Thursday, March 31, 2022
Saturday, March 26, 2022
The Kill - Chapter 8: The Enchanted Pen is Mightier than the Dagger Behind your Back
“This is a little excessive, don’t you agree?” Prosciutto remarked while looking at the heart.
“Can I have that?” Formaggio asked.
“Sure,” Pesci replied, tossing him the heart. The redhead took it and retreated to his room. The green-haired man then looked at his brother. “What’s my reward for this contract?”
“You get an enchanted ring to help with spell casting and 600 Septims.”
Just before Prosciutto could hand him the bag of coins, Pesci grabbed his arms.
“That’s it? No increase in rank? I should be an Eliminator by now. I remember a long time ago you told Illuso something. You said, ‘Not too fast.’ Were you talking about my rank? Do I deserve less?”
Prosciutto slapped him with force, knocking him to the ground. He then stomped on him repeatedly.
“You earn the rank you get from pure skill, Pesci. You didn’t kill Styx, Luca, Gaston, Anne, or Tuudir by yourself. I am proud that you killed Alessia by yourself, but that was one thing! You’ve earned the rank Slayer because I thought that would’ve boosted your confidence.”
Risotto uncloaked himself from the invisibility spell.
“I knew I saw someone there!” Pesci commented.
“Prosciutto, you’re being too harsh on him,” the muscular Dark Elf said. “At least he managed to kill his targets. And how he handled Tuudir, I thought that was excellent.”
“I’ll see about Pesci’s rank after he kills his next target,” Prosciutto said. He looked through the list of available targets. One of them grabbed his attention, but he wasn’t sure if Pesci could handle it. He took a look at his brother who was tapping his foot.
“Come on, brother!” Pesci complained. “I feel confident. Give me a tough one!”
Prosciutto sighed. “Your next target is Rohan Kishibe. Like Alessia, he has written books, but he can also paint. He’s a High Elf living in Skingrad, luckily. Security has probably been heightened in the Imperial City. However, I’m coming with you to evaluate your skills. Sorry, Risotto, you’re going to have to wait.”
“Very well,” he said before vanishing into thin air.
-
Prosciutto and Pesci got to Skingrad by horse. They arrived around somewhere in the evening.
“Hey, brother, thank you for buying me a horse,” Pesci said.
“You were supposed to earn it after the contract, but that’s fine,” Prosciutto replied.
Both their horses were black, but their saddles were a different color. Prosciutto had a black saddle with the first letter of his name in yellow. Pesci had the same thing, but it was green. They let their horses rest at the stables and went in.
Pesci has passed by Skingrad before, but he’s never been in it. Everything seemed so high-end and made of stone. Leaves and flowers were growing in places, making the city less dull. And Pesci loved this place. It was beautiful and clean. There was this garlic aroma in the air. As he took a whiff, it took him back to his memories of his mother. If she were alive, what would she say? He looked at his brother.
“Brother, what was your mother like?” Pesci asked.
“Rohan is close by,” he said, dodging the question. “Remember, he has green hair like you. I’ve heard he’s unpleasant, too, speaking of which.”
They spotted Rohan yelling at someone outside of the supply store. The man he was shouting was a small Breton with short black hair.
“You useless servant!” Rohan yelled. “Why do I even bother hiring you?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spill the paint,” the man quietly said. “I tripped on a rock.”
“Tripped on a rock? Do you hear this? Clumsy little thing.” Rohan then looked at Pesci. “You there, the one with the same hair color as me but brighter, come over here.”
Pesci walked towards him. “Yes?” he said nervously.
“Clean this up before the guards think there’s a murder over here.” He pointed at the spot where the red paint spilled. It was too bright to look like blood, but Pesci didn’t want to anger him, so he wiped it off with his shirt. Some of it still lingered. “Stop, that’s enough. Hazamada, you’re fired.” Prosciutto slipped out of sight, into the shadow of two buildings. “You there, what’s your name?”
The short Breton man ran away crying. Prosciutto witnessed what happened and saw the look of scorn Hazamade gave Pesci.
“I’m Pe– Peppers,” he replied.
“Peppers, huh?” Rohan repeated. “You’re hired.”
This was happening too fast for Pesci to process, even Prosciutto would agree.
“Come, let us go to my home. I’ll throw away that useless servant’s belongings. You can move your belongings later.”
Pesci wasn’t sure what to say. For now, he kept quiet. His brother followed them from a distance, leading to Rohan’s home.
Inside, art and bookshelves adorned the walls of the house. Aside from that, Pesci was a bit worried about the candles on the wall. With this much flammable material, it’s a wonder this building has not gone down in flames. As for the books, a curious Pesci grabbed one of the books and examined the cover. It was just a blue hardcover with Rohan’s name written on it. He opened it, and on the first page, there was a rune. He hadn't understood what it meant. As he turned the page, the rune activated and disappeared. He also felt strange, lighter. For now, he ignored this feeling.
“Peppers!” Rohan called. It sounded like he was in the dining hall. Pesci rushed to his call.
“Yes, Mister Kishibe?” asked Pesci.
“Do you know how to cook? I’m hungry. I want onion soup,” he demanded.
“No, I–”
“I thought so.” Rohan handed him a piece of paper. “Here.”
On it, it said, “Onions are in the basement. This is what an onion looks like.”
Below what was written was a very detailed onion. It was a very impressive drawing. Whoever wanted this guy dead must be envious, Pesci thought.
Rohan cleared his throat. “You can go now.”
Pesci headed to the basement where Rohan stored his food. He wasn’t sure how the slip of paper was supposed to help him. Ignoring the oddness, he carried some onions, extra virgin olive oil, butter, sugar, salt, and other types of herbs and spices. Heading to the kitchen with the ingredients, he placed them down on the counter. Before starting, he washed his hands. Afterward, he grabbed the onions and began chopping them.
From outside, Prosciutto looked at Pesci from the window. Unless his brother learned how to cook from the Anne contract, which he doubts, he felt like he should interfere and take care of Rohan himself. For now, the blond waited. Should anything happen to Pesci, he had a trick up his sleeve.
About an hour has passed. Pesci carried the bowl of onion soup and placed it in front of Rohan. Before the author could eat, he had a conversation with him. From the window, it looked like he was writing on his brother's hand. Believing that the conversation they were having was more important, Prosciutto placed his ear to the stone wall.
“Pesci,” Prosciutto heard Rohan say, “thank you. Why don’t you take a rest? I believe you earned it.”
“Yes, Mister Kishibe. I think I will.”
Prosciutto immediately went inside the house, knowing that Pesci wouldn’t reveal his name to Rohan. When he unlocked and opened the door, despite trying to open it slowly and quietly, it squeaked loudly.
“Ah, is that Prosciutto dropping by to say hello?” That was Rohan’s voice, but he wasn’t sure where he was. “I know everything. I know that Pesci’s here to assassinate me, and you’re here to watch him.”
If he wanted to, he could leave and let Pesci die. However, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Pesci nor Rohan had revealed themselves, but Prosciutto had the feeling that he was going to complete his brother’s contract.
“I know you’re there. At least I think you’re Prosciutto,” Rohan said. “Pesci, go check to see if that’s him.”
Pesci walked down the stairs, bow drawn and ready to fire. Beads of sweat ran down his face. His arms quivered when he looked at his brother directly in the face.
“I’m so sorry,” the younger brother whispered. “I can’t control it.”
“No, I’m sorry,” the older brother replied.
Before entering, Prosciutto had activated his spell, which turns people old. The aging process speeds up when one is warm. Since Pesci was working behind the stove, his face was getting wrinkly, and his arms were too fatigued to hold the bow. As for Rohan, Prosciutto couldn’t tell. One, he doesn’t know where he’s at. Secondly, he wasn’t sure how his spell would affect elves. If he had to guess, he probably didn’t age at all but was maybe tired.
“Don’t touch the runes on the paper,” Pesci said. “And don’t let him write on you.” He then fell asleep.
Prosciutto facepalmed. At this rate, his brother will forever be a Slayer. For now, he had to leave him there and search the rooms.
It didn’t take long for Prosciutto to find Rohan. His house was big, but not that big. There wasn’t any place for the elf to hide, so Prosciutto found him in his room. The elf sat at his desk with confidence, knowing he could not be killed at the moment. He walked into his room, calmly.
“Rohan Kishibe,” he said.
“Ah, Prosciutto, I was wondering when you would reveal yourself to me. Let me guess, you want me to remove the spell that’s on your brother. I’ll do that, but on one condition! I want to know who ordered the hit on me. It can’t be Alesia, she’s been slain. Stella May! It has to be Stella May. It was because I said her vampire romance stories were trash.”
“So, if I told you who ordered the hit, would you lift the spell you put on my brother?”
“Yes, you have my word.”
“Alright, it is done.”
“Truly?”
“Peppers, I need you here. It’s an emergency.”
Pesci did not come.
“Well, he’s not here. Is that good enough?” Rohan asked.
Seeing as the aging effect clearly wasn’t working on the elf, he stopped the effect from continuing. The aging does affect himself as well. For now, Prosciutto would have to get up close to him. When he approached him, he stepped on a piece of paper. He looked down at his foot as he removed it from the spot. There was a rune. Before Prosciutto could react, the elf froze him in place with a frost spell.
“As I thought,” Rohan said, “I knew you wouldn’t keep your word. A shame. It’s over for you two. I won. You lose. I could make you turn yourselves in, but think of the stories I can make out of your memories! Pesci’s aren’t as exciting. But you, you’re exciting.
“When you were just a boy, you loved your mother greatly. After all, your father took out his frustrations on you and your mother, but mostly your mother. You weren’t sure why, but as you got older, you believed she was cheating. But let’s go back to when you were younger. When you were six, you witnessed your father beat your mother to death. You were too scared to call for guards. That, and your father threatened to kill you. Strange, I thought the Dark Brotherhood recruited murders. I guess they have standards. How tragic. I’d feel sorry for you if it weren’t for this part.
“Your father was happy when he married Pesci’s mother. He even stopped beating you. And once Pesci was born, you felt threatened. You thought your father was going to get rid of you. To get stronger, you killed a beggar, which the Dark Brotherhood noticed and recruited you at the age of seven. Eventually, they gave you targets that were equal to your strength, and you got stronger as the months went by. At age 16, you killed your father, and that’s when you ruined your brother’s life. Your stepmother was so heartbroken. She tried her best to stay alive to take care of poor Pesci, but she fell ill one day and died when your brother was 13.”
The two of them heard footsteps.
“Mister Kishibe,” Pesci said, holding a bowl of onion soup. “Here is your soup. Have you forgotten?”
“Oh, I have forgotten. I was so busy with my work. Here, place it on my desk. Try not to spill it on anything. Now, where was I?”
The elf got up and got closer to Prosciutto.
“How do you feel?” interrogated Rohan. “Do you feel lighter?”
“Do you feel hotter?” Prosciutto asked.
“What?”
He turned around and looked at Pesci. His desk was on fire.
“How?” the elf demanded. “I wrote on your hand that said you could not harm me.”
“I didn’t harm you,” Pesci stated. “I only set your house on fire. You never did say anything about your house.”
