The story is now complete!
So, for those who don't yet know, I've recently started playing through Oblivion again. As I was playing, I got the idea to write out what my character is going through in the first person.
The story is now complete! All the parts, including the Epilogue, are written and available!
So, here they are in spoiler box form to keep everything neat:
I want to say a big 'thank you' to all those who commented and gave encouragement and tips for improvement! I've never written anything like this before, and it was great to hear all the feedback! It was those posts that kept me writing! Notably Galletea and NewClassic, who offered really great advice and put up with my bugging them consistently for feedback and spamming the IRC whenever I put out a new 'chapter'.
I'm considering writing another episodic story, though I'm not sure if I should do it using Oblivion as a base again, or do my own original tale. I'm always open to suggestions! So feel free to throw 'em my way!
Again, big thank you! I'm glad so many enjoyed it! And if you just stumbled upon this thread for the first time, please let me know what you think!
--BT
So, for those who don't yet know, I've recently started playing through Oblivion again. As I was playing, I got the idea to write out what my character is going through in the first person.
The story is now complete! All the parts, including the Epilogue, are written and available!
So, here they are in spoiler box form to keep everything neat:
Prologue.
The doors to the sanctuary burst open. Arquen turned to see one of the lower ranks rushing to her, a journal in hand. "Where is the Listener?" Arquen demanded, voice echoing off the stone walls. The Murderer nervously stuttered "A-A-Applewatch Farm, mistress." Arquen's eye narrowed as she approached him. "Why isn't he here?" The Murderer seems to quiver more at the question, and shakily lifted the journal in hand.
"What is this?" Arquen asked, snatching the book from the initiate's shaking fingers. "Where is the listener?" She demanded again. "Where is Daes?" Eyes pointed to the floor, the initiate stammered back. "M-m-mistress, I think you better read it." She glared at him for a moment, before realizing that on cover of the book were the words "My Confessions". It was written by the Listener. Sitting in a nearby chair, Arquen flipped open the small book, and by the dim glow of candlelight she began to read...
The following is the confessions of Daes: A son of Valenwood, and the listener for the Dark Brotherhood.
To the brothers and sisters of Sithis: May you read the confessions of my crimes and understand why I did what I did. Many will be confused and wonder what caused your very listener to react as I have, but I hope that in time, through my confessions, you will truly understand.
I will not bore you with the tales of my homeland, or my home. My story started long after both were forgotten. Not many know how the Emperor was killed, only that he was. But I know. I was there. I saw the blade strike him, saw his blood spill, and watched him breathe his last. On that day that history will mark in infamy, I reached the most pivotal crossroads in my life. A choice was before me that seemed obvious: Save the empire, or save myself.
Foolishly, as I knelt over the Emperor's body and held that amulet he, only moments before, passed to me, I thought both choices were mutually exclusive. Taking the amulet, I stumbled through the sewers and tunnels, wrestling with myself as to what I would do. Would I play the hero? Renowned throughout the land? Savior of the people? Or would I play the part I knew best? The part of me, looking out for me? I started to think I could change. Maybe I could be the hero. Maybe I could turn from my life of selfishness, and accomplish something great.
The glare of the sun struck my eyes as I finally emerged from the sewers of the Imperial City, and I instantly became aware of my insignificance. The vast hills and forests laid out before me taunted me. They told me what I already knew before I ever even touched that cursed amulet: 'You're too small for all of this.' I walked to the end of the nearby dock, now determined to rid myself of this burden. This...responsibility.
I held the amulet over the water now, poised to let it fall from my hand and from my memory. But I couldn't bear to let it go. It's significance was also greater then mine, and I knew it wasn't my place to toss it away like some trinket. I wrapped it in cloth, and placed it at the bottom of my pack. I wasn't to think of it again for a very long time.
After that, I did what I did best. I was a small time thief. Independent and head-strong. I'd heard talk of a guild for that line of work, but at the time I wasn't interested in sharing profits with anyone. Why give up what I rightfully earned? No, I kept to myself, and I was good. The guards never saw me, and neither did the people I stole from. I was living as comfortably as a thief with no home can, going from place to place and stealing whatever I wanted or needed.
Eventually I heard rumor of a ship in Anvil leaving for greater lands and greater fortune. Vvardenfell I think, though I can't remember now. I made up my mind to leave this wretched land behind me, and began what I thought was my final trek across the province. What I got instead wasn't what I thought I wanted. What I got was the invitation that few receive, and that fewer take. The Dark Brotherhood. Infamous. Secretive. Deadly. All I needed to do was pass one test.
The doors to the sanctuary burst open. Arquen turned to see one of the lower ranks rushing to her, a journal in hand. "Where is the Listener?" Arquen demanded, voice echoing off the stone walls. The Murderer nervously stuttered "A-A-Applewatch Farm, mistress." Arquen's eye narrowed as she approached him. "Why isn't he here?" The Murderer seems to quiver more at the question, and shakily lifted the journal in hand.
"What is this?" Arquen asked, snatching the book from the initiate's shaking fingers. "Where is the listener?" She demanded again. "Where is Daes?" Eyes pointed to the floor, the initiate stammered back. "M-m-mistress, I think you better read it." She glared at him for a moment, before realizing that on cover of the book were the words "My Confessions". It was written by the Listener. Sitting in a nearby chair, Arquen flipped open the small book, and by the dim glow of candlelight she began to read...
The following is the confessions of Daes: A son of Valenwood, and the listener for the Dark Brotherhood.
To the brothers and sisters of Sithis: May you read the confessions of my crimes and understand why I did what I did. Many will be confused and wonder what caused your very listener to react as I have, but I hope that in time, through my confessions, you will truly understand.
I will not bore you with the tales of my homeland, or my home. My story started long after both were forgotten. Not many know how the Emperor was killed, only that he was. But I know. I was there. I saw the blade strike him, saw his blood spill, and watched him breathe his last. On that day that history will mark in infamy, I reached the most pivotal crossroads in my life. A choice was before me that seemed obvious: Save the empire, or save myself.
Foolishly, as I knelt over the Emperor's body and held that amulet he, only moments before, passed to me, I thought both choices were mutually exclusive. Taking the amulet, I stumbled through the sewers and tunnels, wrestling with myself as to what I would do. Would I play the hero? Renowned throughout the land? Savior of the people? Or would I play the part I knew best? The part of me, looking out for me? I started to think I could change. Maybe I could be the hero. Maybe I could turn from my life of selfishness, and accomplish something great.
