All characters and places (apart from my OC, Mhezsura Sonnerset) are property of Bethesda Softworks- also, spoilers for those who have not finished the Dark Brotherhood guild quests; however this is an AU as well.

What in hells is this place? Mhezsura thought, her head twisting and turning around... always noticing something new to look at. The floor was made of thick, ice-white concrete slabs- draped over it was a thick, blood-red carpet. A black hand print was marred across it; I swear I've seen that before. Where tho'? Wait. He eyes shifted over to Lucien, who stood beside her. Looking at his left shoulder, she saw a hand print...a black hand print. Right. Of course.
"This is a Dark Brotherhood charter- one of the original places the Dark Brotherhood operated in, before the Sanctuaries came about." Lucien said. Mild surprise unfurled itself across Mhezsura's eyebrows, rolling them up like a carpet- how the fuck did he do that? He prac'ically red my thinkings. I should be more careful.
"What's a 'sanctuary'?" she harshly whispered, the flickering of light touching the sharp contours of her face. Lucien smirked, riling her up with slight anger.
"A sanctuary is where our family members work and live for Sithis'-Sithis? Who in Oblivion is he? Hopefully, better than Mehrunes Dagon- if not... heck, I don't care.- "as well as enjoy their successes and...prizes". Prizes? What prizes? Me like. Her ears perked up, and her head snapped towards him.
"What a-are these... 'prizes'?" Mhezsura stuttered slightly, her eyes twinkling a bit.
"Mostly enchanted, little trinkets for the average contract'-contract?-although for the more important contracts... they are usually better." Lucien said. She smiled, like a trickster, at him before being pulled along by Antoinetta.

An interesting creature. If crossed, well: 'Hell hath no Fury like a woman scorn'd' might justly be applied- but she is also a contradiction... gentler with people she likes. Like Antoinetta. Why? Maybe it's genuine. Maybe it's until they outlive their usefullness...like me. Perhaps she has a hidden face? No. She is a bit greedy, judging from what I said to her about trinkets. That might be useful as a tool to control her. There is no doubt that will be what the Black Hand will worry about when I conclude my report. Hm. Well, no rest for the wicked.

The middle of a grand hall- large pillars wrapped down from ceiling to floor, covered in string-like vines. A long wall to her right was covered with a mural. A map of Cyrodiil- little crosses marked in every city. Clusters of small scribbles were enclosed in a small, framed area beside the map- 'Don't go to Bravil, it's a shit-hole!' or ' Skingrad's nice for holidays...or money' were some of the common notes. She smirked, a spark of wanderlust lighting up in her chest. As well as pretty things exciting her. Now, she was an assassin.

An assassin wanting her first contract.

Steps pattered along the corridor, little nails scratching against the ground- little whiskers twitched. A new scent floated on Schemer's nose... a fiery scent, with a little rustiness to it. Definitely was a Mer- perhaps Dunmer? He shuddered, remembering the time that bastard Uvani scorched his tail- wasn't his fault that the then young Uvani failed a contract. Well, he did want more cheese... and had been pestering Uvani all week for it. That may have been it. Or not. Besides, he was curious. New blood always interested him... and indulged him as well with cheese. He skittered along, little squeaks erupting along his throat. Until he tripped. Onto his back- where he scrambled uselessly, trying to get up. Only to find unfamiliar, rough hands pick him up and fip him onto his back.
"There you are, little guy. Be careful next time." said a gentle voice, with a slight Morrowing twang. He chittered happily, and jumped up on her. She laughed, stroking his little head. " Right, I have to go now. See you later, okay?" she said, her black hair smooth against her shoulders. He bounced down and ran away, with a spring in his step. He liked her already.

The eerie creaking of the door woke him from his little nap; a head ducked in, looking left and right. Bright red eyes, like embers met his.
"There is no need to fear me, child." he said, his sharp fangs sparkling slightly. "My name is Vincente. What's yours, my dear?" he asked, trying to put emotion into his voice. Vincente had really tried, but he could see it didn't work. Perceptive, he thought.

