Shout out to Jay and videogamerfan144 as my first reviewers
I don't own Skyrim, If I did Serana would be a marry-able character.
Chapter 3: Working.
"Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life."
―Confucius
The man dismounted Shadowmere, and hid him near the rocks. "Stay here Shadowmere, you wont be needed tonight, I'll take care of this myself".
Shadowmere whined indignantly, while the slow stroked his head
"There, there my stallion. It's nothing personal, but what I have planned will require a bit more finese, and let's face it, subtlety isn't really your strong-suit.
Shadowmere calmed down, and neighed reluctantly, but stayed where he was.
"I'll tell you what. After I complete this mission I promise, we'll go out into the forest and hunt some random bandit gangs, just the two of us". He patted his best friends large side.
Using his sneak skill, the man entered unseen through the south western entrance. After casting a quick detect life spell; he analyzed the interior of the encampment.
'Hmm, one guard at the western front, one bandit guards the northern rear entrance, the remainig three bandits are stationed in the main area of the fort'. He mulled the over for a bit.
"The only traps I see are three bear traps just out side the western entrance". He frowned.
The man had faced bandit forts that would put the greatest Imperial base to shame, guarded by wizards, wolves, and occasional giants. In fact some of his greatest battles, and closest calls, had been by bandits he'd just happened across.
'Two archer sentries, one of whom was too cowardly (or the most intelligent bandit he'd ever seen) to fight, nor loyal enough to warn the others. A single guard at each entrance, while the others slept, and minimal traps'. The man sighed '"These guys are sloppy".
Why anyone would go out of their way to perform the black sacrament, and hire a dark brotherhood assassin for this he had no idea.
A handful of farmers with; with basic sword, and shield knowledge, would be all it would take to kill these men with minimal casualties.
'By Sithis the client could've hired a single companion at a third of the price'. The man thought, soul filled with aggravation.
It made no sense. Clearly the bandit chief wasn't stupid, the fort was strategically placed just 300 feet away from the only bridge leading from Whiterun to Solitude, but it was placed in Hjaalmarch, still too far away from either major hold to gather too much attention.
'Oh well, a contract's a contract'. The man examined his situation. He had the element of surprise, and as far as he could tell, he was far more skilled, and adept than his opponents. He could walk right through the gates, and kill everyone in minutes with his bare hands.
He smiled. 'But then what would be the fun in that'. He quickly cast a spell to become invisible, and crept silently over to the west entrance, where an Orc guard; in standard steel armor, stood arms crossed.
"Why this hulking behemoth would be intimidating to most men".
"What? Who said that?" The guard asked aloud confused.
The man allowed him self to become visible, giving the guard a brief shock, just as he went to his weapon, the assassin slashed the Orc guards throat open, with Mehrune's Razor one of the few weapons he never allowed to leave his person.
'But I'm not most men' he smirked as he cleaned the blade, sheathed it, and became invisible once more.
Unseen the man entered the camp. 'There he is, Mikhail Donovan'. The large imperial man slept in a shack, at the center of the camp, which contained a single table, a grind stone, and a crafting table.
'He wears his armor as he sleeps'? If he wore light armor like the rest of his crew that would be just fine, but sleeping in heavy armor was dangerous. It had the potential to overheat someone, as well as making it near impossible for anyone (save maybe an Orc) to spring into action when waking from a deep sleep.
"Ignorance wont fly this time'. He had to know this, it was common knowledge among warriors, adventurers, and bandits. That he still took the risk meant something.
'He's paranoid'. The assassin assessed as he rubbed his chin. 'He knows the dangers of wearing heavy armor to sleep, yet choose to do so anyway'.
As far as he knew, this particular area of Skyrim was rarely patrolled by imperial soldiers, and the Hjaalmarch guards stuck to Morthal.
'Could it be that he's afraid of his own men'? The man smiled. 'Well I guess I'll have to test this hypothesis'. He the conjured a ball of red magika and fired it upon the sleeping bandits.
~II~
Mikhail Donovan awoke to a blistering headache.
"Ugh I drank too much" he said aloud to himself. "The sun's not even up yet, why the hell are they up already".
