FicWad

Okur had never been one for parties.
The loud Imperials, Bretons, Nords, and other mixed races danced about her, bottles clasped in their shaky, beefy, swimming hands as they sang songs of drunkenness. The slender form of an Argonian was resting her back against a wall, watching impatiently for her target in this mission to emerge from the crowd of men. Technically, it wasn't an assignment, perhaps not even sufficiently referred to as a "mission." However, for all intents and purposes, this was a mission, if a bit unorthodox.
Unorthodox was Okur's middle name. Her entire life had been built upon abnormality in her methods, though she led others to believe that she was a simple lower-class femme. Her house wasn't special, nor was her appearance. Slightly rugged, perhaps, but she didn't resemble anything abnormal for a citizen of the Imperial Waterfront. To the untrained eye, she didn't seem to possess any special skills; but then, to the untrained eye, she didn't have her webbed digits curled around a dagger's leather hilt. Tucked beneath her cloak, her claws twitched with apprehension. She had been out of the game for some time, so she was unsure of herself, feeling much like a child learning something simple for the first time. At the moment, she was still silently debating whether to take the risk of simply running up to the Nord now and slitting his throat, or to remain discreet, perhaps by luring him away from the crowd somehow. That would likely prove to be difficult; in spite of its necessity, she was very unskilled in speech-craft, persuasion, and the like. Her odd reptilian brow furrowed thoughtfully; quite a dilemma. It was rather enjoyable at times, the people running in terror, but then she herself would be running soon. The guards would be alerted, and it never ceased to amaze her how the memory of a drunken man was so distinct when it came to murder.
She pulled her free hand out of the cloak, meticulously careful not to expose the dagger whilst she did so, and brought it up to rub the bottom of her jaw. As she inhaled the scent of sweat and ale, the target appeared. He fit the memory perfectly-a tall, ruddy-skinned Nord with thinning, dark brown hair, a thick, greasy beard of the same tone, thick eyebrows, and a beer gut. Okur felt her heart stop, and it took her a moment to remember how to breathe. This was the man.
She just hoped dearly that he wouldn't remember her face. Fortunately, few ever did.
Casually, she sauntered over to the man, trying to ignore the scent of hard ale on his breath as he turned and greeted her. "Who are you?" he slurred. His eyes were dulled with the poison of his drink, and yet, he still brought the tankard to his lips. "Haven't…haven't seen you before…" He broke off with a hiccup.
Disgust seeped through her every orifice and she curled her lip for a few heartbeats, until she recalled her self-proclaimed mission. Friendliness was the key here, if she was to avert complications from the authorities.
"My name is Kar-Teesh," she lied, not wanting to reveal her true identity in case things became messy. Her mouth curled into a snake-like smile with a hint of seduction; she had no clue what she was doing, but it was apparent that it was working. The Nord's glazed brown eyes were hinted with submission.
"Kar-Teesh, eh?" he lisped, blinking with his left eye before his right. It sounded disgusting when he said it, though Okur couldn't pick out what was annoying her about it, exactly. "That's a pretty name." His eyes fluttered unevenly.
"Thank you," she returned with a flirtatious smirk on her face. What sounded like a high-pitched humming sound emitted from her wide throat, and she felt it gurgle there for a moment. She jerked her head toward the bar's island, the look plastered across her maw deepening. As she turned on her heel and began to slink toward the counter, she flicked a glance over her shoulder and saw the Nord following obediently. Like a sick little puppy, she mused to herself. A sick, drunken, grizzly little puppy.
She dug through her satchel that hung limply at her waist to produce a few septims, and then smacked them down onto the wooden surface separating her from the proprietor. "Bring us a round over here," she barked. As the barkeep fumbled with the various tankards and bottles behind him, Okur absent-mindedly fiddled with her dagger, careful not to let the dull light inside the tavern smack the blade.
She passed the tankard to the man behind her, and he smiled gleefully. He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, but she placed a claw on his lips and drew her head closer to him, only a finger's length from his gristly hair. "No. First, come with me," she whispered into his ear. "There is much to discuss."
Okur pulled away slowly, and then led the sick puppy to a room that she had paid for beforehand in anticipation of this circumstance. She drew the door open, and gestured for him to enter. He gladly did so, and she followed him, bolting the lock on the way inside. The rouse was shattered as she stalked across the room, eyes glinting with the instinct of a predator. He turned to her, grinning and stumbling unsteadily closer. As they reached each other, he made to grab her, a hungry look in his dark eyes.
The Argonian sidestepped, and he didn't notice until he hit the wall that she wasn't in his path. She unsheathed her dagger, baring her teeth viciously and rushed at him. He turned and ducked, somehow barely dodging the blade. It hit the wall behind him, driving into the thick wood. Okur hissed in rage, trying to rip the blade from its resting place, but it wouldn't budge. Abandoning the knife for the time being, she improvised, kicking him over as he tried to get up. He fell, and she drove her boot down into the middle of his shoulder blades. She heard the sickening crack, but didn't stop there; she could still hear his rasping breaths. She stomped onto the back of his neck, and he let out a strange gurgling. She saw him wretch, then, gasping for air, the blood gushed from his mouth. He twitched all over, spasms going through his legs, but then he stopped moving.
Heart racing, Okur knelt down shakily. She felt around his body, checking to see if there was anything valuable, but she found only a few septims at first. Her claws clicked against a strange amulet that had been exposed earlier, probably hidden beneath his shirt. She felt her face brighten; this was what he had taken, what she had killed him for. The amulet was called, ironically, the Amulet of Kar-Teesh. She smiled in spite of herself; the Nord hadn't even known what it was called, unless he'd forgotten in his drunkenness. In any case, it was for the best. He obviously hadn't recognized the false name she had used for herself, or if he had, it didn't matter now.
A sudden knock at the door roused her from her thoughts, and her eyes widened with panic. No, they were here too soon. She stared at the door for a bit, eyes clouded. Thinking quickly, she tried to unscramble her mind. She could either struggle to retrieve the blade, whilst running the risk of being apprehended in her murder, or she could leave it, and buy another. Or, she could simply stage it as an accident, then return in a bit to find the scene. She searched the room for an escape, and her gaze settled on a window. She raced to the dresser that stood below it, climbing frantically before punching the thin glass of the window. Pity, it was such an intricately finished piece of artwork. A scene depicting-
The knock at the door sounded again, this time accompanied by a muffled yell that Okur didn't pay attention to. She smashed the rest of the glass, squeezing her thin form out of it. The shards didn't break her scales, and she set off into a rapid flee. She rounded a corner, exploding onto a cobblestone road.
It took her a moment to register what had happened when she rammed, head-on, into a guard.