The glare of the sun struck my eyes as I finally emerged from the sewers of the Imperial City, and I instantly became aware of my insignificance. The vast hills and forests laid out before me taunted me. They told me what I already knew before I ever even touched that cursed amulet: 'You're too small for all of this.' I walked to the end of the nearby dock, now determined to rid myself of this burden. This...responsibility.
I held the amulet over the water now, poised to let it fall from my hand and from my memory. But I couldn't bear to let it go. It's significance was also greater then mine, and I knew it wasn't my place to toss it away like some trinket. I wrapped it in cloth, and placed it at the bottom of my pack. I wasn't to think of it again for a very long time.
After that, I did what I did best. I was a small time thief. Independent and head-strong. I'd heard talk of a guild for that line of work, but at the time I wasn't interested in sharing profits with anyone. Why give up what I rightfully earned? No, I kept to myself, and I was good. The guards never saw me, and neither did the people I stole from. I was living as comfortably as a thief with no home can, going from place to place and stealing whatever I wanted or needed.
Eventually I heard rumor of a ship in Anvil leaving for greater lands and greater fortune. Vvardenfell I think, though I can't remember now. I made up my mind to leave this wretched land behind me, and began what I thought was my final trek across the province. What I got instead wasn't what I thought I wanted. What I got was the invitation that few receive, and that fewer take. The Dark Brotherhood. Infamous. Secretive. Deadly. All I needed to do was pass one test.
A Knife in the Dark.
It was raining when it happened. I probably wouldn't have noticed, except that it was so cliche. The dark clouds, ominous thunder, streaking lighting, and the downpour of rain seemed to be taken from best, and worst, of horror stories told to children. I saw it then as a nuisance. I see it now as a foreshadowing.
As I approached the door to the inn, I felt the final urges of my conscience fade from my mind. I didn't wait when I was given this opportunity. I went straight there. And in the many hours it took for me to reach that inn door, all the wrestling I could do with what morality I had left was finished. This wasn't about right or wrong, this was about looking out for me. Passing this test would mean I would get a home, a new life, and a family...all of which I wanted in some way. Gruesome as the task seemed at first, it then seemed so simple. Like opening a door or, perhaps more accurately, blowing out a candle.
It was only a day prior that it began. I was short on gold for a room and food, so I had crept into the upper rooms of an inn, 'The West Weald'. The innkeeper didn't see me. Few do. As I searched the rooms, taking what I could carry, I found one had an occupant. She was a Nord woman, not that it matters now, and was sleeping soundly with her money purse close by her. She looked familiar to me.
I remember hearing her when I was casing the place, talking about hating the gods. I listened intently as she presented her case rather bluntly to any who would listen. Going on about how the gods didn't listen, or act, or do anything. She seemed very angry. She reminded me of me. But I wasn't there for theology. I was there for her money.
I can remember reaching for her purse, and watching her eyes slowly open. I can only assume the realization on my face matched the expression on hers. When our eyes met, we both knew. We both knew I wouldn't run. We both knew she wouldn't let me take the money. Both of us too stubborn to give the other any ground. We might have been friends, in another situation. But this wasn't another situation. She moved fast. I moved faster.
I covered her mouth so tightly that even her last breath didn't escape. My blade was plunged through her chest, pinning her to the bed. Her blade wasn't even halfway out of its sheath. The look of disbelief and terror in her eyes was unforgettable. She seemed to look everywhere around the room, as if trying to find a way out of that nightmare. She never looked at me, though. I can only assume it's because our expressions were still matched, and she wouldn't find any final comfort in my terror stricken gaze.
Eventually she stopped moving, but I still held her down. I don't remember how long I stayed like that. Unmoving. I don't even remember breathing. By the time my senses returned, her eyes were long glazed over, the left one wandering from it's natural position. I knew I couldn't stay there. I grabbed the money and turned to leave.
Then I saw him. Let's simply call him 'L'. I won't go into detail about him because I barely know any myself, even after all this time. He was without discription. Someone you could never remember, and at the same time, never forget. Like the haunting of a loved one. Familiar, and yet terrifying. My heart went so cold I could swear I saw my breath.
He saw what I did. How could he not? The blade in my hand still dripped the Nord woman's blood. At first I thought he was a guard, or maybe another person staying at the inn. I wondered if I should dispatch him too. The adrenaline was still pumping through my veins, and I felt like I could take on a minotaur with my bare hands. But looking into his eyes, I knew that any attempt I made would result in nothing short of my death. He wasn't some fat guard or pompous merchant capable of fear. He was fear.
He noticed my hesitation, and began to speak. He said he liked what he saw, and gave me an offer. I never said a word, only listened. What could I say? It was a family he was offering. A new life. A new home. A new purpose. But first I must pass a test. He placed a map and a dagger on the table, and walked out as quietly as he came.
And so I went. I didn't wait long for fear of the guards, and for the urgings of my own curiosity. I left town and walked all night. The journey felt like a dream, though it could have easily been a nightmare. It was many miles, but any exhaustion I might have experienced from the travel lifted as I saw my destination through the rain. And in the very early morning, in middle of that storm, I opened the door to that secluded inn, walked up to the counter, and asked the innkeeper that one question burning in my mind the past few hours:
"Where is Rufio?"
It was raining when it happened. I probably wouldn't have noticed, except that it was so cliche. The dark clouds, ominous thunder, streaking lighting, and the downpour of rain seemed to be taken from best, and worst, of horror stories told to children. I saw it then as a nuisance. I see it now as a foreshadowing.
As I approached the door to the inn, I felt the final urges of my conscience fade from my mind. I didn't wait when I was given this opportunity. I went straight there. And in the many hours it took for me to reach that inn door, all the wrestling I could do with what morality I had left was finished. This wasn't about right or wrong, this was about looking out for me. Passing this test would mean I would get a home, a new life, and a family...all of which I wanted in some way. Gruesome as the task seemed at first, it then seemed so simple. Like opening a door or, perhaps more accurately, blowing out a candle.
It was only a day prior that it began. I was short on gold for a room and food, so I had crept into the upper rooms of an inn, 'The West Weald'. The innkeeper didn't see me. Few do. As I searched the rooms, taking what I could carry, I found one had an occupant. She was a Nord woman, not that it matters now, and was sleeping soundly with her money purse close by her. She looked familiar to me.
I remember hearing her when I was casing the place, talking about hating the gods. I listened intently as she presented her case rather bluntly to any who would listen. Going on about how the gods didn't listen, or act, or do anything. She seemed very angry. She reminded me of me. But I wasn't there for theology. I was there for her money.
