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I woke up with a start, the sheets around me in total disarray. My sleep had been disturbed again. I rubbed my face and sat up by the side of the bed. Around my neck was a wooden medallion that I never took off, for whatever reason. I picked it up and opened it. On the left side was a small green leaf preserved in amber. It was from my Hist tree, the only thing I had left of my tribe and family. But I paid no attention to it, concentrating instead on the face drawn on the right.

It was a Saxhleel, his scales green, his spiralling horns adorned with small metal rings. He had a mischievous look on his face, as if he had just made a quirky remark of which he was particularly proud. Kelshu. A sob shook my shoulders. I would have died to hold him again, even if it was only in my dreams. But that never happened, and the only dreams I had were nightmares. Was this my punishment for the blood I had spilled? Despite all the horrors that Varron, my former "master", had inflicted upon me, and his brutal murder of my soulmate, the death of his family at my hands remained an indelible stain on my conscience. The look on his son's face was etched in my mind, haunting me, and I suspected it would do so until I died or forgave myself. But while the former was certain to happen eventually, the latter was impossible.

No matter how I tried to rationalise it, their deaths were unjustified. I believed in revenge, but what I had done to them had nothing to do with it. That little boy probably didn't even know what slavery was and wasn't responsible for what had happened to me. But what was done was done, and I'd have to live with my mistakes. Varron had taken everything from me except my life, and I intended to live on, if not just to spite him. I only wished that Kelshu was with me to guide me. If he could see what I had become, would he still be at my side? Probably not, and the thought left a dark hole in my heart. But I had no choice.

Joining the Dark Brotherhood was for life, there was no resigning except to die. In exchange for the knowledge they gave me, I had pledged my life to the Shadowscales. My mentor saved me on that fateful day by standing between Varron and me. He had confronted the mage, giving me enough time to escape, and he found me later, wounded but alive. Then he gave me a choice. I could stay on the path I was on and become a wild beast, wandering without a goal, driven by hate and sorrow, and die like an animal, probably at the hands of Varron. Or I could regain control of my life and become his disciple. I chose the latter, and this was a decision I had no regrets about, not even for a moment. Only with a blade and the skill to wield it would I be able to guarantee that no one would ever put me in chains again, and that's exactly what my mentor taught me, and so much more.

I looked out the window. Daylight was fading outside, signalling the imminent arrival of night. I kissed Kelshu's portrait and said a prayer to the Hist and the Ancestors, asking them, if not to bless me, to forgive me. When I was done, I closed the medallion, stood up and got ready for work. I slipped effortlessly into my armour, as I had done so many times before, and tightened the various belts and buckles. When I was satisfied, I grabbed the remaining blades I hadn't already stored in the armour and put on my cowl. It covered my entire face except for my eyes and didn't hinder my breathing. I checked my reflection in the mirror, looking for anything that might be loose. When I was done, I wrapped my cape around me to hide my armour and walked out.

-

The journey to the Arboretum district was completely uneventful. I was able to slip past the guards at the various crossroads and gates unnoticed, and out of an abundance of caution, I took a series of detours designed to confuse and lose anyone who might have attempted to follow me. Sneaking into my hiding place was no problem either. There were only two guards at the entrance to the manor, and they were busy greeting guests. I lay down in the bushes at the base of the statue and waited for my client. From there I had a clear view of the entrance while remaining invisible. Night had fallen and the street was lit by the various lampposts and the lights from the large windows of the mansion. The party was in full swing, and every time the door was opened for a guest, music came to me. It sounded as if a quartet of drums, flute, lute and violin were entertaining the guests, playing popular songs by famous bards.

It was a pity that I wasn't given complete freedom in my approach to the job. I might have knocked out the flautist and taken his place to infiltrate the party and approach my client. I missed playing the flute, it was one of the few things I learned from my family that I could do in this "civilised" world. A wave of nostalgia washed over me. I missed Black Marsh, it's freedom, it's people, it's straightforwardness. People didn't have petty problems like these humans. Notions of rich and poor were largely irrelevant, as everyone worked not for themselves but for the tribe. Of course, Saxhleels were capable of individuality, pursuing happiness for themselves and their families, but never at the expense of the tribe. Life was hard, but we all faced the same hardships, and we faced them as a united group. The Imperial City, and human or mer societies in general, were the complete opposite.

