Chapter Four

On the Northern edge of Cyrodiil tucked within the Jerall Mountains there resides the snowy city of Bruma. It's cold and frigid climate serves as a warning of the harsh conditions that lay before those wishing to travel across the border into the land of Skyrim. Within its walls there is a tavern that was once known as Olav's Tap and Tack. However, with the death of its original owner nearly two hundred years before it had slowly come to be known as simply 'The Tack.' It was a tiny ramshackle place then and it has remained a tiny ramshackle place ever since. Its new owner had decided to expand once upon a time, but the way it looked now it seemed that he had decided that perhaps it was too much work.

Yet despite its constant run down appearance it has maintained a pleasant air of coziness about it. It was the type of coziness that can be felt when one sits next to a warm hearth fire on a cold winter's night. It's the type of coziness that one feels with a good drink in one's hand after a hard day's work. Dusty bottles lined the wall behind the counter and the soft clinking of glasses could just be heard over the noise of conversation. A warm fire crackled in the hearth. Next to it a woman, a bard by trade, blew a merry tune with her flute.

It was in this cozy and ramshackle tavern that D, known to a few as Diana, sat sipping a glass of wine. She was clothed in a plain green dress with no embroidery. Along with it she wore a dark green cloak pulled around her shoulders for warmth. She wore fine black leather gloves on both hands and the hood of her cloak was pulled up over her head for the sake of privacy, but not so far over her face as to look menacing or suspicious. She had no tattoos or jewelry and she only wore the faintest hint of makeup to avoid looking world weary. She felt the most comfortable when she was easily forgettable. She had to be.

She was seated away in the darkest corner of the tavern she could find where she was also able to survey the floor in its entirety without being noticed. On the table before her sat a bottle of Surilie Brothers Wine. It was a good Vintage and she had gotten it at an even better price. Next to the bottle were two glasses, one of which was the glass that D was sipping and the other of which was filled but untouched. The untouched glass waited patiently for its owner's arrival as did D. She took another sip and let the liquid sit on her tongue for a moment, absorbing the taste, before swallowing.

On the other side of the tavern she watched the front door swing open, letting in the twilight of late afternoon and early evening. A man stepped inside and closed the door. He was Quintus Flavius, a local carpenter and also her client. He was a balding man of both Nord and Imperial descent. He was in his early forties, and he wore a thick light brown shirt and tan colored trousers. The boots on his feet were made for wear and looked as if they had been put through their paces. In addition to his clothes, he wore an expression of nervous anxiety. He looked about the room nervously until he spotted D and made his way over to her. He pulled up a chair and sat down across from her, his back facing the way he had come. The bard stopped playing her flute and left to take a short break.

"Good afternoon Mr. Flavius," D said calmly and professionally.

Quintus did not return the greeting. Instead he replied in a hushed tone, "Has it been taken care of?"

D smiled back at Quintus as she reached into her pouch and produced an object from within. She placed it on the table in front of him. It was a circular band made of gold and it was stained with small red blotches. A wedding ring. Quintus exhaled all at once. He had been holding his breath waiting for her to speak.

"So it's done, then. Rodard is dead," said Quintus, obviously relieved.

The man he spoke of was Rodard Ashsmith, a Breton from High Rock who was married to Elona Ashsmith, a former noble woman of the same origin. Rodard was also a carpenter. According to the talk on the street he had quite the skill and reputation. Before his demise, Rodard had become quite wealthy by ensuring low priced quality goods for all contracts, large or small. He had acquired for himself a good name, a respectable shop to practice his trade, and several up and coming apprentices to pass on his knowledge. In so doing he had made Quintus's life a living hell. Quintus's clientele had plummeted since Rodard arrived leaving him almost destitute. When Rodard Ashsmith had generously come to Quintus, offering him a job under his name, Quintus had taken it as an insult and spat in the man's face. The offer did not come a second time. Nords… D thought sarcastically, though she knew he had more Imperial blood than Nord.

It went deeper than that of course. Since the Ashsmith's arrival in Bruma several years before, Quintus had hopelessly fallen for his rival's wife. With Rodard out of the way he planned to rush to the newly made widow's side. He would console her and then marry her, thereby absorbing all of Rodard's assets. Quintus would be on top with his new wife, and Rodard would be down below the earth, reduced to rotting skin and bones. D doubted that such a refined woman would give him the time of day.

