The inn of Whiterun, Bannered Mare, plays host to numerous Nords still celebrating the end of the third era - almost 50 years ago as a young bosmer, or Wood Elf, woman walks in. "Nords will find the slightest excuse just to down some meed," she sighs and walks to the bar.
The bosmer is clothed in scant fur armor, a small skirt down to her thighs and nothing but a fur belt-sized top around her chest. Her hard-soled boots clatter on the floor boards with every walk, "Give me some altmer ale, I'm feeling brave tonight," she requests the barmaid with a smirk.
A particularly loud Nord in the corner, amongst his peers crowded around each other, throws his mug in the air, "Another round -- On me!"
They all cheer at once as their mugs clank together one by one. "Bard! Sing the one about Ragnar again, will you?" Fully standing, this Nord is an easy seven feet tall, sports a stubby beard, and slick mustache. He wears heavy armor, iron by the looks of it, and is armed with a great sword, steel in make.
"Of course, m'lord." The young bard is an Imperial woman, can't be older than eighteen at least -- flowing blonde hair atop her fair skin and light blue eyes. It's no wonder the bard's college in Solitude sent her here, Nordic men of Whiterun have always been known to be weak when it comes to temptations of skin. It's a shrewd thing of the college to do, however, because her worth increased tenfold once she started singing in this inn.
"Pigs," whispers the bosmer woman under her breath, sighing once more. The barmaid shoots her a look of agreement, hiding the look as much as possible, and smirks at the bosmer. The tall Nord man glances toward the bosmer, taking extra care to stare her down, or so it would seem. The bard places the base of her lute against her shoulder and begins to play and sing.
"There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead!"
The men around him nudge the tall man with their elbows, coaxing him to approach the bosmer woman, and so he does, slowly walking toward the bar, making sure to strut as much as possible.
"And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade, as he told of bold battles and gold he had made!"
The bosmer shrugs at the barmaid and wonders to herself, She's going to think I'm a hypocrite, but what has to be done... Has to be done. She sighs again and sets down her drink as the man steps in front of her, "What's your name, little one?"
Humph, 'Little One'... That's original. Damned Nords, "Selene, and yours?"
"But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red, when he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who saidâ€¦"
"Tobias Six Fingers. You don't know a man until he's removed his gloves, I've always said" She lets out a silent sigh again, Stupid too. This should be simple.
"I like a man with scars, Tobias, whatever his skin color or height."
"Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead! Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"
"Is that so," he turns to the barmaid, "Get this beautiful lady another ale, on me this time!"
"Why don't we go to your house and get to know each other, maybe you've got more scars you'd like to show a lonely bosmer like myself," Selene says with seductive undertones as she slips her arm into his and stands.
"And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel, as the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal!"
Even at full stature, the top of her head doesn't even reach his chest, as it is with most bosmer who stand next to nords. He escorts her out of the inn as his peers hoot and holler at the two making their way out, the barmaid shaking her head slightly at them.
"And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no mooooore... when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"
Making their way on foot to the opposite quarter of Whiterun, their conversation continues, "You must be rich - or close to it - to be buying drinks for everyone so freely," Selene says. Tobias replies without hesitation, "Indeed, I am. I'm a well paid soldier, one might say."
"You're smart as well as gorgeous, a dangerous combination," he flirts as they reach the door to his house and opens the door for her. "Thank you, m'lord," she curtsies and glances at the footlocker near the door.
"I am also a soldier of sorts, always out in the field with my work. I've not time for love or even flings."
"Ah, Selene, the truth comes out. Do you mean to use me for my body and leave?"
"Are you complaining or protesting such use?"
"No, but a beautiful woman, even a bosmer, such as yourself deserves a loyal husband." No way in Oblivion is that going to happen, let's just get this over with, you mindless oaf, she wonders to herself as she continues the charade and giggles.
