Surely Thou Jests

Wind whistles through blood stained locks of hair.

Hear hooves crunch against gravel.

See the shadows cast over the steep rocky hills that brush against your right shoulder.

Sigh as the horse slows to a halt as it reaches the stable.

Climb off.

“We’re here, Shadowmere,” mutter as you tie the phantom horse’s reigns to the stone pillar. Stroke its ear, and then start to stride towards the city gates.

Brass coats the stairway and door then weaves through stone carvings set in the city wall. Your skin-tight ebony and void salt blended suit glistens in the sunlight, contrasting to the light coloured structures facing you. Let’s see how this attempt turns out.

Ten city guards shuffle to the entrance as you try to push the gate open. It looks as if the annual council meeting has pushed up the security level for today.

 “Hey!” A man who you presume is the head guard grabs your forearm and drags you backward. Turn your head and glance at him, questioning why he interrupted with a raised brow. “What be your reason?” His gruff voice boomed in attempt to sound intimidating, you guess.

“Aye?” Attempt to shake off his hand.

“Fake innocence dunnot fool me, girl! State your reason!” Hawk eyes and a red face with blood vines protruding attack your view. Who does he think you are? A cult assassin? Close, but nay.

You stay silent and contemplate your answer.

“WELL?! By the immortals I’ll have your-“

“Giving.”

“What?”

“I am giving, my friend,” flitting your hands around in a strange gesture, “or rather, delivering.” Your ability to make your eyes look like a new-born kitter-cat doesn’t impress him either.

“Exactly what, are you girrvin?”

“Dear Sir, it’s givi-”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GIRL!” By now he is sharing breathing space with you. Too close, so you slide back, head first.

Sudden as a flash of lightning you whip behind him. Grip his shoulder and stand on the tips of your toes. With a sly grin you whisper to his ear;

“Crimson willow root.”

 See the anger vanish, replaced by shock and awe.

 He freezes in place, his hand inches from swatting your body away from him.

“It’s not pos-”

“Oh yes, my friend.”

 Letting your whisper hiss and fade, you lower yourself to your normal stance and step back, letting his eyes follow. “I would recommend you not speak to your friends over there about this, hmm? They might try,” flicker your eyes back and forth, “filch, it from me,” pointing to the other guards still huddled by the gate, looking curiously over at the discussion.

 You try leaving the man in his still state, but he grabs your arm once again.

“L-l-lemme see first. I-I need proof.” You reach into your satchel, smirking to yourself as you hear jagged breathing sound from his lips.

 Reveal the tip of a red branch, old and broken, whilst checking to make sure its presence stays unknown to the man’s fellow companions. By the look of his glazed and growing eyes, he is convinced.

 The head guard backs away, turning to shoo away his cluster of guards from the entrance. “I’ll leave yah to it.”

Head held high, you stride in triumphantly, pushing that metal gate with ease. Coating a twig in red chalk and passing it off as a high valued reagent that the high court has been searching for was your most cunning idea yet!

Before you close the gate again, the head guards calls out to you.

“Send my regards to high-mage-man up top!” You roll your eyes at the mention of the arch mage.

Archmage Jerrod. First cousin Jerrod. Most-boring-man-in-existence-at-high-court Jerrod. He may be a significant member of the ‘high and mighty’ council, and a relative of the empress, but that does not excuse his lack of energy and the absence of will to be spontaneous. Therefore, you have taken it upon yourself to somewhat embarrass the poor guy by making a ‘surprise’ visit. What better timing too.

Pull up the ebony hood as your eyes hit the sight of townsfolk by the hundreds. Your attire has no hope of blending in with the earth coloured tunics and peasant dresses, so don’t waste time.

Squeeze through the crowd, moving to the paved road that winds its way up to the top level.

 Quick as dragon wings, make to the shadows.

With a low chuckle sounding from your lips, you slither upwards, creeping up to the top. No hiccups in your plan make you smirk, and once the copper pillars prick your view you stop.

This should be entertaining.

 

 

A/N: Yes I know that the high council is in High Hrothgar, not Markarth. Like I said in the description, it is only based on events, characters and places of Skyrim, and is not meant to be a pure Skyrim fanfic. :)