They prided themselves on their "civilised" ways, but that was just a facade. If you scratched the surface a little, it would all fall apart. I knew it. I was the one they were using to solve their 'civilised' problems. These men of honour and principle, these respectable politicians and merchants, they were all the same. As soon as their morals became inconvenient, they dropped them and acted in the most brutal and cruel manner. The richer the client, the more violent the job. From time to time I received special requests, such as "rip off his testicles and make him swallow them" for a man who had slept with a merchant's wife, or "cut off his fingers one by one, slowly" for someone who had cheated at a game of cards. The Brotherhood's primary purpose was assassination, not torture, so any request beyond the simple disposal of the target was considered optional. Completing them would mean a bonus, but I never accepted them. I had no love for cruelty and always sought to complete my work in the quickest and most efficient manner, for my benefit as well as that of the target. I had made this very clear to Arnault when he recruited me and, to his credit, he respected my wishes in this regard. He still informed me of any special requests when he gave me my orders, as he was obliged to do, but he never scolded me for not fulfilling them. I had never failed a mission, and he must have felt that my efficiency outweighed my lack of zeal.

A silhouette caught my attention and snapped me out of my thoughts. A person was walking down the street, wearing a richly ornamented green cloak and a mask in the shape of a fox. I had found my client. The cloak he wore covered his entire body, and he had a hood over his head. I couldn't quite make out his race, but judging by the way he walked, he was probably male, and his small size suggested an elf. He arrived at the gate and greeted the guards before handing them a piece of paper, probably an invitation. The guards greeted him and opened the portal. But before he stepped inside, he turned and looked down the street, apparently scanning his surroundings. His gaze stopped where I was hiding. I stopped breathing. After a second, he looked away at the rest of the empty street, and when he seemed satisfied with his observations, he stepped into the estate and walked towards the house. The music reached me again as the door of the house opened for him, this time a well rhythmed balad, and stopped as soon as the door closed behind him.

I started breathing again. Did he see me? I didn't think so. The bushes I was in were thick and I was well camouflaged. It annoyed me that I had to stay where I was for so long, when I could have easily finished the job. But those were not the terms of the contract, and so I obeyed them. For all I knew, his death could only have made sense to the client if it had happened after he had left the party. And it was no more cruel to kill him after than before, so I saw no problem in fulfilling the request. I relaxed and waited. No more guests arrived after my client. A servant left, only to return a few minutes later with a cart filled with barrels of wine. If I was lucky, my client would drink a little too much and lose his alertness. Or he might dance for so long that he wouldn't have much strength left to run away if he spotted me.

I waited like this for two hours before a ray of light shone through the door of the house. My client emerged with another figure. They talked for a while, and after shaking hands, my client walked out into the street, while the other person went back into the house. The guards opened the portal for him and he left the estate, walking up the street towards me.

As soon as he passed me, without looking towards my hiding place, I slowly crawled out of the bushes without making a sound. I then stepped onto the road, behind the customer, without him noticing my presence. I crept up on him, my footsteps muffled by the padding of my boots. Soon I was right behind him and he hadn't spotted me. I would act quickly and decisively. A quick blow to the back, right through the heart. He would die in seconds and I would be gone before he could see me. Silently, I took hold of the dagger sheathed above my tail. In a quick and well-practiced move, I struck, aiming for the heart, and then everything went sideways.

My dagger pierced the green cloak and struck a solid surface with a loud metallic clang. The shock was so strong that I feared the blade would break, and it reverberated painfully in my arm. The target was wearing armour under his cloak. This was unexpected, and in my line of work, unexpected meant trickery. The kind of trickery that sent shivers down my spine and made every instinct scream. Without missing a beat, I struck again, this time aiming for the throat. But an invisible force blocked my blade. The target turned, an active spell in his raised left hand, possibly the one holding my blade in place, and looked at me. Through the mask I saw his eyes: dark, red and strangely familiar. And in that look, I saw hatred, but also... jubilation? Then I understood.

This was a trap, and I was the target. I made up my mind quickly. I had to get out of here or I would be killed, or worse, captured. I let go of my dagger and kicked the wizard in the stomach. My blow connected with his gut and broke his concentration on his telekinesis spell. I caught the dagger as it fell and made a run for it. I headed for my escape route, up the street and through the sewers. All I had to do to get there was follow the road, and it was just around the next corner, assuming I survived until then. I looked over my shoulder. The wizard threw a fireball at me, aiming it at my legs.