As he sits on the edge of the bed, she stands in front of him, only coming up a bit above the top of his head. She undoes her top and lets it fall to the floor, followed by her skirt, standing in front of Tobias in not but undergarment bottoms, she begins to undo his breastplate.
He reaches for the buckles holding on his greaves, but she places her hands on his, "Kiss me first, strong Tobias." Their lips meet as their chests do. I have to admit this is nice, but I have no time, it must happen soon, what it is must be done.
She moves her lips to his neck as he speaks again, "I have to be honest with you, Selene... I'm not a soldier, per se, I'm a rebel officer, we're planning on over-throwing the Imperials soon."
"I know," she says seriously as she places her hands on the back of his neck and looks into his eyes, which are filled with confusion, "And my name's not Selene, it's Shade." She jerks her hands in opposite directions swiftly and snaps his spine in half, killing him instantly.
Almost completely naked, she carries her fur clothes to the front room near the door and throws them into the small fire pit, fur crackling as it burns to ash. She lifts the lid to the footlocker and pulls out leather armor and slips it on. First the short leather skirt, with a leather belt, fastens it around her waist. Next, a piece of leather armor, short, leaving her midriff revealed, and buckles it down the middle.
She sighs and fiddles with the hem of her skirt, fixes her long dark hair with a headband, glances toward the bedroom, and walks out the door, locking it behind her, along with the body of Tobias Six Fingers.
Several days later, Shade walks into Castle Dour of Solitude, headquarters to the Imperial Legion in Skyrim. Making her way through the offices, straight for the commander's room. With every passing of the guards, the chuckles and cackles get louder, "Welcome back, little one, did you kill a rat for us this time," a group of guards laugh.
"I just killed a seven-foot-tall Nordic man with my bare hands, don't think I won't do the same to you if you can't control your tongue, worthless tool." The guard rolls his eyes and laughs again as Shade finally opens the door to the commander's office.
"Ah, Shade, welcome back. Is it done?"
"It is, ser."
"Excellent, we don't need proof for this one, and I can see you didn't bring any anyway," the commander says, Shade replies by a simple shrug. She hikes up her skirt a few inches and sits in the chair opposite the commander, and crosses her legs, "My payment?"
"You're an assassin for the Legion, not a mercenary."
"I'm also free lance at most, yet even official assassins get paid."
"Yes, Yes. Here you go," he hands her a bag with a thousand gold coins in it, "I already have another contract for you."
She sighs as she places the coin bag in her leather armor's hood that doubles as a rough sack, "If I get one more contract where I must take advantage of men who only think with their little dangler, I will force you to get another assassin with my skillset... We both no there is no such assassin."
"Maybe if you didn't dress so scant, you'd receive less contracts as such."
"At least skirts look good on me, unlike your foolish soldiers and their hairy legs," she smirks.
"Ah, so even assassins have a sense of humor... I thought it was but an old wives tale."
"I apologize if you think I was jesting, I've not the luxury of humor. Give me this contract so I can be on my way, ser."
"This target is no mere man, well to us he is not. This will be... let's say... somewhat of a challenge. It's another Nordic man, but this time, he's not aligned with any political factions. He's a fugitive because he's been caught trading and selling dwarven artifacts. What makes it worse, this Nord is believed to be protected by orcs and even a wolf has been sighted following him around. Start around Riverwood."
"Very well, ser," Shade accepts the challenge and stands from her chair, fixing the hem of her skirt. "I'll bring you the head of this fugitive on a silver platter."
"I know you will, Shade," he says as she starts for the door. "Do you wish not to know his name?"
"No ser, despite popular opinion, I have feelings. Knowing a target's name is a waste of time and knowledge, it leads to botched operations. Trust me, I'll find him." She places her hand on the handle to open it, "Ah, one more point, Shade. You complete this job, you'll be so rewarded, you'll never have to do another contract for the rest of your life."
Which either means you'll have me killed or I'll be rich behind my wildest fantasies, she wonders, nods, and departs from Castle Dour.