I can remember reaching for her purse, and watching her eyes slowly open. I can only assume the realization on my face matched the expression on hers. When our eyes met, we both knew. We both knew I wouldn't run. We both knew she wouldn't let me take the money. Both of us too stubborn to give the other any ground. We might have been friends, in another situation. But this wasn't another situation. She moved fast. I moved faster.
I covered her mouth so tightly that even her last breath didn't escape. My blade was plunged through her chest, pinning her to the bed. Her blade wasn't even halfway out of its sheath. The look of disbelief and terror in her eyes was unforgettable. She seemed to look everywhere around the room, as if trying to find a way out of that nightmare. She never looked at me, though. I can only assume it's because our expressions were still matched, and she wouldn't find any final comfort in my terror stricken gaze.
Eventually she stopped moving, but I still held her down. I don't remember how long I stayed like that. Unmoving. I don't even remember breathing. By the time my senses returned, her eyes were long glazed over, the left one wandering from it's natural position. I knew I couldn't stay there. I grabbed the money and turned to leave.
Then I saw him. Let's simply call him 'L'. I won't go into detail about him because I barely know any myself, even after all this time. He was without discription. Someone you could never remember, and at the same time, never forget. Like the haunting of a loved one. Familiar, and yet terrifying. My heart went so cold I could swear I saw my breath.
He saw what I did. How could he not? The blade in my hand still dripped the Nord woman's blood. At first I thought he was a guard, or maybe another person staying at the inn. I wondered if I should dispatch him too. The adrenaline was still pumping through my veins, and I felt like I could take on a minotaur with my bare hands. But looking into his eyes, I knew that any attempt I made would result in nothing short of my death. He wasn't some fat guard or pompous merchant capable of fear. He was fear.
He noticed my hesitation, and began to speak. He said he liked what he saw, and gave me an offer. I never said a word, only listened. What could I say? It was a family he was offering. A new life. A new home. A new purpose. But first I must pass a test. He placed a map and a dagger on the table, and walked out as quietly as he came.
And so I went. I didn't wait long for fear of the guards, and for the urgings of my own curiosity. I left town and walked all night. The journey felt like a dream, though it could have easily been a nightmare. It was many miles, but any exhaustion I might have experienced from the travel lifted as I saw my destination through the rain. And in the very early morning, in middle of that storm, I opened the door to that secluded inn, walked up to the counter, and asked the innkeeper that one question burning in my mind the past few hours:
"Where is Rufio?"
Accidents Happen.
That was that. I was accepted with open arms. I was told to make my way east, along the blue road, to Cheydinhal. There I would enter a seemingly abandoned house on the eastern edge of town, and meet my new family. They called it the sanctuary. It was a fitting title. We were a family, and that was our home. Like any household, though, I quickly learned our chores. Or, as they were called, contracts.
They said I'd never forget my first contract, but there wasn't anything special about climbing onto some rotting ship and slitting the throat of pirate. He didn't even know I was there. While he drank his wine, I poisoned my blade. And after he savored the final bite of his meal, I savored the final look of disbelief on his face. Everyone always has disbelief on their face. They never think it will happen to them, and when it does they simply can't believe it, even when the knife is twisting in their back. The only excitement I got was when two of his crew came in looking for him. They saw me dive off the balcony into the water, and nothing else. I was careless, though I suppose I learned to be more wary.
It was my second contract that I remember more clearly, for one simple reason: I hate the cold. I remember thinking that when I was given the job. I remember thinking that as the grass beneath my feet slowly turned to tundra while I traveled ever north. And I remember thinking that as I entered that wretched frozen city with the cold evening wind whipping my face and stinging my eyes. Why anyone would live in that gods forsaken wasteland is beyond my understanding.
The local tavern offered me some temporary warmth, rest, and information. The people there weren't too friendly. Maybe those Nords didn't like seeing a son of Valenwood grumbling about their home, but what did I care? I knew I would be leaving as soon as my job was done.
The fire danced hypnotically as I stood warming myself in vain against the chill that was ever present. A few bits of conscience sprouted in my mind at the time. Could I follow through? The first person I murdered, that Nord woman, was an accident more then anything. Rufio? Well he was near death. Frail. Sickly. Weak. Hardly a waste, if at all. And the pirate was like any other bandit or highwayman one may meet on the road. A thug with a boat is still a thug. It almost seemed like justice.
Baenlin wasn't any of those things. He was a man who simply enjoyed the loyalty of a good servant, a nice home, and a nice chair. Could I follow through? The bitter evening wind seemed to howl a bit louder then, and I knew that I really didn't have a choice anymore. Baenlin would die. If not by me then by another, and I would face the consequences. There was no sense in two wasted lives. I stood up, found out where this Baenlin lived, and went to him.
Later when I returned to the tavern for one last bit of warmth before taking my leave back to the sanctuary, a pair of off duty guards walked in, shaking off the blowing snow. They ordered a drink, and talked loud enough for the other patrons to hear. Everyone was hushed as they said how they found poor Baenlin. His broken body still in his favorite chair, his servant, Gromm, kneeling beside him. As I stood to leave, everyone was shaking their heads at the tragedy. 'Poor Gromm' one said. 'I knew that Minotaur head was dangerous' another chimed in. But it was the one drunk in the corner whose mutterings caught my ear as I reached for the door...
"Accidents happen."
That was that. I was accepted with open arms. I was told to make my way east, along the blue road, to Cheydinhal. There I would enter a seemingly abandoned house on the eastern edge of town, and meet my new family. They called it the sanctuary. It was a fitting title. We were a family, and that was our home. Like any household, though, I quickly learned our chores. Or, as they were called, contracts.
They said I'd never forget my first contract, but there wasn't anything special about climbing onto some rotting ship and slitting the throat of pirate. He didn't even know I was there. While he drank his wine, I poisoned my blade. And after he savored the final bite of his meal, I savored the final look of disbelief on his face. Everyone always has disbelief on their face. They never think it will happen to them, and when it does they simply can't believe it, even when the knife is twisting in their back. The only excitement I got was when two of his crew came in looking for him. They saw me dive off the balcony into the water, and nothing else. I was careless, though I suppose I learned to be more wary.
It was my second contract that I remember more clearly, for one simple reason: I hate the cold. I remember thinking that when I was given the job. I remember thinking that as the grass beneath my feet slowly turned to tundra while I traveled ever north. And I remember thinking that as I entered that wretched frozen city with the cold evening wind whipping my face and stinging my eyes. Why anyone would live in that gods forsaken wasteland is beyond my understanding.