“You little—“
“And since you haven’t written anything on me yet…” Rohan turned his head to Prosciutto who then shoved him harshly into the fire. The ice around the blond’s feet melted, and he was free to move.
“Come on, Pesci, let’s go!”
The two left the house, away from the fire, where they then conversated.
“Brother,” Prosciutto said, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was a moment of silence. The blond looked at his brother, unsure if he had heard the conversation between him and Rohan.
“Hey, brother,” Pesci spoke, “shouldn’t we get going? The guards will find us and think we did it.”
“Agreed.”
It seems Pesci did not know.
“Can I have that?” Formaggio asked.
“Sure,” Pesci replied, tossing him the heart. The redhead took it and retreated to his room. The green-haired man then looked at his brother. “What’s my reward for this contract?”
“You get an enchanted ring to help with spell casting and 600 Septims.”
Just before Prosciutto could hand him the bag of coins, Pesci grabbed his arms.
“That’s it? No increase in rank? I should be an Eliminator by now. I remember a long time ago you told Illuso something. You said, ‘Not too fast.’ Were you talking about my rank? Do I deserve less?”
Prosciutto slapped him with force, knocking him to the ground. He then stomped on him repeatedly.
“You earn the rank you get from pure skill, Pesci. You didn’t kill Styx, Luca, Gaston, Anne, or Tuudir by yourself. I am proud that you killed Alessia by yourself, but that was one thing! You’ve earned the rank Slayer because I thought that would’ve boosted your confidence.”
Risotto uncloaked himself from the invisibility spell.
“I knew I saw someone there!” Pesci commented.
“Prosciutto, you’re being too harsh on him,” the muscular Dark Elf said. “At least he managed to kill his targets. And how he handled Tuudir, I thought that was excellent.”
“I’ll see about Pesci’s rank after he kills his next target,” Prosciutto said. He looked through the list of available targets. One of them grabbed his attention, but he wasn’t sure if Pesci could handle it. He took a look at his brother who was tapping his foot.
“Come on, brother!” Pesci complained. “I feel confident. Give me a tough one!”
Prosciutto sighed. “Your next target is Rohan Kishibe. Like Alessia, he has written books, but he can also paint. He’s a High Elf living in Skingrad, luckily. Security has probably been heightened in the Imperial City. However, I’m coming with you to evaluate your skills. Sorry, Risotto, you’re going to have to wait.”
“Very well,” he said before vanishing into thin air.
-
Prosciutto and Pesci got to Skingrad by horse. They arrived around somewhere in the evening.
“Hey, brother, thank you for buying me a horse,” Pesci said.
“You were supposed to earn it after the contract, but that’s fine,” Prosciutto replied.
Both their horses were black, but their saddles were a different color. Prosciutto had a black saddle with the first letter of his name in yellow. Pesci had the same thing, but it was green. They let their horses rest at the stables and went in.
Pesci has passed by Skingrad before, but he’s never been in it. Everything seemed so high-end and made of stone. Leaves and flowers were growing in places, making the city less dull. And Pesci loved this place. It was beautiful and clean. There was this garlic aroma in the air. As he took a whiff, it took him back to his memories of his mother. If she were alive, what would she say? He looked at his brother.
“Brother, what was your mother like?” Pesci asked.
“Rohan is close by,” he said, dodging the question. “Remember, he has green hair like you. I’ve heard he’s unpleasant, too, speaking of which.”
They spotted Rohan yelling at someone outside of the supply store. The man he was shouting was a small Breton with short black hair.
“You useless servant!” Rohan yelled. “Why do I even bother hiring you?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spill the paint,” the man quietly said. “I tripped on a rock.”
“Tripped on a rock? Do you hear this? Clumsy little thing.” Rohan then looked at Pesci. “You there, the one with the same hair color as me but brighter, come over here.”
Pesci walked towards him. “Yes?” he said nervously.
“Clean this up before the guards think there’s a murder over here.” He pointed at the spot where the red paint spilled. It was too bright to look like blood, but Pesci didn’t want to anger him, so he wiped it off with his shirt. Some of it still lingered. “Stop, that’s enough. Hazamada, you’re fired.” Prosciutto slipped out of sight, into the shadow of two buildings. “You there, what’s your name?”
The short Breton man ran away crying. Prosciutto witnessed what happened and saw the look of scorn Hazamade gave Pesci.
“I’m Pe– Peppers,” he replied.
“Peppers, huh?” Rohan repeated. “You’re hired.”
This was happening too fast for Pesci to process, even Prosciutto would agree.
“Come, let us go to my home. I’ll throw away that useless servant’s belongings. You can move your belongings later.”
Pesci wasn’t sure what to say. For now, he kept quiet. His brother followed them from a distance, leading to Rohan’s home.
Inside, art and bookshelves adorned the walls of the house. Aside from that, Pesci was a bit worried about the candles on the wall. With this much flammable material, it’s a wonder this building has not gone down in flames. As for the books, a curious Pesci grabbed one of the books and examined the cover. It was just a blue hardcover with Rohan’s name written on it. He opened it, and on the first page, there was a rune. He hadn't understood what it meant. As he turned the page, the rune activated and disappeared. He also felt strange, lighter. For now, he ignored this feeling.
“Peppers!” Rohan called. It sounded like he was in the dining hall. Pesci rushed to his call.
“Yes, Mister Kishibe?” asked Pesci.
“Do you know how to cook? I’m hungry. I want onion soup,” he demanded.
“No, I–”
“I thought so.” Rohan handed him a piece of paper. “Here.”
On it, it said, “Onions are in the basement. This is what an onion looks like.”
Below what was written was a very detailed onion. It was a very impressive drawing. Whoever wanted this guy dead must be envious, Pesci thought.
Rohan cleared his throat. “You can go now.”
Pesci headed to the basement where Rohan stored his food. He wasn’t sure how the slip of paper was supposed to help him. Ignoring the oddness, he carried some onions, extra virgin olive oil, butter, sugar, salt, and other types of herbs and spices. Heading to the kitchen with the ingredients, he placed them down on the counter. Before starting, he washed his hands. Afterward, he grabbed the onions and began chopping them.
From outside, Prosciutto looked at Pesci from the window. Unless his brother learned how to cook from the Anne contract, which he doubts, he felt like he should interfere and take care of Rohan himself. For now, the blond waited. Should anything happen to Pesci, he had a trick up his sleeve.
About an hour has passed. Pesci carried the bowl of onion soup and placed it in front of Rohan. Before the author could eat, he had a conversation with him. From the window, it looked like he was writing on his brother's hand. Believing that the conversation they were having was more important, Prosciutto placed his ear to the stone wall.
“Pesci,” Prosciutto heard Rohan say, “thank you. Why don’t you take a rest? I believe you earned it.”
“Yes, Mister Kishibe. I think I will.”
Prosciutto immediately went inside the house, knowing that Pesci wouldn’t reveal his name to Rohan. When he unlocked and opened the door, despite trying to open it slowly and quietly, it squeaked loudly.
“Ah, is that Prosciutto dropping by to say hello?” That was Rohan’s voice, but he wasn’t sure where he was. “I know everything. I know that Pesci’s here to assassinate me, and you’re here to watch him.”
If he wanted to, he could leave and let Pesci die. However, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Pesci nor Rohan had revealed themselves, but Prosciutto had the feeling that he was going to complete his brother’s contract.
“I know you’re there. At least I think you’re Prosciutto,” Rohan said. “Pesci, go check to see if that’s him.”
Pesci walked down the stairs, bow drawn and ready to fire. Beads of sweat ran down his face. His arms quivered when he looked at his brother directly in the face.
“I’m so sorry,” the younger brother whispered. “I can’t control it.”
“No, I’m sorry,” the older brother replied.
Before entering, Prosciutto had activated his spell, which turns people old. The aging process speeds up when one is warm. Since Pesci was working behind the stove, his face was getting wrinkly, and his arms were too fatigued to hold the bow. As for Rohan, Prosciutto couldn’t tell. One, he doesn’t know where he’s at. Secondly, he wasn’t sure how his spell would affect elves. If he had to guess, he probably didn’t age at all but was maybe tired.
“Don’t touch the runes on the paper,” Pesci said. “And don’t let him write on you.” He then fell asleep.
Prosciutto facepalmed. At this rate, his brother will forever be a Slayer. For now, he had to leave him there and search the rooms.
It didn’t take long for Prosciutto to find Rohan. His house was big, but not that big. There wasn’t any place for the elf to hide, so Prosciutto found him in his room. The elf sat at his desk with confidence, knowing he could not be killed at the moment. He walked into his room, calmly.
“Rohan Kishibe,” he said.
“Ah, Prosciutto, I was wondering when you would reveal yourself to me. Let me guess, you want me to remove the spell that’s on your brother. I’ll do that, but on one condition! I want to know who ordered the hit on me. It can’t be Alesia, she’s been slain. Stella May! It has to be Stella May. It was because I said her vampire romance stories were trash.”
“So, if I told you who ordered the hit, would you lift the spell you put on my brother?”
“Yes, you have my word.”
“Alright, it is done.”
“Truly?”
“Peppers, I need you here. It’s an emergency.”
Pesci did not come.
“Well, he’s not here. Is that good enough?” Rohan asked.
Seeing as the aging effect clearly wasn’t working on the elf, he stopped the effect from continuing. The aging does affect himself as well. For now, Prosciutto would have to get up close to him. When he approached him, he stepped on a piece of paper. He looked down at his foot as he removed it from the spot. There was a rune. Before Prosciutto could react, the elf froze him in place with a frost spell.
“As I thought,” Rohan said, “I knew you wouldn’t keep your word. A shame. It’s over for you two. I won. You lose. I could make you turn yourselves in, but think of the stories I can make out of your memories! Pesci’s aren’t as exciting. But you, you’re exciting.
“When you were just a boy, you loved your mother greatly. After all, your father took out his frustrations on you and your mother, but mostly your mother. You weren’t sure why, but as you got older, you believed she was cheating. But let’s go back to when you were younger. When you were six, you witnessed your father beat your mother to death. You were too scared to call for guards. That, and your father threatened to kill you. Strange, I thought the Dark Brotherhood recruited murders. I guess they have standards. How tragic. I’d feel sorry for you if it weren’t for this part.
“Your father was happy when he married Pesci’s mother. He even stopped beating you. And once Pesci was born, you felt threatened. You thought your father was going to get rid of you. To get stronger, you killed a beggar, which the Dark Brotherhood noticed and recruited you at the age of seven. Eventually, they gave you targets that were equal to your strength, and you got stronger as the months went by. At age 16, you killed your father, and that’s when you ruined your brother’s life. Your stepmother was so heartbroken. She tried her best to stay alive to take care of poor Pesci, but she fell ill one day and died when your brother was 13.”
The two of them heard footsteps.
“Mister Kishibe,” Pesci said, holding a bowl of onion soup. “Here is your soup. Have you forgotten?”
“Oh, I have forgotten. I was so busy with my work. Here, place it on my desk. Try not to spill it on anything. Now, where was I?”
The elf got up and got closer to Prosciutto.
