Son of Sorrow, Murder's child has come... Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Seeing as every time I set out to write a story set in Tamriel I end up doing something that threatens to tear the structure of the nation apart, I though that perhaps I should maybe right something where that didn't happen. Then I thought, Oh sod it.

Son of Sorrow

Prologue

It is said that Mephala is without mercy, compassion or kindness. It is said that she relishes in the death of every living thing, and takes great joy in the despair of others.

This is not true.

Or at least, it isn’t fully true.

When the Ayleid people were destroyed, Mephala had revelled in the genocide that had ensued. Yet when the exterminations carried out by the newly formed ended and the elves were eventually accepted by society again, Mephala was angered, yet she knew that she could do nothing without angering the other Daedric princes.

So Mephala waited.

And then, after the Ayleid had been driven out, and replaced by the high elves, Mephala discovered that, contrary to imperial beliefs, one member of the Ayleid royal family lived. Barely out of infanthood, the young boy had been adopted by a pair of highly born High Elves. In a brutal attack on the house, Mephala sent her daedric minions to retrieve the child. When the watch arrived, the family had been slaughtered and the house burned to the ground.

So Mephala cared for and bought up the child the best she could, her blackened heart showing some semblance of mercy. She trained the child, enhanced and strengthened his body and skills through magic where training alone would not suffice. She sent him on missions, to hunt down and kill the most important members of society to wreak havoc and fear upon the world.

Mephala’s chosen assassin is able to strike in any place at any time, able to infiltrate any stronghold and eliminate the target with deadly speed.

He is the perfect assassin, the perfect killer.

He is the Son of Sorrow.

Marius took a deep swig of the brandy, allowing the strong alcohol to warm his cold body, before passing it to Gegran. The redguard accepted the flask gratefully, glad that he could finally warm himself after the long cold night shift at Anvil Castle.

“That’s good stuff,” he said. “Why didn’t you get it earlier?”

“Make it better when we have it,” Marius replied. “Come on, the night shift isn’t that bad. It’s a bit cold and boring but there are worse jobs we could be doing.”

Gegran had to agree. At least with the watch he could get good pay, three hot meals every day and a bed to sleep in.

There was a clink behind them, causing both watchmen to spin around.

The wall was empty.

Gegran laughed.

“Look at us,” he said. “Jumping at shadows. It was probably a rat.”

“Maybe we should go and take a look,” Marius said, looking nervous. “If someone got in on our watch the captain would have our hides.”

Gegran shrugged and drew his sword.

“If it makes you happy.”

The two men advanced towards the only entranceway to the castle on the roof, a thick wooden door. Gegran rattled the handle.

“Nothing here,” he said, sounding rather smug. “I told it would be…”

He was cut out by a whoosh and chink noise, then a scream.

Gegran span to see what the noise was and saw Marius clutching a stump where his arm had been. Dark red blood dribbled through his fingers. Gegran rushed over to his companion in a panic, but was stopped half way through by something speeding past him unnaturally fast. He slowed, suddenly unable to feel his legs, and he collapsed to his knees. He glanced down to see that somebody had somehow sliced a cut across his stomach, and blood was pouring freely through the cut in his chainmail.

Gegran collapsed forwards, his eyes wide with shock, unable to breath. A wracking cough caused his body to convulse, and blood dripped from his mouth as his eyes glazed.

Without ever seeing his killer, Gegran died.

Marius screamed as he saw his friend die. He frantically looked to the shadows in an attempt to locate the mysterious attacker, desperately trying to ignore the pain in his arm.

“Behind you,” someone whispered in his ears. Marius span, to see only empty wall.

“Missed me, I’m afraid,” came the same voice. Marius twisted to see a face, the lower half of it covered with a bandanna. It was that of a young man with scruffy blond hair that stuck out at all angles, and piercing blue eyes. Marius stared into them and couldn’t see any hint of mercy or remorse in them.

“Who are you?” he murmured, tears running down his face.

“Poor little thing,” his attacker crooned. “Why does it cry?”

He gently ran his hand along the side of Marius’ head.

