable didn't drop into a crouch as she approached. She wanted to him to see her. She could have of course snuck up on him and ended his life (especially since her enchanted boots made no sound as she stepped), but doing so would have been fruitless. She would not learn whether or not she was more powerful than death if she never gave it a chance to try to take her.
As she neared, Durog saw her and immediately stood, placing his hand on the haft of his huge axe. Sable showed her hands, palm up and empty to show she was not armed and meant no harm. The orc didn't change his stance at all.
"Stop there, stranger," his rumbling voice called out, "unless you want to be split in two."
"I mean no hostility toward you," Sable answered in her best lost and helpless voice. "I fear I have become lost in these marshes. I saw your camp and approached hoping to gain assistance."
She lowered the hood from her cloak. Upon seeing her as a human female, the orc took his hand from his weapon and sat back down. Sable closed the distance and stood near a stump sitting a few feet away from his log on the east side of the camp.
"What were you doing wandering the swamps in the first place?" The orsimer inquired without looking at her, concentrating on what was cooking. "Was there some specific purpose in mind or are you some kind of grand fool?"
"Actually, I came here to kill you," came the reply.
The orc laughed at first, but when he heard no other laughter he looked up to the new comer. Sable smiled and removed her cloak, letting it drop to the ground. She stood there a moment in her black and sanguine leather armor, basking in the befuddled look on his face.
"I am from the Dark Brotherhood and it's time for you to die."
Durog instantly went for his axe, but Sable was ready for the move. A flick of her wrist sent a throwing knife whistling through the air that pinned the orc's hand to the log he was sitting on. He looked back up to her in disbelief. She smiled and slowly drew her elven daggers. She stepped forward to end Durog's life, but then the blasted orc ruined the whole thing.
Seeing her intent, he kicked the stew pot at her, causing the boiling content to spray in her direction. Sable threw herself to her right in a roll knowing it was her only chance to avoid being scalded or worse. She felt the heat as some of the liquid splashed onto her lower legs, but knew her armor would minimize the damage. As soon as she came out of her roll she heard a howl of rage come from Durog behind and she turned back to face him just in time to see him rip his hand from the blade holding it to the log.
Blood gushed all over the log. Durog panted heavily in pain. He glanced down to his hand. It was pouring blood and now useless for wielding his giant axe. Sable began to stalk her way back toward him both daggers still in hand. In response, the orc reached across his body and, amazingly, picked up his axe. It was clear from the strain in his muscles that he would be unable to fight with only one hand, but it seemed the orc didn't plan to as he curled his arm and hurled the weapon at the assassin.
Sable dodged the clumsy throw easily, but found it had only been a distraction. He rushed her and wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug. He lifted her from the ground and flexed his monstrous arms, squeezing the air from her. The crush was so quick and complete it immediately forced her breath from her. On reflex, she gasped trying to draw more. The orsimer took the opportunity to squeeze tighter and empty her lungs even further and causing her to lose her hold on her daggers. They fell harmlessly to the ground.
Sable held her breath knowing it was the only way to counteract the constriction, but her chest burned for air and the edges of her vision were starting the blur.
"You, horrid bitch!" Durog roared. "I may die from the blood loss, but I'm making sure I take you with me. See you on the other side."
As he finished, there was a loud crack, and Sable felt a rib pop out of place. She involuntarily screamed what air she had left from the pain. The orc tightened his grip and she nearly passed out from the wave of pain that crashed over her. She began to see twinkles of light in her vision.
There was nothing left to do unless she was going to give death the victory, so she used what little she had left and thrashed. Sithis was with her, as her knee suddenly came in violent contact with her assailant's groin. Instantly she was free. Durog dropped her to the ground as he went crashing to the ground in a heap.
Sable gulped for air. It was a bittersweet experience. Sweet, wonderful air swept into her lungs and caused a fit of coughing from the searing agony that overtook her from the dislocated rib. This continued over and over as she made a clumsy grab for her daggers and scrambled away trying to put distance between her the Divines cursed orc.
She made it to a large stump about a half dozen steps away from the camp and immediately put her back to it hoping that she made it there fast enough that Durog wouldn't have seen her and she could have a moment to gather herself. She found that she had managed to grab one of her treasured elven daggers in her desperate escape.
It was mind numbingly difficult to keep from groaning every time she took a breath. The out of place rib continually throbbed out rolls of pain. Just then she heard Durog roar in rage.
"Curse you, you harlot!" The orc screamed. "I'm going to tear your limbs off and beat you to death with them!"
The white haired Nord clutched her dagger as her own anger rose within into a seething hot rage boiling her very being. It was time to end this and to do so very painfully. Slowly she turned herself around and tensed into a tight crouch, ready to spring. Still hidden behind the stump, she called out to her target.
"Is that all you've got, you son of a pig? I've been dealt worse from the chickens in Riverwood!"
His bellow of wrath told her that he heard her and the thundering of his steps told her he was heading in her direction as fast as he could in a homicidal frenzy. She dared not peek around her hiding place and give away her exact location, so she could only go on the rapidly increasing volume of his rampage and her instincts. If the timing wasn't perfect, it would probably mean the end of The White Deathbell Legend before it ever really got started.
She did her best to push the pain away and concentrate on the task at hand, focusing only on the sound of Durog's charge and on her instincts, trusting them to tell her the perfect time to strike. He was almost there. Her legs were aching with need. But she ignored them, keeping the muscles tight; wanting every ounce of power she could muster for the leap. One fraction of a second more and …
She sprung! Leading with the hilt of her dagger, she thrust her arm out as she leaped from her hiding place. The eagle head that served as the pommel smashed into the left side of the orc's face. Sable felt the crunch of bone breaking as the orsimer's feet were thrown out from under him. The force jammed her elbow painfully against the socket as she was spun away from Durog as he crashed heavily on his back too dazed to do anything more than howl in pain.
The assassin rolled into her landing and quickly got up and raced back towards the still downed orc. Blood fountained from his mouth. The blow had knocked at least 2 teeth from his mouth and broken his left tusk. Starting to recover, Durog lifted his hands to his face to cover the pain. Sable, wanting to see him suffer, darted forward and hacked at them. The elven blade removed three of his fingers in a new spray blood.
The orc howled and flailed with arms. One connected solidly with her abdomen throwing her to the ground. Pain flashed anew from the dislodged rib.
Sable screamed in pain and anger as she regained her footing and threw herself at Durog. She didn't care about anything anymore except making him dead. The assassin plunged her dagger into his exposed belly and dragged the blade across the orc; spilling his innards. Durog grunted and gargled and then finally went still.
Sable fell back to the ground. She sat there covered in orc blood for moment panting in pain and exhaustion, but her lips spread into a smile. She had proved more powerful than death. It had tried to claim her, but had been rebuffed. She had won this day. It was exhilarating.
She knew she needed to move away from the place. It probably wouldn't take the spiders and chaurus long to pick up the scent of blood and come investigate. Sable rose and retrieved her cloak and her other elven dagger. She decided against placing one of her special white deathbell flowers on Durog. It was unlikely anyone would find him before the swamp vermin tore him to pieces.
Slipping her cloak back on, The White Deathbell began the painful journey back to Morthal. With any luck, she could keep her cloak pulled around her until she could get a bath and no one would notice she was covered in blood that was not her own.