“How do you feel?” interrogated Rohan. “Do you feel lighter?”
“Do you feel hotter?” Prosciutto asked.
“What?”
He turned around and looked at Pesci. His desk was on fire.
“How?” the elf demanded. “I wrote on your hand that said you could not harm me.”
“I didn’t harm you,” Pesci stated. “I only set your house on fire. You never did say anything about your house.”
“You little—“
“And since you haven’t written anything on me yet…” Rohan turned his head to Prosciutto who then shoved him harshly into the fire. The ice around the blond’s feet melted, and he was free to move.
“Come on, Pesci, let’s go!”
The two left the house, away from the fire, where they then conversated.
“Brother,” Prosciutto said, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was a moment of silence. The blond looked at his brother, unsure if he had heard the conversation between him and Rohan.
“Hey, brother,” Pesci spoke, “shouldn’t we get going? The guards will find us and think we did it.”
“Agreed.”
It seems Pesci did not know.
Wednesday, March 23, 2022
Sunday, March 20, 2022
Friday, March 18, 2022
The Kill - Chapter 7: Words of Hate
Pesci awoke with his brother on the other side of the room. Once Prosciutto noticed that his eyes were opened, he walked to his bed and knelt, patting him on the head.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
He rose from the bed, stretching. “Yeah, where am I? What happened?”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“A bear killed Tuudir,” he whispered. “I dragged the bear to him and watched. I then returned to Cheydinhal, and that’s all I could remember.”
“Well, you passed out at the gate, and a guard dragged you to the inn. There were some headaches you caused, but you shouldn’t worry about that right now.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re planning to make me take on another contract?”
Prosciutto sighed. “Tenet three, never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.” The candle on the nightstand was dying, which made the light weak, making his older brother’s face dramatically scary. “Are you refusing to carry out the next contract, dear little brother?”
“N-no! It just feels like I’ve been lying in bed for a week.”
“That’s because you have,” Prosciutto stated. He was silent for a few seconds. “Alessia Ottus. I’m afraid I cannot give a lot of information here.”
Prosciutto handed him a book and left his room, leaving Pesci alone. The green-haired man got up and noticed his outfit had changed. He was clad in a dark brown vest and white shirt with light brown pants. He was also wearing some leather boots. It’s better than wearing those old worn-out overalls anyway.
Pesci pondered over the book his brother gave him. He’s heard of Alessia Ottus before. His roommate always complained about her, saying that she was racist. It’s strange how racists can be rich and popular. If he was going to assassinate a popular author, he might as well get some help, so he returned to the sanctuary, heading to Formaggio’s room first.
The redhead sat at the table where Illuso once sat, doing nothing but staring into the wall. Pesci cleared his throat, but he paid no attention.
“Formaggio!” That grabbed his attention, and he focused on Pesci. “Formaggio, I need your help. I know hardly anything about my target. I know she lives in the Imperial City, but I don’t know how close to her I can get.”
Formaggio sighed. “I’m sorry, Pesci, but I know nothing about your current contract except where she lives. She lives in the Temple District. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you. Try asking somebody else.”
“Thanks, that at least narrowed down my search.”
“W-wait! Pesci, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Can I get a drink? As in, can I bite your neck?”
“Yeah, sure. Just don’t suck me dry.”
Formaggio caressed Pesci’s neck and then licked the spot, causing the green-haired man's face to redden. It reminded him of their first kiss, and he wondered if the redhead had any feelings for him. He wanted to ask, but Formaggio had sunk his teeth into his neck. Pesci let out a muffled squeal, making him stop.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“It hurts a little, but you can keep going.”
“I’ll just suck on you a bit.”
The trap door suddenly opened, and Prosciutto dropped down.
“Formaggio, please stop snacking on my brother,” the blond asked. “If you’re that thirsty, have my neck.”
“You aren’t afraid I might suck it all up?” Formaggio teased.
“You’re worse than that Melone guy Risotto introduced to me. I never want to hear you say the word suck ever again.”
Formaggio’s lips brushed against Prosciutto’s, licking the spot where he’ll bite.
“Hey, Formaggio,” Pesci said, “do all vampires lick the person’s neck before biting?”
“Well–”
“No,” Prosciutto answered for him. “I’m not sure why Formaggio is doing this. Illuso didn’t lick me when he needed a quick drink.”
“Maybe I just like the taste of you,” Formaggio replied.
“This is why I want you away from my brother.”
Prosciutto’s response caused Formaggio to bite deep and harshly, causing the other to grunt.
“Hey, Formaggio, I think you had enough,” Pesci commented.
The redhead pushed Prosciutto away.
“I have two potions that can cure the vampirism disease. Both of you should drink it.”
“Thanks!” Pesci said before downing the potion. “I should probably ask the others about Alessia.”
“Brother.” Prosciutto grabbed his attention. “Before you leave, Sorbet should be able to assist you. He’s there to spy on Adamus Phillida. Perhaps he can provide you with more information about your target. Also, try to kill your target indoors. We’re trying to send fewer people to the Imperial City. Good luck to you.”
-
It was around lunchtime when Pesci entered the Imperial City. He scoured the city in search of Sorbet, but the city was in the shape of a circle, so he ended up back where he started.
“Heard you were looking for me,” said a voice.
Pesci turned around, and it was Sorbet.
“Oh, hey. Yeah, I was. How did you find me?” he asked.
“Well, I was at the arena to check up on Fugo. Then I thought, hey, Pesci might be here soon. So I searched for you, heading to the Arboretum first.”
“I headed to the Elven Gardens District first. Wait, don’t tell me we walked around in circles.”
Sorbet laughed. “Yes, I believe we did.”
“Wait, then how did you find me?”
“The beggars here are pretty helpful. So, let’s rent a room where we can speak in private. Let’s head over to the hotel. I already have a room rented there.”
They went into Sorbet's room at the hotel.
Pesci sat at the dining table and started munching on the fruits on the table. Sorbet had a roll of paper and sat at the table. He unrolled it and began writing.
“What’re you doing?” Pesci asked with food in his mouth. “How come Gelato’s not with you?”
“I’m not sure if Prosciutto has told you, but as long as Adamus Phillida still lives, we can’t have that many of us here. Two people here is enough. So, why are you here?”
Pesci brought out the book Prosciutto gave him. It was a guide to the Imperial City. He pointed at the author’s name.
“Good riddance!” Sorbet stopped his writing to comment. “I came across her this morning. I was buying some clothes for Gelato when I saw her. I thought about killing her, but I wanted to get paid for it. Turns out you’re the lucky guy. How does it feel?”
“I never cared about her much. I never read her books. I just know some people hate her guts. So, is she well-guarded? She has to be, right?”
Sorbet looked at the paper he was writing on. “Honestly, you would think so, but she isn’t. She’s not rich. She’s just like everyone else. I can tell you everything about her. She’s married to a Breton named Hastrel and has a daughter named Ida. Speaking of those two, Hastrel is currently at Leyawiin. As for Ida, I don’t know much about her activities. Right now, Alessia is eating lunch somewhere in the Market District. Wait until she comes home at 5 pm.”
“What should I do?”
“I don’t know. Try talking about the Nine Divines. Try to get her to like you and then end it right there. You got this! Or do you need me to help like last time?”
-
Pesci hung around Alessia’s house, waiting for her to return to her home. He’s been reading her opinionated guides to try and understand her a bit more. He was feeling a bit nervous. He knows what to talk about, but religion was too much for him. He never cared much for the Divines.
Footsteps came closer to him, causing him to stop pondering.
“Excuse me,” Alessia said, “but what are you doing in front of my home?”
“I came to ask you about the Divines,” he lied. “I’ve read your guides, and I find that you and I think alike. However, I am merely a simple fisherman. I’ve been working day and night, but I’ve quit my job. I’m currently living with my brother who is residing in Skingrad, but I’m afraid he’s very religious.”
“Well, step right in, sir!” She smiled and opened the door for him.
He walked into her house. It was like most homes. She has a place to sit and read. Pesci assumed upstairs led to the bedroom and the door behind the stairs leading to the basement. There was nothing strange, but she did have a couple of her books on the bookshelf. Once he saw that Alessia sat down, he sat down as well.
“Do you get a lot of visitors here?” Pesci asked.
“I’m afraid not,” she answered. “Honestly, I’d love to have company. It feels like people in this city sometimes avoid me.”
Pesci thought about which god to talk about. He knew she had a poor opinion of sailors. He read somewhere that Kynareth is the patron of sailors and travelers. “How about Kynareth? I don’t know why, but Kynareth has been on my mind as of lately.”
“Ah, the goddess of the elements and patron of travelers! You’ve been traveling, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you hear her speaking to you? Did she give you a sign?”
“Yes, she did. And then I got a sign from Arkay to come over here, but I’m struggling to understand what it all means.”
Her thoughts turned to the surface of the coffee table in front of her as she asked, "What it all means, you say?"
While she was deep in thought, Pesci got behind her and began to strangle her. She tried to let out a scream, but his hands muffled any sounds. She squirmed and kicked around, but he managed to drag her to the basement.
Downstairs, there were barrels and chests, but one thing did grab Pesci’s attention: the three cages.
“Looks, I’m not sure why you have these cages, but I have a perfect use for them,” Pesci said.
“By the Divines, you’ll pay for this!” she shouted.
“Yell all you want. No one cares about you. By the way, Kynareth is the patron of travelers and sailors, something you despise. For someone who preaches about the Divines, you sure are a hateful bitch.”
Pesci shoved Alessia to the ground and then sat on her stomach.
“You could’ve at least lost a bit of weight?” she insulted.
Pesci landed a blow to her head, then another and another. He then brought out his dagger and cut off her long braided brunette hair. He tried using it as a gag. “Quiet or this will get worse for you.”
Still sitting on her, he pinned one of her hands to the floor.
“This hand wrote so many hateful things,” he commented. “The world would be better off without it.”
He cut off her fingers one by one. She tried fighting back with her other arm, but it was no use. Tears came rolling. No one cared for a racist like her. A pool of blood surrounded her hand. Eventually, she passed out from blood loss, which will eventually lead to her death within a few minutes or less, if Pesci decides to do more. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t done torturing her. He did the same to the other arm. He then removed the hair from her mouth and placed the fingers inside. Most killers would’ve been gone by now, but there was one last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to see if she had a heart, so he cut her chest open. She had a heart until Pesci took it with him and left the city.
When Ida came home, she searched for her mother, eventually leading to the basement. She screamed at the sight of her mother’s murder.
-
Prosciutto looked at Risotto, staring at the Dark Elf’s red eyes.
“I’m not ready. There’s so much work to do. I think Pesci might need some guidance. And then there’s the matter of who will replace me,” the blond explained. “Will it be Sorbet? Please don’t let it be Fugo. The Grand Champion is unpredictable.”
“Sorbet will take your place once you’re ready,” Risotto explained. “I hear footsteps.” He then vanished, probably using his invisibility spell.
Pesci opened the iron doors. There was a smile on his face.
“You’re back,” Prosciutto said. “Did you—”
Pesci quickly rummaged through his bags and pulled out a bloody heart.
