❀ A B O U T ❀
〈Update 11/11/15〉
Thank you for reading 'Hello? Hell..
o?', I've recently changed the title to the Nightshade Assassin. The previous cover photo is attached and I drew it on March 23, 2014. I don't particularly remember when I made this story, but I assume it was in late 2013/early 2014. (Shoutout to Raven_Black_Dragon for choosing the title!)
I should note that I was a major Halo and Anime weeb at the age I wrote this, so expect the main protagonist's name to be Cortana (*cringe*) and some anime references. I don't really want to edit this story or change the names because I enjoy seeing how much I've improved since I was 14 years old — I'm proud of my younger self and I prefer not to change anything. I hope you tolerate the errors!
I'd like to thank everyone who voted and commented! Thank you for sticking with me back when I made this book; like when I dropped my phone in water and couldn't write for months, and subsequent to that my phone was stolen so completing this was sort of strenuous.
For new readers, enjoy the story and don't forget to provide feedback, I love reading comments!
ALSO: Please stop stealing ideas from this story and writing it in your own fanfiction! It's super annoying, and it's even embarrassing when I have to confront people about it. So please, don't even try.
✿ T H E N I G H T S H A D E A S S A S S I N ✿
Chapter 1
17th of Last Seed, 4E 201
I shift uncomfortably as the wagon nearly throws me off my seat. My wrists are tightly bound together with two men in front, two to the right beside me, and an Imperial to the left, steering the wagon so we're squished together. Great. How am I supposed to explain to Astrid that on my way to the sanctuary, Imperials ambushed me?
Letting a muffled groan of annoyance escape my parted lips, the man beside me suddenly wakes. I almost laughed at his astonishment as he scanned his surroundings, breathing in a quick pace. I could easily escape through these bonds, but the group of soldiers will fail my escape.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake," the blond Nord faces himself towards the confused man. "You were trying to cross the border, right?"
He replies with a shake to his head as I watch them cautiously. He's so quiet. "Hello?" I murmur to him, trying to gain his attention to not be so quiet. "Hell...oooo?" He must've gotten hit in the head pretty hard. What an idiot.
The blond one continues to speak. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." He motioned towards the filthy, raven haired Nord beside him.
"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along!" the thief cries. "Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."
I sigh at Lokir, who is obviously in a panic state. "Honestly, did you really think you would get away, stealing a horse?" I ask, blowing my pastel lilac curls out of my face.
He scowls at me, then turns his head towards the Nord to the right beside me. I quietly giggle. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the empire wants. And the lady here, we three should all escape together." Lokir motions his bounded hands towards me, himself, and the Nord.
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," Ralof sighs, resting his forearms atop his knees. I sit up straight, leaning my back against the wood.
The Imperial driving the wagon turns his head, and narrows his eyes at me. "Shut up back there!" he snaps. I feel the need to stand up and throw my tied fists against his helmet, but I force myself not to.
"What's his problem?" Lokir murmurs to the man in front of him. Me, I already know who he is. The cloth tied around his mouth makes me want to chuckle. I saw him being forced on this wagon during the ambush.
"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" Ralof exclaims, narrowing his eyes at the thief.
Lokir suddenly widens his eyes. "Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you...oh gods! Where are they taking us?" he shrieks, and I shake my head in annoyance.
I sigh, my eyes meeting a small town from a distance as we drive down a hill. This is boring.
Ralof's turn to speak. "I don't know where we're going...but Sovngarde awaits," he mumbles quietly. I know for sure, that I'm not meeting my death just yet.
"No, this can't be happening! This isn't happening!" Lokir shrieks once more.
"Shut up, will you?" I hiss, creating the Imperial to the left chuckle a bit, but hide it immediately with a noisy cough. His screams are giving me a headache.
Ralof sighs, Divines know how many times from the thief, but he turns himself towards him anyway. "Hey, what village are you from, thief?"
"Why do you care?" Lokir sniffs.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
"...Rorikstead... I'm from Rorikstead..." he said quietly. Then Ralof waited for my turn.
"What about you?"
All the men except Ulfric has their attention on me, being the only female on the wagon. "I'm not exactly a Nord...I'm half Altmer myself," I said, making sure my ears were visible. "But I'm from a farm southwest of Dragon Bridge."
"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" a woman with a strong voice calls over. Oh goody, ignore the albino elf while she's talking.
General Tullius nods in satisfactory. "Good, let's get this overwith."
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh...Divines, please help me!" Lokir cries, gazing up into the sky.
Ralof scowls at all the Imperials surrounding us as we enter the town. I would travel here now and then when heading to the Falkreath sanctuary.
I wonder if Babette is worried about me...Arnbjorn must be waiting to hear my story if I live through this. He enjoys my storytelling of how many contracts I've almost died in, like the time I stepped on a bear trap, or the time I fell into a ruin, or the time I couldn't complete my contract because a spider was blocking the path.
"Look at him! General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn Elves. I bet they have something to do with this," he scoffs. I shoot him a look as if he was one of those Nords who was awfully rude to the Elf races. He then gazes around the town, a melancholic hint in his eyes. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilad is still making that mead with Juniper Berries..." he thinks for a moment, looking back into his memories. "...funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel safe."
There is a pause in our pointless conversation, the Nord beside me continues to remain quiet.
"Who are they, Daddy?" a boy with a maroon shirt sits upon the stairs, his legs crossed.
"Get inside, little cub," his father stands beside him, his command a little soft at first.
"Why? I want to watch the soldiers," he whines. It's best if children enjoy their adolescence, and not experience the head-chopping action.