The local tavern offered me some temporary warmth, rest, and information. The people there weren't too friendly. Maybe those Nords didn't like seeing a son of Valenwood grumbling about their home, but what did I care? I knew I would be leaving as soon as my job was done.
The fire danced hypnotically as I stood warming myself in vain against the chill that was ever present. A few bits of conscience sprouted in my mind at the time. Could I follow through? The first person I murdered, that Nord woman, was an accident more then anything. Rufio? Well he was near death. Frail. Sickly. Weak. Hardly a waste, if at all. And the pirate was like any other bandit or highwayman one may meet on the road. A thug with a boat is still a thug. It almost seemed like justice.
Baenlin wasn't any of those things. He was a man who simply enjoyed the loyalty of a good servant, a nice home, and a nice chair. Could I follow through? The bitter evening wind seemed to howl a bit louder then, and I knew that I really didn't have a choice anymore. Baenlin would die. If not by me then by another, and I would face the consequences. There was no sense in two wasted lives. I stood up, found out where this Baenlin lived, and went to him.
Later when I returned to the tavern for one last bit of warmth before taking my leave back to the sanctuary, a pair of off duty guards walked in, shaking off the blowing snow. They ordered a drink, and talked loud enough for the other patrons to hear. Everyone was hushed as they said how they found poor Baenlin. His broken body still in his favorite chair, his servant, Gromm, kneeling beside him. As I stood to leave, everyone was shaking their heads at the tragedy. 'Poor Gromm' one said. 'I knew that Minotaur head was dangerous' another chimed in. But it was the one drunk in the corner whose mutterings caught my ear as I reached for the door...
"Accidents happen."
Scheduled for Execution.
But there were no accidents. Only contracts. The hours between them were spent either sleeping or training in the Sanctuary. I would go for walks in town at first, enjoying the fresh air and watching people go about their lives. But after a time I began to realize that anyone I met could be a target, and I'd rather know nothing about them when I'm slitting their throats. I wasn't always so lucky.
One such contract brought me to the place where it all began. There, on the banks of Lake Rumare, in front of that same entrance to the sewers that I had escaped from so many weeks ago. I had blocked it out from memory, but it flooded back into my consciousness. The amulet, the Emperor, everything. I stood at the entrance for a time, wondering if everything would still be the same. But as I looked at my reflection in a pool of water and saw my blackened hood and armor stained with blood, I knew that nothing would ever be the same, even faded memory.
I remembered the way through the tunnels, for the most part. Some of the sewers I remember were blocked off, but I found my way through. The familiar walls and floors almost seemed comforting, though I didn't have time to waltz through leisurely. A few guards had been stationed in the ruins beneath the prison, but they were so spread out that it wasn't a problem. Besides, they weren't why I was there.
I didn't even know my targets name before I got the contract, but I knew him. As I approached my old cell through the hidden tunnels, I remembered his bitter taunting and cruel words. I remembered his raspy laughter, his throat hoarse from years of breathing the dry prison air. I grew more and more angry as I drew nearer, and had my dagger tightly gripped...ready to make him suffer. The memories of his mental torment flooded my senses, and I was ready to have the last word.
I heard voices as I stepped through the still open passageway into my old, cool cell. It was a guard, talking to my target. Dreth, he called him. Valen Dreth. My old tormentor had a name. But it didn't matter. He was to suffer. I waited as the guard mentioned how Valen was getting out soon. He would be free. Dreth was just as bitter as ever, and simply hearing his voice made my jaw clench.
But something caught my attention. The guard made a mistake. He mentioned how long Dreth had been there. 7 or 8 years, he had thought. Dreth immediately corrected him. 11. It was 11 long years. I exhaled slowly. My anger, my hate, my revenge melted in a matter of seconds. Dreth had suffered and rotted there for 11 years. I was there for a mere few days. Dreth earned his bitterness, but I didn't earn mine.
I finished that contract, but I didn't make him suffer. As the arrow pierced his heart, I felt a bit of an emotion I hadn't felt in a long time: remorse. It was only for a moment, but it echoed within me like a small stone falling in a large cave. Escaping the tunnels, I swore to forget anything about that wretched place. And as I stepped out of the sewers and back out onto the watery shore, I was glad that Dreth was the only person I knew across the whole province. I couldn't afford to be attached to anyone. As I thought this, words I once heard spoken by a man about to die slipped past my lips subconsciously, and accidentally...
"Gods, give me strength."
But there were no accidents. Only contracts. The hours between them were spent either sleeping or training in the Sanctuary. I would go for walks in town at first, enjoying the fresh air and watching people go about their lives. But after a time I began to realize that anyone I met could be a target, and I'd rather know nothing about them when I'm slitting their throats. I wasn't always so lucky.
One such contract brought me to the place where it all began. There, on the banks of Lake Rumare, in front of that same entrance to the sewers that I had escaped from so many weeks ago. I had blocked it out from memory, but it flooded back into my consciousness. The amulet, the Emperor, everything. I stood at the entrance for a time, wondering if everything would still be the same. But as I looked at my reflection in a pool of water and saw my blackened hood and armor stained with blood, I knew that nothing would ever be the same, even faded memory.
I remembered the way through the tunnels, for the most part. Some of the sewers I remember were blocked off, but I found my way through. The familiar walls and floors almost seemed comforting, though I didn't have time to waltz through leisurely. A few guards had been stationed in the ruins beneath the prison, but they were so spread out that it wasn't a problem. Besides, they weren't why I was there.
I didn't even know my targets name before I got the contract, but I knew him. As I approached my old cell through the hidden tunnels, I remembered his bitter taunting and cruel words. I remembered his raspy laughter, his throat hoarse from years of breathing the dry prison air. I grew more and more angry as I drew nearer, and had my dagger tightly gripped...ready to make him suffer. The memories of his mental torment flooded my senses, and I was ready to have the last word.
I heard voices as I stepped through the still open passageway into my old, cool cell. It was a guard, talking to my target. Dreth, he called him. Valen Dreth. My old tormentor had a name. But it didn't matter. He was to suffer. I waited as the guard mentioned how Valen was getting out soon. He would be free. Dreth was just as bitter as ever, and simply hearing his voice made my jaw clench.
But something caught my attention. The guard made a mistake. He mentioned how long Dreth had been there. 7 or 8 years, he had thought. Dreth immediately corrected him. 11. It was 11 long years. I exhaled slowly. My anger, my hate, my revenge melted in a matter of seconds. Dreth had suffered and rotted there for 11 years. I was there for a mere few days. Dreth earned his bitterness, but I didn't earn mine.