Shadowscales are assassins, not wizards. Nevertheless, I was taught a few simple spells that were considered useful, including some special ones. One of these was a ward spell developed by my mentor. An ordinary ward spell acted like a shield, absorbing an incoming spell at a great cost in mana. My mentor's special technique didn't actually block the spell, but deflected it. It allowed protection against strong, targeted spells at a much lower cost of mana, although the downside was that it was difficult to aim exactly where the spell would be deflected. I raised my left hand and cast the small ward. The fireball bounced upwards, the force of the blow knocking me backwards. This was no apprentice's spell. This wizard was obviously powerful. I landed unceremoniously on my back, but recovered quickly. I started to run again, but suddenly the wizard's voice, filled with unbridled fury, pierced the night and I froze.

"KE-SHUVU!!!"

There were only two people alive who knew my Jel name. One was my former Shadowscale mentor. And the other...

Slowly I turned around. The wizard raised his hands to his face and slowly removed his mask. Behind it was a face I could never forget and had hoped never to see again. Varron Moren, my former 'master'. His face was just as I remembered it, though perhaps thinner, and had an expression of pure hatred, unsurprisingly directed at me. A wave of terror washed over me, and my blood felt as if it had turned to ice. I zeroed in on his eyes, those eyes that had watched amused the countless tortures and punishments I had received at his hands, that had been joyous as I broke while Kelshu burned in front of me, and had burned with fury as I killed his family. Fear took hold of me, it's icy grip grabbing my heart in a tight grip. My hands, steady just a moment ago, started shacking uncontrollably. I wanted to think of an escape or a ruse, anything to get away from this living nightmare, but my mind shut down, and all I could hear was the pounding of my heart. The street, which was wide and deserted felt incredibly narrow, as if the buildings were closing in on me, trapping me.

"I see you remember me," he said, his voice a chilling whisper. "Did you really think you could escape my wrath, after what you've done ?"

In that moment, I wasn't a Shadowscale, I wasn't a warrior. Despite all my training and skill, I was powerless against the terror he instilled in me. I was a terrified child again, faced with the very embodiment of my deepest fears.

"I.. I'd rather die a thousand death than be your puppet again !" I manadged to choke out, my voice trembling.

"Die ?!" he replied with a maniac laughter. "Soon, you will be begging for death, and I will savor every moment."

I heard movement behind me. Warriors in armour emerged from an adjacent street, and had blocked my escape route, traping me further. Varron raised his left hand, and flames appeared in his palm. When I saw them, my mind went blank. There would be no cunning plan or strategy, only survival. My instincts were screaling at me to flee, as far and fast as I could, and I listened to them. I took a shaky step back, then another, and with the desperate energy of a cornered annimal, I ran, every fiber of my being consumed by the primal urge to escape.

I headed straight for the shield wall, as they didn't frighten me nearly as much as Varron did. The warriors blocking the street looked experienced, their armour and weapons well maintained. They were obviously mercenaries, probably the best gold could buy, and Varron, a master of the House of Telvanni, had plenty of it lying around. One of them stepped forward as I neared, shield up, sword raised, ready to strike. He was far too slow, and the adrenaline rushing through my veins had made me even faster that I usually was. My mind was still consumed by fear, and I acted purely on muscle memory. I moved in close and avoided the blow as the sword went down. With a quick movement, I aimed for the armpit where there was no armour. The blade met no resistance as it passed between the ribs and through the heart. The man's eyes widened in shock and a gasp escaped his mouth. I pulled out my dagger, and before he could fall, I was running past him again.

Two of his comrades had closed the gap behind him. I was about to attempt to force my way through when I heard Varron shout behind me. I barely had time to raise a barrier spell when a fireball detonated against it. The shockwave sent me flying towards the mercenaries, and I collided with them with such force that we all fell. Before anyone could recover, I took a smoke bomb from my harness and threw it on the ground. A great cloud of thick grey smoke engulfed us. I stood up, and taking advantage of the confusion, I resumed my escape. I collided with a man trying to navigate his way through the smoke with his arms extended, and in a series of spinning moves, I landed behind him. I thrust my blade forward through his neck, into the small gap between his helmet and cuirass, and pulled it out. Then I ran, men coughing and shouting chaotic orders all around me.