"Inside the house. Now!" I remember when my father used to scold me like that whenever I'd touch his steel sword, or steal a sweetroll from a guard.
"Yes, Father," the boy grumbles, hesitantly getting up and forcing himself inside.
Finally, the carriage parks near a wall, as all the other wagons did, too. I scan the area, finding out a way to escape. I remember Helgen like the first spell I learned from my mother.
"Why are we stopping?" Lokir gasps, unaware we have halted a few seconds ago.
Ralof smiles in joyless emotion. "Why do you think? End of the line." He prepares to stand up and jump off the wagon. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting."
"No, wait! We're not rebels!" Lokir howls, breathing heavily, continuing to panic.
"Face your death with some courage, thief," he murmurs, watching Ulfric slam his feet on the ground.
The thief continues to screech, leaving me to groan. His cowardly personality was ridiculous, really. "You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!" He then follows Ulfric and hops off the wagon, slipping to his knees. He grunts in pain as he continues to scream in agony.
"Calm down," I say, jumping onto my feet. "Whether you claim you're apart of Ulfric's boys or not, they'll still kill you." I smirk once I see an Argonian running atop the roofs. Find me already? Veezara winks as I am ensured to escape.
"You seem unaffected that you too will about to die," Ralof looks at me, expecting me to panic, just as the others would. I merely crack a smile, which leaves Ralof dumbfounded.
"Step towards the block as we call your name," the female Imperial instructs, another soldier beside her, grasping a quill and a piece of paper. "One at a time!"
Ralof sneers at them, tightening his fists until they reveal a hue of white. "Empire loves their damned lists."
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," the male calls out, searching for the helpless Jarl, and checks off his name. Ulfric slowly walks towards the block in shame.
"It has been an honour, Ulfric..." Ralof says sadly, giving the Jarl a small bow to his head.
"Ralof of Riverwood." Check.
"Lokir of Rorikstead." Check.
Lokir suddenly bursts out in wails. "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Then he sprints, his running affected due to his bound hands. I make out Veezara in the distance, cracking up atop a building as the archers shot the thief dead. I chuckle under my breath. Damned idiot.
"Cortana of Dragon Bridge," the Imperial calls out my name. Check.
"...which do you prefer, decapitation or a slow, painful death?," I ask as I swiftly walk passed him, grinning to his surprisement. I peek over at his list, reading the name "Hadvar" at the top corner. Now from our wagon, all that is left is that mysterious Nord that sat next to me who refused to say a word, even when he awoke to see us four staring at him.
I giggle. I only say that just to scare him.
"Wait, you there. Step forward. Who...are you?" Hadvar asks the Nord. As soon as he is introduced, I look back at their conversation. I can't make out his name. He then gazes down to his feet, a despairing frown forming onto his lips. The Nord walks towards the block, standing next to me. I only made out that he isn't intended to die, but will get executed anyway. When I thought about it, it was a bit disconsolate to know you'll face death's door without knowing what's going on. I flash a quick emotionless smile to the Nord.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero," General Tullius begins, strolling over to the block and standing beside it. "But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."
Ulfric grunts over the cloth pressed against his lips, his eyebrows furrowed.
"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!" he finishes his speech, standing noble and proud. But before everything begins to get interesting, a blustering roar echoes in our ears, leaving us to remain still.
"What was that?"
"It was nothing. Carry on."
"Yes, General Tullius! Give them their last rights," the captain instructs the priestess with golden robes.
She rises her hands in the air and closes her eyes, beginning her speech. "As we commend your souls to Atherius, blessings of the eight Divines upon-"
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this overwith," a Stormcloak rebel hisses, strolling to the block without a problem. The priestess narrows her eyes and clenches her teeth, stopping her speech.
"Very well then."
"Hurry up! I haven't got all morning!" he snaps rudely, soon being pushed onto the block, his neck pressing firmly onto the wood in an uncomfortable position. He seems unafraid, continuing to remain silent despite the fact he is about to die. He refuses to panic, unlike the others. The executioner rises his axe in the air, the blade reflecting onto the sun, forcing some prisoners to shut their eyes tight until it is over. In a swift movement, the axe makes its way into the Stormcloak's neck, easy as slicing butter. His head soon falls into the basket, and his body that was alive just a second ago falls onto its side beside the block. Blood pours from his neck, and Veezara just watches on top of the inn, amused.
"You Imperial bastards!" a female rebel roars, a tears streaming down her cheeks, yet her expression remains strong.
"Justice!"
"Death to the Stormcloaks!"
"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof murmurs, bowing his head and closing his eyes in respect. I am not on the Imperial's side, nor the Stormcloaks, but I have to admire the rebel was noble, brave regardless if facing his fate with decapitation.
As soon as the captain notices it is over, it is the Nord's turn. His light black hair and sad grey eyes stares towards the block. Once she calls on him, she is interrupted by an ear-splitting roar, the same one we heard minutes ago, but this time, echoed throughout the town. I glimpse at Veezara, noticing he heard it too, and scanned the sky like everyone else.
"There it is again..." an Imperial mumbles, gazing up at the sky. "Did you hear that?"
"I said: Next. Prisoner," the captain hisses, awaiting the Nord's response to make his way towards the block.
With a disheartening frown from the prisoner, I focus on Veezara, who is waiting for my turn so we may escape. The prisoner is forced onto his knees, his knuckles pressing against the hard ground. We can only stare at the back of his head as he is edgily shoved onto the wooden block, a tiny space cut out to fit his neck. He whispers something, but nobody can make out what he said. As soon as the executioner's axe upsurges, I widen my eyes, surveying the stone tower above us.
A dragon.