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[i]An Evening in Anvil
12 Midyear[/i]

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It was quiet. Too quiet.

As if the people of Anvil had hurried to bed. Barred their doors and bunkered down to hide from the bright moon that bore down like a giant eye watching every winding path, glaring at each shelter, each slope of a roof that cast a safe shadow to escape it. 

The streets were all but empty save for one gentleman, Gionato, who staggered away from a broken window. His wallet heavier, and his pocket-knife slick with blood, he pulled his hood over his head, pulling the drawstring tight around his collarbone as he kept to the darkness and away from the pale.

He should have worried less about the light.

Behind him, a shape that he did not detect - moved near silently, slowly, stalking - a predator. A claw like hand twitched at blood that dripped from the blade of his knife as he scurried faster still through the night.

He thought he was safe.

Gionato knew about the killings. The first had been Maebh, a Nord woman who worked at the docks. The second an older man named Alastare, who, according to many, was just an old pervert. A seamstress and a barkeep. Finally, the third had been a guardsman - his body washed up on the shore all bloated and grey.

Those three weren't him though, besides, he could handle himself. By tomorrow morning, the death and robbery of Lucius Vedori would also be attributed to this other killer.

Gionato, as well as being a petty criminal turned murdering thug, was simply criminally stupid.

He turned the key to his front door, hearing it open with a click. It wasn't until he arrived home that the thrill of his kill hit him, and his hands began to shake - a fear set in that mixed with pride and excitement - his belly hungry for more of it as he finally felt the stickiness of blood across his shirt, under his fingernails, on his chin, his cheek.

As he made his way in, his mouth formed a rictus grin in the shadows. He kneeled down at his hearth, the silent light of the moon trickling through the window, a gap in a makeshift curtain, enough for him to find a flint and some kindling. After a moment or two, his hearth was filling with a small and crackling flame, and he began to calm from the adreneline. He placed the bloody knife beside him, and began to peel off his shirt - a thought that it would burn up quickly on the flames.

“Hello,” came a smooth, clear voice from behind him.

He turned around, faster than a startled doe at the sound of a twig snapping. There. In the corner. A figure, on his chair.

The light wasn’t enough to show a face -- but she was distinctively feminine, at least the voice was. “Wh-who goes there?” he stammered out, taking hold of the poker with his clammy grip.

He sensed the stranger stand up, and as the fire grew greater he began to make out a shape. Tall, a slender waist, and long hair the colour of the moonlight. He swallowed down and realised he had nowhere to go. He was too frightened to stand. “I-I-I have children… You know that… I have children…” he pleaded, brow sweating profusely. In the flickering light of the fire he finally made out her face. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. 

She closed the distance between herself and Gionato. 

He swore that he heard the glint of her blade as the moonlight struck it. That was the last thing he heard, before she smiled peacefully at him, after that, only true darkness.