Soon I emerged from the smoke on the other side of the warriors. There was no obstacle between me and the entrance to the sewers, and I fled towards it as fast as I could. In my peripheral vision I saw something flying towards me, and on instinct I threw myself to the ground. A ball of fire flew over me, right where my head had been a second ago. I looked at where it was coming from and saw Varron through the dissipating smoke. He was wreathed in flames, and the look of mad jubilation he had when he had first seen me was now replaced by pure fury, as he was seeing me escape.

A man emerged from the smoke and was coming towards me. Before I could get up, he was on top of me. With a quick series of rolls, I moved my opponent between me and Varron. The fact that an ally was in his way didn't stop him from attacking, and he casted yet another firebal. It hit the warrior in the back, making his entire chest explode, covering me in blood and gore and sending what was left of him crashing down on top of me. I pushed the body off, stood up and started running again. With my left hand, I grabbed my potion of fire resistance and drank it in one big gulp as I ran towards the manhole I now had in sight. I could hear Varron shouting orders from behind me, and fireballs were flying all around me, but seeing me run away from him had made him hysterical, and his aim was no longer accurate. A few of them exploded around me, but the potion I had just drunk saved me from burns.

When I was just a few metres away from the sewer's entrance, something struck my back on the right side, and a sharp pain soon followed. I ignored it and kept going. I threw a small fireball at the manhole cover, which exploded, leaving a clear path to the sewers. When I had almost reached it, I dropped to the ground, arrows and spells flying around me, and slid into the hole, dropping below the street. Varron's hysterical screams as he ordered his men to follow me were the last thing I heard before I was swallowed by darkness.

-

Normally, any journey through the sewers of the Imperial City must be undertaken with caution. Even the act of entering the sewers was dangerous in itself. The reason for this was that in most places there was a ten metre drop from street level to the sewer floor, and many of the ladders were rusted beyond safe use. Obviously, in my situation, I did not have time to grab said ladder and carefully descend. Instead, I fell feet first and tried to roll to soften the impact as I hit the pavement. As I was falling without any light, I couldn't anticipate the impact, and the movement wasn't as controlled as it would have been had I been able to see the ground.

As soon as I hit the floor, the already severe pain in my right hip exploded. A scream escaped me and I was forced to stop for a second to catch my breath, lest I pass out. I also needed to get a hold of myself again. Running blindly through the sewers could only lead to death, and I needed to be able to think if I hoped to escape. With great effort, I focused on my breathing, until finally it slowed, and the terror that was gripping my mind slowly subsided just enough that I could think clearly again.

I invoked a flame in the open palm of my left hand to make some light. My surroundings revealed themselves, familiar long corridors of white dirty stones. I couldn't see far, but I didn't need to, I knew these tunnels so well I could navigate them with my eye closed. I looked down at my hip and discovered blood dripping from a hole in my armour on my back, next to my right hip. A small broken wooden shaft peeked out of the wound, broken close to my scales. I cursed and looked down at the ground behind me. There, on the ground, right where I had fallen, was the rest of the broken arrow shaft, resting in a pool of my own blood.

A distant voice could be heard above, and a torch fell to the ground next to the broken arrow. Varren and his men were still after me and would be coming down the ladder any moment. I had to move, and move now. I pushed myself up and ignored the pain as I moved forward. As I did, I tore a strip of cloth from my cloak and used it to bandage my wound as best I could. It would not heal me, but it would stop me from leaving a bloody trail that would make it too easy to track me down. I let go of my flame spell and let the darkness engulf me.

I made my way through the corridors as fast as I could, which wasn't very much. I had an arrowhead in my hip, painfully tearing my flesh with every step and forcing me to limp. I knew exactly where I was going, a hiding place I had never told anyone about, not even Arnault. Given the trap he had just sent me into, it seemed likely that he was involved, and entering a known Brotherhood hideout was therefore out of the question. This reunion with Varron was no accident, he had been desperately searching for me for a long time. There was a madness in his eyes that had never been there before, and had obviously been dreaming of his revenge for years, obsessively. I didn't know how he had found me, but now that he had, he would never let go.

