Anima Di Nerezza (soul Of Darkness), My oblivion story. Options

[Sirin]

the very first story that i truly have high hopes for. enjoy and comment

Chapter 2

Anima di Nerezza
Chapter 1

The End. Not what one was expecting? Alas, most stories begin with such lines as, ‘Once upon a time’, or even, ‘Once there was a happy little family.’ I speak the truth, though, when I say that this story begins with the end. Or, more accurately, this story begins with MY end. I do not lie in saying that I journeyed through Death itself. Don’t mistake me though; my journey was a long and painful one. Such a journey would cause any adventurer to weep for a second death. This is not a tale of glory or a happy ending, but rather two lives wasted searching for wealth, power, and happiness. I found one of these (power), but only for a short time and after years of work. Working for the wrong people and doing the wrong things.

I was an assassin in the employ of the infamous Dark Brotherhood. Not an easy job, but a very satisfying one. I was unmistakably the best they had, with the exception of the Night Mother, who headed the Brotherhood. I also, again bested by the Mother, was the most respected female in the Brotherhood. It wasn’t rare to encounter female assassins, but maybe some thought it odd?

Several names were at my disposal, usually for deceptive purposes, but only one of them was my “true” name: Mabriel Tan’yadiel. The little that I recall of my long deceased family was their name, which was Tan’yadiel. Mabriel, I believe, was also my mother’s name. Therefore, it was as good as mine. It wasn’t a special name, though; it was nothing celestial, merely a traditional Dunmer name that was passed on through the women of the Tan’yadiel lineage.

I never felt love, for I was never taught it. Soon after my parents died, I was cast into the street. I was young, yet it mattered not to any other. A parentless child is a child cursed by the gods; no one would bear a burden like the one involved in raising me. While, roaming the streets in Brumo (my hometown), however, I was found and brought up by the thief J’shazzar, a Khajit. He taught me most of what I knew by the time I was, perhaps, seventeen. It was on the eve of my seventeenth birthday (or what I thought was it) that he introduced me to the Brotherhood. He was an assassin, as I soon learned, and had strong ties to the Assassins’ Guild. They brought me in as though I had been with them since the beginning of time. They taught me love: the love of the kill. Or maybe it was the hunt? Yes, I believe it was the hunt. As much as I enjoyed plunging a dagger into an unsuspecting victim’s heart, I enjoyed even greater following them. Shadowing their every movement and waiting for them to teach me the exact routine of their lives. Finally, after days, or even weeks, of hard fought patience, I was given a window of precious opportunity: a chance for attack. Ah, the sheer exhilaration was more joyous than any worldly pleasure. Something of an addiction perhaps?

I was blessed with long, black hair. ‘Blessed?’ one may ask. Indeed, I was. My long hair never got in the way during a hit, for it was bound behind my head. The little that strayed from braid or cord camouflaged perfectly with the dark night sky. Besides, my wardrobe consisted of a single outfit: a hooded black Brotherhood uniform. That hid my hair well enough, regardless of color. Again, one may question my choice of clothing, arguing that light armors would be better in a conflict. With this, I defend myself: “conflict” is the key word. I HAD been brought up by J’shazzar, the thief. I was well educated in the arts of nigh invisibility and escaping into the shadows. Being sighted was extremely rare. Conflict was rarer still. Besides, if I wore light armors, another would argue in favor of heavier armors. Heavy armors were the instrument of Death. Moving while weighted leads to fatigue. Fatigue blurs focus. Tainted focus gets your head taken off. I think I prefer the lack of protection to death.

I apologize, for I may seem to be contradicting myself and glorifying my past. While assassination is MOSTLY legal, I took things too far. Constant murder will undoubtedly destroy your soul. When my conscience was laid to rest, I desired to have more power than I currently did. It is one thing to control the life of a specified target, but to grip the throats of all in Cyrodiil, even Tamriel, became an obsession to me. I would’ve died to stand over all of Tamriel. And, eventually, I did die for it. But did I have the lands below me? No. And, when I was given a second chance at life, did I learn from my mistakes? Yes. But for long? No. The lust for power eventually ruled me again. So begins this tale:

This post has been edited by Sirin: Feb 27 2006, 12:39 AM

[Sirin]

I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, and sat straight up to see an unfamiliar man watching over me. He slowly eased me back down, and explained to me what had happened.