When they were younger, Pesci would squirm whenever he saw one ounce of blood, but here he was, showing Alessia’s bloody heart to him.
Formaggio popped out of the trapdoor.
“Something smells pleasant,” he commented.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
He rose from the bed, stretching. “Yeah, where am I? What happened?”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“A bear killed Tuudir,” he whispered. “I dragged the bear to him and watched. I then returned to Cheydinhal, and that’s all I could remember.”
“Well, you passed out at the gate, and a guard dragged you to the inn. There were some headaches you caused, but you shouldn’t worry about that right now.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re planning to make me take on another contract?”
Prosciutto sighed. “Tenet three, never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.” The candle on the nightstand was dying, which made the light weak, making his older brother’s face dramatically scary. “Are you refusing to carry out the next contract, dear little brother?”
“N-no! It just feels like I’ve been lying in bed for a week.”
“That’s because you have,” Prosciutto stated. He was silent for a few seconds. “Alessia Ottus. I’m afraid I cannot give a lot of information here.”
Prosciutto handed him a book and left his room, leaving Pesci alone. The green-haired man got up and noticed his outfit had changed. He was clad in a dark brown vest and white shirt with light brown pants. He was also wearing some leather boots. It’s better than wearing those old worn-out overalls anyway.
Pesci pondered over the book his brother gave him. He’s heard of Alessia Ottus before. His roommate always complained about her, saying that she was racist. It’s strange how racists can be rich and popular. If he was going to assassinate a popular author, he might as well get some help, so he returned to the sanctuary, heading to Formaggio’s room first.
The redhead sat at the table where Illuso once sat, doing nothing but staring into the wall. Pesci cleared his throat, but he paid no attention.
“Formaggio!” That grabbed his attention, and he focused on Pesci. “Formaggio, I need your help. I know hardly anything about my target. I know she lives in the Imperial City, but I don’t know how close to her I can get.”
Formaggio sighed. “I’m sorry, Pesci, but I know nothing about your current contract except where she lives. She lives in the Temple District. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you. Try asking somebody else.”
“Thanks, that at least narrowed down my search.”
“W-wait! Pesci, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Can I get a drink? As in, can I bite your neck?”
“Yeah, sure. Just don’t suck me dry.”
Formaggio caressed Pesci’s neck and then licked the spot, causing the green-haired man's face to redden. It reminded him of their first kiss, and he wondered if the redhead had any feelings for him. He wanted to ask, but Formaggio had sunk his teeth into his neck. Pesci let out a muffled squeal, making him stop.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“It hurts a little, but you can keep going.”
“I’ll just suck on you a bit.”
The trap door suddenly opened, and Prosciutto dropped down.
“Formaggio, please stop snacking on my brother,” the blond asked. “If you’re that thirsty, have my neck.”
“You aren’t afraid I might suck it all up?” Formaggio teased.
“You’re worse than that Melone guy Risotto introduced to me. I never want to hear you say the word suck ever again.”
Formaggio’s lips brushed against Prosciutto’s, licking the spot where he’ll bite.
“Hey, Formaggio,” Pesci said, “do all vampires lick the person’s neck before biting?”
“Well–”
“No,” Prosciutto answered for him. “I’m not sure why Formaggio is doing this. Illuso didn’t lick me when he needed a quick drink.”
“Maybe I just like the taste of you,” Formaggio replied.
“This is why I want you away from my brother.”
Prosciutto’s response caused Formaggio to bite deep and harshly, causing the other to grunt.
“Hey, Formaggio, I think you had enough,” Pesci commented.
The redhead pushed Prosciutto away.
“I have two potions that can cure the vampirism disease. Both of you should drink it.”
“Thanks!” Pesci said before downing the potion. “I should probably ask the others about Alessia.”
“Brother.” Prosciutto grabbed his attention. “Before you leave, Sorbet should be able to assist you. He’s there to spy on Adamus Phillida. Perhaps he can provide you with more information about your target. Also, try to kill your target indoors. We’re trying to send fewer people to the Imperial City. Good luck to you.”
-
It was around lunchtime when Pesci entered the Imperial City. He scoured the city in search of Sorbet, but the city was in the shape of a circle, so he ended up back where he started.
“Heard you were looking for me,” said a voice.
Pesci turned around, and it was Sorbet.
“Oh, hey. Yeah, I was. How did you find me?” he asked.
“Well, I was at the arena to check up on Fugo. Then I thought, hey, Pesci might be here soon. So I searched for you, heading to the Arboretum first.”
“I headed to the Elven Gardens District first. Wait, don’t tell me we walked around in circles.”
Sorbet laughed. “Yes, I believe we did.”
“Wait, then how did you find me?”
“The beggars here are pretty helpful. So, let’s rent a room where we can speak in private. Let’s head over to the hotel. I already have a room rented there.”
They went into Sorbet's room at the hotel.
Pesci sat at the dining table and started munching on the fruits on the table. Sorbet had a roll of paper and sat at the table. He unrolled it and began writing.
“What’re you doing?” Pesci asked with food in his mouth. “How come Gelato’s not with you?”
“I’m not sure if Prosciutto has told you, but as long as Adamus Phillida still lives, we can’t have that many of us here. Two people here is enough. So, why are you here?”
Pesci brought out the book Prosciutto gave him. It was a guide to the Imperial City. He pointed at the author’s name.
“Good riddance!” Sorbet stopped his writing to comment. “I came across her this morning. I was buying some clothes for Gelato when I saw her. I thought about killing her, but I wanted to get paid for it. Turns out you’re the lucky guy. How does it feel?”
“I never cared about her much. I never read her books. I just know some people hate her guts. So, is she well-guarded? She has to be, right?”
Sorbet looked at the paper he was writing on. “Honestly, you would think so, but she isn’t. She’s not rich. She’s just like everyone else. I can tell you everything about her. She’s married to a Breton named Hastrel and has a daughter named Ida. Speaking of those two, Hastrel is currently at Leyawiin. As for Ida, I don’t know much about her activities. Right now, Alessia is eating lunch somewhere in the Market District. Wait until she comes home at 5 pm.”
“What should I do?”
“I don’t know. Try talking about the Nine Divines. Try to get her to like you and then end it right there. You got this! Or do you need me to help like last time?”
-
Pesci hung around Alessia’s house, waiting for her to return to her home. He’s been reading her opinionated guides to try and understand her a bit more. He was feeling a bit nervous. He knows what to talk about, but religion was too much for him. He never cared much for the Divines.
Footsteps came closer to him, causing him to stop pondering.
“Excuse me,” Alessia said, “but what are you doing in front of my home?”
“I came to ask you about the Divines,” he lied. “I’ve read your guides, and I find that you and I think alike. However, I am merely a simple fisherman. I’ve been working day and night, but I’ve quit my job. I’m currently living with my brother who is residing in Skingrad, but I’m afraid he’s very religious.”
“Well, step right in, sir!” She smiled and opened the door for him.
He walked into her house. It was like most homes. She has a place to sit and read. Pesci assumed upstairs led to the bedroom and the door behind the stairs leading to the basement. There was nothing strange, but she did have a couple of her books on the bookshelf. Once he saw that Alessia sat down, he sat down as well.
“Do you get a lot of visitors here?” Pesci asked.
“I’m afraid not,” she answered. “Honestly, I’d love to have company. It feels like people in this city sometimes avoid me.”
Pesci thought about which god to talk about. He knew she had a poor opinion of sailors. He read somewhere that Kynareth is the patron of sailors and travelers. “How about Kynareth? I don’t know why, but Kynareth has been on my mind as of lately.”
“Ah, the goddess of the elements and patron of travelers! You’ve been traveling, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you hear her speaking to you? Did she give you a sign?”
“Yes, she did. And then I got a sign from Arkay to come over here, but I’m struggling to understand what it all means.”
Her thoughts turned to the surface of the coffee table in front of her as she asked, "What it all means, you say?"
While she was deep in thought, Pesci got behind her and began to strangle her. She tried to let out a scream, but his hands muffled any sounds. She squirmed and kicked around, but he managed to drag her to the basement.
Downstairs, there were barrels and chests, but one thing did grab Pesci’s attention: the three cages.
“Looks, I’m not sure why you have these cages, but I have a perfect use for them,” Pesci said.
“By the Divines, you’ll pay for this!” she shouted.
“Yell all you want. No one cares about you. By the way, Kynareth is the patron of travelers and sailors, something you despise. For someone who preaches about the Divines, you sure are a hateful bitch.”
Pesci shoved Alessia to the ground and then sat on her stomach.
“You could’ve at least lost a bit of weight?” she insulted.
Pesci landed a blow to her head, then another and another. He then brought out his dagger and cut off her long braided brunette hair. He tried using it as a gag. “Quiet or this will get worse for you.”
Still sitting on her, he pinned one of her hands to the floor.
“This hand wrote so many hateful things,” he commented. “The world would be better off without it.”
He cut off her fingers one by one. She tried fighting back with her other arm, but it was no use. Tears came rolling. No one cared for a racist like her. A pool of blood surrounded her hand. Eventually, she passed out from blood loss, which will eventually lead to her death within a few minutes or less, if Pesci decides to do more. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t done torturing her. He did the same to the other arm. He then removed the hair from her mouth and placed the fingers inside. Most killers would’ve been gone by now, but there was one last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to see if she had a heart, so he cut her chest open. She had a heart until Pesci took it with him and left the city.
When Ida came home, she searched for her mother, eventually leading to the basement. She screamed at the sight of her mother’s murder.
-
Prosciutto looked at Risotto, staring at the Dark Elf’s red eyes.
“I’m not ready. There’s so much work to do. I think Pesci might need some guidance. And then there’s the matter of who will replace me,” the blond explained. “Will it be Sorbet? Please don’t let it be Fugo. The Grand Champion is unpredictable.”
“Sorbet will take your place once you’re ready,” Risotto explained. “I hear footsteps.” He then vanished, probably using his invisibility spell.
Pesci opened the iron doors. There was a smile on his face.
“You’re back,” Prosciutto said. “Did you—”
Pesci quickly rummaged through his bags and pulled out a bloody heart.
When they were younger, Pesci would squirm whenever he saw one ounce of blood, but here he was, showing Alessia’s bloody heart to him.
Formaggio popped out of the trapdoor.
“Something smells pleasant,” he commented.
Friday, March 11, 2022
The Kill - Chapter 6: The Annoying Fan
Pesci rode the horse to Cheydinhal non-stop, arriving at night. Formaggio still looked tired, so he carried him to the sanctuary. No one was there to greet them except for Prosciutto.
“What happened to him?” he asked.
“He couldn’t sleep well once we arrived at Anvil. Oh, and Anne is dead,” Pesci responded.
“Yes, I heard. Word travels fast.”
“Were you waiting for us the whole time? We need to speak to Illuso.”
“Illuso is no longer here. He’s currently working for Vicente now.”
Formaggio woke up. “Excuse me? What? When? Is this why he asked if I— Damn it! Why didn’t he tell me?”
“To make you feel better,” Prosciutto said, “you’ve been promoted up two ranks. Since you killed Anne during her birthday party, you are no longer an Eliminator but an Executioner.”
