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Sitting in an abandoned shack built in the poor water districts of the Imperial City, Swift-Knife sat quietly, his cloak over his head as he dipped his claw into the mutilated body of a Dunmer who use to work in the Imperial Trading Company warehouse, making it nice and damp before continuing his writing.

First Seed 9, 3E 433

I have been carefully watching the Marie Elena since my arrival. A moderately-sized crew, the First Mate disciplines them severely. Nothing new with the heartless Dunmeri, but noticeably the Captain keeps himself in his cabin. He must smell death through the thicket of his crew's stench. Good, soon the cold hand of Sithis is due to fall upon him.

I have found a suitable crate to steal into. Large and thick enough for me to hide and I can use some Alteration to make myself light enough to be believable cargo.

I am still debating between killing just Captain or his whole crew. It has been too long since I had a chance to kill a large number of people. I hope some of the crew is in the lower deck, but I will savor the Captain's blood with the Blade of Woe, it deserves only the finest of my prey.

As the Argonian finished the last word, the door unbolted and opened quickly before closing. "Any important news?" He asked with a savage hiss, moving his head only slightly to look at a terrified Redguard. The somewhat tall man rubbed his hands nervously as he occasionally looked at his former comrade's corpse by Swift-Knife's feet, "T-They...seem to be ready to sail out by t-tomorrow."

Blowing the wet blood till it was dry enough for him to close his journal, Swift-Knife envisioned his plan once more behind his eyelids before opening them again, "Excellent."

"You served me well, Hillod. I will allow you to live if you continue to keep your mouth shut and provide information for me." He said, standing up from the little wooden seat, its legs splayed out a bit from his weight.Turning around to face the nodding Redguard, he could taste the complete fear from him, and basked in it.

"Good, I would hate to spill unnecessary blood." Swift-Knife threatened as he licked the blood from his claw, loving the taste of Dunmer blood. "U-Understood, sir." Hillod answered at last, he has heard stories of the Crocodile under the Imperial City but didn't think it was real, but it was standing right infront of him.

Standing bigger than anyone he have seen, it is hard to tell if the Argonian was a Werecrocodile or he was just like that, and his very presence made Hillod want to swim all the way to back to Solstheim. Now he is forced to serve the beast or die, and he certainly didn't want the latter.

Waving a webbed hand, the Crocodile spoke, "Now begone, and keep a lookout for any Imperial interference. I want absolutely none and if I do, I will have you join your friend here into the Void."

Nodding quickly, Hillod left out of the shack, and took a few relaxing breathes before walking out in the city's night, doing as he is told.

Once his new agent was gone, Swift-Knife began to pull his cloak away to reveal his shrouded armor, tailored perfectly for his body, and just being in it was like being in second skin. Putting the cloak over his satchel holding his journal and public clothes, he carefully folded it and hid it behind the shelf, but not before putting a magic spell over it in case the fool manage to find it and try to touch it.

The straps and buckles crisscrossed his waist and torso over the pitch-black leather, one of these straps holding a steel pauldron over his right shoulder with a black handprint pressed into it. Giving a deep purr, he pulled his hood over his head, and patted the Blade of Woe on the right side of his hip.

"May the Shadow of Sithis blanket me in my contract to serve him." Swift-Knife prayed to the Dread Father quietly before he immaterialized and sneaked to the ship.

Moving through the little district quietly, he saw the crew was starting to store up the crates. Creeping over like a snake, he crawled into the overturned crate, and closed the lid quickly before anyone noticed.

He had to wait a couple minutes before someone started to pick him, and thankfully the spell worked with his body curled up, most uncomfortably but luckily the trip was short and his crate was dropped.The Argonian silently waited for a good ten minutes before carefully crawling himself in the cargo hold, Swift-Knife was alone but voices could be heard nearby and finding himself in the lower deck of the ship, its inventory piled high and organized.

Shame all of it will be for nothing. Climbing up a ladder to the mid-deck, Swift-Knife heard the voices louder now.

The assassin crept to the corner of the wall with his back to it. He listened to a pair of the pirates arguing about the bad luck of a female onboard the ship and her capabilities as a sailor-the Firstmate no doubt.

The crocodile chuckled very lightly to himself; the fool didn't know how right he was. Waiting until they were done, Swift-knife listened and waite- they were separating, with one walking towards him. Readying his claws, Swift-knife waited the last second when the Redguard pirate stepped pass the door. Stabbing his right hand into the man's side, the claws raking against his spine, but before the pirate could scream, the Argonian covered his mouth and snapped his neck with hardly a struggle.

Laying the man on a crate, Swift-knife licked his claws as he walked down the hall, his eyes searching for the argumentative pirate. At the end of the hall, he found the old Nord sleeping on a dirty bed between two large piles of crates. Stepping toward the sleeping pirate, the Crocodile's tail flexed and moved forward, its spiked tail gleaming in the lantern light, and thrusted forward like a fisher's spear, stabbing into the man's skull without much issue. The body spasmed and jerked as blood flowed out of the puncture wound freely.

With a rumbling purr, Swift-knife tried to pull his tail out of the Nord, but the body followed it. Lifting the body towards him, the Argonian pulled the corpse off, and wiped the blood of the two quick kills. The assassin climbed up short ladder, into what he recalled as the captain's cabin.

Looking from the hatch, he saw a short corridor between two doors, one closed door leading outside and one open to his prey. Walking to the open, he found the captain walking towards his table in a drunken sober.

"Guston Tussaud." Swift-Knife hissed. The Breton turned with some misstep, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the assassin, too drunk to tell except for it to be a giant shadow. "What in blazes!" He asked with a slur, "You ain't one of me crew! Ye best start explaining yerself, mate, if you want to get off this ship alive."

"The Dread Father summons you." Swift-Knife answered, and the pirate start to rant about the Argonian being apart of the church, he smoothly pulled the Blade of Woe from its sheath, and thrown its black blade into the captain's leg.

As the man fell forward in the midst of drawing his blade, cursing to himself in pain, Swift-Knife sped across the room to the recovering captain, and backhanded Guston hard enough to send himself flying onto his table.

Chuckling darkly, the brutish assassin ripped his blade out of the pirate's leg, and stabbed into his chest. Groaning, Guston tried to pull Swift-Knife's arm away but the drunk was absolutely no match for the other's bestial strength as he simply swung his blade about helplessly to the murderer's ritualistic mutilation dedicated to his first contract, involving much techniques that could make a Orc cry.

After several minutes of messy work and barely holding the pirate from screaming, Swift-Knife collected Guston's cutlass as a trophy and grabbed a chest full of treasure before concerned knocking started to pound on the door.

His crew, they obviously heard the screams. Acting fast, he unlocked the back door leading to the balcony a split-second before the door opened and escaped. Swimming a good distance away with his loot, Swift-Knife could hear the screaming of anger and horror as they find the horrid mess that was once their captain as his bloody skeleton lay on the table with his flesh splayed to show his insides and the peeled skull printed with a handprint over it.

Captain Guston Tussand of the Marie Elena is dead, his soul sent to the Void. Time to deliver the message to the others...