This is my second attempt at writing fan fiction, and I'm pretty confident about this. So please leave any comments you have and I hope you enjoy my story.


The Frigid Dagger

My travels had taken from the barren ashlands of Vvardenfel, to the disease infested swamps of Black Marsh. I've explored the Valus Mountains and traversed the Niben. I had more more septims than the Emperor himself. I was the best...but then there I was...standing in the bitter cold. My blade dry. My quiver empty. And I had but five gold pieces. I had been trudging through the snow for three days without rest. Not knowing where to go or who I could talk to after escaping from prison. It was one of the things I hadn't planned or even thought about. Where to start after everything had been taken from me.

After my attempt to assassinate Chancellor Ocoto, I expected people would be talking about it in the streets, the Black Horse Courier headlined "Dark Elf infiltrates White Gold Tower, nearly kills Ocoto," regardless of the fact that I failed. Instead, the Legion chose to keep what happened under wraps, fearing that the news of an elected official nearly being executed in his sleep, would lower moral throughout the Empire in the time of this Oblivion crisis. My sword came within an inch of his heart...and I achieved nothing for it.

My name was not known. My actions were not feared. I was just some Dunmer standing in the freezing cold. As I rambled onward, thoughts of "what's next" began racing through my mind. I questioned the very things that brought me to Cyrodiil. Would I find wealth here? Would I become an infamous killer? It had been so long since I thought about it, I could barely remember what brought me out of my cave in Vvardenfell? Perhaps this was it...maybe I was meant to be just another Dunmer, living day to day as a commoner. The very thought of such a life caused my insides to turn.

And then, through the trees, a lonely tavern atop a hill revealed itself, the clamor of it's no doubt drunken occupants pierced the Winter air. Seeing the tavern helped bring myself back into reality. For the past few days I had been a phantom, wandering aimlessly, leaving behind any recollection of society. As I neared the tavern, the thought of a warm fire and a mug of ale brought upon me a deviant sense of glee. I finally decided to go in, hoping to figure out what it is I must do.

As I approached the boisterous establishment, I began to suppress my feelings of failure and grief, wanting simply to escape the cold and relax, putting the past few days behind me, at least for the night. When I entered, I was not surprised to find an interior in shambles; people passed out on the floor, waving their mugs and slurring old folk songs.The roaring fire to my right quickly dispatched the numbness I'd felt for the past few days.

I took a seat and beseeched the bartender for a mug of ale. As I waited for my drink, I began to think of my life, questioning if the goal to become a known killer was attainable...or even sane for that matter. How could I become a notorious assassin, without being viewed as some mindless, psychotic murderer? Then, the bartender placed my drink in front of me. I exhaled, and let go all of my thoughts.

As I grasped the mug, all of my problems, my worries, and my regrets seemed to drain right out of me. I was no longer tense, or on edge. For the first time in years, I was at ease. I raised the brim of the mug to my dry, cracked lips. My hands trembling. And then, almost as quickly as this feeling of bliss was brought upon me, it all came crashing down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a drunken Nord stumbling towards me. I tried to quickly set my drink down, but before I could, he slammed into me, sending me collapsing to the ground. My ale poured all of me and my back was nearly broken.

"S-s-sorry mate...I didn't see ya there"

The Nord and his friends all shared a long, thunderous laugh, pointing at me and comically mimicking my fall. The Nord returned to his seat and started finishing his drink. I tried to maintain my composure, attempting to just brush it off, but I couldn't contain myself.

My hands began to clench and my teeth were grinding. My heart was pumping faster and faster as it burned like fire in my chest. Murderous rage began flowing through my veins. My body became so tense I couldn't breathe. All the anger I had ever felt was coming out all at once. I was mustering up all the strength I had, trying to control myself. It seemed though that my mind had no control over my body. Almost as if my emotions took over. I could feel my hand inching closer and closer to my dagger. The words "No! Stop!" were ringing inside my head. I began to shake, trying to regain control.

Finally, I accepted what my body wanted. I slowly placed my hand on my sheathe and began to calmly and casually walk towards the Nord, as to not alarm him and cause a scene. I motioned towards the Nord, trying to get his attention. Finally, he noticed me and reluctantly rose from his seat.As he staggered towards me; his friends didn't even notice his departure and continued on with their blather. As he grew nearer, I discreetly drew my razor sharp dagger from it's sheathe.