“Is it sad?” he continued. “Is it hurt?”

“Get off me,” Marius cried, his vision beginning to blur. “Get off me, you madman.”

“I’m not mad,” the other man said, his tone offended. “Just very, very cruel. And you’re not. So that’s why we’re in this position now. Perhaps if you’d have been a bit crueller, a bit more ruthless, you might not be here right now, but could be sleeping safely now. It’s all your fault that you’re here now, and it’s my fault I’m here where I am. Because I am cruel, and so I’ll always be better than you.”

Marius tried to struggle away, but found his limbs leaden and heavy.

“You’re dying,” his attacker said. “Does it hurt? I’m glad I’ll never find out. You can’t kill me. No-one can. And you know what, it hurts to die, apparently. Please, tell me if it hurts.”

Marius could only nod.

“Good.”

Marius felt his keys be taken from him, and as his vision darkened he saw a figure walk away from him and unlock the door, all the while whistling a jaunty drinking song.

Alone and cold on the rooftop of the castle, Marius died.

This post has been edited by The Bean: Sep 18 2008, 09:16 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Lex investigates the crime and Ainis takes his (not-so) inner psychopath for a spin.

Part 3

“I can see your logic captain, but there is a fatal flaw in your reasoning,” Silion Carro said. “Why, of all times, would I have my brother and his wife assassinated now?”

“What do you mean?” Lex asked, suspicion layered upon his voice.

“My brother’s appearance from nowhere a short while ago has caused the eyes of the entire town, if not the entire province, to be upon them. For me to get them killed at the moment would be more than just stupidity-it would be madness.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Carrio said. “Thank you for your time sir. Shall we leave captain?”

Lex nodded and stood, walking to the door and stepping through after one of Silion’s many servants to open. Once the pair of men were in the sunny streets of the town, Lex sighed.

“What’s wrong sir,” Carrio asked.

“I don’t trust him,” Lex said. “Get Gogan to keep an eye on him. I don’t want him to so much as sneeze without me knowing.”

“Good idea sir,” Carrio said. “What about this assassin? Shall I see about him?”

“Of course,” Lex answered. “Try and see if you can find anything about this person. Dig through all of the reports, look for any pictures or descriptions.”

“Any idea where I could start?” Carrio asked.

“Start with the Tinion Arrien case,” Lex answered. “It seems too similar to be coincidence.”

“What was that?” Carrio asked.

“One of my first cases as a member of the watch,” Lex said, as the pair of them walked towards the town’s castle. “It was in the Imperial City. Tinion Arrien, an important community leader and priest, was killed along with his wife and servants. Thirteen deaths, all similar to these one-wounds that kill as slowly as possible. And the assassin wasn’t subtle, we had over a dozen witnesses to the crime, and the description is the same as the one we have here.”

“How long ago was that?” Carrio said.

“A good twenty years ago,” Lex answered.

“But the description of this man said that he couldn’t have been more than twenty years old,” Carrio pointed out. “That would be impossible.”

“I know,” Lex said. “But it seems to be our only lead. Just look it up will you? We need to get this person.”

“Yes sir,” Carrio said. “I’ll get looking as soon as we get back.”

#

The rain thundered down on the town, one of the sudden storms that blew in from sea from time to time. Water drummed on roofs and windows, pattered on roof tiles, dripped from guttering. The only people out were those who had to be out, night watchmen sheltering under gutters and shivering in the cold wind. Occasionally lightning crackled across the sky, followed by a roll of thunder. It was not a nice night to be outside on.

But somebody was.

Slipping and sliding through the dark like a living shadow, Ainis, the Son of Sorrow, approached the chapel of Dibella, the start of the famous events that lead to the founding of the Knights of the Nine. Rain poured on him in sheets, but he ignored it. The realm of Mephala was far colder, and he had far more important things to deal with than the rain.

The chapel, more of a church, rose over the town, it’s spire sharing the skyline with shape of the castle. The diamond of the nine was mounted over the top of the spire, the beaten brass shining brightly whenever lightning struck nearby. A figure slipped through the gate around the small fence, and pushed open one of the wooden doors.