My pursuers had come down the ladder and, from what I could hear, were looking for me in a wide ranging search, but it was obvious that they were not familiar with the maze that was the sewers. Their heavy armour made a lot of noise as they ran, giving me a good idea of their position and where they were going, giving me plenty of time to change my route and avoid them. From time to time the sounds of battle could be heard, along with Varron's hysterical cries of frustration and rage. With all the noise they were making, they were attracting every monster that roamed the Undercity, which helped me a lot. As I got further and further away from them, the screams became more and more distant, and after an hour of playing this deadly game of cat and mouse, I finally reached what I was looking for. A hidden door, in a complex system of natural tunnels beneath the Imperial Prison. I opened it and entered.

I had discovered them while I was learning the layout of the sewers. As I explored them, it was obvious that no one but goblins and rats had passed through for many years, and they were filled with small rooms and hidden passageways, ideal for someone who needed a place to rest discreetly. After a long time of concentrating on the sounds I could hear, which were none, I was confident that my pursuers had lost me.

With a long, pained sigh, I finally settled against a wall and sat down. I spent the next few minutes calming myself, slowing my breathing until it finally slowed. This unexpected reunion with Varron still made me feel as if my insides were tied in a knot, and the many terrible memories associated with him flashed before my eyes, causing a storm in my mind of fear, pain and rage.

I had to think about what had happened and what to do next. I had obviously walked into a trap that had been set for me. I knew why. There was a debt between Varron and me that only blood could repay. He would hunt me through all planes of existence with a fanatical zeal until he had his revenge. The only question was how. I saw two possibilities.

The first was that one of Varron's informants had simply spotted me. That was unlikely. I had left all traces of my former identity behind, except for the medallion around my neck, which I always kept hidden under my clothes. My scale colouring wasn't the most common among Saxhleels, but it wasn't rare either. For every ten Argonians, one had a dark blue hue like mine. And there was nothing unusual about my features to set me apart. My left eye was blind, but there was no way anyone could know that without me telling them. I still had full control over it, and it was the same colour as my other working eye. I had made every effort to muddy the waters over the years, changing aliases regularly, giving my real Tamrielic name only to Arnault, and I had no contact with anyone who had known me prior to my arrival in Cyrodiil.

That left me with the second option, a much less palatable one. Arnault had betrayed me. That seemed equally unlikely. Arnault was a servant of the Dark Brotherhood, and if he had indeed turned against me, it meant that he had not only betrayed me, but the Brotherhood as well, putting a huge target on his back. There would be no amount of gold he could spend that could atone for such a sin in the eyes of Sithis. And he might be a Speaker, but he was old and would not be able to defend himself against younger brothers and sisters ready to bring down the wrath of Sithis. It just didn't make sense for him to do it, unless...

Unless he thought there would be no consequences, because there was no one to enact punishment. It was known that the Dark Brotherhood was in decline throughout Tamriel. Arnault was the only contact I had with the organisation, and I didn't know if there were any other Speaker alive, let alone a listener. Assuming there wasn't, that would effectively give Arnault full control of the Brotherhood in Cyrodil. And if I was his last active assassin, with me gone there would be no one left to punish him. It was not a comforting thought. If true, it meant that the Brotherhood had died tonight. But this was all speculation, I needed proof. That would be a matter for the future though. First, I had to make it through the night.

I cast a small ball of light, and once my eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness, I slowly removed the top of my armour and the bloody strip of cloth to inspect the damage. The arrow had pierced me between two ribs, but the wound wasn't bubbling, which was a sign that the lung was intact. It was bleeding, though, quite profusely. I reached for my health potion and unscrewed the cap. I took a small sip, then poured the rest of the vial onto the wound. It stung as the liquid penetrated the flesh, but the bleeding eventually slowed. The wound wasn't completely closed, but at least I wouldn't bleed to death in the next hour. I made a new makeshift bandage from a strip cut from my cloak and covered the injury.

I needed the arrowhead extracted, and I'd need someone to do it for me. I had to get help, but with all the bounty hunters and mercenaries in the city after me, my options were limited. Varron knew that I was wounded. He would anticipate that I'd seek healing and he'd put the surgeons and temples under surveillance. With a painful groan, I slowly rose to my feet and made my way to the nearest surface exit. Luckily, I knew just the right person.