The Nord stopped inches from my face, his breath having the stench of a rotting goblin, eyes half open, and shirt stained with vomit. Azura knew what was keeping the Nord on his feet. Just as I was about to speak, the shimmer of the dagger caught his attention, his eyes widening with panic. He began to turn away but before he could, I grabbed his neck and pulled him into me as I rammed the cold steel into his gut, twisting it. The Nord grunted and hunched over. I pulled the blade out and placed my hand on the man's stomach. His breathes grew short. I quickly scanned the tavern; everyone seemed to be acting normally. Either they didn't notice...or didn't care.

I started to apply pressure to the gaping wound, in an attempt to prolong the Nord's life, so he could hear every word I had to say. I leaned close to the man's face, and began to whisper...

"If you knew who I was...if you had any understanding of the atrocities I've committed... after knocking me over, you would have been out the door before I could even get up, but instead you stayed and mocked me...making the biggest mistake of your life..."

Blood began to pour out of the wound, and I could feel the Nord slipping away. I had to try as hard as I could to keep him from dropping to the ground. With every passing second the Nord grew weaker and his pulse nearly came to a halt.

"...but it's my fault...I've failed. Had I accomplished my goal, we could have avoided this...you probably wouldn't have even left home. You'd be sitting in your favorite chair with your doors locked and your windows barred, fearing the vicious and heartless Dunmer assassin...but instead, you don't get to leave here alive tonight...it's my fault...and I'm sorry."

I loosened my grip on the Nord, his face pale and his eyes rolling to the back of his head. I raised my dagger to his throat, taking one last look at his face in it's final moments of life. I quickly jerked the dagger to the right, blood spraying across my face. I released his lifeless body, and it plunged to the ground with a thud that shook the building. This caught the attention of the taverns patrons. The room grew silent. All eyes fixated on me and the motionless body by my feet. I wiped the dagger on my leather cuirass, smearing away the blood.

I locked eyes with every person in the tavern. My aim was to stare them down. Discourage any "heroes" who might try and save the day. I knew I could cut down anyone who approached me; but if they started to attack in numbers, then I would've been easily over powered. This is why I rely on stealth and my keen marksman eyes. I had put myself in a risky situation. One I'd never experienced before. Standing in the the middle of a bar, with nothing but a dagger, and twenty drunken Nords, Orcs, and Redguards between me and the door.

I knew from their eyes, I must look demented...blood dripping from my face, breathing heavily. This seemed to bring out the cowardice in all of them. One by one, they turned away from me and continued what they were doing. Gradually the room grew louder, and returned to normal. Even the Nord's friends were still sitting at their table, none of them looking at me. Little did they that I was undoubtedly just as frightened as them.

I slowly placed my dagger back in it's sheathe. As I looked down at the blood on my hands, it brought back memories from my childhood. It me remember why chose to become what I am. The anticipation before a kill...and the feeling of ecstacy. The stalking of targets. Feeling them just as their entire life comes to an end. This is what I was born to do.

I reached in my pocket for my five drakes, and tossed them towards the bartender. I'd no longer need gold. I proceeded towards the door at a cautious pace, making sure my back was to no one. I reached the exit and bolted into the cold night, no longer thinking of "what's next," but rather "who."

Very nice work. The Hand of Mephala gives the seal of approval!

An interesting start to what is sure to be an interesting tale. I like the different take on your story; it isn't simply a retelling of a quest. Retellings can be great fun, of course, but there gets to be too many of them.

As for your character, he's great. The way he apologized to that Nord after killing him...awesome. No other word for it. A real heart of ice, that one has.

With that said, I hope you don't mind if I point some (minor) errors, to help you avoid making them in the future. Since this is only your second fanfic, it's best to catch it early on.

"...the clamor of it's no doubt drunken occupants pierced the Winter air." "I slowly placed my dagger back in it's sheathe."

Watch where you use "its" and "it's". The former is the possessive pronoun, the latter is a contraction of a verb. Where I've highlighted is where you used the contraction, when you should have used the possessive.

"My travels had taken from the barren ashlands of Vvardenfel, to the disease infested swamps of Black Marsh. I've explored the Valus Mountains and traversed the Niben."

Right there you're mixing past and present tenses.

"His breathes grew short."

Breathes is a verb, breaths, sans the 'e', is the noun form you were looking for.

Thanks for the kind words guys. Reading those made really this story worth writing. As for pointing out my errors, I don't mind at all. In fact, I appreciate the fact that your taking the time to comment on how I'm doing and offering advice.

Edit: I apologize that I've yet to post the rest of Chapter 1 yet. It's just that the ideas aren't coming as quickly as they did before. Plus, I of course want to ensure that it's good.

