The blood from Ashla's chest wound began to pool around her, in a great red puddle on the floor. Screams of pain- they sounded like Valdimar's- emanated from the entryway. Serana was locked in combat with the same woman who had plunged her knife into Ashla's chest. Runa- what a brave girl- drew her knife, a gift she had given her for her tenth birthday, and charged towards the sounds of Valdimar's yells. She made her mother proud, that one. A warrior, like her mother, far too young to pay for her parent's mistakes. And where was sweet, darling Lucia? Ashla tried to lift her head, to turn it and search for the child she held so dear, but she was growing weak, and felt sleepy. The energy to search for her child simply didn't come. Her vision was growing blurry, and it was hard- so hard- to keep her eyes open. How ironic it was, she reflected, that after so many fights, so many battles, so many victories, it was a knife in the dark, at her own dinner table, in her own home that brought her down, in the same manner that she had murdered so many others, in cold blood. As she reflected on all the happy days she would not share with those she loved, she felt, for the first time, regret for the bloody deeds of her youth. As she remembered her kills, each and every one sharp in her memory, but dulling as she slipped away, she remembered her time in the Brotherhood, at her keenest edge of skill, when Emperors and Kings had fallen to her blade, whole kingdoms sent into chaos because she let loose one well placed arrow. But as she lay there, bleeding on the floor, it was one face that jumped out at her- a lovely face, astonishing actually, even through the dark haze which was rapidly spreading across her mind as her lifeblood left her body. It was the happiest face she had ever seen, all made up in bridal regalia, laughing and celebrating her marriage to the man she loved. Then suddenly she saw a very different flash of her- face locked in a scream, three arrows buried in her breast, red blood streaming across her white dress. The bridesmaids rushed to help her, but it was too late. Their mistress walked in the Void. It was only now, as Ashla herself felt the assassin's knife, that she asked herself, "Why?" What had given her the right to take away all those happy days with her husband? Why her- why was she killed? Because she was related to someone important? How was that reason enough? Suddenly, Ashla saw all her crimes laid out before her, and she would have cried, if she had the strength to cry. As she began to cough blood onto the stones before her, she remembered each and every one of those crimes, which made the palaces of Skyrim run red with blood, all in the name of her dark Mother and Father.

It had been such a simple step, but it meant so much more. The distinction between mercenary and hired killer was a subtle one, at best, but the vagueness of the line did not rob it of meaning. She had been starving on the streets of Windhelm, after escaping from that tomb, and was unable to find any work on the caravans to get out of the city, because it was in the dead of winter, and Windhelm was up in the mountains. Gods she hated this city- its black cobblestone walls and streets, the freezing snow and ice, and the even more icy glares of the Nords who obviously thought an unmarried Redguard girl shouldn't be poking around in their city. It was a long winter, trapped within the city's walls, without much work, or excitement. But as she walked around the streets, doing odd jobs for whoever would pay, (and more than one burglary, when such work did not present itself- always on those who didn't need the extra money, and never taking anything too valuable) she heard rumors- the occasional whisper in a market stall, or mentioned in passing during a priest's sermon. A boy- his name was Aventus, or something like that- had returned to the city, after being carted off to an orphanage down south the year before. He had locked himself into his old home, and had begun to do…. something. This is where the tales grew truly wild. Many reported odd chanting and strange lights coming from his house at night. Some said he was worshipping Daedra, and making with them dark pacts and deals. Some said that he cavorted with the spirits of the Soul Cairn, and served them, in return for the souls of his mother and father. But by far the most common rumor was that he was performing the Black Sacrament- an ancient and terrible ritual to a dark goddess of death and vengeance known in fearful whispers as the Night Mother, in the hopes that she would send her children, the Dark Brotherhood, to sow terror and death amongst his enemies. Against her better judgment, she was intrigued- they had stories about the Dark Brotherhood in Hammerfell as well, dark ones in which whole countries were brought to their knees with a single well placed arrow. They had always terrified her, these dark being which were one with the night, and whose teeth and claws were focused on one terrible cause- death, and destruction. So one day, on a delivery errand from the docks to a shop in the city, (the shopkeeper called her a "damn desert-rat" and sent her away, convinced that she was inflating the price, skimming off the top, "Just like the rest of your thieving kind." Thanks to this little fact, she was forced to walk all the way back down to the docks and get the writ of debt singed by the dockmaster himself.) she found herself in front of the Aretino house, where the Aventus boy supposedly lived. She looked at it- it looked like a perfectly normal house, albeit a bit larger than the other houses on the street, and a bit too close for comfort to the Grey Quarter. There were no burning runes of Daedric origin inscribed on the door, and try as she might, she could hear no chanting coming from within. She stretched and strained to get a look through one of the windows, and saw a few pieces of furniture, mostly stacked in the back. There was one table, turned upside down in the center of the room. She could see no footsteps in the fine dust which coated the floor. For all the world, it looked deserted- she could find no evidence of habitation. But still there was something…. odd about it. She had heard many people say they felt uncomfortable about the place, like there was an aura of wrongness about it. "But that's not it. " she thought to herself. It was hard to place this feeling, but it felt…. welcoming. Suddenly, she remembered that she was on an errand, and that her dockmaster would probably be as red as a beet by time she got back with the bad news. "Better be on my way, before he bursts a blood vessel."