“Put me down, Pesci. What, I skip the Assassin rank? That’s my bonus, to replace Illuso’s spot?”
“If you want my opinion, I think you’re a lazy layabout who’s just looking for a quick way to get a large sum of money. I find it insulting that we are now the same rank, but this was not my decision. Do not disappoint the Night Mother, dear brother.”
“I won’t, I promise!” Pesci responded.
“That wasn’t directed at you,” the blond responded.
“Well, Pesci, it was nice knowing you,” Formaggio said. “If you need me, I’ll be in my new room. You can have my bed and the stuff inside my chest.” He tossed the key to him. “I don’t care anymore.”
Formaggio took the trapdoor that lead to his room.
“Did you have to be so mean?” Pesci asked.
Prosciutto sighed. “We’re assassins, brother. If I’m not being harsh, they’ll get too soft and die.”
“Has anybody died?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course, a couple of people have died. They were poorly trained, kind-hearted, or barely prepared during their contract. Speaking of preparing, here’s this enchanted bow. You have been training with a bow, right little brother of mine?”
“A few times, I’ve been up close and personal.”
“Have you tried using a bow?”
“No.”
“Listen, it’s handy to know close combat training, but it’s safer to stay hidden in the shadows and far away. Come to the training room with me.”
He followed. M’raaj-Dar was there, sleeping on the chair. Prosciutto stood in front a few feet away from the straw target dummy.
“I may not be a professional archer,” Prosciutto said to Pesci, “but I could help you. Stand next to me and face the target. Here are some arrows.”
“Looks simple,” commented Pesci.
The chattering woke M’raaj-Dar.
“That’s what everyone says,” the Khajiit commented. “You’ll miss. Don’t cry now, hehe.”
Pesci ignored his insults and focused on his target. He took a deep breath in and out with his feet turned 90 degrees. He grabbed an arrow and placed it on the strings.
“Your body is not in a T shape. Adjust your arms. Spread your legs out a bit more,” told his brother. “Good. Hold up. Why are you grabbing the strings like that? Use only three fingers. Okay, now, let loose that arrow.”
The arrow flew into the air, landing near the bullseye.
“Pfft, lucky shot,” M’raaj-Dar commented. “Let’s see you try again.”
He went again. This time, he landed on the bullseye. The Khajiit’s eyes widened. Pesci had a shit-eating-grin. Again, he wanted to show that cat who’s boss, and he aimed and fired once more. This time, it nearly missed. The smile on his face faded.
“Keep practicing, brother. You’ll get better.”
Prosciutto began to walk out of the training room, but Pesci stopped him.
“Wait, what’s the next contract?”
“You remember Fugo, yes?” Judging from Pesci’s silence, it was clear that name didn’t ring a bell. “He bumped into you on the way to my room on your first day here. He was in a rush. You’ll rarely see him here because he’s the Grand Champion. Lately, a fan has been stalking him, making him unable to enter the sanctuary.”
“Why doesn’t he just kill him?”
“Your target, Tuudir Greenthorn, always carries a torch. So Fugo couldn’t sneak around him. And he tried to lure him into a lair filled with minotaurs, but they were defeated. He’s also been traveling with others, so he never gets the opportunity.”
“B-but, brother, how am I supposed to defeat a guy who killed more than one minotaur?”
“Consider using the bow. Fugo’s in Bruma, which means your target is also in Bruma. Go. It’s been difficult to keep track of where Fugo could be going next as of lately.”
—
Pesci arrived at Bruma the next day on foot. He did ask Formaggio if he could borrow his horse, but he needed it. Unaware of where Fugo was, he approached a beggar who was warming up near the brazier.
“Excuse me, but do you know where I can find the Grand Champion?” he asked, shaking a small bag of coins.
“You’ll find him in the Jerall View Inn,” she answered.
As soon as she took the bag, she left to go somewhere.
While on his way to the inn, he noticed there were a few people outside except for a few people who were taller than him. He’ll never understand how these Nords could handle the cold.
Inside the inn, it was cozy and warm. The fireplace was lit, and above it hung the head of a deer. The floors were cleaned and were covered with fancy rugs. The tables and chairs were finely crafted. Pesci assumed nobody was here until he heard the clattering of kitchen utensils. He headed to the source of the noise, finding a blond Wood Elf whose hair made him look like an onion. He was eating some tomato soup. There was another blond person, but he looked annoyed.
“Are you done yet?” the blond human asked very aggressively.
The Wood Elf politely wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Gee, I’m starting to think you don’t want me around.”
“I wonder what gave you that fucking idea.”
“How about that one time we were inside an Oblivion gate? Oh, and that one time you tried to lure me into a trap inside that Ayleid ruin. I haven’t forgotten that one.”
“If you hate following me, then why don’t you beat it, kid?”
“I’m bored, and lately you haven’t been inside the arena much as of lately. I wonder why.”
The other sighed. “You’re worse than my friend Narancia.”
The blond then turned his face, facing Pesci.
“Hey, you there!” Fugo waved his hand. “You! Remember me? Come sit with us.”
He sat down.
“Now who are you?” Tuudir asked, giving him a look of detestation. “And why do you have no chin? You seriously can’t be friends with this creep.”
During Pesci’s childhood, kids would call him names and make fun of him. He did nothing but cry. As an adult, nobody bothered him. Now, he just wanted to smash this elf’s head into the table.
“That’s my friend you’re talking to,” Fugo lied, maybe. They never hung out with each other to be friends. “Anyways, Tuudir, this is Pesci. Pesci, this is Tuudir.”
“Why is your hair green?” Tuudir questioned. “That doesn’t make sense. Then again, we were traveling with a girl with pink hair. How do you people end up with these strange hair colors? Is it magic? If so, perhaps you could get a better hairstyle? You look like a walking pineapple.”
Fugo slammed his fists into the table, grabbing both of their attention.
“Let’s try rock climbing,” he suggested, giving them a forceful smile. “I know a place in the Jerall Mountains.”
—
So much snow fell around them, limiting their field of vision. Pesci was shivering in his boots. Before they left Bruma, they bought some climbing gear, food, and things to keep them warm.
“How are you guys not cold?” complained Pesci.
“I’ve been in combat with frost mages,” Fugo answered. “I’ve also visited Bruma and even traveled to Skyrim.”
“This flame burns as bright as my passion,” Tuudir added. “I don’t need a coat.”
“Your hands seem to disagree,” Pesci commented.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll just use my torch to warm my hands. By Azura, that burns! Hot, hot! Ah! There, my hands are warm and toasty. Let’s climb!”
Pesci sighed. He had never gone climbing before, and in these weather conditions, he wasn’t sure if he’d make it. The other two started climbing.
“Nothing bad will happen to us, right?” Pesci asked.
“No, nothing will happen,” assured Tuudir. “Unless you want to die. If anything happens, the Grand Champion will save you.”
“We just started climbing,” Fugo said. “It’s not a long fall… yet. Come on, start climbing.”
Pesci started climbing. The others were further ahead than him. Meanwhile, his feet could still touch the ground. Tuudir still held onto his torch, climbing faster than Fugo. The Grand Champion looked below him, observing the green-haired assassin who was struggling. He cast a rejuvenating spell on him, healing any injuries and making sure he can continue to climb. Eventually, all three of them got to the top, but it took them a while. It was night, and the adoring fan’s torch was the only source of light that they had. Luckily for them, there were two tents and an unlit campfire.
“Hey, kid, use your torch to light this fire,” Fugo commanded.
“But my fire– Okay, anything you say,” replied the Wood Elf.
“I thought your fire burned as bright as your passion,” Pesci reminded him.
“It burns as bright as my passion, not as long as my passion. Oh, hey, my torch hasn’t died out.”
Pesci scoffed. That will be changed soon. “Hey, nature calls.”
He scurried away into the darkness, but he hid near some trees and a bush, just in case. He could still see the torchlight and the fire. He drew his bow and shot at the Wood Elf. Now the only thing that was lit was the campfire.
“Pesci!” Fugo yelled in surprise.
He returned to the fire.
“Did I get him? I don’t see his body,” he said.
You got him. His body was sent flying. I doubt he survived the fall.”
“Just wondering, do you always have fans that follow you everywhere you go?”
“No, it’s just this guy. You know, sometimes I feel like people don’t care who I am, which is great, I guess. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. I guess we’re stuck here for a while.”
—
It was morning, and the blizzard had passed. However, Pesci still woke up cold. Fugo complained that he wouldn’t stop trying to cuddle with him during his sleep. Other than that, nothing interesting had happened. Fugo headed elsewhere– explaining that he had to check on a friend in Bruma –while Pesci climbed down the mountain. Well, he kind of slid down halfway but was unharmed.
Since he was down at the bottom, he tried searching for Tuudir’s body but with no luck. He was hoping he could extract some blood for Formaggio as a gift. He gave up on the search and had to use the bathroom this time. He urinated on the ground until he saw blood droplets.
“You pissant walking pineapple-looking son of a bitch,” spoke a voice that sounded familiar to Pesci.
He immediately turned around but was punched in the face, knocking him unconscious.
When he awoke, he was in a dark cave. All he could see was a torch and the face of someone holding it. It was Tuudir, and his face was bloodied and bruised. He was standing on higher ground.
“I should’ve known that the Grand Champion wanted to get rid of me,” he admitted. “He always heads to that one abandoned house in Cheydinhal but then stops himself from entering, looking behind him. I follow him, you know. I want to be his bodyguard one day. How can I do that if I can’t be with him? Next time, how about poisoning your arrows or perhaps finding some with sharper arrowheads? Maybe a combination of both. Doesn’t matter. You’re not getting out of here alive. Goodbye, pineapple head”
“Says the one who looks like an onion!” Pesci insulted back.
Before Tuudir left, he spat on the floor.
Pesci got up on his feet and heard a roar. A few seconds later, an abnormally large bear charged towards him, swiping his sides and tearing his clothing. He let out a scream. He was hoping that maybe Fugo heard, but so far, nobody came. Short on arrows and with barely enough training in close combat, he had to run. He sprinted, although struggling, for the exit.
“I’ll kill you!” Pesci shouted. The bear roared. “As for you, are you feeling hungry? Let’s find you a tasty elf.”
Pesci cast his life detection spell while still running from the bear, revealing a couple of purple auras around him. However, their shapes were too small, or some of them moved too fast to be humans or elves.
Tuudir couldn’t escape that far.
He cast it, again and again, increasing its range each time. There were more purple auras this time, but nothing human or elven. The bear swiped at him, grazing his rear. In anger, Pesci drew his bow and used the few arrows he had, aiming at its eye. It hit, but it didn’t improve his situation. The bear let out an ear-piercing roar.
Pesci couldn’t keep this up. He was nearly exhausted.
And then he remembered that Fugo was returning to Bruma. Pesci wasn’t sure where he was, but he was still east of Bruma. Trying to find the road, he headed west and found a path. He cast the detection spell again and noticed a short humanoid figure walking the path. His movements were staggering. He was far away, but Pesci, willing to try, aimed his bow and aimed for his legs. It hit, and Pesci felt a rush towards him when he heard Tuudir’s screams.
