"Urgh... My head! Where the tits am I?" For the second time since his adventure began, Schmetterling the Orc was blearily regaining consciousness in an unknown location. Last thing he remembered was falling asleep in a pile of hay in Solitude, and this place didn't remotely resemble that! He seemed to be in a dark, dingy, craphole of a shack.
"Blegh..."
Schemtty touched his head. He felt a mace-shaped impression where his cerebral Orc-tex used to be. 'Owy', he thought to himself, 'I feel like I've just gone eighteen rounds with Muhammad Orc-li!' But before he could get a hold of the situation, a softly-spoken voice from across the room called out to him."Ah, you're awake. Don't be afraid, my good Orc."
Schmetty looked up to see some sort of ninja human female, straddling an offensively filthy bookshelf. "Let me introduce myself. I am Astrid of the Dark Brotherhood," she purred. Schmetty didn't exactly know what that was, but he could take an educated guess at them being the people who'd clonked him on the noggin.
She continued, "We are a troupe of assassins as old as time itself, and you, sir, have stolen one of our contracts!"
Apparently, the international law of dibs also extended to human-killing. But which human in particular he'd kebabed to cause such a ruckus he did not know - there was just so many! (so, so many...) Beautiful memories of his murderous repertoire began to floor his brain (although that could have just as easily been cerebral haemorrhage), and this made our Orcish hero feel warm and fuzzy.
 |
| Mmmm... |
"For this... misdemeanour you are going to have to pay with blood!", she said. "On the other side of this room I have gagged and bound three people for you to have a conversation with. One of them is a Dark Brotherhood contract. Guess who it is, and kill them"
A chance to do some killing without any real-life repercussions!? This was almost too good to be true! It was like Orc-Christmas and Orc-Hanukkah rolled into one!
If forcing someone to kill is considered a punishment by Dark Brotherhood standards, Schmetty would love to know what they consider a treat!
Ever willing to practically apply his internationally-renowned research in the field of slaughtology, Schmetty was taking no chances and cheerily whacked all three of them!
"I feel like an Orcling in a candy store. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
Having gone Second Era on their collective ass with pliers and a blowtorch, a now exhilarated Orc proudly presented Astrid with his handiwork.
'You will receive positive recognition for your achievements today' - the fortune cookie was right!
Astrid was so pleased with his imaginatively violent efforts that she invited him to join the Brotherhood right away. Schmetty was thrilled!
So, going through the motions of a needlessly protracted initiation ceremony involving spending the night with the talking cadaver of Astrid's Mother (or something like that), our hero became a fully-fledged member of this super-secret underground club (shhhh!). Having spent the best part of a week doing this, however, he couldn't help but feel impatient. He hadn't been given the chance to kill anybody. Not a sausage.
"Mother! Oh, God, Mother! Blood! Blood!"
"Can I kill someone yet? Can I kill someone yet? Can I kill someone yet? Can I kill someone yet?"
But no sooner had he begun to think that Brotherhood were just a bunch of purveyors of empty promises and weird ceremonies, he was told to don on his Sunday best assassination glad-rags, and get ready to fulfill a buttload of contracts.
"I'm ready for my close up, Mr President."
And so began his action-packed journey into the rough and tumble of contract killing...
©Orc-KO Pictures
As it turns out, Schmetty was actually a very adept knife-for-hire. Who'd have thunk it! With the exception of the botched hit at a wedding ceremony in which he was forced to slaughter all the guests (awkward), all of his contracts went off without a hitch.
Not Schmetty's best work...
But these contracts were small fry compared with what Astrid in store for him - for all these kills had been leading up to his ultimate test: kill a chap named Emperor Titus Mede II.
He racked his brains for a second. 'That name certainly sounds familiar...'
He racked his brains for a second. 'That name certainly sounds familiar...'
"Maybe it was a different Titus Mede II to whom I sworn undying loyalty?"
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