The bandit leader rose slowly, and left his shack to see what all the ruckus was about, completely unaware of what he was in for.
"Hey! Whats all the commotion..." the bandit leader froze in his tracks, and stared mouth ajar, horrified at his men; weapons drawn in no holds bar kill or be killed combat.
"By oblivion, it's a damned riot", the Mikhail drew his two-handed orcish battle-ax, and for the next few minutes the bandit camp was oblivion on Nirn.
The bandits savagery was inhuman as they relentlessly ripped each other apart, the screeching sound of clashing steel, and the death wails of fallen the vagabonds echoed through the Hjaalmarch wilderness.
In the end Mikhail Donovan stood alone, among the corpses of his former comrades; bloodied, and battered, the bandit leader returned to his cabin
'I always knew this would happen'. The bandit chief thought bitterly to himself. 'I'm just glad I had the foresight to keep a stash hidden in that chest in the water'. Tomorrow he would head down to Dragon's Bridge, with his gold. Hopefully he'd have a new operation up and running by the years end.
Unfortunately for him, there would be no next year, nor a tomorrow for him.
~III~
The assassin looked upon the remains of the fallen bandits and felt a deep sense of satisfaction. 'Lord Dagon and Lady Boethiah must have smiled on their champion tonight'. The man thought as he appreciated his work 'But then again I do this every night'. The man sighed.
Then; just as soon as it came, the sense of satisfaction was gone, replaced by the contemplative boredom that had become the mans default.
"Rest endlessly within the void". He whispered as he closed the shocked, betrayed eyes of a man ax-murdered in his sleep by those he thought as brothers.
The dark armored assassin entered the hut where Mikhail Donovan now slept armor-less.
"Thanks, for making this so easy for me" the man said both dismissive, and condescendingly sarcastic.
He sat in a nearby chair and quietly pondered how he would dispose of the sleeping chief, he considered simply stabbing him or setting him on fire, but he was in the mood for something with a little more flair. Among the bandit chief's belongings he found a small key.
He the searched near the fireplace for a poker. 'Aha now we have a show'.
The man collected several more items, and stored them in his pouch. He then began forming a spell which he cast on the bandit chiefs sleeping form.
"Rise" the man commanded and the bandit chief did so. The assassin smiled, Command Humanoid was a spell that died with the mage's guild just after the oblivion, crisis over 200 years ago. It had taken weeks of religious studying, within the College of Winterhold libraries, dozens of visits to the Augur of Dunlain for guidance, and hundreds of failed experiments at the atronach forge to resurrect the spell.
He forged only three copies, one to be added to the college of Winterhold as he promised to Urag gro-Shub for unlimited, unfettered access to to the college library, one sat on a regular shelf at the Dawnstar sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood, and the last was for his personal collection.
"Open the trap door, and go inside" the sleeping chief did as commanded. "Stand in the water, and hold your hands above your head". Once more the sleeping chief obeyed the orders of his temporary master. The man withdrew the fireplace poker from his pack and began to heat and mold the instrument with a nearby torch.
"Okay, now time to get into character". The man put on his best nihilist apathetic face. Mouth now forming a straight line, the man said in a bored tone "Time to start the show". He then walked slowly atop the water, and stabbed the bandit leader; with the hot poker through his hands pining him to the stone wall.
~IV~
Mikhail Donovan awoke to a searing pain, he tried to scream out only to inhale a mouthful of water.
Mikhail wheezed and coughed as the water exited his lungs. He attempted to move, but found himself suspended neck deep in water.
"Help, someone please". Mikhail cried out for aid.
"Help? From who. Are you forgetting you just massacred your crew."
The bandit leader looked around for the source of the voice, and standing atop the water a few feet away from him, was a figure in black and crimson leather armor. Mikhail started to speak but was quickly silenced.
"Shh. Listen to me" the figure spoke gently as he approached him. "Do exactly as I say".
Before Mikhail could respond the figure crouched down and slowly, painfully twisted the hot iron rod pinning his hands to solid stone. The pain was so intense that Mikhail quickly passed out.
When he awoke again, he was tied to a chair pointed towards a table, with objects covered by a cloth.
