Chapter 1

Anima di Nerezza
Chapter 2: Part 1-The Return

The worn, wooden gates were opened, as I had expected, yet under heavy surveillance by the city militia. Not that it really mattered, thought, for this was a peaceable time, and neither fiend nor beast dared venture too close to the city. What need did they have for worry? It was almost as if they had expected a resurrected assassin to infiltrate the city.

With little regard to the ever-watchful guards, I strolled into the Imperial City casually. I wasn’t armed, nor was I a criminal anymore, having already served punishment for past afflictions. Also, I had no plan to murder the Emperor again. At least not yet. But even so, they could arrest me for nothing. Had I the desire, I could even give my name. Names of the recently killed draw surprise, yes, but little belief. So I continued into such a familiar place.

I kept walking for some time with little aim. I stopped outside of a bakery and examined some tasty looking goods. The thought arose that I should steal one, but I was not willing to give up my freedom and, perhaps, life so soon. Moving on, I halted at a seedy little tavern and examined the swinging wooden sign. This was obviously an advertisement or welcoming sign, even, for its name was painted in cracked, but still bold letters: “The Blue Bandit.”

As I ducked inside the pub, I stopped for but a second, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark, humid atmosphere. The tavern was aptly named. There was no Blue to be seen, but it looked as though the Bandits had overrun the place. The shadiest of characters inhabited the dimly lit drinking room, some dressed in dark robes, others adorned with scars and disfiguring injuries. I briskly, but cautiously strode over to the splintered countertop. The aging bartender looked up swiftly, only to step back in dread.

“Why are ya…? I mean, what… no, how are ya….?” he whispered in the most alarmed voice such a gruff man could offer.

“What’s wrong, Kerric?” I asked sarcastically. “You look like you’re speaking to a ghost!”

Leaning forward curiously, he reached forward as if he wished to touch the imaginary nails in my hands and posed the undeniable question, “Is it really you, Mabe? I mean, alive an’ all?” It bears mentioning that, had an ordinary man called me Mabe, I would have nailed his face to the wall. But seeing as though Kerric was no ordinary man, but rather a close friend (and I didn’t have my daggers) I indulged him in answers to his frantic questions.

“Kerric, it’s a very long story, and one you would find no worth in believing, but, yes, it’s me.” Once again, he looked as though he needed physical proof, so I placed my hand on his bearded cheek.

“Blast, Mabe, yer hands are freezing!” he exclaimed after flinching. “Might as well be a ghost if ya can’t get your body to be any warmer.” He chuckled softly and poured me a glass of ale, explaining that it was the “good stuff” that he’d been saving for any “special ‘ccasion.”

After we had been talking for some time, I changed the subject to more grave, and dangerous, matters. Not, of course, without softening him up to the upcoming query.

“Kerric, my old friend, I’m so glad I get to spend this time with you. You look so much better from the last time I saw you!”

“Don’t butter me up, Mabe. What do ya want?” Yes, I failed that time. I guess I couldn’t fool the old man.

“Well, simply put, I need to know how I can contact…” I lowered my voice now,” the Brotherhood.” The old man’s face grew long and solemn at this. I almost considered saying that I must leave, that this had been a mistake.

“I knew ya’d ask soon ‘nuff, Mabe.” Ah, so maybe the old man would talk? A stroke of luck to be sure. “I gots a key, I do. Er... I really wish ya wouldn’t get mixed up with ’em again, though, Mabe,” he added.

“Who’s the one mixed up with the Brotherhood now, Kerric?” I countered, partially joking with him. “One doesn’t get a key to their base by chance, now do they?”

“Maybe so, girl, maybe so. But if ya must go, the Altmer Vercindelle is here in the Imperial City. He’s usually in the back of the Leaping Lion. That key’ll get ya there.”

“Vercindelle?” I almost cried, “He’s here? That’s fantastic!” Vercindelle was another old friend and a long-time employer. We went way back, and I figured things would start going my way. I briefly thanked Kerric and walked out to the street.