As I roamed through the dense forest, I paused to watch the sun break over the horizon, illuminating White Gold Tower in the distance. As the radiant light warmed my face, the moment quickly took a dark turn, as I couldn't help but think of all the terrible things that I would do. The things that I "must" do, I told myself. I tried to justify why I would make the streets run red with blood. I affirmed to myself...

"Life is a privilege...and anyone who cannot properly defend their own deserves nothing less than death."

I would live by this principal. I repeated it to myself constantly. It's what kept me sane. Otherwise, I would think of myself as just a killer; but I was more than that, at least I thought so. I had been having difficultly understanding who I was and having confidence in myself. Not only was I trying to prove to the world that my skill was unmatched, I was also trying to prove it to myself.

I perched myself on large boulder, jutting out over Lake Rumare, offering me a few of the Nibenay Valley to the South, the Valus Mountains to the East, and the Colovian Highlands to the West. It was on that boulder, that I began to decide "where?" Which city would I offer my services to? The people of Skingrad or perhaps those of Bravil. And then, like the very dawn I was viewing, the answer came upon me...the Imperial City. The very heart of the Empire. A diverse political and merchant hub, bulging at the seams with poor, rich, and corrupt. Essentially everyone in the city could be grouped into one of those classes, most could be put in at least two. I was certain every citizen there knew of at least one person they wanted to see dead, and I was going to give them what they wanted.

As I navigated through the trees, nearing the bridge connecting the Imperial City to the mainland, another complication in my plan arose. How would I meet with "clients?" It was something that never came up during my teachings back in Vvardenfell. My parents taught me marksmanship, how to use a sword, and even how to have a polite conversation with someone. Never did we discuss how to get a "job," just everything afterwards. I ultimately reasoned that subtlety would be key. I would listen around the city. Ask about rumors. Eavesdrop on conversations. And eventually I would hear someone crying out for my help and confront them.

Walking through the Imperial City on it's white, cobblestone streets, I saw merchants, priests, guards... and it was then that I stopped thinking of them as people. To me, they had no emotions...no thoughts. They were just an obstacle in the way of me and my goals. An obstacle which must be dealt with.

I stopped in front of the entrance to the Foaming Flask. I collected my thoughts and focused all my attention on the task at hand; finding someone willing to hire an assassin. Making my way through the door, I gave a humble nod to the Breton standing behind the counter who returned a pleasant wave. The Inn was probably the nicest in the City, as it was in the nicest District. I was sure a majority of everyone I saw pass through would be the upper-class wealth. Luckily for me, they're usually the ones with the most secrets and enemies.

I took a seat in the back corner, behind a wall of shadow. Hours went by. My eyes were still concentrated on the door. Three people had come in since I'd been there. None at the same time. I was beginning to loose patience. Perhaps it wasn't the bustling town I had imagined. I then noticed that every few minutes, the Breton would look up at me as he wiped down the counter. Finally, he worked up the nerve to speak...

"What's your name, pal?"

I tried to sound polite, while making sure he got the point. The last thing I needed was a reputation for being ill-mannered, or any kind of reputation for that matter.

"Listen, I don't want to sound rude, but I would rather not be bothered."

"Oh, I get it...trying to keep to yourself. Well I hate to say this, but your in the wrong town for that. You see here, everyone knows everything about everybody, and that's how we like it. You might try your luck in Bruma, everyone up there is to preoccupied with the damn cold to gossip."

He chuckled and waited for a reply, but received none. Eventually he lost interest and went back to his work. Outside the twilight hours began to set in. The room grew darker and darker as the minutes passed. I became restless, and decided to give up and try something different the next day, but before I could raise up from my seat, what could only be described as a flood of people broke through the front door. They swarmed the Breton proprietor. He could barely keep up with their orders. After a while many of them started to settle down, taking seats and enjoying their food.

I began to listen, trying to pick up anything I could use. At first everything was just jumbled noise, but soon I was able to interpret and understand what I was hearing. At first, I heard some normal conversations, and some not so normal.

"So the alchemist said to take this twice a day, and the burning should stop."

"I was thinking about becoming a combatant in the Arena, but that Redguard said some pretty discouraging things. Put me off the whole thing"

"I went in a goblin cave today, hoping to score some loot to sell. Needless to say, my pockets are still empty and I was nearly killed"

And then, through the racket of complaints from weak Bosmer and coward Altmer, I heard what I'd been waiting for all this time.

"I can't take much more of this feud with those blasted Sintavs. They start all the confrontations, but the Legion still pins it on us, and they said one more tussle in the streets, and every Atius must move from the city. We'll have to live Bravil, that sorry excuse for a town. It's completely absurd. We can't even leave our homes the risk is too great. To be honest, nothing would make me happier than to see Iniel Sintav gone. That would put an end to all this."

