Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
I didn’t ask for a suicide contract because I have a death wish. That kind of drama makes me sick. I did it to prove a point to Astrid: I am a unique asset.
Because the truth is, I like the Dark Brotherhood. I like Nazir’s black humor, Babette’s strange kind of cruelty, and the feeling of Arnbjorn’s tongue between my thighs. And while I understand that Astrid would like to see my severed head decorating a spike, I also know that she’ll appreciate a gifted killer. At her core, she is pragmatist.
And I am gifted in all the worst ways.
So I figure I can show my value by completing a contract nobody else can do. Can’t argue with results, right?
The job involves murdering a rather large number of imperial soldiers.
Some background: It turns out that Ulfric—self-proclaimed king of this frozen shithole—isn’t as stupid as his voice makes him sound. Yes, I’ve met Ulfric. If you count letting him fuck me up the ass once while I stole a massive emerald from his bedside table as meeting him.
It was a long time ago—he wasn’t even a Jarl then. Tiny cock, by the way. Didn’t hurt a bit.
Anyway, Ulfric realized that while he needed pretty much his entire army to conquer Falkreath Hold with its current fortifications, he could also just circumvent the whole issue and move on to The Reach—and Markarth, city of blood and silver—if Fort Leviathan didn’t exist.
That fort guarded a pass that was otherwise devoid of a military presence, you see. Leviathan. Strange name for a stronghold that was a thousand leagues from the nearest ocean.
So, Ulfric engaged the majority of his army up north, and then took a gamble. He performed the Black Sacrament, and asked for every single soldier in Fort Leviathan to be killed in a single night. Tirdas, the 5th day of Hearthfire, to be exact. No witnesses, and no messengers raising the alarm.
Then Ulfric left five hundred men stationed at the base of the pass that Fort Leviathan guards, and told them to wait and see. If the Dark Brotherhood made good on his request, the soldiers could pass through without so much as strapping on their armor. If not, they’d just head north and join the others.
Like I said, pretty smart.
Obviously, the nocturnal massacre was where I came in.
I traveled by foot. There is a certain pleasure about walking shoeless through this wild country. Arnbjorn taught me that. I thought of him while I walked. After I accepted the contract from Astrid, Veezara pulled me aside and told me that Arnbjorn had left again two days before I came home. Didn’t say why, or to where.
Always someplace I’m not these days.
I reached the fort at around eleven o’clock at night. Sat crouched beneath an outcropping, getting a lay of the land—my feet melting through a patch of snow as I watched.
It really should have been an impossible job. The fort was well-built and well-manned. Even in the thick of night, I counted seventeen patrols—three men each—running irregular patterns along the battlements. All of them wore expensive steel armor and two or three weapons each. They walked with the confident, measured stride of men who committed murders and didn’t lose sleep over it.
I smiled to myself thinking of how I’d have tried to manage this six months ago.
Find one patrol that slipped out of sight by some happenstance. Slit one man’s throat with a dagger, throw two poisoned darts at the other two’s faces and prayed they hit. And then what? I’d be stuck. Fucked in the ass with a splintery broom. The outfit knew their strength was in numbers, and they used their strength well.
A gifted assassin can kill one man no matter where he is.
But the thing I have become…there is no word for it. I am not a dagger in the darkness anymore.
I am the darkness.