Skyrim Fanfiction Series: Nightingale

The Note

        The cave was bland - lifeless. My heavy eyes scanned the cavern, searching for something. But what? What in the gods' names am I searching for? My vision drops to my bloodstained hands. A coth. That's what I need. Something to clean this damned mess.

        My feet carry me across the cavern, no more than ten meters wide. A dim glint of the torch reflects off an unknown object in the corner. I squint, attempting to adjust to the darkness. I step forward again, yet I am still unable to make out the source of the metallic reflection. Another step forward brings it into my focus. The dull lock of the hardwood chest beckons me. How did I not see this before? I ponder.

Click.

        I feel the floor shift beneath my toes. My Nightingale training initiates; I drop to my knees, place my arms in front of my head, and dart roll across the floor as an arrow strikes the wall opposing me. The sound of the metal clink on the stone echoes in the cave. My arms drop beside my torso and my head peeks up to see the broken arrow shaft rolling across the cavern floor, the flashing quickly slowing it to a stop.

        My eyes avert to the chest, which lies untouched nearly three paces ahead. My left hand extends merely inches past my dark beard. A jolt of energy rockets into the damp air and a ball of Candlelight illuminates my immediate surroundings. Stalagmites and stalagtites surround the chest. My hand extends, brushing a stalagmite, and grasps the lock. The rough, splintered wood grazes my hand as I finger it.

        I slide my fingers across the face of the lock. Rust chips off in flakes, dwingling down into the darkness. The damp air and waterflow from the rock formations severly oxidized the metal. I grip the lock firmly and jerk my arm down, stripping the shackle fromn the body as it clangs on the ground.

        I lean forward slowly as my hands lift the unfinished coarse lid from the chest. My spell pulls the shadow from the top as it creaks upward on its rusty hinges. I cannot believe my eyes.

"Gods be praised..." I mumble uncontrollably as the stench fills the air.

Inside the chest lies a bloody pile of severed heads. The ones near the bottom were rotting so much so that a dark red slush of brains and deteriorated flesh surrounded the mess of blank eyes staring in all directions. 

        A note lies in the mouth of the highest head. Dare I read it? My outstretched fingers tremble as bile singes the lining of my throat. Quickly, I grasp the creased parchment and slam the lid shut. I stumble backward and lay in the darkness as my Candlelight dwindles away, leaving me in the darkness. I scramble into the light of the torch as I try desperately to catch my breath. My eyes dart to what's left of the wench lying on the floor, and I can't help but shake out the words:

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

        I jitter from the sound of my own voice. I look down to my hands, still stained in blood, and unfold the fowl-smelling parchment. Written in elegant Elven handwriting:

"Black-Dragon,

        The Aldmeri Dominion has a proposition for you. Seeing as you are able to outwit the guards of this wretched land and escape unscathed from your escapades, the Dominion would like to put your skills to an advantage. All bounties will be dropped and you will be granted amnesty if you capture and/or kill the 'Dragonborn.' Your prowess in the feild of stalking and killing would be very much appreciated in this specific case. I bid you personal luck on this escapade.

- H. A."