The craftsmen staggered away from my knife wielding assailant and in less than a second I realised that this was no simple robbery but an attempted assassination. She cut and sliced away at me with a suspicious and alarming dexterity and I found myself twisting and moving in the attempt to keep her at bay and to make an opening where I could draw Sunchild. Whoever she was, she was too experienced to let me arm myself with a weapon of superior make and reach than her own and kept close. She harried me with vicious attacks that left my cloak and clothing shredded in places and my skin intact only by the sturdy make of my chainmail.
Despite my armoured form she was potentially deadly, stabbing whenever the opportunity presented itself in an effort to defeat my body's armoured protection and never relenting in her attack. To lose the initiative in a fight against an armoured opponent was tantamount to suicide and she was determined to finish me quickly to not only stop me from being able to fight back but also before the screams and calls for assistance drew the city guard down on her. Her attempt to stab me in the back had been thwarted and there was a minute, if not less before her escape was cut off.
Cutting and slicing with the obsidian dagger of a make I was all too familiar with I blocked with my armoured forearms, feeling the jarring impacts deep in the bones as I tried everything I could think of to fight back. Unable to draw any of my own weapons I began throwing punches and kicks trying to open a gap between us.
Dressed in simple clothes and appearing like nothing more than an ordinary labourer like the hundreds of others in the city there was nothing other than the dagger that identified the woman. A face weather-beaten and lined with experiences rather than age, she would have been unnoticeable in a crowd. Cowskin pants laced up the sides of the legs were tucked into sturdy, mass produced boots covered in a fine layer of dust. A simple wool tunic was pulled taut by a belt and single button doublet covered her torso and her blond hair was fashioned into a series of braids that ran from her scalp to the shoulders. There was nothing to reveal the hard eyed assassin that lay underneath the plain, unassuming exterior as she tried to gut me with the gleaming blade.
I lashed out and narrowly missed her, feeling the bouncing impact of the dagger once more on my arm and feeling a handful of links part. Her own confidence was building with every strike she managed to slip through my defences and while I was still armoured she was using every weakness to her advantage. A single, powerful strike from her free hand sent stars bursting in my eyes and my jaw exploding with pain as the punch struck home. Blood filled my mouth with an unfortunately all-too-familiar taste of copper and metal and I spat out a tooth knocked free from the hit. There was a grin plastered over the cultists face as she saw me scowl from the pain with teeth stained arterial pink, but the pain had merely sharpened my senses and started releasing something that neither of us really wanted set loose.
My own punched rocked her back with a stunning blow delivered with such speed that her grin of triumph barely had time to be replaced with surprise. Nose broken and bleeding she staggered backward with the red liquid staining the front of her shirt, slicing with her dagger to keep me at bay while she regained her bearings. Chanting foully and gesturing with her free hand her body suddenly began disappearing under the familiar armour of the Mythic Dawn, spewing out from the pores of her skin and hiding her injured face from view. A longsword of corrupted daedric metal sprung to existence in her hand, complimenting her dagger with reach and providing her with nearly 80 centimetres of deadly edge capable of slicing through my armour like paper.
There was nothing to be seen of her face behind the black, scowling mask but the sudden laughter from her was loud enough to be heard over the screams of panic from the dozens of people around us. Workers, labourers, citizens and shopkeepers backed away from the sight of the black armoured cultist facing me; the unnatural appearance of the conjured armour making it clearly evident that this was not a fight anyone wanted to be near.
The laughter from her continued as she began slicing and twirling her twin weapons with remarkable ease, but the fight shifted suddenly as Sunchild appeared in my hand with a rasp of metal on leather and parried the first strike with a clang. It was obvious that I faced an experienced swordsman, the Mythic Dawn finally realising that to send someone after Viconia and I required more than just simple chaff to be cut down in our strides. Her slices and attacks were perfect, footwork expertly done and twice I found myself nearly losing grip on Sunchild as she tried to neatly disarm me. As good as a swordswoman she was, she had invested all of her skill and attention into my own weapon and was obviously used to sparring an armed opponent. As such she was totally unprepared as I stepped forward and engaged her with my free hand rather than relying on the blade.
There was a crunch of metal and bone as I busted my knuckles on the strange metal of the mask, feeling the shattered cartilage of her face grind from the impact. Gasping and choking she staggered backward, blood suddenly frothing through the tiny slits of the mask and swinging her sword wildly. Metal clanged as I parried a desperate cut of her daedric blade, taking steps closer and backhanding her across the face again with enough force that she staggered backwards and fell onto her back.
Involuntarily wailing with pain, the dagger dropped from trembling fingers as she raised the hand to ward off my punishing blows. The impact a metal on metal echoed above the screams and cries of alarm from those huddling masses around us as I kicked her in the chest, keeping her from regaining her balance and rising to her feet. Heavier, and now much stronger I took the iniative, kicking her hand in her sword arm and stomping on her hand until her broken fingers released the grip on the serrated weapon. Another kick left her winded, clutching at her wounded hands and moaning through the mask and being completely unable to resist as I grasped her by her armoured gorget, hauling her up and stabbing down with the point of Sunchild.
