{ & } "... You're joking," said the tall, pale woman in the tavern.
Her blue eyes analyzed the prices on the wall behind the barkeep.
"Since when does a drink of ale cost two sovereigns? This is must
be a beverage of the Maker to be so pricey," hissed the elf at the
counter, below her breath.
{S}he stalks the shadows of the trees like a gust of wind.
Her movement is fast, precise, and true–there is no misstep in her dance. The roads of Skyrim were dark on this night, but the shimmering orange lights of the aurora above gave a glow of guidance for the bosmer. Swiftly and of light feet, Vlaya soon found herself in sight of a burning fire. Shadows flickered about the fabrics of their tents, the camp surrounded by thick brush. She caught her breath and froze.
She never told Astrid, but there was a sort of thrill in the hunt when she was on a contract. Locating their whereabouts, making the quick, nervous, but anxious exchange of whispers and coin; it was all about the discovery. Vlaya was embellished with the blood of her enemies, a black fire in those endless eyes, excitement the very pores of her existence. A dark beauty to some, perhaps, but it was nothing other than the work of pride–pride in the accomplishments of a once enslaved elf. But no longer was she a prisoner of long shadows, lonely nights, heartache; now, she was free. She could finally grow. But those thoughts, those dreams, they were for another time.
The encampment awaited her.
Her lanky figure snatched one of the round trunks of a, her feet propelling her upward with careful climbing. But she was silent as she made her way up to a vantage point, patient with the tree and it’s branches, and instead letting nature pull her up. Eyes like the Void itself peered down into the clearing. Her nose and mouth were covered by the dark clothe of her mask. The hand of the dark brotherhood made its mark on the center of her chest and belt piece. It would be to the Dread Father’s pleasure that their victims saw the Black Hand in their last breath of life.
Snap.
It cracks beneath the weight of a single toe, a few crumbles of small bark falling into the leaves. Her body became rigid and completely unmoving–she was rock, solid like the earth, calm, cool, collected. A miscalculation, no less—and one that was easily fixed with control. The air was crisp, cold, and it nipped at her skin even beneath her leather. But she didn’t mind it, it gave her a sense of.. life. It kept her awake and going, pushing forward to reach her target. In fact, it was exhilarating.
Vlaya could feel the pulse beneath her ivory skin quicken. Now it was only a matter of luck, a matter of faith in the darkness. Though a master of sneaking, there was never any telling of whether or not a stranger wasn’t, either. The dark sister kept her balance and held herself together, anticipating whatever may come.