Madrar
The Shadow in the Dark.
A/N: Hey guys, I decided to take a break from Ascent and Darkness rising. So this is it.
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Chapter One
The Breton, Veridas Ashhart, crouched in the shadows, one hand on his enchanted ebony sword, Firethorn, and the other on his vampiric Daedric dagger. He stood on the path just above the pirates' base. He'd been hired to kill the leader of the pirates, a certain captain Hargar. Veridas' short hair glistened with sweat as the assassin held his position above the water.
When he dropped down for his attack, he'd need to be careful, because if his entrance into the water made too much noise, the pirates would undoubtedly get suspicious. Of course, that really made no difference, as the Breton was going to kill them all anyways. He simply preferred the stealthy approach. Watching carefully, he noticed the lone sentry turn away from Veridas, and begin his walk to the other side of the wooden tower.
Stiffening his legs as he leapt, he hit the water with a minimal splash. Instead of surfacing immediately, he swam through the murky water, until the tips of his fingers encountered one of the support beams of the wooden structure.
He found the stairs ,where a small rowboat was tied, and climbed them, careful to keep his footsteps as light as possible. The sentry on the lowest level of the tower never had a remote chance. As he fell, Veridas caught his body, ad eased the dead man to the ground. Moving on, he managed to silently kill three more before it all went to hell. Figuratively speaking, of course.
Two pirates rushed towards him, brandishing weapons. The man quickly rose out of as crouch, readying his weapons. The first man, a Nord swung his war axe with deadly intent. Except, the Breton was no longer there. The pirate learned this , to his dismay. Veridas slashed his flame enchanted blade across the mans back, and the pirate fell forward, the edges of the wound smoldering. The unfortunate mans' companion was only a step behind his companion, which meant that he was now beside Veridas, who promptly turned and rammed his vampiric dagger under the mans ribs.
As the dagger stole the life energy of the man, and fed it back to it's owner, Veridas took the opportunity to survey the surrounding area, which was currently clear of enemies. If the Solitude guard captain had told Veridas the truth, only one remained. Captain Hargar himself. Climbing the last ramp, he came across the man, a heavily muscled man, slightly taller than the Breton assassin, and wielding a large, two handed war hammer. He was also charging towards Veridas and roaring incomprehensibly.
Though Hargars' tactic probably would have frightened off a less experienced opponent, Veridas knew that the mans' charge was a one that he would not be able to stop in time, if his target moved anywhere but backwards. Veridas dodged to the side, and delivered an single blow to the side of Hargar's neck. The pirate captains' head fell to the ground with a loud thud. His body stumbled on for a few more feet ,before crumpling in a bloody mess, his neck still spurting arterial blood. "if you'll come with me, captain?" the Breton grinned, grabbing the head by it's hair and dropping it in a sack.
While in most situations, the Nords were naive enough to believe what one told them, Veridas always preferred to be able to prove his claims. A severed head would do nicely. After returning to Solitude, and collecting his reward of one hundred Septims, he headed back to his room in the tavern, The Winking Skeever. No one spoke to him, not even to offer a drink, as was custom with the Nords. Veridas knew he intimidated them, and he didn't care in the slightest.
He unbuckled his sword belt, wrapping the belt around his chair, making it harder for potential thieves to untangle the weapons without making noise. He slept uneasily, and was filled with nightmares of his childhood. He headed down to the main floor of the tavern, and took a seat, careful to keep his back to the wall, and take a good measure of all the Nords in the place. It didn't look like they would be much of a threat. Most were either too drunk or too absorbed in their own meaningless conversations to pay him any attention. He ordered a drink, and rested his booted feet on the table across from him.
To Be Continued.