THE BLACK HORSE COURIER-

20. Morning Star, 3E 430

A heinous act of brutal savagery was committed inside the Imperial Prison this morning- Valen Dreth, a prisoner, was found in his cell... dead. The way in which he was killed is far too gruesome to detail; better to leave that to the Imperial Legion to disclose at the proper time.

A large-scale investigation is being launched by Guard Captain Adamus; to not only find the killer [who many say have delivered a great service unto the Imperial City] but also to probe security concerns at the Prison.

Also the Imperial Legion has refused to comment on the disappearance of Guard Captain Audens Avidius despite numerous rumours of his murder at the hands of a prisoner. Sources close to the Black Horse say whoever the killer is, they might be related to both crimes.

Well, as always, to our readers: be careful on the streets.

Because:

Evidently something wicked this way comes.

Cold sunlight danced across dew-covered leaves, the freezing air piercing slightly into her dirty-grey skin. Her eyes darted open, flicking wildly left and right, as she felt someone watching her. Sighing, she twisted herself up lazily- to meet a dark figure, head down, dressed in black, flowing robes. It was an edgy silence between Mhezsura and the Stranger- she glared at him. "Who the fuck ar' ya?" She said loudly, her broad shoulders straightening slightly. Her teeth gritted together, getting more annoyed when said figure didn't respond. "Bugger off," she said rudely, a little anger curling around her words as she spoke.

The shadow tilted its shrouded head, looking like a curious child up to trouble. Then the click of a blade, sliding gently out of a hidden scabbard. Her eyes went wide, as the nasty glint of silver resounded through the air- damn it, do somethin'! - a voice inside her head screamed. Time seemed to slow down, as the figure shifted quickly forward at her; adrenaline coursed through her veins, her heart pumping loudly in her ears. She ducked. The swish of a blade barely above her head, where her throat had been.

Mhezsura, with fury boiling in her veins, aimed a kick to the Stranger's crotch- she released her foot, charging with vicious intent through the air. Her right foot was caught in the Stranger's gruff grip- she tried jerking it away, but its shrouded nails dug into her ankles. She screamed, as the figure tripped her up- she landed square onto her back with a nasty crunch.

She tried to lift her head up; until she felt the cold edge of the Stranger's blade against her throat. Mhezsura gasped and froze.

"A little game, I thought you might like," said a coarse voice, tickling her ear gently. "You killed someone... about three hours ago'- his voice sounded so educated, so strange to her ears-'so, I've come to offer a unique opportunity... to join our 'family' ".
"What'cha mean? Oh..." Mhezsura finally caught on. Ancient rumours swam through her mind- "they say, when you kill someone, the Dark Brotherhood visit you... they ask you to join their insidious 'family', their business as it is...cult of assassins...cold-blooded murderers... terrifying".
"What do you say?" said the voice, a hint of subtle impatience in it. She had already made up her mind, and with a little note of glee, she said: "The ansver's yes." She could feel his smile, as his blade pulled away. The figure offered a hand to her-she took it and was lifted to her feet.

He was Dunmer- in fact, he didn't look too old. He was older than her, no doubt, but he seemed to have a reserved calm about it- in Morrowind (particularly Khuluu), age almost defined how you were treated. Ya ge' looked a' like a slu', she thought bitterly. Oiled curls were coifed effortlessly down the sides of his face- Mhezsura was jealous, if not angry at herself. Her hair was coarse, brittle-in short, dead. Then again, she was strapped to a chair, in a dingy room, in a hellhole that even Mehrunes Dagon would find evil- and He was evil! No wrinkles lined his face, or his nose- which was like a small button- and he had thin, black lips. Not terribly attractive, but hell be'ter than anyt'ing I ever had in my bed.

"To join the Dark Brotherhood, you must do this: eliminate another person. Whether you have a beef with them, or not... I don't give a fuck, as long as it's done. Or not. That depends on you, Miss Sonnerset." said the mystery man. He began to walk away, into the fast approaching storm.

Cold patters of rain began to paint her cheeks cold, so she moved under a tree- thick, deep-green leaves shivering above the black nest of her matted hair, yet she paused to think. Who could she kill? The Dark Brotherhood was infamous, but back when she was a young girl, living in her aunt's farm, she used to dream about assassins. And secret missions. And strangely, cheese. Back to point, she had to think of someone. Anyone. At all.

T'ink, t'ink - she thought.

She thought for hours. She thought as she wondered the Nibenay Valley- fought her way through the thick green bushes, with the golden sun beating harshly down onto her.

Late in the afternoon; a cracked wooden sign was laying against a small stone wall- looking closer in curiosity, Mhezsura could see 'Green Road' in faint, flowery script. Following the sign, she could see a long, paved road [in disrepair] stretching for miles.

Mhezsura sighed deeply.
"What is wrong with this hunter? Tired?" said a feline voice. Mhezsura turned her head around to rest her eyes on a Khajiit woman. Gentle, brown plaits of hair dangled underneath her large ears and her bright, green eyes were cloaked in shadow as the sun beat onto her brown-ginger fur. A large snout poked out of her head- with a squat, little mouth pried into a small sneer. With a proud flick of her tail, the Khajiiti female sauntered past Mhezsura.

She wore a tender, light-teal dress around her hips that stretched down to her ankles. Small spatters, shaped like stars, of classic green shimmered in the sun- a very green shirt clung to her breasts and shoulders and arms. Tiny, little cloth bracers clenched around her wrists- a golden lace belt lined her waist, pulling in her voluptuous frame.

That golden lace would wrap around her neck and choke her to death. Her eyes would lose their vibrant colour and glaze over. Her teal dress would be scuffed with mud and blood. She would eventually be found... perhaps in a week or so, stuffed in a ditch by the roadside. People would think she fell and broke her neck.

Poor kit'y.

Nobody would be the wiser.