She returned that evening, with a few lock picks she had fashioned out of scraps of wood and metal she had found around the city. It had been a bad day- the dockmaster had yelled at her for almost ten minutes before signing the form proving that the amount requested was in fact his valid selling price, before ordering Ashla to head back, writ of debt in hand. Once she returned, the dockmaster refused to pay her agreed wage for the day, instead giving her half pay, for "damn laziness". "But its not my fault that the shopkeeper doesn't like Redguards!" she protested above the cacophony of shouting and crashing crates that was the Windhelm docks. "Woman, why should I care who the shopkeeper does and doesn't like? I asked you to do a job, you spineless sandworm, and it took you almost two hours. You should have told the damn shopkeeper exactly what the price was, and roughed him around a bit if he didn't want to pay. Understand? I have to run the whole of these docks, and I sure as hell can't stop to help out every courier who can't get a customer to pay up. That's your job. If you can't do it, then don't come back." he roared back. "Maybe I won't!" she declared, and stormed off. A hour or two later, here she was, at the door of the Arentino house again, not entirely certain why she was there. "Thank god it's almost spring," she thought to herself absentmindedly as she inspected the house, this time from every angle. An Argonian dock porter nodded at her as he passed by, but Ashla paid no attention. She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts, and in the feeling of welcome that the Arentino house gave her. "Once it's spring, the ice will melt in the passes and I can get out of here. Maybe I'll sign on as a guard for one of the caravans headed back to Whiterun. From there, maybe I can get on as a mercenary, or even a porter on one of the trade groups headed south, to Cyrodiil. I've had enough of ice for a lifetime, and I hear Cyrodiil is nice in the summer." As she completed her loop around the house, she looked around calmly, and saw no guards in sight. "In any case, I heard the Arentinos were pretty rich, before they died. Seeing as this house is deserted, and they certainly don't need any of that wealth anymore, I might… pop in. See if the coroner left anything behind." She knelt down next to the door, and inserted one of her homemade lock picks into the lock. After about twenty minutes, with two broken lock picks, the lock clicked open, and the door creaked on its hinge, swinging open. She had found that she had a talent for lock picking in her extended stay in Windhelm- locks spoke to you, if you knew how to listen. They wanted to be opened, and they only needed that little push to set them free. She silently stepped into the house, and quietly as possible, closed the door behind her. After taking a moment to calm down, she began to take in her surroundings. There was a room to the left- some sort of dining hall, which she had seen through the window earlier. "I didn't see anything sellable in there, but it never hurts to check-" she suddenly froze, as she heard a murmuring from the second floor, up the stairs to her right. While she couldn't make out the words, it was clearly the same few words repeated again and again- some sort of chant. Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors of Daedra worship she had heard throughout the city. "I really don't want to get caught up with anything that has to do with the Daedra- I like my skin on my body, thank you very much." She made a move back to the door, and reached up to the handle, but something stopped her. She suddenly felt incurably curious as to the words of that chant, and as she stood there for a moment, just listening to the murmur from upstairs, she felt that feeling- that comfort in her soul again, which she had felt earlier, but stronger, like this was the source of the calm throughout her body. She crept slowly up the stairs, straining her ears to catch unto the words of the chant, and at the top of the stairwell, she could at last understand what was being said. From her angle, she could see only a shadow on the wall- presumably the Aventus boy- with a knife he was plunging into the ground, again and again and again, and he sang that chant.

"Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother,

Send your child unto me,

For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized,

In blood and fear."

The words of the chant ignited that little something in her soul, and she felt hot and cold all over, the creeping tingling feeling lodged in her every limb and organ. She felt that this chant was right, as if she was meant to hear it. Suddenly, like a great wind over the plains of her homeland, she felt all her fear and anxiety melt away. Everything was going to be okay. She felt a sense of purpose that went along with this chant, a terrible, dark purpose that overrode her senses. She gasped with the intensity of the feeling, stumbling backwards down one of the fine pinewood steps, and as she did, the shadowy figure paused for a moment, and rose. She could see him now- he really was just a little boy, maybe nine or ten years old. He ran towards the stairs, and saw Ashla crouched there, at the top. He opened and closed his mouth for a moment, looking rather like a codfish, before exclaiming, "You're here! You came! You actually came! That ritual- it worked! Oh, I knew it would! I did it over and over again with the knife and the….. other things," he quickly glanced over the patch of floor where he had crouched a moment before, a human skeleton, a heart, and a spring of the nightshade plant arrayed in a pattern on the ground there, before continuing quickly, "But it worked! I was here for so long…. I was wondering if the Night Mother could hear me. I was sure I was doing it right, but…. I guess it doesn't matter. Here you are, an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood! Will you take my contract?" As all the intense feeling from the moment before evaporated, Ashla was left feeling rather bewildered and overwhelmed. "Contract? Assassin? Was this whole ritual a setup to contact the Dark Brotherhood? But what would a ten year old need with a hired killer? And why does he seem to think that I'm some sort of-" her thoughts were cut off by another wave of chatter from the energetic young lad, "Is it money that's the problem? Cuz I have a family heirloom that supposed to be worth a lot- I could give you that if you kill Grelod the Kind. The other children won't tell- they hate her as much as I do." Ashla blinked a few times, before saying, in as calm a voice as possible, "Kid, slow down. I'm not-" before once again being interrupted by this murderous ten year old, who yelled, "You won't take my contract? Why? Isn't that what you people do? She ran the orphanage I was sent to after Ma and Pa died, down in Riften. She's called the Kind…. But she wasn't. She was terrible. To all of us. She's a monster, and she doesn't deserve to exist!" He clenched his fists, and for the first time, Ashla saw a glint in his eyes that made her realize, "He'll really do it. My god, he really wants to kill her. What in the hell did this Grelod do to a ten year that would drive him to murder?" And then she felt the jerk in her soul again, and she had to steady herself against the wall. Bloodlust rose in her throat, and suddenly she found her hand curling around her knife. "I want this." she realized. "I want to go to Riften, cut this Grelod's soul from her body, and then take my pay. But why? I have no quarrel with her- I have no reason to want to slit her throat while she sleeps, to poison her tea and watch as she chokes to death, to put an arrow into her back while she goes for a stroll, so why do I want to so badly? I've never killed anybody who wasn't trying to kill me. I've only ever killed two people- and that from a distance, with a bow. I'm not a killer. So why?" She breathed deeply, and tried to dispel this new irrational, alien feeling which was not hers. But it remained, and before she knew it, her mouth had opened, and was speaking, seemingly unbidden, "Very well, I will take your little contract. Grelod the Kind will die by my hand, little boy." Suddenly, she came back to her senses, though the urge to take the contract and plunge her knife into her target's belly remained. "I'm sorry for whatever she's done to you, but are you absolutely certain that this is what you want? You'll have to live the rest of life with her blood on your hands- can you live with that?" The boy, Aventus, looked at the floor for a moment, his eyes smoldering. He whispered under his breath, barely audible, "Yes." Ashla nodded at his response, and slipped back down the stairs, into the street, and back to her cot at a local tavern, where she curled into a ball, and shook. She slept, a little bit, but woke up again and again with the same thought in her mind. "What have I done?"