I finished that contract, but I didn't make him suffer. As the arrow pierced his heart, I felt a bit of an emotion I hadn't felt in a long time: remorse. It was only for a moment, but it echoed within me like a small stone falling in a large cave. Escaping the tunnels, I swore to forget anything about that wretched place. And as I stepped out of the sewers and back out onto the watery shore, I was glad that Dreth was the only person I knew across the whole province. I couldn't afford to be attached to anyone. As I thought this, words I once heard spoken by a man about to die slipped past my lips subconsciously, and accidentally...
"Gods, give me strength."
The Lonely Wanderer.
I took some time off after that contract to clear my head. The Imperial City seemed like a good place to get lost for a while. Among the throngs of shoppers, soldiers, merchants, and beggars, I was just another face. In plain sight, yet invisible to everyone. While I wandered, I pondered my situation. I couldn't have those mutterings about the gods 'giving me strength' slipping out in the sanctuary. The Brotherhood was my family, and, like most families, they would judge me the fiercest. I swore an oath to Sithis and no matter how I felt about it, I was bound. That was something I could not forget, or my life would be forfeit.
The vacation was short lived, however. A courier brought me my next contract. Seems I wasn't as invisible as I thought. The target was in the city. Faelian was his name, a skooma junkie, from all accounts, and prone to wandering the streets looking for a quick fix. This would make finding him a bit more difficult, but I figured a simple kill, almost justifiable, would be just the thing to clear my head of that 'gods' nonsense and get me back on track.
After asking around a bit, I found my way to the Tiber Septim Hotel. It was there that my transformation really began. My simple muttering to the gods could have been cast off as a slip of the tongue, but what I experienced there was far more profound. The small cry to the gods was the small pebbles before the rock slide, but the first stones fell when I met Atraena. She was the lover of Faelian. She was young, for a high elf, and possessed a simple beauty. But it wasn't her looks that changed me, but her words.
The more I heard about Faelian, the more I thought this would be easy. He wasted his fortune on his skooma addiction, and became the lowest member of society that even beggars could mock. No-one liked him, and he didn't deserve the life he had wasted. I was certain he wouldn't be missed. And then Atraena opened her mouth, and spoke. She talked of her love for him, even in the state he was in. He was a good man, she insisted to me. He needed help, not judgment. She wanted him so badly to end his addiction, and did so much to help him...but it was for love, not charity or pity. Even though he was oblivious and virtually brain-dead with his addiction, she loved him then more than ever.
I was furious. It was a lie, it had to be. I had found out where he was, and stormed there. I had pushed my way through the crowd violently. No-one would get in my way. She couldn't love him that way, no one could. He was a waste. Filth. He had his chance and blew it. No-one stands by someone like that, and I knew first hand how true that was. When I reached the house where he was, I burst in slamming the door behind me. He was lying on the floor, against the wall, barely able to turn and look at me he was so lost in his skooma. I drew my dagger, leaped on top of him, and unleashed my wrath into his drug-ridden body. His cries sharply pierced the room as I landed blow after blow into his chest.
When finally stopped, to tired to continue, I noticed that the cries continued. They weren't his. They were my own. Faelian's blood soaked my armor and dagger, but my own tears soaked my face. My spirit broke at that very moment, when I realized that Faelian was dead. Not killed because the Night Mother willed it, but dead because he had something I could never have. He, the worst kind of skooma addict that leeched off the very life of everything around him, had the undying love of another...and I killed him because I never had it, and could never have it.
Numb, I cleaned myself up and returned to the sanctuary. I was not the same, and the other family members noticed. To my surprise, they just left me alone. I rested for a few days, barely eating or sleeping. Just enough to stay alive, really. Ocheeva came to me, eventually, with a contract that she thought only I could fulfill. She said it would be good for me to get out. It involved something about a fort and a mercenary captain who was sick. She said the kill would be something to cheer me up, almost medicinal. As I took the contract and went for the door, I softly muttered the first words to come out of my mouth since I talked with Atraena...
"Bad Medicine."
I took some time off after that contract to clear my head. The Imperial City seemed like a good place to get lost for a while. Among the throngs of shoppers, soldiers, merchants, and beggars, I was just another face. In plain sight, yet invisible to everyone. While I wandered, I pondered my situation. I couldn't have those mutterings about the gods 'giving me strength' slipping out in the sanctuary. The Brotherhood was my family, and, like most families, they would judge me the fiercest. I swore an oath to Sithis and no matter how I felt about it, I was bound. That was something I could not forget, or my life would be forfeit.
The vacation was short lived, however. A courier brought me my next contract. Seems I wasn't as invisible as I thought. The target was in the city. Faelian was his name, a skooma junkie, from all accounts, and prone to wandering the streets looking for a quick fix. This would make finding him a bit more difficult, but I figured a simple kill, almost justifiable, would be just the thing to clear my head of that 'gods' nonsense and get me back on track.
After asking around a bit, I found my way to the Tiber Septim Hotel. It was there that my transformation really began. My simple muttering to the gods could have been cast off as a slip of the tongue, but what I experienced there was far more profound. The small cry to the gods was the small pebbles before the rock slide, but the first stones fell when I met Atraena. She was the lover of Faelian. She was young, for a high elf, and possessed a simple beauty. But it wasn't her looks that changed me, but her words.
The more I heard about Faelian, the more I thought this would be easy. He wasted his fortune on his skooma addiction, and became the lowest member of society that even beggars could mock. No-one liked him, and he didn't deserve the life he had wasted. I was certain he wouldn't be missed. And then Atraena opened her mouth, and spoke. She talked of her love for him, even in the state he was in. He was a good man, she insisted to me. He needed help, not judgment. She wanted him so badly to end his addiction, and did so much to help him...but it was for love, not charity or pity. Even though he was oblivious and virtually brain-dead with his addiction, she loved him then more than ever.
I was furious. It was a lie, it had to be. I had found out where he was, and stormed there. I had pushed my way through the crowd violently. No-one would get in my way. She couldn't love him that way, no one could. He was a waste. Filth. He had his chance and blew it. No-one stands by someone like that, and I knew first hand how true that was. When I reached the house where he was, I burst in slamming the door behind me. He was lying on the floor, against the wall, barely able to turn and look at me he was so lost in his skooma. I drew my dagger, leaped on top of him, and unleashed my wrath into his drug-ridden body. His cries sharply pierced the room as I landed blow after blow into his chest.