Before I made it to the door, though, Kerric threw one last comment. “Please be careful, Mabe.” I paused shortly to think on this, but moved out with not another word.

I made my way to the Leaping Lion in unusually high spirits. It wasn’t the ale, for certain, but instead the luck which was falling before me. Or was it luck? The Daedra Lord’s words echoed in my head. ‘Don’t make me regret this’ he had said after remarking that I was his tool. His tool was I? Millions of thoughts swarmed through my head at once. Was this so-called ‘luck’ Mehrunes Dagon’s doing? Even so, was I disappointing him? And if that, what could he do to stop me? We were on two separate planes, yes, but his minions did roam the wild. More luck, for I’ve said before that the Daedric fiends rarely visit the cities, most likely for fear of extermination. But would they attempt to attack if they were ordered to do so by their Master?

The Leaping Lion was before me too soon, and with too many questions left unanswered. Reluctantly, I stepped inside. Unlike the Blue Bandit, the Lion was rather bright. It was packed with loud, boisterous conversations and the constant flurry of barmaids making their way to their customers. I wondered if I would be able to find Vercindelle had he been in this crowd, but such thoughts were of little value. Kerric has said that the Altmer would be in the back room.

I did not want to draw attention to myself by stepping inside and instantly moving to the back, but attention was an impossible thing in such a swarming bar. With this in mind, I pushed my way through the drunks.

The door to the back, or at least what I imagined was it, was no more than twenty steps away when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I stood face to face with a short, ugly Bosmer. The fat Wood Elf looked ready for a fight more so than he was ready to win the Ugliest Drunk award.

“Hey, lady, you spilled me drink!” he shouted, spraying alcohol and rancid breath alike.

“Well, I’m glad you noticed, sir, but I had best be leaving.” When he wouldn’t release his death grip on my shoulder, I added a quick, “Now.”

I was not eager to attract unwanted eyes, but this fool was asking for it. Placing my hands on the Bosmer’s shoulders and pushing down, I reared my head back and smashed it into his face. By the deep, red blood spraying onto my clothes and the muffled way he screamed, I imagine I did quite a lovely job of shattering his nose. He crumpled to his knees and gingerly held his hands over his deformed nose.

“Adds to the appearance, if you must know,” I seethed ruthlessly at the now weeping drunk. Ignoring the fearful glances, I continued to back room and Vercindelle’s office. As I opened the locked door, walked through, and shut it behind me, the drunk’s cries were finally silenced.

Now this is nice. Nothing like beating up a little Bosmer.
Please update soon.

Part 2- The Meeting

The “back room” consisted of a medium sized office, which contained a desk. Of course, behind the desk Vercindelle was seated. The Altmer looked not a year older from our last meeting. Being a High Elf, as they are called in any other continent than their native Summerset Isle, he was unusually tall in height. His shimmering red hair was tied up behind his head. Regarding his hair, he was certainly no front lines assassin, but rather a man who killed from behind a desk and four walls. Most other assassins sported coarse hair or none at all, save, obviously, the females like myself.

“Ah, Mabriel Tan’yadiel. Couldn’t have been subtle in the least? My men reported that you broke poor Minjer’s nose.” Before I could ask how his men witnessed the fight and made it back in here so invisibly, a barely audible man dropped behind me. I turned my head, just barely, to see a dagger pointed at my face. The holder, I assume, had been hidden on the rafters above me.

“Vercindelle, my friend, do you greet all your guests like this?” I asked in an annoyed voice. The image of the original Altmer was not an untrusting, trap springing man, but rather one who was glad to see people like myself. But the new man had an armed bodyguard, who was ready to put a blade in my face.

“Sorry, Mabriel. I’m just not fond of the walking dead,” he said coldly.

“Ah, but you should only mention that when I am about to die a second time.” He understood my meaning and called off his henchman.