Two months later, she stood once again before the Arentino estate. She walked calmly up to the door, and knocked. The door opened, just a crack at first, before flying open. Aventus was on the other side, and he stared at her expectantly. She straightened herself up, and finally said the words she both dreaded and relished saying. "Grelod the Kind is dead." Aventus leaped for joy, and ran back into the house chattering the whole way. He came back with some gold plate, but Ashla was already in another world. She didn't really let what she had done sink in until just then, when she finally said the words. It had been easy- she booked passage on a ship to Riften, as soon as the ice had broken, and found the Orphanage with no problem. After that it had been simple, and clean. She walked through the front door, and heard Grelod- it was quite obviously her- speaking to her "charges". "Runa?! What is this? I thought I told you that this floor was to be clean enough to eat off!" The words were followed by whacks and yells- it sounded like she was beating this "Runa" with a stick. Ashla opened the door, and walked calmly into the room. Sure enough, an old woman was busy beating a small girl- no more than eight- with a club. About ten other children were arrayed around the room, and they watched impassively, flinching with every blow, obviously having endured the same treatment many times before. The defeated, tired looks and bruises up and down their arms were evidence enough- these children were not cared for here. To her credit, the blonde child who was the target of Grelod's irrational anger did not cry out in pain, or beg for mercy- she simply clenched her fists, and endured every blow as it came. Even as she was knocked to the ground, she simply got back to her feet, and contained her anger. She's a proud one, Ashla thought to herself. Someone like her doesn't belong in a place like this. She still has her fire and passion- it hasn't burned out in this place- she hasn't given herself up to this old crone. Suddenly, Ashla had a flashback, to a year ago in Whiterun, when she served the table for a room full of lecherous farmers and mercenaries, half drowned in their drink. She hadn't given up her pride then- she still hadn't. The child was the same. Watching this prideful young child being beaten by the witch who called herself her caretaker, she was suddenly filled with anger, and a will to kill, beyond the simple unexplainable bloodlust she had felt back in Windhelm. After a few more moments of beating, Grelod stood up and screamed at all the other children, "If you aren't willing to work, you have no place here! And let me make this abundantly clear! I don't want to hear any more of this talk about adoptions, you hear me?! Not one of you little ungrateful rats is ever going to get adopted, ever. Do you understand me? There is no one out there who could possibly want you. Besides, the world is a cruel, terrible place, and you are much better off here, learning how to work with discipline, getting your damn laziness beaten out of you than in the home of some milk drinker! Now, get to bed, all of you!" After a few seconds, the small crowd of children broke up, and they began to move towards one of the side doors. Through them, Ashla could see another woman, a young and pretty Nord, putting fresh straw down on the floor, and placing blankets on top. At least they sleep well, she thought to herself. After supervising for a moment, Grelod left, and opened up a door on the other side, apparently to her bedroom, and shut it. A moment later, the young Nord shut the door on the left, just as the last child filed through. She walked slowly up to Ashla, past the small, sputtering fireplace, and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. "Hello my name is Constance Mitchell," she said politely, her tone giving away just a hint of exhaustion. "Do you need anything?" Ashla leaned against the back wall, and tried to decide what to do. Aventus didn't mention there was another adult in the Orphanage. He assured me that the children wouldn't turn me in, but this Constance seems to be an employee of Grelod's. She'd almost certainly turn me in- and I can't afford to have the guards on my tail. Damn, I should have thought this out more before charging in here like a bull. "Nothing much," Ashla responded, "I'm just checking your orphanage. I'm considering adoption, and this is the largest orphanage in east Skyrim. Let me ask you a few questions….. is that all right?" Constance suddenly brightened up at the mention of adoption, and immediately began to brush off her dress. "Ummmm…. Of course! Just let me get Grelod, she's probably not asleep yet…." she responded, and began to walk off, but Ashla grabbed her hand, and said, "I don't want to talk with Grelod. I have nothing to say to a child beater." Constance's face suddenly darkened again and she said under her breath, "So, you were here for….." Ashla nodded. Constance started to walk towards a group of chairs on the far side of the room, and Ashla followed, releasing the grip on her hand. "That isn't all that uncommon, you know. The children are truly miserable here, though I do my best to keep their spirits up." she said as she sat down. Ashla followed suit, and planted herself into a large padded chair. She leaned forward, towards Constance, and tried to keep herself composed. "Have you heard about Aventus Aretino? The boy from Windhelm?" she asked nonchalantly. Constance nodded, and responded, "I heard that he went back home, to Eastmarch. I heard from one of the traders that he shut himself into his old house." Ashla paused for a moment, and said, "Yes. I've spoken to him." Constance's eyes suddenly widened with concern. "Is he all right?" she asked. Genuine concern for the children, Ashla noted. I really don't want to have to kill her too- she seems to be of a good sort, and I don't want this whole thing to turn into a massacre. She felt only the urge to kill Grelod, as if there was some other force driving her, manipulating her senses. But towards Constance, she had nothing but good will. Let's ask her a few questions, and then leave. I can't do it now, with her watching, but if I just leave, she'll be suspicious. I need to make this look normal. I can come back whenever she falls asleep. She had no idea what was considered "normal" in an adoption home, however, so she took a wild shot in the dark.Suddenly, Ashla shifted her posture, her whole aura changing from her natural, energetic persona, to that of a shopkeeper in a concerning business negotiation."Yes, Miss Constance, he's fine. Now, I'll ask a few questions. While I intend to care for a child that I might adopt as my own, I do expect them to earn their keep. I own a farm in Whiterun, and we cannot afford to simply bring an extra mouth to feed into our home. If your employer's….. treatment of these children has damaged them in any way, how can I expect them to work?" Constance gave her a strange look, rather surprised at the change in demeanor, but her look quickly relaxed into a sort of bored resignation. It looks like I was right- most of the people who take children from places like these are doing little more than looking for slaves. Now, if I can just keep up the act for another few minutes, I'll be out of here in no time. "Of course, milady. Our children are very hard workers, and I have no doubt that you will be extremely pleased…"