"It is indeed, Mr. Flavius," D responded.

"Call me Quintus," Quintus said grinning. "Is this wine for me?"

"They are complements of my organization for your business. I had the pleasure of tasting it before you arrived. It's a good vintage." D sat back in her chair and took another sip of wine. Quintus looked from his glass to the bottle next to it.

"Surilie Brothers. You have good taste," Quintus said, eyes widening. He took the glass before him and raised it to his lips. He breathed in the scent of it smiling to himself, and took a long, passionate sip. "Ah," he said. "I haven't had such good wine since the late Ashsmith's passing." Quintus chuckled to himself at his little joke. D said nothing. When she had found him he was half drunk and surrounded by dozens of similar wine bottles. He had stunk of week old ale and body odor, but thankfully he seemed to have taken a bath before their meeting.

Quintus reached to his own belt this time. He had no weapons that D could see. With an audible clunk and jingling sound he plopped a sack of gold onto the table. "I admire your professionalism," he said. "Here's the other half of the payment for the job. Five hundred septims."

D untied the knot on the opening of the sack and peered inside. It was the right amount. People knew better than to cheat her guild. It looked as though there would be no complications. All she had to do now was conclude her business with this fool. Before she could speak, however, Quintus continued, "I love her, you know? Lady Ashsmith."

"Oh?" D tried to sound professional and interested, but inside she was getting bored.

"Oh yes. She is the jewel of High Rock. When she walks before a crowd they all stop whatever they're doing and just look at her. That, friend, is a woman." Quintus had that look in his eye as if viewing a far off place that none but him could see. "I'll give you another hundred septims if you tell me how you did it."

D's eyebrows rose and she paused for a moment as if considering his offer. "One hundred and fifty," she replied simply.

Quintus laughed out loud to himself spewing vaporous saliva into the air. He then tilted his head back, downed the rest of his wine, and smacked his glass onto the table all in one well practiced motion. As he was pouring another round he nodded at her, still chuckling.

"Very well," D said daintily wiping some of the saliva off of her face with a handkerchief.

"I killed three people these past few days." Without stopping she continued. "The first was a boy less than sixteen years old. He was living on the streets and was part of a local gang that has been making a name for itself by robbing and mugging those who have the misfortune of wandering into their back allies alone. I abducted him, poisoned him and brought him to a location I deemed satisfactory."

Quintus leaned in, interested and nodding. D did not pause. "I wanted to make Rodard's death look like a failed mugging attempt. Gangs and armed robbery are common place here, it seems. I needed the scene to be obvious in order to divert suspicion and avoid further investigation, so naturally Rodard had to kill one of the hypothetical attackers himself. Rodard carries with him a cudgel when he's out walking the streets of Bruma. I do my homework. I took the boy to the site and caved his head in with a similar tool. It was very messy work so I had to burn the clothes I wore afterwards." A half smile crept onto D's face and she quirked an eyebrow, "Blood, you know?"

Quintus's face had started to pale somewhat, and it seemed that he had forgotten how to blink. D continued as if she hadn't noticed him. "The rest was simple. Rodard closes his shop at five o'clock every day and takes the same route to the Jerall View Inn for a drink before going home to his wife. As he passed by I used a very small dart coated with a mixture of my own design to disorient him. As he began to stumble I kindly offered him my assistance and took him over my shoulder promising to find him a place to sit down. Instead I led him to the place I had prepared. By the time we arrived his hallucinations were so overwhelming that he didn't even notice when I stabbed him in the gut from behind and slit his throat. He was dead before he knew that he had been cut. I took a minute to position the bodies correctly, making sure that the blood was splattered in all the right places. Afterwards, I stripped him of his clothes and valuables all the while removing any traces of my presence. The whole ordeal took under half an hour. I am very good at what I do, sir. Are you satisfied?"

D held out her hand nonchalantly. Quintus stared at it and then shook his head suddenly to break himself out of his stupor. "Ah, um… Yes. Yes of course," he stuttered, placing another sack in her hands. D emptied its contents into the other sack and tied it shut. "I'm glad the old bastard got what he deserved…" He looked up at D, nervousness creeping back into his eyes. "Listen, I really need to be on my way…"

Before he could finish however, another man, a courier by the look of him, approached their table. The pair of them both looked up in surprise at the new comer. He nodded respectfully.

