Bloodlust - The Continuation, And the likely conclusion as well!!! Options

[The Metal Mallet]

Well, here's the link to the previous thread: Bloodlust - The Beginning

You can continue your praisings of my written words here. Expect an update next Saturday. I don't expect I'll get one out sooner. School starts again

[The Metal Mallet]

A black cloaked figured shuffled down the alleyway slowly. Not a single echoing footstep sounded, allowing the figure to appear like a shadow rather than human. The figure’s gloved hand clutched a forearm; blood glistened through the cracks between. Though the shadows covered most of the figure’s face, maddened and vivid blue eyes scanned the surrounding in a feverish nature. A dagger hung loosely in the hand of the figure’s damaged arm; a red stain crept along the side of it from the blood that managed to course down the figure’s arm.

Suddenly, the figure’s eyes focused on a ladder that ran up the side of alley wall. Carefully, the figure managed to climb up the ladder; eyes grimaced each time the injured arm had to be used. The ladder led to a niche in the building, basically a hole in the building that provided access to the unused attic. Inside, the body of what looked to be a homeless man was propped up against the wall of the far side of the attic. A pool of congealed blood coated the front of his shirt since his throat had been cut wide open.

A dim light was brought to life as the figure lit a small oil lamp. The figure carried the lamp over to a small chest, which rested opposite to a soiled straw mattress. The figure opened the chest and withdrew a vial. The contents of the vial were drained by the figure in one gulp and the figure’s eyes bulged as the healing effect of the potion went to work on the injured arm.

Simion gasped as he was able to resume control over himself from the shock of the healing potion. He looked down at his arm and found a small, pink scar peeking through the tear in his shirt. The scent of his own blood filled his nostrils with a rank sensation and his gloved hand was sticky with congealing blood. In disgust, Simion removed the stained clothing and tossed them beside the corpse.

Simion’s body looked almost ghostly pale in the lamp light. Wiry muscles, crafted from meticulous training in his profession, covered his torso, which also held more than a few scars. Simion wanted to keep all the scars he received so that he would never forget why or how he got them. As his habit would take it, he absently brushed the one above his right brow.

Maybe I’ll get this one taken care of. It’s not like I need a reminder of it anymore, he thought. He then smirked as images of Vernon being strapped to his bed as he applied his technique flashed in his head. On second thought, I don’t mind keeping it.

In another small chest, Simion withdrew a simple brown shirt and threw it on. He looked around the room. Excluding the corpse sitting in the corner, the attic wasn’t a terrible hideout place. He had discovered this place when he was a child. After class, he had time to roam around the city before getting home. It was during one of these roaming adventures that he found a ladder that appeared to have lead no where. Curious, he had climbed up the ladder to find a small opening in the wall. What he found was the only entrance to the attic of the building the ladder was found on. It seemed as though the owner had forgotten about it, so Simion had decided to make it his own little hideout. His secret place.

He had been surprised to find the attic occupied when he had fled his home. Unfortunately for the man who had decided to make the hideout his home, Simion had arrived at night and caught the man sleeping. Simion gave him what he hoped was a painless death. He couldn’t risk the thought of letting him go free only to help Savlian or the Morag Tong.

A whiff of the air told Simion that the body was starting to rot and Simion scolded himself for slitting the man’s throat instead of breaking his neck. It would’ve been much cleaner and likely harder to connect the crime to Simion should he had disposed of the body. He’d soon have to remove it; or else the stench would become a beacon just asking for attention.

He sat upon the straw mattress and looked across the room at the corpse. He couldn’t help but think that if he was going to die, he wouldn’t likely receive the blessing of a painless or quick death. Whoever was going to kill him will make him suffer. Did he actually deserve such a fate though? For those he killed during his involvement with the Morag Tong he was safe from legal persecution. But of those he’s been killing lately, the wrath of the law could easily fall upon him. It would be for those that he’d hang or be placed on the wrong of a blade.

I do deserve to die. I have become a monster and yet I’m too cowardly to accept my deserved fate, Simion thought bitterly.

“Don’t carry on about that! You’ll make me sick!” the Voice rumbled within Simion’s head, the shock causing Simion to wince in pain, “Besides, we still have unfinished business… The Grandmaster will pay with interfering! I’ll be ready for him next time!”

Despair gripped Simion as he fell back onto the mattress. “No! I can’t do this anymore!” he said in desperation.

The Voice cackled. “You’re breaking down. You’ve become weak since we killed that woman.”

Simion rose quickly from the mattress, his face contorted in rage. “No! I did no such thing. You killed her!”

“You were there. It was your body that did it. Everyone who knows about the murder knows YOU did it. Why fight it?” the Voice stated. Simion could practically see the smirk on its unidentifiable face.

“I will tell them you did it. That I was possessed,” Simion said defiantly.

“Ha! They’ll think you’re crazy. You do know what they do to the crazy criminals, don’t you? They try to fix them and it doesn’t often work,” the Voice said before breaking into a fit of laughter.

“Enough! Let me rest,” Simion said weakly, defeated.




Sethyas was still nursing his jaw, as well as a glass of brandy, as he sat in “The Flying Bosmer” awaiting the arrival of his colleagues. His encounter with Simion in battle was a shocking one. Even when he surprised the assassin, his sneak attack was detected at the last minute and Simion saved himself. During the head on battle, Simion had fought with a viciousness that was borderline chaotic, yet with enough technique to make the combination quite lethal. He was caught unexpected by the kick though, something that didn’t happen often.

“I guess I’ve become a little rusty,” Sethyas mused aloud.

“You? Rusty? Never!” Taris said, pulling up a seat beside Sethyas. Taris whistled when he saw the bruise forming on Sethyas’ jaw, “That looks like quite the wallop there.”

Sethyas couldn’t help but chuckle at Taris’ comment. He and Taris had been working together long enough to develop a friendship of sorts. Enough that Taris could say things that if another assassin of a lower rank were to say, Sethyas would have to have a talk with them.

“I take it the plan didn’t go as well as we hoped?” Taris speculated as he took a more serious tone.

Sethyas shook his head. “No. It didn’t turn out how I wanted it to. He managed to catch me and if he didn’t decide to escape, I could be dead now.”

Taris nodded. “Well, he made a mistake there, Sethyas. We’ll be even more prepared next time,” he said in encouragement.

Rah’mirr, the Khajiit, and the other two Dunmer were now at the table as well. Each of their expression was grim when they saw that Sethyas did not have a successful report.

“I believe I did injure him, that could’ve been another reason why he left. Now I’m sure that I’ll be a target now, which is both good and bad. What I suggest we do is watch each other’s backs. Simion, and I stress this, cannot be underestimated,” Sethyas said.

Those around him nodded in understanding and Sethyas continued. “We’re also giving up on our stakeout of the Captain. We’re to leave him alone, and hopefully, he’ll leave us be. He’ll have to defend himself should Simion find him again.”

“Rah’mirr thinks that’s a bad idea. We know Simion wants Guard Captain dead, so why not lie in wait while our prey attempts to take the bait?”

Sethyas sighed. “Because, Savlian is a man and not bait. I have warned him that we will not be there to help him should Simion come after him. He has accepted that fact. I am honour bound to accept his wishes. But should our paths cross unknowingly, that is a different situation.”

Rah’mirr nodded, convinced that was how it should be. “What shall we do now then?”

“Find Simion’s hiding spot. I suggest the alleyways.”