When finally stopped, to tired to continue, I noticed that the cries continued. They weren't his. They were my own. Faelian's blood soaked my armor and dagger, but my own tears soaked my face. My spirit broke at that very moment, when I realized that Faelian was dead. Not killed because the Night Mother willed it, but dead because he had something I could never have. He, the worst kind of skooma addict that leeched off the very life of everything around him, had the undying love of another...and I killed him because I never had it, and could never have it.
Numb, I cleaned myself up and returned to the sanctuary. I was not the same, and the other family members noticed. To my surprise, they just left me alone. I rested for a few days, barely eating or sleeping. Just enough to stay alive, really. Ocheeva came to me, eventually, with a contract that she thought only I could fulfill. She said it would be good for me to get out. It involved something about a fort and a mercenary captain who was sick. She said the kill would be something to cheer me up, almost medicinal. As I took the contract and went for the door, I softly muttered the first words to come out of my mouth since I talked with Atraena...
"Bad Medicine."
The Assassin's Gambit.
I was right. The cool air within the fort and the ease of which I slipped past the guards and locked doors did little to ease my mind. Atraena's words still echoed within me, nearly to the point of madness. As I slipped past the guards, making my way to the mercenary leader's medicine cabinet to swap his cure for my poison, I was filled with terror that they would hear what I heard. That they would hear Atraena's expressions of love for her now dead Faelian. They didn't, of course, and the job was completed. I was just beginning to feel the effects of something I could only assume at the time was...guilt.
As I traveled back to the sanctuary, I began to reflect on the other family members. They all seemed to revel in their slaughters, boasting of men, woman, and even children falling by their blade. I was like that not so long ago, but now it just seem so unfathomable. What if my next contract was a child? My body already ached with the guilt of slaughtering skooma junkie, and I feared murdering a child would push me over to either complete rebellion to the brotherhood...or complete madness. I couldn't think about that then, though. I had to remain strong. One doesn't simply quit the brotherhood, and I wasn't ready to give up my life quite yet.
Ocheeva was waiting for me at my return to the sanctuary. She had a smile and a contract in her hand. Her smile was one that a friend might have when they've discovered a great solution to a pressing problem of yours. To her, that's exactly what it was. I was to go to Skingrad, to Summitmist Manor, to a party. All the guests had wronged the host in some way, and all of them had to die. With little choice I made my way there. No time to rest. No chance to reconsider.
The door man met me and handed me the key. The guests all assume there is a chest of gold in the house, he told me, but there wasn't. I was to go in, separate them, and slaughter them. I stepped into the house, and met my prey. Matilde Petit, the racist Breton woman who thought much of herself. Primo Antonius, the young Imperial noble who thought less of everyone else. Neville, the Redguard and ex-Imperial Legion soldier who probably bled kingdom pride. Dovesi Dran, the Dunmer who seemed to have a love of anyone powerful. And, finally, Nels the Naughty. A Nord man with a love of drink and crude humor.
Getting to know them, I found that Atraena's hauntings seemed to fade. Maybe I was getting over it? Or getting numb to it? Or maybe, and far more likely, my heart was growing hard with every new bit of information I learned from these people I was locked away with. The Breton's racism reminded me how ignorantly hateful people can be. She fell first, in the basement. You can't cure ignorance, I told her as she bled out on the floor, you can only cut it away like a diseased limb.
Next was the Redguard. Equally as racist as the dead Breton, his unwavering loyalty, even the face of the infamous injustices performed by the Imperial Legion, showed the he wasn't a man who could think for himself. He only could follow orders, regardless of the consequences. I murdered him in his bed with his own weapon, taken from his possessions. But he wasn't asleep, I can assure you of that. How many innocents were killed with this blade, I asked him as he breathed his last, when you were just following orders? Maybe it sickened me because I was guilty of it myself...but you teach best what you must learn most, and I hoped he learned his lesson.
The pompous Imperial was next. His apathy for the others didn't sicken me, it was the fact that he viewed the terror of the guests being picked off one by one as a chance to get close to the Dunmer. As my blade twisted in his back, I whispered in his ear: Your head is held high because you had to tread on the backs of others to get it there. Their work and suffering made your station possible, and the only ones who will mourn your passing will be those who wanted revenge.
The Dunmer died with a similar message in her ears. When she found the Imperial dead, she didn't even mention him in her wailing. She only thought of herself, crying out that he was her chance to get out of the life she was living. Before silencing her for good, I reminded her that perhaps she should have worked hard for her new life, rather then assume it would fall in her lap in the form of some rich Imperial.
Nels was the last, and for that I am grateful. Nels was the loudest of them all. The dirtiest, the most crude, and the most repulsive. I found him hunched over the body of the Dunmer, and I moved to end his debauchery and this farce once and for all. Getting nearer, though, I heard a noise coming from Nels. A noise I knew all to well. This big, drunken, crude lout...was weeping. He clutched the Dunmer's body to him like a child, and softly said the same name over and over again: Olga.
He turned and saw me. Knowing who I was, then, he told me of his daughter, Olga, and how she had been slaughtered by bandits. Nels said how he never forgave himself for not being there for her, and let his life, now devoid of meaning, spiral into drinking and brawling. The Dunmer, in his eyes, was the spitting image of his late daughter, and seeing her body was like watching Olga die all over again. Turning to me, he fell on his knees and begged for me to end his life...he no longer had the will to live after watching his only daughter die twice. Unlike the others, I made sure he passed quickly.
I mentioned how I was grateful that Nels was the last. I say this because had I truly known Nels before killing any of the others, I don't think I could have followed through. Nels had every reason for his broken life, but I passed my judgment on the others before hearing anything else about them. When I started with the Brotherhood, things seemed easy. The people got what they deserved, I was told. It was the will of Sithis and the Night Mother. Turns out that things were never easy, I just never thought for myself. I passed by a wayshrine of Dibella while returning home. Walking around it, tracing my fingers across it's ornate surface, I couldn't help but notice the contrast between this altar of love, and my blood stained hands. I could hear the priests now...
"Repent of your sins, wicked one!"
I was right. The cool air within the fort and the ease of which I slipped past the guards and locked doors did little to ease my mind. Atraena's words still echoed within me, nearly to the point of madness. As I slipped past the guards, making my way to the mercenary leader's medicine cabinet to swap his cure for my poison, I was filled with terror that they would hear what I heard. That they would hear Atraena's expressions of love for her now dead Faelian. They didn't, of course, and the job was completed. I was just beginning to feel the effects of something I could only assume at the time was...guilt.
