30th of Last Seed, 4E 201
Normally I’d appreciate the bright sun on cold days like this, but right now I’m wishing it was overcast. As I’m writing this, I’m sitting on a rickety chair at a camp just outside of Angarvunde, having just finished risking my life just so someone could get killed. Idiotic, greedy Dark Elf.
Yesterday I entered Windhelm. I had been needing some supplies I just couldn’t obtain in the smaller towns, even those like Riverwood and Falkreath. I chose Windhelm because Thalmor agents would have trouble infiltrating the city, and if they did and tried anything, Ulfric’s guards would tear them to pieces no matter who they were after. Besides, I was curious to see how Ulfric had fared.
I’m beginning to wish I never stepped foot on those ancient stones. I got into a brawl with a Nord bully who took exception to my reaction to his anti-Dunmer attitude. Then, just as I was looking for the marketplace, I heard screams and cries nearby in the cemetery. Someone had been murdered, cut up like a hog under the hands of an inexpert butcher. I’ve seen a lot of death, and this rivaled some of the things Loki did during the war.
I had no desire to walk the streets with a drawn weapon, and the guards seemed unable to solve this, so I offered to help. I really began to question the guards’ competency when it took me less than a day to discover the killer’s identity. I still have trouble believing Calixto sincerely thought he could resurrect his sister.
When we met in the marketplace, his target Arivanya had not yet arrived. We stared at each other, the business of Windhelm continuing obliviously around us. I knew why he was there, and he knew that I knew.
There was a moment of unspoken communication between us. He would never stop. I would never let him kill again. When my ebony scimitar thrust into his body, it felt like we were both colliding with destiny.
After I finished disposing of that piece of human trash, I did some other jobs in town. Most of it was finding and delivering things. I still need to track down those pirates in Dawnstar.
Before I left town, I heard a rumor about a boy named Aventus Aretino attempting to call the Dark Brotherhood. I couldn’t believe it, so I investigated it myself. I quickly wished I didn’t.
When I found him, I was completely stunned. He had everything the Night Mother could have wished for. For several moments I couldn’t even speak, which Aventus took as implicit acceptance of his contract. He was an orphan, when his mother died he was sent to an orphanage in Riften. The person he wants dead is the caretaker, Grelod the Kind. The things he described her doing …
I left his house, and Windhelm, with my head still reeling. I know what it’s like to be an orphan. My mother died when I was four, and my father died when I was close to Aventus’s age. I was sent to an orphanage in the Imperial City. The headmistress there wasn’t cruel, but she wasn’t kind either. To be forced to live through torture, beatings, and abuse after you’ve just lost the most important people in your life.
I’m going to Riften. It’s risky, but I need to witness Grelod’s actions for myself. Perhaps there’s a way to deal with her without bloodshed. If not, well, I am an assassin, just not for the Dark Brotherhood.
Loki would laugh his head off at this.
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