"Mhezsura Sonnerset. I want a contract." she said simply, ignoring his dull-red eyes. And his fangs. And his sunken, pale flesh. He merely flecked his eyes over her body, drawing in the lack of muscle mass and rags. She glared at him, her Dunmeri temper rising slightly- the vampire stood up, brushing his dark shirt clean of dust. Tightened his brown pony-tail.
"Right, and I'm going to send you to Sithis looking like that." Vincente said with disdain, flourishing a small hand towards her- she glared at him. "Oh dear, if only looks could kill- oh wait, I am already dead aren't I?" Vincente quipped, mockingly drawing his face into a thoughtful expression. Her teeth clenched. Vincente sighed dramatically, and shoved a small, wrapped bundle into her hands. "Put that on before you leave at least," Vincente admonished, turning back to his stone slab.

She walked away irritated with him- never pausing to see his knowing smirk. Pausing in front of a mirror, she drew a screen around her body- and began to take her clothes off. She hissed as crusty bloodstains clung to the dirty, mangled cloth, and her skin cracked like dry pea pods. As bare as the day she was born, Mhezsura noticed a small bucket hitched in the corner. She dipped a hand in, and sighed as warm water lapped gently around her wrist. She grabbed it with both hands and dunked it on her head. Soap trickling down her ears, down her small waist and spiralling around her ankles. She massaged her head, her fingers running through her long hair. And her arms, trying to get rid of the crusty red-blood spots. And her legs. And her stomach.

She whipped her black hair over her shoulders, the long strands hugging into the small of her back- cracking her fingers slightly, she reached towards the small bundle. Untying an ornate bow, made of dark-gold string took little effort- only for Mhezsura to find a suit. A leather suit, dark-red in colour. She raised her eyebrows. But then, she noticed a pair of old scissors in a small alcove. And then her nails. And how manky they were. Dirt was layered in thick clumps under her slightly-curved nail heads. She took the pair of scissors. Began to cut, trying to make her nails like claws- sharp at a point, so she could rake them across someone's face.

She smiled. That's better now.

Dawn struck a bell over the Imperial City, the faint chime lost in the sea winds and ship sails that assaulted her ears- Mhezsura's nose wrinkled, as the sharp smell of fish pushed itself up her nostrils. She never did like the coast... or fishing villages for that matter. But she had to be here, in the Imperial Waterfront to do her duty. The target was a pirate, went by the name of Gaston Tussaud- quite famous in the old days, if she heard correctly. I seriously doub' it, seeing the crappy boat he's got himself. The Marie Elena- sounds like a whore's name. I should know. Hanging in the shadows, she waited till the sky was a drippy, blood-red pallor- and she moved. Hugging the shadows, she over-heard the loud ramblings of a male pirate. Redguard. His back was to her and he never saw it coming. Slit throat and one down. Plenty to replace him. A damn shame and so bloody too. Poor bugger, least he went quickly. Oh well. She flicked his bloody vest open, hearing the chink of metal in her ears. Keys. Looks like I'm in luck today. Thanks be to Sit...whatever his name was.

She sneaked behind some crates, voices above her head talking-well trash as usual. Mostly about the newest prostitute in town, and how big her tits were. Men. However, as the conversation continued she noticed a small, wood barrel-the lid undone, with no-one watching nearby. Suckers. She crawled over, on all fours like a cat and slipped up to it. Waited a little, bobbing her head up to see if anyone was around. Only a lone beggar-woman, wallowing in her filth was there in a dark enclave. She stood up quickly and folded herself in, like a piece of parchment- her back grazing against the solid wall of the small space. Her feet, covered in tough leather shifted along the bottom of the lid and sealed it over her.

And then the wait.

Finally, the barrage of constant movements stopped. And so did the urge for Mhezsura to retch. Who would want to live here? Not even rats would wan' to live here. Wha' is that smell? She shook her head, regaining her focus. Her feet hammered against the lid...only for it to stay still. A slight panic mixed with anger began to heat up across her face, as her feet continued to bang against the lid. The barrel began to tip, and sway along with the waves- bang. It fell over, making the lid crack off...onto a sodden floor, mud slogs caught in little gaps between wooden planks. A sigh of relief came over Mhezsura, but the cold hardness of her mind began to fold over once more.

Let the games begin.