Ashla snuck back in that night. It was almost laughably easy- everyone was asleep. Constance was passed out in the same chair she had been sitting in earlier- she was very tired and it showed. She drew her knife, and opened the door into Grelod's room, as slowly and silently as she could. She crept up to the side of her bed, and found the lump of blankets that was Grelod's sleeping form. She crept up the side of the bed, until at last she found the old woman's neck. She raised her knife, and slashed at her exposed flesh, cutting through sinew and bone, laying her neck open, watching it bleed unto the floor. Two quick slashes across her neck assured she would never breathe again. So deep was the knife in her neck that when the old woman awoke with the shock, she couldn't even scream. She just opened her mouth silently, eyes wide in shock, staring at Ashla. For a few moments, the old crone convulsed in her sheets, hands clutching at her neck, trying to keep her precious lifeblood inside her body. After about a minute, she stopped moving, and the last spark of life left her eyes. The blood from her open wound wet her sheets, spattering the whole of the bed, even now dripping unto the floor. Ashla calmly wiped her knif on a nearby cloth, and grabbed the key to the orphanage off the now deceased Grelod's nightstand, before slipping back into the hall. She left the key on Constance's lap. Now these children will have a caretaker who deserves the name, she thought to herself as she walked out the door. She felt strangely elated as she walked out the door, and tried to sort out her emotions. The feeling she expected were all there- apprehension and nervousness, release at having finally sated the bloodlust that had consumed her since that night in Windhelm, smugness that it had been that easy. But there was one thing she expected to be there that was noticeably absent- the crushing guilt she should have felt at taking the life of another who meant her no harm. It's absence worried her the most of all.

Aventus had been overjoyed once he had gotten the news. "One day, I'll become an assassin like you!" he said in his excited, chit-chat way. "Then I can help people all over Skyrim, just like you did! Thank you so much!..." he went on and on. Ashla wasn't listening. She was trying to get over the shock. It hadn't really sunk in that she had committed murder for coin- or rather she hadn't allowed herself to think about it. Now that it was over- her pay was in her hands, in the form of a solid gold plate- the walls of calm that she had built up around that part of her memories began to crash down. "The contract has been completed," she said, her mouth once again speaking of own accord. "May I leave now? Please. I have some…. things I need to sort out." Aventus suddenly stopped his chatter, and looked crestfallen. "But… I wanted to know about the Dark Brotherhood. About the Night Mother. Can't you stay a little while?" Ashla shut her eyes, and rubbed her temples. This was surely going to be a long night. "No, Aventus, I'm sorry." she said. "I just want to… get away from all this. Forget it ever happened. And if you're smart, you will too, because I can't get over the guilt, not guilt over the kill, but that I can't feel anything about it. I should feel guilty, I should feel awful- but I don't. And that makes me more guilty than anything. If you're smart, you'll forget this too." She patted him on his shoulder, and then left, leaving the boy speechless in the doorway.