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The tug of fleshy resistance was short-lived as the blade sheared through daedric fabric and her mortal clothing underneath. Sliding the gleaming edge of Sunchild into the thinner part of her armour where the metal plates of the mask met the gorget and pauldrons I speared it deep into her chest. Her eyes widened, staring hopelessly at me as the blade continued its short, but quick passage between her throat and collarbone, not stopping until the hilt came to rest against her skin and the flood of gore. The tip of Sunchild was somewhere in the depths of her chest, the blood spurting out hot after slicing through throat, lungs, heart and guts in its passage.
Her gasps and screams died with her, the gushing fountain of blood that washed out of the wound in her throat ceasing shortly after and leaving me with the strange yearning that always filled the core of my being when seeing and smelling blood. The hot coppery taste of blood in my mouth was only heightened by the amount of the stuff slowing to a trickle from her throat, a smell that could not be overpowered by the daedra-stink of her armour. I could feel myself salivating at the sight, until thankfully my attention was drawn to a new source of commotion making its way through the press of witnesses and onlookers to the fight and death in their midst.
Alerted to the chaos in the tannery a handful of armoured guards came running, swords unsheathed and held in experienced, if somewhat nervous hands. They pushed and jostled their way through the crowds giving me and the dying assassin a wide berth, arriving just in time to see the woman finally succumb to her injuries and the horrid black plate start to dissolve from her flesh. The guards of Skingrad were quick and professional, ordering me to drop to my knees, place my weapons on the ground and remain still while they secured the area. Within minutes they had detained individuals as witnesses and efficiently went about their job of piecing together what had occurred.
Even before the would-be assassin's body had begun to cool I had been cleared of any wrongdoing. The young prefect in charge of this group of guards being told unanimously that the woman on the ground had attacked me without warning and had been intent on my murder. Everyone who had been asked from the crowd had spoken in my favour, stating that I had acted wholly in self-defence and while they were not overly happy about how a body had been left staining the cobblestones they were not going to press charges or throw me in dungeons. The fact that not only that dozens of people including themselves had seen the way she had been clad in daedric armour certainly helped.
In less than an hour the guard covered the body with a cloak, set up a cordon to keep the gathering crowd at a respectable distance, asked the necessary questions and then let everyone to go about their business. For the most part it was almost like nothing untoward had occurred. Labourers went back to their jobs, deliveries were continued and bartering recommenced even if most were still unnerved at the death in their midst.
The leatherworker and tanner were thankfully still close by and the pelt of the minotaur hadn't been stolen or otherwise lost in the confusion. It took a lot less time that I was expecting to finish closing the deal with the two of them, their hearts were no longer in the trade after witnessing me almost casually slaying a would-be murderer with as much emotion as they would swatting a fly. After handing over a handful of silver and copper septims I left them to collect their thoughts and return to their occupations while I effectively vanished in the crowds outside of the tannery.
Walking through the crowds gave me time to think and also to feel the swelling on my face from where the assassin had punched me. The gap in my mouth where one of my molars once sat was aggravating and I idly poked at it with my tongue and feeling the steady pulse of blood from the injury. My eye was starting to feel the swelling as well and I knew that the bruise would be livid by the time I returned to the chapterhouse. It irked me in a way that it was the first injury or scar that I had suffered that was an actual loss. All other injuries I had sustained over the years were scars across my skin and thankfully I had not lost a digit or eye or something worse during my time in the legion. The missing tooth felt almost as though it was the beginning of the end, and signified that perhaps from this point onward I would begin to lose parts of my body instead of receiving more scars instead.
What was concerning me more however was the way I had fought. From the moment that I had turned and narrowly missed having a knife plunge between my ribs to stabbing her in the neck I had been completely emotionless. My heart had not raced, adrenaline didn't make itself felt and not once did I feel as though I was labouring from the effort of the fight. I had not even started breathing heavily, nor felt any fear or concern while someone was actively attempting to take my life. Even as I stabbed deep into her flesh and took her life there was no remorse, no pity and not even the slightest feeling of regret or disgust with my actions. I had simply battered her into a pulp, and took her life without even a second glance or thought to the contrary.
In the later seconds of the fight she had gone from a threat to being helpless and it didn't hold me back in the slightest. I could have easily disarmed her, taken her as a prisoner to be handed over to the guard but instead I had taken her life. It chilled me to the core in the realisation that unlike the numerous times I had fought during my service to the Legion there had been no fear, no exhilaration or unease. Instead I was a hollow vessel with no emotions to fill it. Only when the vampire surfaced did the empty hollow of my soul become filled but instead of fear or terror it was instead filled with darkness, the cloying depths of hatred and the pleasure at taking lives and inflicting pain. Against the minotaurs I had felt something barely recognisable as wariness but there had been no fear. In the Mythic Dawn Shrine there had only been anger and rage, mixed with fear of Viconia's safety that had filled me with the burning fury and the strange gratification of slaughtering dozens in the most brutal ways possible.
There was little doubt in my mind that I was losing myself piece by piece. My soul was being dragged into darkness and there was nothing I could do to stop the increasingly rapid slid to damnation. What was beginning to terrify me however was that I was no longer sure whether I wanted to stop myself from going over the edge. I was beginning to enjoy the darkness and the power that it offered.