“Well, I suppose it’s about time you met my personal guard. Mabriel, this is Geryss,” Vercindelle said in a newer, softer tone. The man walked around to stand eye to eye with myself. He wore the traditional Brotherhood light armor, instead of the cloaks and hoods I preferred. Of course, in wearing this, his face was covered by a cloth “helmet.” In what I took to be a token of good faith (maybe he was worried I could turn him in to the guards?) he pulled of the helmet and revealed his face. He was a Breton with short brown hair and, shall we say, odd eyes. They were a deep, scarlet red. This was rather unnatural, to say the least, but I did not gawk or comment. He stared at me for a moment, and I stared at him. Instantly I felt the connection. We were natural enemies.

Vercindelle sensed this tension and urged me to sit down. We discussed the nature of “business” in the Cyrodiil province for some time. He revealed to me that the Dark Brotherhood was a mere thorn in the side of the Empire, and had little influence on the native citizens. Some still feared us, but that was all. Just the lesser of the monsters in the closet of Cyrodiil.

“We are…in quite a bind, to speak bluntly. After you…left… there were few who could fill your shoes. Geryss is very capable, but I don’t pay him to carry out assassinations. He is my bodyguard and shall remain as such. Therefore, your timely reappearance is only too valuable.”

“Vercindelle, you do realize that I came to look for a job, do you not? If you need an assassination done, that is why I am here,” I reminded him.

“I know this. But there is a grave danger in what I wish to assign you,” he said worriedly.

“Of course, there is danger. This is a killing right?”

“You probably will not believe me, but my life is in danger. The Empire has ripped through the veil that is the Brotherhood and is now hounded me everywhere I go. You don’t think I had Geryss almost kill you for nothing, do you now? If you take these missions, the threat on my life will most likely vanish, but you will be in danger still.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you said ‘missions’. There’s more than one?” I asked.

“Nine, to be exact. Most are high-ranking senators or even military officers. They alone know who I am and what I do. My death is only the beginning of it, too. For if they find me, the rest of the Dark Brotherhood will be exposed and, as expected, imprisoned or executed. But if you take care of this, in all likelihood they will identify you as well. It is a lose-lose situation, but we are desperate now, Mabriel.”

I sat silently for several minutes. The risks were great, to be sure, but Mehrunes Dagon once again appeared in my thoughts. If he regretted me, surely he would send some fiend, or even a possessed servant, to rid him of the annoyance. But, peradventure I was to please him? Would I be given his favor, or his power? Destruction is the Daedra’s game. A Cyrodiil without these nine threats would surely be a little more chaotic. The Empire, for one, would stagger with their loss, especially in such little time. Even if the Empire were to find me and try to kill me (again, at that), what would they do against the power of a Daedra?

On the other hand, though, what if the Daedric Lord didn’t need me to live. What if, in his lack of moral standards, he enjoyed the discord I had caused, but cared not to protect me from those who would chase me to my grave? On top of this thought, the chaos in the Empire would be matched by the chaos in the Brotherhood if key figures were snuffed out from each. He would take even greater pleasure in this outcome.

To accept or decline was a deadly gambit for me. If I accepted, I ran a high risk of being forsaken by my savior and killed by my enemies. If I declined, I would surely be murdered with the rest of my Dark Brotherhood kin. My choices lay in how soon I wanted to die. But my mind was made all the same.

“I’ll do it,” I said. Vercindelle proceeded to fill me in on the other details.

Ah, a new life and a new mission. Now don't forget to pick up those nice daggers that are just begging to be used and please update soon.

Chapter 3-Part 3: New Beginnings (Stay with me, guys, this is a long one. But I appreciate all the comments!)


He had already told me that most of the Nine were government or military figures, but I had failed to take to mind the most. There was one, so he said, that was an Imperial spy, and a good one at that. While the high ranking characters were able to keep pressure on the Dark Brotherhood, most of the spy’s duty was to put that pressure into action. Rather hard-hitting action, honestly. He had killed and captured many Brotherhood agents, taking the living in for interrogation. Too many times had he thwarted assassination attempts, usually on various government officials. On top of these, he was rooted into the very presence of the Brotherhood. There was a traitor amongst us.

Besides the spy, there were five government men and three military men. I imagined that the government targets would be easier to murder because, regardless of security around them, they would have little or no experience in combat. I was no more eager to kill them than the military men, though. Whatever job Vercindelle suggested first, I would take.