As I traveled back to the sanctuary, I began to reflect on the other family members. They all seemed to revel in their slaughters, boasting of men, woman, and even children falling by their blade. I was like that not so long ago, but now it just seem so unfathomable. What if my next contract was a child? My body already ached with the guilt of slaughtering skooma junkie, and I feared murdering a child would push me over to either complete rebellion to the brotherhood...or complete madness. I couldn't think about that then, though. I had to remain strong. One doesn't simply quit the brotherhood, and I wasn't ready to give up my life quite yet.
Ocheeva was waiting for me at my return to the sanctuary. She had a smile and a contract in her hand. Her smile was one that a friend might have when they've discovered a great solution to a pressing problem of yours. To her, that's exactly what it was. I was to go to Skingrad, to Summitmist Manor, to a party. All the guests had wronged the host in some way, and all of them had to die. With little choice I made my way there. No time to rest. No chance to reconsider.
The door man met me and handed me the key. The guests all assume there is a chest of gold in the house, he told me, but there wasn't. I was to go in, separate them, and slaughter them. I stepped into the house, and met my prey. Matilde Petit, the racist Breton woman who thought much of herself. Primo Antonius, the young Imperial noble who thought less of everyone else. Neville, the Redguard and ex-Imperial Legion soldier who probably bled kingdom pride. Dovesi Dran, the Dunmer who seemed to have a love of anyone powerful. And, finally, Nels the Naughty. A Nord man with a love of drink and crude humor.
Getting to know them, I found that Atraena's hauntings seemed to fade. Maybe I was getting over it? Or getting numb to it? Or maybe, and far more likely, my heart was growing hard with every new bit of information I learned from these people I was locked away with. The Breton's racism reminded me how ignorantly hateful people can be. She fell first, in the basement. You can't cure ignorance, I told her as she bled out on the floor, you can only cut it away like a diseased limb.
Next was the Redguard. Equally as racist as the dead Breton, his unwavering loyalty, even the face of the infamous injustices performed by the Imperial Legion, showed the he wasn't a man who could think for himself. He only could follow orders, regardless of the consequences. I murdered him in his bed with his own weapon, taken from his possessions. But he wasn't asleep, I can assure you of that. How many innocents were killed with this blade, I asked him as he breathed his last, when you were just following orders? Maybe it sickened me because I was guilty of it myself...but you teach best what you must learn most, and I hoped he learned his lesson.
The pompous Imperial was next. His apathy for the others didn't sicken me, it was the fact that he viewed the terror of the guests being picked off one by one as a chance to get close to the Dunmer. As my blade twisted in his back, I whispered in his ear: Your head is held high because you had to tread on the backs of others to get it there. Their work and suffering made your station possible, and the only ones who will mourn your passing will be those who wanted revenge.
The Dunmer died with a similar message in her ears. When she found the Imperial dead, she didn't even mention him in her wailing. She only thought of herself, crying out that he was her chance to get out of the life she was living. Before silencing her for good, I reminded her that perhaps she should have worked hard for her new life, rather then assume it would fall in her lap in the form of some rich Imperial.
Nels was the last, and for that I am grateful. Nels was the loudest of them all. The dirtiest, the most crude, and the most repulsive. I found him hunched over the body of the Dunmer, and I moved to end his debauchery and this farce once and for all. Getting nearer, though, I heard a noise coming from Nels. A noise I knew all to well. This big, drunken, crude lout...was weeping. He clutched the Dunmer's body to him like a child, and softly said the same name over and over again: Olga.
He turned and saw me. Knowing who I was, then, he told me of his daughter, Olga, and how she had been slaughtered by bandits. Nels said how he never forgave himself for not being there for her, and let his life, now devoid of meaning, spiral into drinking and brawling. The Dunmer, in his eyes, was the spitting image of his late daughter, and seeing her body was like watching Olga die all over again. Turning to me, he fell on his knees and begged for me to end his life...he no longer had the will to live after watching his only daughter die twice. Unlike the others, I made sure he passed quickly.
I mentioned how I was grateful that Nels was the last. I say this because had I truly known Nels before killing any of the others, I don't think I could have followed through. Nels had every reason for his broken life, but I passed my judgment on the others before hearing anything else about them. When I started with the Brotherhood, things seemed easy. The people got what they deserved, I was told. It was the will of Sithis and the Night Mother. Turns out that things were never easy, I just never thought for myself. I passed by a wayshrine of Dibella while returning home. Walking around it, tracing my fingers across it's ornate surface, I couldn't help but notice the contrast between this altar of love, and my blood stained hands. I could hear the priests now...
"Repent of your sins, wicked one!"
Of Secret and Shadow.
I first thought the brotherhood was above revenge. Looking back, I see now that I only thought that because I didn't truly know what I was getting into. Adamus Phillida was an Imperial Legion officer whose only apparent aim was the total destruction of the brotherhood. When I first joined, I would join in with the other family member's curses of him and his meddling. As time passed, however, and I slowly began to realize who I truly was, and was not, not only did I not join in on their cursing of him, but I began to respect the man. He had his convictions as much as we had ours, and I began to see the value of his the more contracts I fulfilled. Imagine my surprise and dilemma, then, when Ocheeva dropped my next contract in my lap, and it was for him.
Adamus was retired now, and seemed to have one simple joy left, a daily swim, and I was given a very special arrow, designed strictly for him. I rolled it over and over in my hand as I sat waiting in the bushes near his favorite swimming spot. I was in another position I didn't like to be in. Adamus had to die, but I didn't want to do it. I rationalized the way I always did before: He would die either way, and if I didn't do it, the both of us would die and my death would be meaningless. But I made sure to make my position on this contract known. I wonder what the guards thought when they pulled the arrow out of Adamus' body, and looked closer at the unique arrow. Between the blood-covered barb and the perfect black feathers, along the shaft, was carved a simple message: Please, forgive me.
Another useless death, is what I kept repeating to myself on my way back to the sanctuary. Adamus was at the least a worthy adversary, and deserved better. The Night Mother and Sithis began to seem less like powerful beings, and more like petty children. No honor, no respect. I wrestled with this the whole way back to the sanctuary, or I would have if I ever made it back. A brotherhood courier stopped me and handed me a message. It was from L. He needed me to meet him at his own personal sanctuary immediately. It was of the utmost importance. I hadn't seen him since my first test, and at once I was terrified...shivers ran down my spine. Did he know my troubles? Would I be exposed? Was this my time? Should I flee and try to escape? But, for either terror or curiosity, I went.