Standing directly in front of him, the hooded figure stared blankly at him. Though the bandit chief had never seen it before, he knew that the mans armor was that of the Dark Brotherhood, he'd grown up hearing stories of the shadowy group of murderers for hire.
About how they moved like the wind, and could become one with the darkness. He'd even heard more recent rumors that the emperor had been murdered; on his own ship surrounded by his elite guards, by these monsters.
The man before him was only 5'11(180cm) just under six feet. He pulled back his hood. Mikhail gasped as he was greeted with the youthful face of a boy, just reaching adulthood, he had a short crop of black hair, pale skin, with a light stubble of facial hair, and slightly rounded ears that marked him of Breton lineage.
But none of this bothered Mikhail, he himself had become a bandit when he was no older than this boy, the shocking part was his eyes. Cold, unfeeling, merciless, black orbs, that the bandit chief had only seen in hardened war-stained soldiers, never in a young man just old enough to marry. It was then when he knew he was going to die.
Mikhail knew this man had seen more in his short time on Nirn, than he had, or ever would see again.
The young assassin took the cloth of the table and revealed what was underneath.
Mikhail shook his head.
"Look" Mikhail heard the young voice of the assassin.
"No" Mikhail replied squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.
"Uh, yes". The young man answered.
Mikhail continued to shake his head. "sob* No, no, no, no"
The assassin nodded. "It's horrible isn't it"? He asked plainly.
Mikhail continued to sob. "No, please" the bandit begged.
The young man grabbed Mikhail's throat, and began choking him. "Open your eyes or I'll cut your eyelids right off your face". He demanded coldly.
Slowly Mikhail opened his eyes and on the table he saw the wet, rotting corpse of a young boy.
"Who was he"? The young assassin asked.
Mikhail didn't answer, he just stared at the child on the table.
"You know, originally I was simply going to electrocute you in the water". The young man continued speaking.
"I was going to shot a small lightning spell at the electricity conducting pole, which the water would've enhanced". He explained as Mikhail continued to stare at the child. "But when I found him" he jerked his chin at the boy. "Well, I decided you deserved something special".
"The poor child had been in the water; with the salmon so long, he was starting to fall apart. I pulled him out in bits and pieces".
"Hail Mora full of grace".
"Stop" the youth smacked the praying bandit chief lightly "That never helped anyone" he paused thinking over what he said. "Well I guess I cant say that, praying at altars heals disease". The assassin smiled "And a prayer is what brought you and I together" he said jokingly.
The bandit chief knew that he was referencing the black sacrament, an ancient ritual used to speak to the Night Mother; the goddess of the dark brotherhood to request a murder.
"But it definitely never helped some one in your situation".
Mikhail kept sobbing "Please, you can have anything you want, just please..."
"Oh I know I can, and I will, but please keep begging. Did this little boy beg".
"sob* Is that what this is about? Sob* Did someone find out, and paid you to kill me". The bandit chief questioned.
"Actually, no". The assassin answered pulling out the contract. "We've been sitting on this contract for about a month now, I only did it now because I have business in the area. If that was the case your death would've been given higher priority, and we would've charged more". The young man read over the contract. "Lets see here. An old associate of yours; Brodir, asked us to kill you over a gold dispute".
Mikhail thought of Brodir, 'It was his fault I'm in this mess, and for what? Gold'.
"Please, Brodir is a monster, if anyone deserves to die its him" Mikhail pleaded.
"I'm sure he is, but it's not about what we deserve, you didn't put a hit out on Brodir he put one out one you". The assassin drew a long jagged, viscous looking blade. For most of Skyrim's citizens embalming tools were useless relics, but to him they were a deadly torture device. "That you apparently like to torture and murder children is a bonus". The assassin said as he examined his weapon.
"I beg you please, you have to understand. I just... I cant... help myself" the bandit chief stuttered between sobs.
The assassin smiled grimly "Trust me I definitely understand".
Mikhail ceased sobbing briefly "You do" he asked hopefully.
"Yes, you see I cant help myself either, I cant remember the last time I went more than a day without killing something". The assassin said as he coated his blade in an unknown syrupy potion. "But children I could never do that. Not like you. Never. Ever. Kids." and he meant it.
