On this night, the twin moons did not illuminate the skies. Skyrim was plunged into total darkness, and the anonymous Penitus Oculatus agent prepared to turn in for the night. His home was nothing significant: a humble little shack situated in the outskirts of Morthal, largely ignored by the residents. Inside the shack he kept little more than clothes, food, and a modest sum of coin. It was easily the best hiding place he could think of, to remain unnoticed by the world until a new Emperor could be chosen. Briefly he reflected upon the death of the last Emperor to rule Skyrim; he was there, on the ship, when the Dark Brotherhood fulfilled its gruesome conspiracy to kill Titus Mede II. He could not have been more attentive on that fateful night, as he patrolled the lower levels of the ship to keep a watchful eye out for any signs of intrusion. And when word had spread around the ship that Titus was found lying dead in his bed chamber, he felt a personal sense of responsibility for the disaster. It had been his duty to protect the Emperor, yet the Penitus Oculatus still failed to save his life. Perhaps it would be better to remain in seclusion, he thought to himself... but then again, were he ever to be called back into his Imperial duties, he knew he would not hesitate to stand by the Emperor's side. Perhaps I may amend for my failure to protect Titus Mede II, he thought. Perhaps I may redeem myself...
A gentle brush of cold air seemed to slip past the back of the agent's neck, prompting him to look behind. But presently, nothing was in sight. Thinking nothing of it, the agent started preparing an evening meal for himself by the fireplace, and remained wholly oblivious to the dark presence standing at his back. The agent reached toward his table to fetch some salt, when he noticed that he had neglected to fetch any. He turned around to head for his ingredient cabinet, when he was suddenly face-to-face with the assassin that had invaded his living quarters.
"Who- you- ... are... you... it- it can't be..." The agent stammered.
The invader, Rikka Northwing, simply watched the agent in silence.
"... ... You... ... you're- you're the one that... Commander Maro mentioned..." The agent began to regain his composure. "... You're... here to kill me...?"
Rikka drew out her katana, and pointed it at the cooking pot.
The agent was confused. "What? Er- what are you....?"
"Finish it." Her chilling whisper cut through the agent's soul like a knife.
"What?"
"It is your last meal." Rikka's eyes narrowed. "Finish it."
Though he was taken aback at first, he soon recognized what this assassin was telling him. "O-oh... of course..." He cautiously turned his back to her, and finished cooking his meal: fresh venison, seasoned with salt and elven spices. He then fetched a plate and sat down to eat his meal, all while visibly shivering. With every bite he took, the agent imagined what would transpire next; he imagined the killer's blade stabbing him through the back and piercing through the front of his body, or perhaps a fatal slash across his torso causing him to bleed out.
"I... I was there, you know..." He began to speak to the assassin, though he could not determine any sensible reason why. "When you... killed the Emperor. You're- you're the one who did it, right?"
"... Yes..." Rikka's reply floated quietly through the agent's ear, seeming to cut through even the tender warmth of the fireplace.
"You know, I... I've always wondered how you did it. Our ship was.... well.... impenetrable. I can recall, there were 20 guards stationed there..."
Rikka simply remained silent.
"Hm.... not much of a talker, eh? ... I... suppose people like you don't really have much to talk about... do you?"
No response.
The venison was halfway finished. "I'm... surprised, you know... I'd have expected you to just kill me right away. ... Is there... any kind of honor among assassins? Is that it?"
No response.
"... ... Well, honestly... ... I don't know whether to be scared or grateful that you've come here. I- I failed the Emperor... I was sworn to protect him, but..." The agent trailed off. "... Now... now I live as a broken man. Impotent. Shameful." He sighed. "Sometimes, I've often thought to myself... what I would do, in just this situation..."
Rikka remained silent, intrigued by the agent's retrospective statements.
"Sometimes... I- I'd imagine myself facing my killer... but other times I would simply throw my wretched body onto his sword. It's... funny, really... I never would have thought that it would end this way." The venison was nearly finished. "At my table, savoring my last meal... getting a chance to reflect on the life I've spent... ..." The venison was finished. "Listen, I... ... well, thank you. It was... it was decent of you to let me finish my dinner. Now I suppose you're going to kill me?"
Rikka gently touched the edge of her blade upon the agent's neck. "It is time."
The agent took a final, deep breath and braced himself. "So be it, assassin... I am ready."
Death came painlessly, and without pause or interruption. With a single, calculated swipe of Rikka's katana, the agent's head was severed from his body. Rikka washed and sheathed her blade, then carried the agent's corpse to his bed chamber. Nobody would know to check on this reclusive hermit, she thought to herself. Nobody would know of his passing. And so Rikka lay his body upon his cleanly-made bed, folding his hands over his chest. After this, she stood back and admired the scene she had created, tilting her head with an inquisitive look in her eyes. It looked to her like something one would see at a funeral... minus the absence of the deceased's head, of course. Could this be construed as art? Or simply funereal reverence? It was art to her.