I was so overtaken with glee, I could barely contain it. A small smirk escaped from my serious expression. I was so elated, that I failed to hear the rest of the conversation, but I had heard enough. Now I just needed to wait for him to make his way home, and hope he did it alone.

Some time later, the Imperial rose from his seat. As did I. Luckily, the Orc he'd been talking to remained. Trailing behind the Imperial, I started thinking of what I would say to him. I would make sure he understood my intentions, without me having to flat out say them. He walked up to what I assumed to be his house, and has he unlocked his door, I made my move.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and declared in a low voice...

"Be still and don't turn around."

Seconds passed, and the Imperial grew tense and nervous.

"W-who are you?"

"Who I am doesn't matter. What does matter, is that I'm someone who can help you with your problems."

"What are you talking about? What problems?"

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation back at the Foaming Flask. Having some trouble with a certain Iniel Sintav as I recall. I'd like you to explain the situation to me."

"Well...there's a dispute between our family clans. My brother and one of Iniel's nephews had an argument. Now they're at our throats. I even have to avoid leaving my home in the day. The Legion is always blaming us for any fighting and yelling in the streets. They've even threatened to make my family and I move out of the city if there's one more confrontation."

"You said that with Iniel gone, this whole dispute would end, correct?"

"Well, I doubt that they would want to continue on with the constant threats and fighting without their clan leader. Personally I think he puts his nephews up to it. He wants us out of here."

"When you said you wanted him gone, what exactly did you mean?"

"I just want him gone...I don't know what meant by it, I was just talking."

"Listen, whenever a person says they want someone gone, they usually only mean one thing..."

He was beginning to understand what I meant...

"Are you suggesting...killing him?"

"I never said that, but if that is what you wanted, it could be arranged."

" Well I...I never really considered my options. Especially not murder. I don't think I could handle that."

"You wouldn't have to. Everything would be taken care of, all with the help of your coin purse. With Iniel gone, the problems with his family would cease, and you'd get to live out the rest of your life in leasure, all right here in the Imperial City. That's what you want isn't it? And you said it yourself, Iniel is the source of all this trouble. He's the one telling his nephews to carry on the dispute. And your the one who's a prisoner in his own home."

"Well I....I don't think that...you see...well if I were to..."

He slowly began to relax. His breathing returned to normal and he was less tense. I looked over my shoulder for any guards, while he made his decision.

"Okay, let's just say I did want this done. How much would it cost, approximately?"

"Five-thousand septims."

He let out a long sigh...

"...Okay, I'll do it."

"Of course you will. Now listen, I'll contact you tomorrow in order for us to discuss these matters in greater detail and in a more secure location. Now, open your door, go inside, and do not turn around. And most importantly...keep our discussion to yourself."

He slowly opened the door, and shuffled inside. Once again, I peered out into the darkness, scanning for guards. I saw none, and made my way to the Waterfront. Though it was reputed as dangerous, it would be the best place for me to blend in and find a place to stay for the night. So I strutted along, with a great sense of pride and accomplishment in myself. I had just convinced someone, who as far as I could tell was kind and courteous, to allow me to kill an innocent man. In return for five-thousand septims. A thought which would have never crossed his mind without my persuasion.

Though he still could not be trusted with knowing exactly who I was. I reminded myself constantly that not everyone was as cold-hearted as myself, and that I could never be sure of those that really wanted someone dead and those that just thought they did. The following day I would fully explain what it was that I would be doing, so we were both in complete agreement and understanding. The last thing I needed was a dead body and an Imperial refusing to pay me because it wasn't what he wanted.

Nearing the Waterfront, I suddenly became aware of the unfortunate fact that my pockets were rather devoid of anything that could be labeled as currency. Which shouldn't have come as much of a surprise, since I hadn't done anything to earn a single drake in weeks. Though, even in my best times, I never lived as luxuriously as I could. I was contempt with a warm bed and a full stomach. However, gold makes having those things much easier. I had waited my whole life to get up to that very moment...I could put up with one more night sleeping on the ground like a second-rate beggar.

I spent that night in the Arboretum, hoping not to be bothered by any guardsman. I was leaning next to the statue of Stendarr, the God of Mercy, which I found quite ironic. Mercy...something I lacked. I had to rid myself of all forms of compassion long ago. As well as many other emotions. I had taught myself to be numb in a sense, but lately I had feelings more and more often. I had felt anger. Grief. Joy. And with these, I had felt more...alive.