“I was walking home from the Imperial City when I spotted you lying in a field not more than a mile from here. At first I thought you were dead, but upon coming closer, I realized that you were still breathing. I am not one to leave any one, man or woman, to rot. So, I took you home and nursed you back to health. You’ve probably been out for a week.”

“What’s your name?” were the first words to come form my lips. He told me it was Cosades, Caius Cosades, and with this knowledge in mind, I drifted back off to a troubled sleep.

Though I slept, I found little solace in it. I was plagued by a nightmare of sorts, yet it was terrifying for the sole reason that it was beyond my comprehension. In my dream, I first saw a Khajit wearing Imperial armor. As he looked at me, he bared his fangs, which glittered with blood. The image was vanquished, and in its place appeared a small girl. She was skipping along an old, dirt road, but a shadow sprang forth from the earth and devoured her. The shadow took a human, yet still darkened form, and turned to face me. Before I could see its face, however, it was interrupted by another scene: a woman about to assassinate an unknown man. She held her arms out from her side, and her hands ran scarlet with human blood. She reached for two daggers, held them high above the man’s head, and swung in a violent arc. The image was engulfed in flames before the murder, and I was awoken to Caius shaking me.

“You were screaming in your sleep”, said he. I lied that I was fine, and he reluctantly exited my room. Of course I wasn’t fine. I needed to walk for some time, to throw my cares away with the calmness of travel. I left a note on the man’s table and walked out the door.

It was still dark outside, yet I could barely see the outline of the approaching sunrise. After stretching out a bit, I went about on my journey. Eventually sighting a cracked wooden sign post, I found the road leading to the Imperial City and continued on. I walked on a straight road to the City, so I decided to look around. I traversed on a dusty road, smaller than most I had seen. This was definitely a trader’s route, but a less used one. There were signs of use, but not as many as a well-traveled path. The field packed full of crops gave a clear message: this was very fertile farmland.

I noticed that, as the sun rose higher in the steadily brightening sky, more and more torches appeared in the windows of small farmhouses. The busy life of the agricultural community was awakening. Men and older children were emerging from their cozy homes. Horses and other work animals were stirred from their rest and brought about into a long day of labor. Yet I kept walking. I’ll allow that I wasn’t quite sure what I was to do in the City, but still, I did have a few objectives in mind. I resolved to keep senseless murder to a minimum, but nonetheless, I was looking for a few jobs. I wasn’t dropping murder; I was just cutting back.

I had walked several miles when I realized that my daggers lay forgotten in Caius’ home. I cursed in my mind and scolded myself, but continued on unwavering. I was too far into my journey to worry about turning back to grab my gear. Besides, I wasn’t dropping Caius; he was still useful. I knew all too well that having a contact could tip the scales in one’s favor. If I had the intention of leaving him, I wouldn’t have left a not. I would just write later and ask for the daggers. Or drop by again whenever I needed them.

Finding myself lost in the self reprimanding manner that kept me responsible, I suddenly realized that my surroundings had changed. I was on the same road, but not it was encircled by woodland, save before and behind. It then dawned on mw why this road was less traveled than the rest: it was a shining spot for an ambush. My luck held, though, and I made it out of the woods safely. It was a stupid thing to think that bandits would actually want to rob me. I was dressed in the rags that Dagon had given me before he sent me back to Tamriel. The impending gates grew more immense by the step.

The sun was noticeably higher in the morning sky by now, standing high above the affairs of men, elf, and beast. It shone brightly upon my face, and though it may have given some peace and warmth, it positively bothered me. I was used to roaming with thieves and fellow assassins in the late night hours, where the only light came from the guard-carried torches and the moon, if there was one. The brightness of the current sky now, though, was absolutely not the greatest of my worries. I was still confused and bewildered by the eccentricity of my vision. Was it merely a nightmare to be brushed off? Perhaps it was a revelation of sorts? A warning seemed likely, for I comfortably believed in aid from higher up.

Regardless of its origin, however, it still disturbed me. The scenes were foreign to me, save the Khajit. He MUST have been the same who dared interfere with my plot to murder Uriel Septim. When I finally broke the trance that was the mystery of my dream, I stood at the Imperial City gates.

This post has been edited by Sirin: Feb 25 2006, 11:44 PM