Ok, so this is a continuation of a now series of short stories based on the character I'm playing in Oblivion, and his quests through the Dark Brotherhood. Here is the first one I wrote.
Again, any and all feedback is welcome! This one is still a bit on the 'short' side, but I want to make sure I can write a short story well before I try writing something a bit longer.
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Accidents Happen
They said I'd never forget my first contract, but there wasn't anything special about climbing onto some rotting ship and slitting the throat of pirate. He didn't even know I was there. While he drank his wine, I poisoned my blade. And after he savored the final bite of his meal, I savored the final look on his face. The only excitement I got was when two of his crew came in looking for him. They saw me dive off the balcony into the water, and nothing else. Though I suppose I learned to be more careful.
It was my second contract that I remember more clearly, for one simple reason: I hate the cold. I remember thinking that when I was given the job. I remember thinking that as the grass beneath my feet slowly turned to tundra while I traveled ever north. And I remember thinking that as I entered that wretched frozen city with the cold evening wind whipping my face and stinging my eyes. Why anyone would live in that gods forsaken wasteland is beyond my understanding.
The local tavern offered me some temporary warmth, rest, and information. The people there weren't too friendly. Maybe those Nords didn't like seeing a son of Valenwood grumbling about their home, but what did I care? I knew I would be leaving as soon as my job was done.
The fire danced hypnotically as I stood warming myself in vain against the chill that was ever present. A few bits of conscience sprouted in my mind at the time. Could I follow through? The first person I murdered, that Nord woman, was an accident more then anything. Rufio? Well he was near death. Frail. Sickly. Weak. Hardly a waste, if at all. And the pirate was like any other bandit or highwayman one may meet on the road. A thug with a boat is still a thug. It almost seemed like justice.
Baenlin wasn't any of those things. He was a man who simply enjoyed the loyalty of a good servant, a nice home, and a nice chair. Could I follow through? The bitter evening wind seemed to howl a bit louder then, and I knew that I really didn't have a choice anymore. Baenlin would die. If not by me then by another, and I would face the consequences. There was no sense in two wasted lives. I stood up, found out where this Baenlin lived, and went to him.
Later when I returned to tavern for one last bit of warmth before taking my leave, a pair of off duty guards walked in, shaking off the blowing snow. They ordered a drink, and talked loud enough for the other patrons to hear. Everyone was hushed as they said how they found poor Baenlin. His broken body still in his favorite chair, his servant kneeling beside him. As I stood to leave, everyone was shaking their heads at the tragedy. But it was the one drunk in the corner whose mutterings caught my ear as I reached for the door...
"Accidents happen."
Again, any and all feedback is welcome! This one is still a bit on the 'short' side, but I want to make sure I can write a short story well before I try writing something a bit longer.
----
Accidents Happen
They said I'd never forget my first contract, but there wasn't anything special about climbing onto some rotting ship and slitting the throat of pirate. He didn't even know I was there. While he drank his wine, I poisoned my blade. And after he savored the final bite of his meal, I savored the final look on his face. The only excitement I got was when two of his crew came in looking for him. They saw me dive off the balcony into the water, and nothing else. Though I suppose I learned to be more careful.
It was my second contract that I remember more clearly, for one simple reason: I hate the cold. I remember thinking that when I was given the job. I remember thinking that as the grass beneath my feet slowly turned to tundra while I traveled ever north. And I remember thinking that as I entered that wretched frozen city with the cold evening wind whipping my face and stinging my eyes. Why anyone would live in that gods forsaken wasteland is beyond my understanding.
The local tavern offered me some temporary warmth, rest, and information. The people there weren't too friendly. Maybe those Nords didn't like seeing a son of Valenwood grumbling about their home, but what did I care? I knew I would be leaving as soon as my job was done.
The fire danced hypnotically as I stood warming myself in vain against the chill that was ever present. A few bits of conscience sprouted in my mind at the time. Could I follow through? The first person I murdered, that Nord woman, was an accident more then anything. Rufio? Well he was near death. Frail. Sickly. Weak. Hardly a waste, if at all. And the pirate was like any other bandit or highwayman one may meet on the road. A thug with a boat is still a thug. It almost seemed like justice.
Baenlin wasn't any of those things. He was a man who simply enjoyed the loyalty of a good servant, a nice home, and a nice chair. Could I follow through? The bitter evening wind seemed to howl a bit louder then, and I knew that I really didn't have a choice anymore. Baenlin would die. If not by me then by another, and I would face the consequences. There was no sense in two wasted lives. I stood up, found out where this Baenlin lived, and went to him.
Later when I returned to tavern for one last bit of warmth before taking my leave, a pair of off duty guards walked in, shaking off the blowing snow. They ordered a drink, and talked loud enough for the other patrons to hear. Everyone was hushed as they said how they found poor Baenlin. His broken body still in his favorite chair, his servant kneeling beside him. As I stood to leave, everyone was shaking their heads at the tragedy. But it was the one drunk in the corner whose mutterings caught my ear as I reached for the door...
"Accidents happen."