Upon returning to the Order of the Dagger's headquarters, Rikka sat in Anora's meeting chamber and took in the surrounding atmosphere as she reflected upon the agent's final moments. It wasn't every day she got to hear exactly what was going through her victims' minds as they met their end. She was utterly fascinated by the introspection expressed by the agent, and how peacefully he accepted his demise. It wasn't the same as when that sleazy little slime-ball Belethor passed away... all he could think about was money. Same with Nazeem. Both pompous fools obsessing over things they couldn't bring with them to Oblivion... it was satisfying to kill people like them, she thought. She found their attitudes relentlessly irritating... always thinking themselves to be so grand, so important... then death would come, and only then would they realize what fools they had been. Somehow it made Rikka feel as if she had dragged them down to her level... or perhaps below it. Ah, she had lost her train of thought... funny how often that happened when Rikka was by herself. The door behind her opened.
"Ah, there you are." Anora greeted her, "I assume you've...?"
"Killed him. Yes." Rikka said plainly.
"Wonderful!" Anora beamed, "The others have claimed their victims as well. This is capital! It's just like my mentor dreamed... he hoped that the Order would turn from a petty underground guild to the leading guild of assassins in Skyrim! And with the looming destruction of the Penitus Oculatus' connections here, as well as what's happened to the Dark Brotherhood..." She sat down. "This... this is honestly greater than I could have hoped. It's really happening...!"
Rikka observed Anora's enthusiasm with a curious but altogether indifferent look on her face. Anora noticed this, and momentarily dropped her light mood; she had forgotten what sort of person Rikka truly was. It was common knowledge throughout Skyrim's underworld that Rikka 'Whispering Death' Northwing was altogether incapable of feeling any true emotions; rumor had it that it was all due to a birth defect in her brain, which now enabled her to kill without remorse. Admittedly, this fact most likely made her the most effective assassin in the Order... but she had also hoped that Rikka would at least share in her feelings of glory and accomplishment, as opposed to simply looking at her blankly.
"... I'm sorry, am I pestering you?"
"No." Rikka said. Cold though she was, she could at least be trusted not to tell comforting lies.
"Good. Our scout is due to return soon with the details concerning the final member of the agents that destroyed the Dark Brotherhood."
Rikka nodded and began to wait patiently. Sure enough, the scout arrived several minutes later, carrying a dossier under his right arm. "Here's everything on your next mark, great assassin." He handed the document to Rikka, who placed it upon the table and began to read.
"Well?" Anora said, "Who is it? What's her name?"
Rikka's eyes widened, and in an apparent state of shock she lifted the document to her face.
"Rikka? Sister? What's wrong?"
Rikka did not answer. Instead the document fell from her hands and landed upon the floor, while Rikka sat in her chair with a look of shock and disbelief in her eyes. Anora was surprised to see such an expression on her face, and picked the document up from off the ground to reveal for herself the identity of Rikka's final mark. She read the name aloud.
"Erika.... Northwing...."
Anora turned her glance back to Rikka's mortified expression. "Is she... is she your...?"
"Sister..." Rikka said in a trance-like tone "... Sister... .... sister... ...."
"I- I... ... my word..." Anora put the document down. "I... I'm so sorry... Rikka... but- but this must come to pass! She led the charge against the Brotherhood, and if the Empire catches wind of our existence with her leadership still available, they'd... they'd destroy us! After all we've done, all the lives we've claimed, all the sacrifices we've made to get to this point!"
Rikka broke from her trance to look Anora in the eyes. "... No... you can't... mean... ... ..." Finally she rose solemnly from her seat, her back turned to Anora and the scout.
"Sister, I..." Anora said quietly, "I... I know how this must feel... if I had to kill my own mother... I would feel the same way. But we are assassins, Rikka..." She put a hand gently on Rikka's shoulder. "It is our fate to kill, even those close to us. Friends... family... if they are not for us, then they are against us. And if they are against us, then they become threats to our lives. This is the path we have chosen... sister... I'm so sorry..."
Rikka did not respond with words, but rather with a look. It was a glance over her shoulder directly into Anora's eyes; an indescribable glare, unlike anything Anora had seen before. No swords were drawn, no threats were made... but her glare alone caused Anora to back away in terror. As Rikka stepped out of sight and into the enveloping shadows, she left with a vague but dooming promise.
"Death will come..." She hissed with a venomous tone, "Death will come..."
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