“Dante Gallias. He’s a senator, born in the province of Morrowind, brought here when he was no more than three years of age. He’s a Dark Elf, as most of the natives of Morrowind are, but he’s been trained to be a politician since he could understand what a politician was. We have already tried to bribe him to stand down, but this man is as straight as an arrow. He’s close by outside of the Imperial City, but it’s by no means an easy task. He lives in a country estate about a mile from the gates, but security on that place is tight. Gates, guards, bowman, the works,” Vercindelle explained.

“Vercindelle, before I even start on this mission, I need to get some replacement gear,” I said.

“All taken care of. I have a man on the way to our hotel room; he’s leaving your equipment there.”

“OUR hotel room?” I asked, scared to think of what he meant.

“The Brotherhood’s hotel room. We use it rarely, but it comes in handy whenever we need a place to lay low. It’s registered to a false name, so even if the guards decide to search the records, they’ll find nothing of interest. But since, you’re back with us; you can use it as a home base, if you will. Somewhere to call your own.” He smiled at the thought of an assassin caring ‘someplace to call their own’, and then dismissed me.

Before I walked out, I chanced another look at Geryss, the Breton. He again met my stare with competitive eyes. Well, we’ll just have to see who’s the best between the two of us, won’t we? It’ll be tricky though, seeing as though you can’t leave your master. Poor dog. Mocking the Breton in my head was quite entertaining, though it had little results, other than my temporary joy.

I entered Vercindelle’s office with a want for a job, and had come out with nine. This would be enjoyable, more so than taunting Geryss and breaking the Bosmer’s nose. Ah, the Bosmer! I see he had been escorted out of the Leaping Lion. Still, blood soaked the floor where I had made him a bit uglier. People, surprisingly, regarded me with little interest. The pub was still bustling with life, filled as much now as it had been before with noisy drunks.

It was reasonably darker outside, with the sun just sinking below the rooftops of the City. The air was certainly cooler, and I expected rain. Rain, the optimal killing weather condition! Muffles noise, washes blood away, distorts the vision. How I love rain!

Ah, but the last time it rained… Indeed, the last time it rained, I had been out to kill Uriel Septim. And how I had failed!

This time though, you have Mehrunes Dagon on your side! This thought disturbed me, for I realized how much I was beginning to rely on the Daedra.

But if he chooses to help you, what harm is there in letting him? Would you leave your benefactor out to dry? This thought did make sense, but there was far too much to do to worry about the Daedric Lord Mehrunes Dagon right then.

The inn I was staying at was a large, but comfortable place to be. My room was the same. It was big, yes, but not fancy. Surely it was nice, but not too nice. Oh, my thoughts were wandering! Why did I care? It had a bed and a few chairs. Good enough for me. My equipment was, as promised, sitting on a desk in my room. It was packed into a small crate, so I didn’t know exactly what was inside. I found this lack suspense quite exciting.

Opening the box, I discovered myriad items, starting with a steel dagger and leather sheath. The leather was dyed black, drawing from me a feeling of appreciation. This was a caring man or woman who crafted these. Black was my favorite and most helpful color as an assassin. Underneath the blade was a matching set of clothes. Ah, and the cloak had a hood! How lovely!

The utility belt beneath was brown. I say this in jest, of course, for only the greatest of fools would dare give me a brown utility belt. The belt had various pouches and straps for holding different items. And what items did I find to put in my belt? Oh so many!

Vercindelle had sent me bombs! The little balls were made of some sort of hard shell that easily fractured when thrown. The insides of the makeshift bombs were filled with a quite nasty liquid that ignited anything in its path whenever disturbed. Luckily, the shells were filled to the brim with the liquid, so they wouldn’t slosh around and explode in my pouches.

Next up was a set of throwing knives. Not very unique, but they got the job done. The only thing left in the box was dust, so I changed into my clothes and equipped my new toys. I was rather pleased with my new gifts, and couldn’t wait to get to some killing. Staring out the hotel window, I awaited the time for me to begin.