Denya murmured a quiet prayer for those who had to suffer the elements whilst she lit the candles on the altar, letting each candle burn brightly before moving the taper onto the next. She was distracted from her duties by the sound of one the doors shutting.

She turned to see who had come in to see that the area by the doors was empty. Perhaps it had just slammed in the wind. But then she remembered that she had checked and double checked the latched earlier that evening.

“Is anybody there?” she called out cautiously, holding the taper before her like weapon.

“Hello miss,” Ainis said cheerfully, appearing right next to her. Denya squeaked in surprise, and jumped at his sudden arrival.

“Sorry,” she said. “You made me jump. Can I help you?”

“I was just passing through,” Ainis said casually. “I thought I might perhaps look at the legendary chapel of Dibella.”

“You chose a fine night to do so,” Denya said said nervously. The story was a blatant lie, and she knew that the visitor knew it. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, I’m afraid that we don’t have any room for the night. There are several good inns throughout the city however.”

“I wasn’t wanting to stay here, don’t worry,” Ainis said. “I just wanted to see the retired Lord Commander.”

“You mean Father Veran?” Denya said. “I’m afraid he’s sleeping at the moment. His condition seems to be worsening.”

“Condition?” Ainis asked.

“You know,” Denya replied. “The curse. The one that weakens him daily.”

“Oh,” Ainis said. “That condition.”

“Look,” Denya said sharply, beginning to become more perturbed by her rather odd visitor. “What do you want exactly? And you can remove that bandanna, there isn’t a draft in here you know.”

“Why would I want to remove my bandanna,” Ainis answered, his tone suddenly offended. “What could I possibly want to do that for?”

Denya realised she had hit a nerve.

“I suppose you want to see what’s under there now, don’t you?” Ainis continued. “Well, you can see. Just because I like your eyes.”

Denya was puzzled by that remark, but saw that the stranger was undoing his bandanna. He let it drop, and her eyes widened in shock.

The lower half of Ainis’ face was heavily burnt and scarred, necrotic tissue clinging to bone. His top lip had been removed, forcing his teeth show in a permanent snarl. The skin around his chin blackened and charred, badly burnt.

“You still want to see it?” Ainis asked, bitterness clear on his voice. “Shall I keep it off, because I’m indoors now? Shall I take it off the sake of etiquette? Or shall I put it back on?”

Denya backed away, horrified by the monstrous vision of all of Ainis’ face.

“What do you want?” he asked. “It’s your choice.”

“Put it back on,” Denya whispered. “Please.”

“They all ask that,” Ainis muttered as he retied the bandanna. “Always.”

Suddenly, he was next to her, and holding her arm in a vice-like grip.

“I did you a favour,” he hissed. “Because I liked your eyes. But your eyes, however much I like them, have seen too much.”

He slammed his hand of Denya’s mouth.

“I always demand a price for my favours,” he continued. “So I’ll take your pretty little eyes for it.”

He tore a strip of her sleeve off and tied it over her mouth, and drew a dagger from his bandoleer. Denya tried to wriggle away from the mad elf, but his grip was relentless. Tears ran down her cheeks as she jerked her head away from the blade.

“Don’t struggle,” Ainis said softly. “It’ll only make it worse. Be sensible about this please. If you’re calm and don’t move, it’ll be over quickly.”

Denya tried to call out, scream for help, but it was muffled by the gag. Then the blade slid underneath her eyeball, and with a swift movement, Ainis cut the optical nerve and popped the soft, squishy sphere out of her socket. For a brief moment, Denya struggled again, desperately trying to escape, but shock suddenly overcame her and she lapsed into unconsciousness.

In a deft movement, Ainis took the other eyeball and held his grisly trophies up to the light.

“On second thoughts,” he said to no-one in particular. “I don’t think they’re actually that pretty. Ah well.”

He placed the two eyeballs on the altar and crushed them under the palms of his hands. He glanced at the unconscious Denya, blood gently dribbling from the voids where her eyes had been.

“I’ll be back for you later,” Ainis quietly told her, before making his way to the undercroft.