“How? How are you still alive?” the panicked Wood Elf demanded.
Pesci said nothing in response but ran past him. The bear that was chasing him now focused on Tuudir. Although Pesci would watch if he could, he’d rather not wait for the bear to finish his meal. Hearing the screams cut abruptly, he tottered his way to Cheydinhal, passing out at the gates.
“What happened to him?” he asked.
“He couldn’t sleep well once we arrived at Anvil. Oh, and Anne is dead,” Pesci responded.
“Yes, I heard. Word travels fast.”
“Were you waiting for us the whole time? We need to speak to Illuso.”
“Illuso is no longer here. He’s currently working for Vicente now.”
Formaggio woke up. “Excuse me? What? When? Is this why he asked if I— Damn it! Why didn’t he tell me?”
“To make you feel better,” Prosciutto said, “you’ve been promoted up two ranks. Since you killed Anne during her birthday party, you are no longer an Eliminator but an Executioner.”
“Put me down, Pesci. What, I skip the Assassin rank? That’s my bonus, to replace Illuso’s spot?”
“If you want my opinion, I think you’re a lazy layabout who’s just looking for a quick way to get a large sum of money. I find it insulting that we are now the same rank, but this was not my decision. Do not disappoint the Night Mother, dear brother.”
“I won’t, I promise!” Pesci responded.
“That wasn’t directed at you,” the blond responded.
“Well, Pesci, it was nice knowing you,” Formaggio said. “If you need me, I’ll be in my new room. You can have my bed and the stuff inside my chest.” He tossed the key to him. “I don’t care anymore.”
Formaggio took the trapdoor that lead to his room.
“Did you have to be so mean?” Pesci asked.
Prosciutto sighed. “We’re assassins, brother. If I’m not being harsh, they’ll get too soft and die.”
“Has anybody died?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course, a couple of people have died. They were poorly trained, kind-hearted, or barely prepared during their contract. Speaking of preparing, here’s this enchanted bow. You have been training with a bow, right little brother of mine?”
“A few times, I’ve been up close and personal.”
“Have you tried using a bow?”
“No.”
“Listen, it’s handy to know close combat training, but it’s safer to stay hidden in the shadows and far away. Come to the training room with me.”
He followed. M’raaj-Dar was there, sleeping on the chair. Prosciutto stood in front a few feet away from the straw target dummy.
“I may not be a professional archer,” Prosciutto said to Pesci, “but I could help you. Stand next to me and face the target. Here are some arrows.”
“Looks simple,” commented Pesci.
The chattering woke M’raaj-Dar.
“That’s what everyone says,” the Khajiit commented. “You’ll miss. Don’t cry now, hehe.”
Pesci ignored his insults and focused on his target. He took a deep breath in and out with his feet turned 90 degrees. He grabbed an arrow and placed it on the strings.
“Your body is not in a T shape. Adjust your arms. Spread your legs out a bit more,” told his brother. “Good. Hold up. Why are you grabbing the strings like that? Use only three fingers. Okay, now, let loose that arrow.”
The arrow flew into the air, landing near the bullseye.
“Pfft, lucky shot,” M’raaj-Dar commented. “Let’s see you try again.”
He went again. This time, he landed on the bullseye. The Khajiit’s eyes widened. Pesci had a shit-eating-grin. Again, he wanted to show that cat who’s boss, and he aimed and fired once more. This time, it nearly missed. The smile on his face faded.
“Keep practicing, brother. You’ll get better.”
Prosciutto began to walk out of the training room, but Pesci stopped him.
“Wait, what’s the next contract?”
“You remember Fugo, yes?” Judging from Pesci’s silence, it was clear that name didn’t ring a bell. “He bumped into you on the way to my room on your first day here. He was in a rush. You’ll rarely see him here because he’s the Grand Champion. Lately, a fan has been stalking him, making him unable to enter the sanctuary.”
“Why doesn’t he just kill him?”
“Your target, Tuudir Greenthorn, always carries a torch. So Fugo couldn’t sneak around him. And he tried to lure him into a lair filled with minotaurs, but they were defeated. He’s also been traveling with others, so he never gets the opportunity.”
“B-but, brother, how am I supposed to defeat a guy who killed more than one minotaur?”
“Consider using the bow. Fugo’s in Bruma, which means your target is also in Bruma. Go. It’s been difficult to keep track of where Fugo could be going next as of lately.”
—
Pesci arrived at Bruma the next day on foot. He did ask Formaggio if he could borrow his horse, but he needed it. Unaware of where Fugo was, he approached a beggar who was warming up near the brazier.
“Excuse me, but do you know where I can find the Grand Champion?” he asked, shaking a small bag of coins.
“You’ll find him in the Jerall View Inn,” she answered.
As soon as she took the bag, she left to go somewhere.
While on his way to the inn, he noticed there were a few people outside except for a few people who were taller than him. He’ll never understand how these Nords could handle the cold.
Inside the inn, it was cozy and warm. The fireplace was lit, and above it hung the head of a deer. The floors were cleaned and were covered with fancy rugs. The tables and chairs were finely crafted. Pesci assumed nobody was here until he heard the clattering of kitchen utensils. He headed to the source of the noise, finding a blond Wood Elf whose hair made him look like an onion. He was eating some tomato soup. There was another blond person, but he looked annoyed.
“Are you done yet?” the blond human asked very aggressively.
The Wood Elf politely wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Gee, I’m starting to think you don’t want me around.”
“I wonder what gave you that fucking idea.”
“How about that one time we were inside an Oblivion gate? Oh, and that one time you tried to lure me into a trap inside that Ayleid ruin. I haven’t forgotten that one.”
“If you hate following me, then why don’t you beat it, kid?”
“I’m bored, and lately you haven’t been inside the arena much as of lately. I wonder why.”
The other sighed. “You’re worse than my friend Narancia.”
The blond then turned his face, facing Pesci.
“Hey, you there!” Fugo waved his hand. “You! Remember me? Come sit with us.”
He sat down.
“Now who are you?” Tuudir asked, giving him a look of detestation. “And why do you have no chin? You seriously can’t be friends with this creep.”
During Pesci’s childhood, kids would call him names and make fun of him. He did nothing but cry. As an adult, nobody bothered him. Now, he just wanted to smash this elf’s head into the table.
“That’s my friend you’re talking to,” Fugo lied, maybe. They never hung out with each other to be friends. “Anyways, Tuudir, this is Pesci. Pesci, this is Tuudir.”
“Why is your hair green?” Tuudir questioned. “That doesn’t make sense. Then again, we were traveling with a girl with pink hair. How do you people end up with these strange hair colors? Is it magic? If so, perhaps you could get a better hairstyle? You look like a walking pineapple.”
Fugo slammed his fists into the table, grabbing both of their attention.
“Let’s try rock climbing,” he suggested, giving them a forceful smile. “I know a place in the Jerall Mountains.”
—
So much snow fell around them, limiting their field of vision. Pesci was shivering in his boots. Before they left Bruma, they bought some climbing gear, food, and things to keep them warm.
“How are you guys not cold?” complained Pesci.
“I’ve been in combat with frost mages,” Fugo answered. “I’ve also visited Bruma and even traveled to Skyrim.”
“This flame burns as bright as my passion,” Tuudir added. “I don’t need a coat.”
“Your hands seem to disagree,” Pesci commented.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll just use my torch to warm my hands. By Azura, that burns! Hot, hot! Ah! There, my hands are warm and toasty. Let’s climb!”
Pesci sighed. He had never gone climbing before, and in these weather conditions, he wasn’t sure if he’d make it. The other two started climbing.
“Nothing bad will happen to us, right?” Pesci asked.
“No, nothing will happen,” assured Tuudir. “Unless you want to die. If anything happens, the Grand Champion will save you.”
“We just started climbing,” Fugo said. “It’s not a long fall… yet. Come on, start climbing.”
Pesci started climbing. The others were further ahead than him. Meanwhile, his feet could still touch the ground. Tuudir still held onto his torch, climbing faster than Fugo. The Grand Champion looked below him, observing the green-haired assassin who was struggling. He cast a rejuvenating spell on him, healing any injuries and making sure he can continue to climb. Eventually, all three of them got to the top, but it took them a while. It was night, and the adoring fan’s torch was the only source of light that they had. Luckily for them, there were two tents and an unlit campfire.
“Hey, kid, use your torch to light this fire,” Fugo commanded.
“But my fire– Okay, anything you say,” replied the Wood Elf.
“I thought your fire burned as bright as your passion,” Pesci reminded him.
“It burns as bright as my passion, not as long as my passion. Oh, hey, my torch hasn’t died out.”
Pesci scoffed. That will be changed soon. “Hey, nature calls.”
He scurried away into the darkness, but he hid near some trees and a bush, just in case. He could still see the torchlight and the fire. He drew his bow and shot at the Wood Elf. Now the only thing that was lit was the campfire.
“Pesci!” Fugo yelled in surprise.
He returned to the fire.
“Did I get him? I don’t see his body,” he said.
You got him. His body was sent flying. I doubt he survived the fall.”
“Just wondering, do you always have fans that follow you everywhere you go?”
“No, it’s just this guy. You know, sometimes I feel like people don’t care who I am, which is great, I guess. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. I guess we’re stuck here for a while.”
—
It was morning, and the blizzard had passed. However, Pesci still woke up cold. Fugo complained that he wouldn’t stop trying to cuddle with him during his sleep. Other than that, nothing interesting had happened. Fugo headed elsewhere– explaining that he had to check on a friend in Bruma –while Pesci climbed down the mountain. Well, he kind of slid down halfway but was unharmed.
Since he was down at the bottom, he tried searching for Tuudir’s body but with no luck. He was hoping he could extract some blood for Formaggio as a gift. He gave up on the search and had to use the bathroom this time. He urinated on the ground until he saw blood droplets.
“You pissant walking pineapple-looking son of a bitch,” spoke a voice that sounded familiar to Pesci.
He immediately turned around but was punched in the face, knocking him unconscious.
When he awoke, he was in a dark cave. All he could see was a torch and the face of someone holding it. It was Tuudir, and his face was bloodied and bruised. He was standing on higher ground.
“I should’ve known that the Grand Champion wanted to get rid of me,” he admitted. “He always heads to that one abandoned house in Cheydinhal but then stops himself from entering, looking behind him. I follow him, you know. I want to be his bodyguard one day. How can I do that if I can’t be with him? Next time, how about poisoning your arrows or perhaps finding some with sharper arrowheads? Maybe a combination of both. Doesn’t matter. You’re not getting out of here alive. Goodbye, pineapple head”
“Says the one who looks like an onion!” Pesci insulted back.
Before Tuudir left, he spat on the floor.
Pesci got up on his feet and heard a roar. A few seconds later, an abnormally large bear charged towards him, swiping his sides and tearing his clothing. He let out a scream. He was hoping that maybe Fugo heard, but so far, nobody came. Short on arrows and with barely enough training in close combat, he had to run. He sprinted, although struggling, for the exit.