It must have been an eternity, but finally the sun was completely gone and the moon reigned over the sky. Ready to go play, I walked down the creaky stairs to the ground level. After deciding to wait a bit longer for the town life to settle, I took a seat in the inn’s small bar. I ordered a glass of the local ale and started working on it. As I was enjoying my drink, though, I felt a pair of eyes burning into the back of my skull. The guy must have been breathing fire from his eyeballs.

I turned around quickly, desperate to catch the offender in the act. Quite the mysterious one, he was. He was a she to start with. The woman was draped in an emerald cloak with the hood pulled over her face. Her eyes were overshadowed, but her lips were adorned in scarlet lipstick. She looked a little odd, in my opinion. A cross between a harlot and a stalker, she was. I casually walked over to the table which she was sitting at and pulled over a chair.

“Do you need something, girl?” I asked with an intentional tone of rudeness in my voice. She looked at me for a second, then tilted her head downwards and giggled.

“I just might,” she said in a smooth voice. I caught a quick lick of the lips on her part after this cryptic statement.

“Well, I was just a little curious as to why someone like you keeps staring at me. Can you shed some light on this for me?”

“It’s just…. well, you look so delicious,” she said in a rather seductive tone.

I instantly understood, or thought I did, and backed away, disgusted beyond a shadow of a doubt. I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words to describe my current feelings. Instead, I left a few coins on the bar top to cover my tab and stormed out into the cool, rainy night.

I was furious at that… perverse…thing! She must have been some kind of demon-possessed… thing. I couldn’t even put a name to her. ‘Thing’ did the trick though. I moved on rapidly, letting the pounding rain wash away the imaginary sickness that she might have passed onto me with her very words. By the gods, she could’ve infected me with her breath if I wasn’t careful.

I was almost worried that I was wearing some rather conspicuous clothing, but, in and of itself, it was fine. Just because I was arrayed in complete black didn’t mean that I was out to kill somebody. Most adventurers walked armed, as well, so I could claim to be one of those. With these reassuring thoughts at the ready, I continued without doubt in myself.

When I neared the city gates, I realized that I was almost too late. The guards keeping watch over them were just beginning to close the bulky doors. Running as if for my life, I struggled to make it through. When I did it to the gates, they were not more than a few feet apart. I jumped through the narrowing space, barely making it past. On the other side, I slid on my belly on the slick ground. Standing up and brushing as much water as possible off of my cloak, I looked around me and kept walking.

It was a rather long walk, but I eventually made it to the gates of Gallias’ estate. I had expected, almost known, that I would have to jump the gates leading into his exquisite home, but there was no need for that. The iron, barred gates were left open. In the howling wind, the moaning and swinging gates presented and eerie taste to the air. I almost chose to leave, fearful of what I might find. But my sense of duty overcame my child-like fears and I stepped inside.

The most accurate description for what I saw inside the gates is summed up in one word: graveyard. Fallen guards littered the Gardens of Dante Gallias. There were absolutely no sword wounds, though. No piercing was seen, but there were still gallons of blood. Blood on the grass. Blood on the guards. Blood on the hands of the dead men’s’ killer. Quite instinctively, I drew my dagger and hoped it would be enough.

comments, comments, me likey comments. running low on patience.... please
oh yah, i also appreciate the constructive criticism and stuff, so yah, if one has any ideas or the like... ya know... tell me.

Ah I bet you do! You have to be patient though! I can assure you I read all stories, but I don´t always comment everytime....and I think that is the common thing around here, but your comments will come, like...now!

I think you are writing a good story and I wish you to keep up the good work! See there are an incredibly bunch of stories at the boards at the moment, ppl havve a full-time work just reading them!

thank you! i'll do my best to stay patient.

Minque pretty much said just what I was thinking, you see I read this story several days ago but I didn't have time to comment on it and things have been hectic so...well anyways I like the story, it has a very unique feel to it and just because I don't comment doesn't mean that I'm not reading. Very good, I'll start reading the next part momentarily.

Oh and just so you know I read everything as well even if it does take me a bit of time to comment.