Hand, hand. Foot, foot. Katariah chanted the two words in her head like a prayer as she scaled the side of the Blue Palace. Admittedly, there were probably easier ways to break into the home of Skyrim's High King than by climbing in through his bedroom window, but her employer had given her strict instructions. In through the window, grab the… shit!

Her foot slipped. For a sickening moment, she hung weightless in the air until the wind slammed her against the tower. Shock reverberated through her body; threatened to pry her fingertips loose of their precious holds. Her boots scrabbled uselessly against the slick stones until finally one wedged itself in a small gap. Katariah found a nook for her other foot as well and breathed a sigh of relief. If she had fallen at this height not even a necromancer would have wanted what was left. Fortunately, the window she was after wasn't far and she soon hauled herself up onto its sheltered eave.

"By the grace of Nocturnal!" she couldn't help but to whoop a little too loudly. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck to relieve her aching muscles. She'd been assured the window itself wouldn't be much of an obstacle. After all, you had to climb several hundred feet up the side of the palace just to get to it, and the palace already sat on a cliff overlooking the massive Karth River. It was locked however, so Katariah scratched a muffling rune on the glass before punching through it and unlocking it.

She slipped into the extravagant bedroom, climbing over a desk set before the window on her way in. For a moment, she simply let her eyes adjust to the light. Outside the twin moons were full and bright. Inside, the only light came from the now broken window, the rest still covered by their ornate draperies. As if the gods knew and appreciated her flair for the dramatic, the light from the lone window spilled across the room and lit upon the High King in his bed.

Torygg slept peacefully for the king of a war torn country, and as Katariah's employers had promised, High Queen Elisif was noticeably absent from her half of the massive bed. A sudden pang of regret flared in Katariah's belly as she realized that she would be the catalyst that tore the young king's life asunder.

The thief squashed her feelings and turned from the bed. A job was a job and Torygg was only half of this one. The plush carpeting beneath her feet helped to muffle her footsteps as she crisscrossed the room, rifling through dressers and desks of expensive imported woods. She collected anything that seemed to be of political or military import and of course a few valuable baubles to hock later. Her instructions were to make it look like an assassination. With the dark horse Ulfric Stormcloak sleeping only a hall away and having challenged the High King to a "duel in the Old Ways" only that afternoon, no one would think it was anything else.

Make it look like he was Shouted apart.

The words rang in Katariah's ears as she approached the sleeping king.