Despite the sheer brutality of Tamriel, the child mortality rate was surprisingly low, in Skyrim especially. In fact this was the first time he'd seen a dead child's body, and only the fourth time he'd heard of a child's murder.
"Why"? Mikhail asked. The assassin slashed across his face. Instantly the paralyzing poison took affect.
The assassin paused. Why couldn't he kill children? It wasn't as though the idea particularly bothered him. It was just that the opportunity had never presented itself.
Ripping an amulet of his neck. "Because. I. Have standards". He whispered lightly, never taking his eyes away from teary eyes of his prey.
"Soon, your soul will be in the cold loving embrace of the Night Mother in the eternal, all accepting void of lord Sithis. And this small corner of Nirn will be a neater happier place, a better place".
"Please" Mikhail whispered "Spare me Dark Brotherhood assassin".
The young man stopped "Oh'" he smacked his forehead. "Silly me where are my manners. My name is Godric, and I will be your murderer this evening".
He went to work on the bandit leader of Robber's Grove body, all the while Mikhail Donovan never stopped screaming.
~V~
Godric sat in down in the chair and let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. In his hands was the still lightly, pulsing heart of Mikhail Donovan. For someone like him who was used to combat, the patient, precision needed to dissect and remove an organ was a daunting task.
'But still worth it'. Human heart's were a valuable alchemical ingredient and Babette was always happy when he brought back a few for her. So the listener of the Dark Brotherhood asked Cicero, to teach him to use embalming tools to remove the organs of living people. It had taken dozen's of victims and Cicero's careful guidance before he could perform the procedure.
He would never be as gifted in torture as the keeper was, but he was proficient enough to remove roughly any organ. He learned this all for his little/older sister, because what made his family happy, made him happy.
'But I don't think I'll be giving this one to Babette'.
While inspecting the heart Godric was busy thinking. Something Mikhail had said to was still bothering him.
"Please, Brodir is a monster, if anyone deserves to die its him". These words replayed themselves over, and over again in his head.
There was nothing Godric hated more than to be used to settle petty squabbles, but the brotherhood was low on manpower so he accepted it, but his client was a lowly bandit, that he could not accept.
'I need compensation for this insult'. He thought as he rose from his chair and began sorting through the dead bandits personal belongings. Among the few books he found a journal.
"Hello whats this"? He asked aloud to himself.
One of his habits was collecting any journals he could find. The reason being that each contract was a story, and he was the end, but the sad part of being an assassin is never knowing the full story. That's why; no matter how miniscule, he kept ever diary or note he could find.
Godric opened the Bandit Leader's Journal, and read aloud to himself "...8th of First Seed, 4E 201
Brodir's getting suspicious- I caught him poking around in the cove this afternoon. I don't think he found my stash, but it's not safe here. I took the boat out tonight and stowed it on the island to the south, by the old tree stump".
That entry was from over a two months ago. Godric thought about what had read, and what he understood about his client, and smiled.
Godric picked up his embalming tool. "Sorry Babette, but I don't think you'll be getting his, or any of their hearts tonight".
Godric laughed as he exited Robber's Cove, already forgetting then corpse's of the sick bandit leader, and the nameless young boy unfortunate enough to be his victim.
They would become a mere entry in his massive journal, and would never be thought about by him again.
It was dawn by the time Godric returned to Shadowmere, the immortal horse had waited patient right where he left him as he always did. Sometimes he'd had to leave Shadowmere alone for weeks while exploring Blackreach, or Labyrinthian, and had left in such a rush he had forgot his friend. Yet no matter how far he went, Shadowmere was always there to greet him just outside the gates of the city.
The black horse neighed happily at his return.
"I missed you too, and as promised we'll kill someone on the way back to Dragon Bridge, but first lets go just south for a bit, there's an errand I need to take care of".
He mounted Shadowmere a rode away from the carnage he had wrought, and he frowned.
'Tonight is over, but it'll happen again tomorrow night, and again, and again, it had to happen'.
So I decided to do some editing and chose to cut this story in half, because looking back the transition felt like it belonged to two different chapters. From now on im going to try to keep a consistent chapter length of 2,000-3500 words per chapter