“I’ll kill you!” Pesci shouted. The bear roared. “As for you, are you feeling hungry? Let’s find you a tasty elf.”
Pesci cast his life detection spell while still running from the bear, revealing a couple of purple auras around him. However, their shapes were too small, or some of them moved too fast to be humans or elves.
Tuudir couldn’t escape that far.
He cast it, again and again, increasing its range each time. There were more purple auras this time, but nothing human or elven. The bear swiped at him, grazing his rear. In anger, Pesci drew his bow and used the few arrows he had, aiming at its eye. It hit, but it didn’t improve his situation. The bear let out an ear-piercing roar.
Pesci couldn’t keep this up. He was nearly exhausted.
And then he remembered that Fugo was returning to Bruma. Pesci wasn’t sure where he was, but he was still east of Bruma. Trying to find the road, he headed west and found a path. He cast the detection spell again and noticed a short humanoid figure walking the path. His movements were staggering. He was far away, but Pesci, willing to try, aimed his bow and aimed for his legs. It hit, and Pesci felt a rush towards him when he heard Tuudir’s screams.
“How? How are you still alive?” the panicked Wood Elf demanded.
Pesci said nothing in response but ran past him. The bear that was chasing him now focused on Tuudir. Although Pesci would watch if he could, he’d rather not wait for the bear to finish his meal. Hearing the screams cut abruptly, he tottered his way to Cheydinhal, passing out at the gates.
Friday, March 4, 2022
The Kill - Chapter 5: A Cake to Die For
While Formaggio was walking to Illuso’s room, he could’ve sworn he saw someone who cloaked themselves in invisibility. He tried to focus on their shape, but whoever it was, they blended too well and slipped away. Concerned, he ran to the brunet’s room.
“Illuso,” he called out, “was someone here?”
“No,” he replied. “It doesn’t matter. But Formaggio, there’s one more contract for you, but I have a question to ask. Before you depart, do you want to be a vampire?”
“I remember you asked me this before, and I said no. Formaggio looked at the extra cup on the table. Then there was a green light. He was sure about his answer to him. “But I’ve changed my mind. Yes, bite me.” Did Illuso cast a spell on him?
“Alright, expose your neck for me. It might hurt for a few seconds, but the quicker, the faster. Yes, that’s right. Wow, you have a lovely neck.”
The redhead blushed at that comment. “Could you quit breathing down my neck already and bite?”
Illuso got annoyed at that comment and sunk his fangs deep into his neck, sucking in his blood. He almost tasted as sweet as a sweet roll, and his blood was so addicting. Once he took his fangs out, he began licking him.
“Ah, Illuso, stop!” Formaggio responded, making it sound sexual.
The large metal door opened.
“I’m back!” Pesci said and then stared at the two. Gelato was next to him and staring as well, causing both Formaggio and Illuso to step away from each other. Before anyone could say anything, Gelato slipped away somewhere.
“Ah, Pesci, I wasn’t expecting you here,” Illuso said. “I thought you were resting somewhere or—”
“You have some blood near your mouth,” the green-haired Imperial interrupted.
The vampire licked it off.
“I have a contract for Formaggio, but Pesci, you’re coming along with him. You’re to kill a girl named Anne. She is only a small child, and her birthday party is starting soon. Actually, I don’t think you have enough time to reach her. Whoever ordered this assassination did so at the last minute. You best hurry.”
“Shit, we don’t have enough time!” Formaggio yelled. “Can we get another contract?”
“Just a second!” Illuso replied. “Even if you arrive late, you still have to kill her. The bonus will be forfeited, however. And before you go, there was this root I found in a ship in Anvil. Be careful of this root. It is highly poisonous and can instantly kill you if ingested. I’ve heard that Anne’s parents are looking for some chefs, but none nearby could be found. Perhaps you two could disguise yourselves and put the root in the cake. Go and hurry before the party starts without you.”
Before Pesci could say anything, Formaggio grabbed him by the hand, taking him outside and into the stables.
“Why’s the hurry?” Pesci questioned.
“Are you serious? We’ll lose that bonus!” Formaggio answered.
The redhead was bartering with someone to get a horse.
“Come on, Pesci!” said Formaggio.
“Is it from the bite?” he asked. “It only takes three days for you to become a vampire.”
“Exactly, and Anvil is on the other side of the country. Come on, hop on. Careful, don’t fall off. Have you ever been on a horse?”
“No.”
“Well, hold on tight. We’re not stopping for any breaks.”
---
They’d arrived at Anvil at night, rented a room at one of the inns, and slept. Pesci slept soundly in his warm and cozy bed. He could sleep for as long as he wanted to until someone was banging at his door.
“Wake up, Pesci,” Formaggio said. It was morning. “Open the door.”
Tired and slightly annoyed, the Imperial slowly got out of bed and walked to the door. Once he opened it, he looked at Formaggio’s face, noticing a tired look on his face.
“Are you okay?” Pesci worried.
“I was restless. Although, I think this bite has exhausted me. I even poked the bite mark, and I don’t feel anything.”
“Come on in. Have a seat.” Pesci pulled a chair for him. “Will eating make you feel better?”
“Sure, can I have that piece of bread?”
“Here you go. I can survive on an apple.”
“I don’t trust apples after M’raaj-Dar showed me a poisonous apple. It looks exactly like a non-poisonous one.”
They ate their small breakfast and stood silently.
“So,” Pesci spoke, breaking the silence, “how are we doing this?”
“We pose as chefs. You’ll be my assistant. I even managed to steal some aprons and a chef’s hat.”
“I don’t even know how to bake.”
Formaggio slightly giggled. “Don’t worry. Me too. We’ll just cover it with frosting. We just have to make sure everything is pretty for the birthday girl.”
“Why did you let Illuso bite you? Couldn’t you have just waited?”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “Let’s focus on this contract, please. After we bake the cake, we flee. Before that happens, do you know any life-detection spells?
“You might be surprised, but yes. However, I’m just a novice. A roommate taught me so I could catch fish faster, but I can never tell the species of fish with the purple aura in the way. It lasts for ten seconds and can detect life within 60 feet. Why’d you ask?”
“We’re putting the root in there, but we have to make sure only Anne eats it. If anyone else eats before her, we’re screwed. Come on, we’ve chatted enough already. We probably have to make a big, fancy cake for this brat. Let’s change clothes.”
Formaggio tossed the disguise on the table and then stripped, making Pesci blush.
“Ah, Formaggio!” the green-haired Imperial replied. “Couldn’t you do this in your room?”
“Relax, we’re both guys,” he said as he put on the brown pants. “Oh! We should come up with fake names, just in case. I got a perfect name for you. How does Pierre sound?”
“Sounds too Breton. How about Bob?”
Formaggio laughed a little. “Too basic. How about Gallubo? As for me, call me Caesar– No! Call me Lucas. Yeah, Lucas sounds like a good name. Pesci– I mean, Gallubo! Hurry up and take off your clothes. Don’t be shy, your body looks fine. There we go. Don’t touch my hat! I’m the chef here.”
They went outside to look for the house. All of them looked identical, but Anne’s house stood out due to the ribbons decorated around her home. That, and someone hired a musician who was playing on the lute. From where they were standing, they could hear an argument going on, but Formaggio knocked on the door, causing them to be silent. A Wood Elf man opened the door.
“I assume you’re here because we need a chef,” he responded.
“Yes,” Formaggio answered. “We’ve heard about the birthday. “I’m Lucas and this is my assistant, Gallubo.”
“Alright, the kitchen is to the left. There is plenty of spices and flour in the pantry. We’ll pay you after the party.”
Inside the kitchen, it was clean and organized, and the aroma was pleasant. Plenty of herbs hung above the table. Formaggio checked the cabinets and brought out a bowl and spoon.
“Gallubo, try bringing me some ingredients for me. It doesn’t matter what. We’re putting the root in there, anyways,” Formaggio said.
Pesci ventured into the pantry, and there were plenty of ingredients to choose from; some of them were even poisonous if a large amount was consumed. To ensure that Anne would die, he picked the nightshade, nirnroot, alcohol, and the ingredients to make a cake. He placed them on the table.
“This is fine and all,” Formaggio whispered, “but these ingredients are kind of–” He couldn’t say poisonous and struggled to find what was a safer word. “Unedible. Could you try and get normal ingredients?”
Pesci walked back into the pantry again. This time he got strawberries, some lavender, and some vanilla extract.
“This will do,” the redhead commented. “This looks fine. We might mix this in the cake. You know, to make it smell nice. Prepare the oven for me.”
Next to the oven, there were some logs. Pesci placed them in the oven and set them on fire with a simple fire spell. Meanwhile, Formaggio grabbed anything that was near him, which was the nightshade and strawberries, and mixed them. Of course, he did add the root.
After slaving away in front of a hot oven, the cake was finally finished. Formaggio covered it in pink frosting, which he made sure was poisoned as well.
“Think she’ll like it?” Formaggio asked.
“Could be better,” Pesci critiqued.
“Hold on, I haven’t put on the other layer.”
“It needs another layer?”
“Yeah, it’s like onions. Onions have layers. Cakes have layers.”
“You’re really into this.”
“Maybe my true calling was baking.”
“But does it taste good?”
Formaggio was silent for a few seconds. “Perhaps when I have time, I’ll make us some cake without the root.”
The redhead focused on decorating the cake. Pesci looked out the window, watching the kids arrive with their parents. The green-haired man sighed. He was never invited to parties.
“Hey, Gallu— No, Pesci,” Formaggio said, grabbing his attention, “get a little closer to me, please.”
“Lucas!” he panicked, but the redhead got closer and closer. Their lips were close to touching, and Pesci was blushing. And then the other closed his eyes, kissing the green-haired man. He didn’t push him back, but he was shocked. Nobody kissed him before.
“Your lips are chapped,” he commented.
“Why did you do that?”
“I thought you deserved a reward.”
“What if someone saw?” Pesci whispered. “What if someone heard my name?”
He whispered back, “We probably shouldn’t be in Anvil for a while even after all this.”
The two of them then heard footsteps.
“Excuse me,” said an Imperial woman, “but is my daughter’s cake ready?”
“Yes, it is,” Formaggio answered. “It is ready.”
Formaggio then fainted, but Pesci managed to catch him.
“Forgive Lucas,” Pesci said, “he’s been working all day, slaving over this oven and decorating the cake to please your daughter. This cake is his masterpiece.”
‘That cake is looking quite scrumptious,” she commented. “Let me taste.”
She approached the cake, and then Formaggio awoke.
“My cake! Only for her!” He fainted once more.
Anne’s mother paused.
“Your chef is dramatic,” she said. “Very well, I’ll pay you now. The cake will be saved for my daughter. I think my husband was going to pay you, but knowing him, he’d hardly pay you. Here’s for your troubles.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Pesci replied.
“Alright, well, it’s time to bring the cake outside. Anne is outside, playing with her friends.”
Pesci left Formaggio to rest on the kitchen floor. He then followed Anne’s mother, carrying the cake. He was worried about the cake falling, but he managed to carry it safely to Anne’s table. The Wood Elf that greeted them stood near her along with her mother. He seemed annoyed.
