» Tue Sep 06, 2011 4:08 pm With the creek of a poorly constructed floor He entered. The surrounding was all too familiar. Drunkards in the back spending their meager earnings on swill and even more intoxicated drunkards at the bar, trying to buy swill for the women. The ambiance was purposefully dimmed to the point of near night; most likely to conceal the rotted wood walls and blood stained tables. Each step he takes is purposeful. “One, two, three, four..” he counts his distance in his head to the stool of his choice and sits. A well endowed woman who is obviously beyond her years and usefulness pours an iron flagon of the house ale. Ah how He knows that sound. The methodical swish and bubble created is almost like a lullaby. Without a word, a copper is laid for the wench. He gets lost in thought. The importance of the day has been but an illusion until now. The months of planning coming to fruition in a place that should have burned down years ago. In a way this location was fitting; at least for his feelings on the matter at hand.
The rowdy laughter turned into white noise after only a couple moments. The only thing audible is his thoughts. “Failure”. He could hear it in his hear as if his own shadow was whispering it to him. “You will fail.” The words affected him like dark magic. Sweat begins to drip down his brow into his drink. He suddenly becomes aware of his own heart beat. Each breath he takes is labored and forced. Suddenly the laughter of the crowd grows louder in his ears. Echoing belches from a large bearded man beside him sound like thunder. The lights grow brighter and the walls start to run from him like a deer from a hunter. He can’t do this. He isn’t strong enough. A creek from the entryway abruptly interrupts his self induced hell.
He knows that it is time but his body tells him to wait. Another deep swallow of ale should calm him. As the outsider comes closer He pays heed to his own mug as if not to arouse suspicion. The outsider stops a few paces away and with the voice of a giant exclaims “I knew you’d be waiting for me.” The tavern comes to a sudden lull. He looks around and notices the eyes of every patron now fixated on the two of them. Even the, now narrowly squinting wench, is watching from across the room. He is more calm in this tense moment then he has been all evening. His gaze rotates across the bar to his other shoulder to meet the standing man’s. No words are said; they don’t need their voices to communicate. The screech of his stool can be heard across the small hamlet as he stands. He spins on the ball of his foot to fully face his adversary. He takes the most satisfying breathing he has had since his first – and holds it.
The breeze created by his swift movements brush his oiled hair back like a gentle caress. His wrist snaps outwards with precision. Fully reaching, he extends his arm towards the outsider. His fist is closed tightly around a crude steel dagger. He thinks he screams in this moment but he cannot be sure. He will succeed. He will complete the task put forth. His eyes never look away from the outsider’s.
Is it over? Has he succeeded? He now stands but a fingers distance from the man he has waited so long to even see. Both faces – expressionless. For but the briefest of moments he feels the warm embrace of accomplishment. He then feels something foreign. A warmth that is not a welcomed feeling. Turning his gaze downwards He sees his own abdomen skewered with the outsider’s blade. His own dagger inches from even grazing the man. The outsider speaks now with a soft voice, “You should have known better, my friend.” He only stares at his mortal wound but He is able to speak one phrase. “You will die Dovahkiin. You will die…” And then blackness