"Hello," he said looking at Quintus. "You're the one they call D?"

Quintus wore a look of confusion. He furrowed his brow and said, "There's no one at this table by that name, boy. I assure you."

D cut him off, "I believe that I am the one you are looking for. Your delivery is for me, courier."

"Good, good," he said cheerily. "I've got a letter for you. Don't know who it was from. Real creepy fella by the looks of him. He wouldn't say his name, but for an odd fellow in a black hood he sure paid me well enough to find you."

He handed her the letter and she tipped him from the bag of septims she had recently acquired. When the courier had pocketed the coin, he bowed and turned to walk away, whistling as he did so.

D looked down at the letter and opened it, her eyes scanning the words on the page. It was from Astrid, the closest thing to a mother she had these days. From what she read it seemed her business in Cyrodiil was at its end.

"Um, I really do have business that needs doing, so…" Quintus muttered, a hint of pleading in his voice.

D looked up at him coming out of her distraction. "Of course. Before you leave however, there is something I must first give you in order to conclude our business together."

"There's more?" Quintus said puzzled.

"Oh yes," D said calmly. She stowed the letter away in her dress and retrieved another. It was only one page, folded and unsealed. She held it out to him with her gloved hand. He took it from her, opened it, and froze. His eyes were wide.

"It seems that Lady Elona is very well informed," she said leaning back in her chair with two of its legs off the ground. Her voice was different this time. It was colder, but somehow laced with enjoyment. Quintus did not move. Instead D leaned forward again, her chair legs making an audible 'clack' as they struck the floor. She reached out, and plucked the letter from his hands, placing it on the table before him. On the sheet of parchment was written in very neat, curvy, handwriting two words above the seal of house Ashsmith: "I know." Quintus still did not move, though his eyes darted from one direction to the other. His hands were still fixed in place holding something that wasn't there.

"She found where I was staying and broke into my quarters while I pretended to sleep. Really who could sleep with all the noise she made. Amateur lock pickers really have no concept of stealth in my opinion. However, rather than trying to take my life and forcing the opposite from me, she used her better judgment and decided to make a deal." D folded the letter back up and tucked it gently into Quintus's shirt. She patted it twice and smiled at him.

"That letter was lightly coated in a very special concoction. It contains trace amounts of canis root, imp stool mushroom and a few other key ingredients to increase potency and to allow absorbency through the skin. You see, she didn't appreciate you hiring me to kill her husband. In fact, she paid me, up front, twice what you had promised on the condition that I kill you in return."

D smiled her best and widest smile. She reached out and tapped Quintus on the nose. "But I wouldn't do that to you, Quintus. You were my client first. So even though I may or may not have also poisoned your wine," D made an obvious winking gesture at him before continuing, "You can rest assured that I will provide you with the antidote to your misfortune."

She set a yellow tinted bottle down in front of him, then, with that smile still proudly displayed, she stood up gracefully and pulled her cloak around her. She shivered slightly and said, "Dress warmly. We wouldn't want you to catch your death." With that she pinched Quintus's cheek and walked away. On her way out she pointed at Quintus and told the owner of the tavern that he would be paying for the wine. The bard began to play her flute again.

Ten minutes later, Quintus was struggling furiously with numb hands to uncork the yellow tinted bottle. He still couldn't speak. After a few attempts and an equal number of near fumbles, he managed to pull it out with his teeth. With shaky hands he lifted the bottle to his lips, pouring its contents down his throat.

He felt a warm sensation in his stomach, and, sensing that he had survived, laughed the laugh of a man who had narrowly escaped death. He wasn't sure what had happened there at the end. It was his first time contacting the Dark Brotherhood after all. Even after being paid double to kill him, she had not. She had chosen to… chosen to… Something wasn't right. That warmth in his stomach felt like fire. He leaned over to the side falling out of his chair onto his hands and knees, knocking over the table, and spilling the wine. He heaved and vomited all over the floor. In the back of his mind he remembered the words she had spoken, "I killed three people these past few days." Three people. She had not mentioned the third.

The tavern had gone quiet. Its patrons looked at him curiously. Some wore smiles thinking that he had had a little too much to drink. It wasn't until he lay still on the floor that the people realized that not all was as it seemed. The yellow tinted bottle lay on the floor next to his face. Quintus's empty eyes stared back at it. Wine pooled around him. It was red.