“I’ve seen more impressive cakes,” commented Anne. “Very well, I suppose I should eat this.”
Angered, Pesci could see why someone would want this spoiled brat dead. He watched as her mother placed candles on the cake.
“Come on, make a wish, my dear,” she said.
“Give me a few moments. I’m thinking here.”
And before anything could happen, Pesci quickly walked back inside to the kitchen. Formaggio was still resting, and he didn’t look like he’d wake up soon. Pesci then used his detect life spell. If he remembered correctly, Anne was sitting in the far back. He cast the detect life spell once again and watched as a purple line faded, which meant that Anne ate the cake.
Pesci carried Formaggio to the stables. As they headed out, he heard a woman scream, “My daughter! She’s dead! Get the green-haired man and the other man with him!”
However, he and Formaggio were already at the gates and had left on their dark horse, kissing this place goodbye.
“Illuso,” he called out, “was someone here?”
“No,” he replied. “It doesn’t matter. But Formaggio, there’s one more contract for you, but I have a question to ask. Before you depart, do you want to be a vampire?”
“I remember you asked me this before, and I said no. Formaggio looked at the extra cup on the table. Then there was a green light. He was sure about his answer to him. “But I’ve changed my mind. Yes, bite me.” Did Illuso cast a spell on him?
“Alright, expose your neck for me. It might hurt for a few seconds, but the quicker, the faster. Yes, that’s right. Wow, you have a lovely neck.”
The redhead blushed at that comment. “Could you quit breathing down my neck already and bite?”
Illuso got annoyed at that comment and sunk his fangs deep into his neck, sucking in his blood. He almost tasted as sweet as a sweet roll, and his blood was so addicting. Once he took his fangs out, he began licking him.
“Ah, Illuso, stop!” Formaggio responded, making it sound sexual.
The large metal door opened.
“I’m back!” Pesci said and then stared at the two. Gelato was next to him and staring as well, causing both Formaggio and Illuso to step away from each other. Before anyone could say anything, Gelato slipped away somewhere.
“Ah, Pesci, I wasn’t expecting you here,” Illuso said. “I thought you were resting somewhere or—”
“You have some blood near your mouth,” the green-haired Imperial interrupted.
The vampire licked it off.
“I have a contract for Formaggio, but Pesci, you’re coming along with him. You’re to kill a girl named Anne. She is only a small child, and her birthday party is starting soon. Actually, I don’t think you have enough time to reach her. Whoever ordered this assassination did so at the last minute. You best hurry.”
“Shit, we don’t have enough time!” Formaggio yelled. “Can we get another contract?”
“Just a second!” Illuso replied. “Even if you arrive late, you still have to kill her. The bonus will be forfeited, however. And before you go, there was this root I found in a ship in Anvil. Be careful of this root. It is highly poisonous and can instantly kill you if ingested. I’ve heard that Anne’s parents are looking for some chefs, but none nearby could be found. Perhaps you two could disguise yourselves and put the root in the cake. Go and hurry before the party starts without you.”
Before Pesci could say anything, Formaggio grabbed him by the hand, taking him outside and into the stables.
“Why’s the hurry?” Pesci questioned.
“Are you serious? We’ll lose that bonus!” Formaggio answered.
The redhead was bartering with someone to get a horse.
“Come on, Pesci!” said Formaggio.
“Is it from the bite?” he asked. “It only takes three days for you to become a vampire.”
“Exactly, and Anvil is on the other side of the country. Come on, hop on. Careful, don’t fall off. Have you ever been on a horse?”
“No.”
“Well, hold on tight. We’re not stopping for any breaks.”
---
They’d arrived at Anvil at night, rented a room at one of the inns, and slept. Pesci slept soundly in his warm and cozy bed. He could sleep for as long as he wanted to until someone was banging at his door.
“Wake up, Pesci,” Formaggio said. It was morning. “Open the door.”
Tired and slightly annoyed, the Imperial slowly got out of bed and walked to the door. Once he opened it, he looked at Formaggio’s face, noticing a tired look on his face.
“Are you okay?” Pesci worried.
“I was restless. Although, I think this bite has exhausted me. I even poked the bite mark, and I don’t feel anything.”
“Come on in. Have a seat.” Pesci pulled a chair for him. “Will eating make you feel better?”
“Sure, can I have that piece of bread?”
“Here you go. I can survive on an apple.”
“I don’t trust apples after M’raaj-Dar showed me a poisonous apple. It looks exactly like a non-poisonous one.”
They ate their small breakfast and stood silently.
“So,” Pesci spoke, breaking the silence, “how are we doing this?”
“We pose as chefs. You’ll be my assistant. I even managed to steal some aprons and a chef’s hat.”
“I don’t even know how to bake.”
Formaggio slightly giggled. “Don’t worry. Me too. We’ll just cover it with frosting. We just have to make sure everything is pretty for the birthday girl.”
“Why did you let Illuso bite you? Couldn’t you have just waited?”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “Let’s focus on this contract, please. After we bake the cake, we flee. Before that happens, do you know any life-detection spells?
“You might be surprised, but yes. However, I’m just a novice. A roommate taught me so I could catch fish faster, but I can never tell the species of fish with the purple aura in the way. It lasts for ten seconds and can detect life within 60 feet. Why’d you ask?”
“We’re putting the root in there, but we have to make sure only Anne eats it. If anyone else eats before her, we’re screwed. Come on, we’ve chatted enough already. We probably have to make a big, fancy cake for this brat. Let’s change clothes.”
Formaggio tossed the disguise on the table and then stripped, making Pesci blush.
“Ah, Formaggio!” the green-haired Imperial replied. “Couldn’t you do this in your room?”
“Relax, we’re both guys,” he said as he put on the brown pants. “Oh! We should come up with fake names, just in case. I got a perfect name for you. How does Pierre sound?”
“Sounds too Breton. How about Bob?”
Formaggio laughed a little. “Too basic. How about Gallubo? As for me, call me Caesar– No! Call me Lucas. Yeah, Lucas sounds like a good name. Pesci– I mean, Gallubo! Hurry up and take off your clothes. Don’t be shy, your body looks fine. There we go. Don’t touch my hat! I’m the chef here.”
They went outside to look for the house. All of them looked identical, but Anne’s house stood out due to the ribbons decorated around her home. That, and someone hired a musician who was playing on the lute. From where they were standing, they could hear an argument going on, but Formaggio knocked on the door, causing them to be silent. A Wood Elf man opened the door.
“I assume you’re here because we need a chef,” he responded.
“Yes,” Formaggio answered. “We’ve heard about the birthday. “I’m Lucas and this is my assistant, Gallubo.”
“Alright, the kitchen is to the left. There is plenty of spices and flour in the pantry. We’ll pay you after the party.”
Inside the kitchen, it was clean and organized, and the aroma was pleasant. Plenty of herbs hung above the table. Formaggio checked the cabinets and brought out a bowl and spoon.
“Gallubo, try bringing me some ingredients for me. It doesn’t matter what. We’re putting the root in there, anyways,” Formaggio said.
Pesci ventured into the pantry, and there were plenty of ingredients to choose from; some of them were even poisonous if a large amount was consumed. To ensure that Anne would die, he picked the nightshade, nirnroot, alcohol, and the ingredients to make a cake. He placed them on the table.
“This is fine and all,” Formaggio whispered, “but these ingredients are kind of–” He couldn’t say poisonous and struggled to find what was a safer word. “Unedible. Could you try and get normal ingredients?”
Pesci walked back into the pantry again. This time he got strawberries, some lavender, and some vanilla extract.
“This will do,” the redhead commented. “This looks fine. We might mix this in the cake. You know, to make it smell nice. Prepare the oven for me.”
Next to the oven, there were some logs. Pesci placed them in the oven and set them on fire with a simple fire spell. Meanwhile, Formaggio grabbed anything that was near him, which was the nightshade and strawberries, and mixed them. Of course, he did add the root.
After slaving away in front of a hot oven, the cake was finally finished. Formaggio covered it in pink frosting, which he made sure was poisoned as well.
“Think she’ll like it?” Formaggio asked.
“Could be better,” Pesci critiqued.
“Hold on, I haven’t put on the other layer.”
“It needs another layer?”
“Yeah, it’s like onions. Onions have layers. Cakes have layers.”
“You’re really into this.”
“Maybe my true calling was baking.”
“But does it taste good?”
Formaggio was silent for a few seconds. “Perhaps when I have time, I’ll make us some cake without the root.”
The redhead focused on decorating the cake. Pesci looked out the window, watching the kids arrive with their parents. The green-haired man sighed. He was never invited to parties.
“Hey, Gallu— No, Pesci,” Formaggio said, grabbing his attention, “get a little closer to me, please.”
“Lucas!” he panicked, but the redhead got closer and closer. Their lips were close to touching, and Pesci was blushing. And then the other closed his eyes, kissing the green-haired man. He didn’t push him back, but he was shocked. Nobody kissed him before.
“Your lips are chapped,” he commented.
“Why did you do that?”
“I thought you deserved a reward.”
“What if someone saw?” Pesci whispered. “What if someone heard my name?”
He whispered back, “We probably shouldn’t be in Anvil for a while even after all this.”
The two of them then heard footsteps.
“Excuse me,” said an Imperial woman, “but is my daughter’s cake ready?”
“Yes, it is,” Formaggio answered. “It is ready.”
Formaggio then fainted, but Pesci managed to catch him.
“Forgive Lucas,” Pesci said, “he’s been working all day, slaving over this oven and decorating the cake to please your daughter. This cake is his masterpiece.”
‘That cake is looking quite scrumptious,” she commented. “Let me taste.”
She approached the cake, and then Formaggio awoke.
“My cake! Only for her!” He fainted once more.
Anne’s mother paused.
“Your chef is dramatic,” she said. “Very well, I’ll pay you now. The cake will be saved for my daughter. I think my husband was going to pay you, but knowing him, he’d hardly pay you. Here’s for your troubles.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Pesci replied.
“Alright, well, it’s time to bring the cake outside. Anne is outside, playing with her friends.”
Pesci left Formaggio to rest on the kitchen floor. He then followed Anne’s mother, carrying the cake. He was worried about the cake falling, but he managed to carry it safely to Anne’s table. The Wood Elf that greeted them stood near her along with her mother. He seemed annoyed.
“I’ve seen more impressive cakes,” commented Anne. “Very well, I suppose I should eat this.”
Angered, Pesci could see why someone would want this spoiled brat dead. He watched as her mother placed candles on the cake.
“Come on, make a wish, my dear,” she said.
“Give me a few moments. I’m thinking here.”
And before anything could happen, Pesci quickly walked back inside to the kitchen. Formaggio was still resting, and he didn’t look like he’d wake up soon. Pesci then used his detect life spell. If he remembered correctly, Anne was sitting in the far back. He cast the detect life spell once again and watched as a purple line faded, which meant that Anne ate the cake.
Pesci carried Formaggio to the stables. As they headed out, he heard a woman scream, “My daughter! She’s dead! Get the green-haired man and the other man with him!”
However, he and Formaggio were already at the gates and had left on their dark horse, kissing this place goodbye.
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