When I arrived at his sanctuary, I remembered how chilling L's presence was. Truly there could not be many in this world as terrifying as him. Approaching me, he began to tell me of a traitor in the midst of the brotherhood. My blood ran cold. This traitor's identity is unknown, but L knew that they were from my home sanctuary. My pulse raced. He paused, and it seemed like an eternity before L spoke again, and when he did my heart nearly stopped: It wasn't me. It couldn't be, since the traitor had been working within the brotherhood since before I joined. They had no idea of my troubles. My relief, unfortunately, was short lived.
I was to perform a rare ritual called the 'purification'. Everyone within my home sanctuary had to die, and they had to die by my hand. For all my struggles with what the Brotherhood did, I still thought of those people as my family. They trusted me, and I was to murder every last one. They didn't even know who the traitor was! Didn't the Night Mother or Sithis know? Couldn't they divine who the traitor was and expose them? No. No they couldn't. L asked me if I was ready, and for everything I experienced and struggled with, my terror of him seemed greater at that moment then ever before. If he killed them, it would be brutal, painful, and merciless. I couldn't let that happen.
All the members gathered around the dining table, as I requested. Not one was missing. I told them of my elevation into the Black Hand, and how I would be taking my leave of the sanctuary. I told them how we didn't always see eye to eye, especially as of late, but I still saw them as my family. I told them I'd never forget the lessons learned here. Finally, raising my glass, I proposed a toast. Let us drink I started, and paused until they all drank. I then finished: Let us drink to mercy, forgiveness, and a life of freedom, not servitude.
As the glasses and goblets clattered to the table and floor, the confusion on their face never changed its shape, only the reason behind it. First was their confusion on what I said, then confusion as they realized what was happening. They fell quickly...I made sure to get a painless, fast acting poison. They didn't even have time to ask me why. I sat with my family for a time, their lifeless bodies slumped around the table, and did something I hadn't done since I was a boy. I prayed. Not to Sithis, and not to the Night Mother, but to the Nine. Specifically: Dibella. The Goddess of Love. I prayed for forgiveness, for understanding, and for strength...but mostly I prayed for my now dead family. Whatever mercy could be shown them, I would have them receive it.
I wasn't afraid of Sithis or the Night Mother anymore. They had shown their impotence, or at least the lack of their worth for being in existence. Even if the gods I prayed to that day were false, their message at least gave people happiness, joy, love. The message of Sithis gave what? Happiness and joy to the few who caused so much more death and grief? Nothing more then a tool for the prideful, greedy, and vengeful. I knew I wasn't guiltless. I had participated, but I knew I had to right what I had done.
As I returned to L, I made that hard decision. I would continue with the Black Hand, if at least to find a way to cripple them irreparably. It would be hard, I knew, but I wouldn't allow my life to end without trying to find a way to properly pay for my crimes. L passed me my first orders, my first dead drop, and gave me my leave completely oblivious to my plans. As the sun hit my face upon leaving his sanctuary, I was reminded of a very similar situation that happened to me so long ago. Instead of the shore of Lake Rumare, I stood on a hill over looking Cheydinhal. And instead of feeling too small and insignificant to make such a large decision, I knew that I was capable and also responsible to follow through. I would not forget, and I would not stop. It was, for me...
A Matter of Honor.
I first thought the brotherhood was above revenge. Looking back, I see now that I only thought that because I didn't truly know what I was getting into. Adamus Phillida was an Imperial Legion officer whose only apparent aim was the total destruction of the brotherhood. When I first joined, I would join in with the other family member's curses of him and his meddling. As time passed, however, and I slowly began to realize who I truly was, and was not, not only did I not join in on their cursing of him, but I began to respect the man. He had his convictions as much as we had ours, and I began to see the value of his the more contracts I fulfilled. Imagine my surprise and dilemma, then, when Ocheeva dropped my next contract in my lap, and it was for him.
Adamus was retired now, and seemed to have one simple joy left, a daily swim, and I was given a very special arrow, designed strictly for him. I rolled it over and over in my hand as I sat waiting in the bushes near his favorite swimming spot. I was in another position I didn't like to be in. Adamus had to die, but I didn't want to do it. I rationalized the way I always did before: He would die either way, and if I didn't do it, the both of us would die and my death would be meaningless. But I made sure to make my position on this contract known. I wonder what the guards thought when they pulled the arrow out of Adamus' body, and looked closer at the unique arrow. Between the blood-covered barb and the perfect black feathers, along the shaft, was carved a simple message: Please, forgive me.
Another useless death, is what I kept repeating to myself on my way back to the sanctuary. Adamus was at the least a worthy adversary, and deserved better. The Night Mother and Sithis began to seem less like powerful beings, and more like petty children. No honor, no respect. I wrestled with this the whole way back to the sanctuary, or I would have if I ever made it back. A brotherhood courier stopped me and handed me a message. It was from L. He needed me to meet him at his own personal sanctuary immediately. It was of the utmost importance. I hadn't seen him since my first test, and at once I was terrified...shivers ran down my spine. Did he know my troubles? Would I be exposed? Was this my time? Should I flee and try to escape? But, for either terror or curiosity, I went.
When I arrived at his sanctuary, I remembered how chilling L's presence was. Truly there could not be many in this world as terrifying as him. Approaching me, he began to tell me of a traitor in the midst of the brotherhood. My blood ran cold. This traitor's identity is unknown, but L knew that they were from my home sanctuary. My pulse raced. He paused, and it seemed like an eternity before L spoke again, and when he did my heart nearly stopped: It wasn't me. It couldn't be, since the traitor had been working within the brotherhood since before I joined. They had no idea of my troubles. My relief, unfortunately, was short lived.
I was to perform a rare ritual called the 'purification'. Everyone within my home sanctuary had to die, and they had to die by my hand. For all my struggles with what the Brotherhood did, I still thought of those people as my family. They trusted me, and I was to murder every last one. They didn't even know who the traitor was! Didn't the Night Mother or Sithis know? Couldn't they divine who the traitor was and expose them? No. No they couldn't. L asked me if I was ready, and for everything I experienced and struggled with, my terror of him seemed greater at that moment then ever before. If he killed them, it would be brutal, painful, and merciless. I couldn't let that happen.
All the members gathered around the dining table, as I requested. Not one was missing. I told them of my elevation into the Black Hand, and how I would be taking my leave of the sanctuary. I told them how we didn't always see eye to eye, especially as of late, but I still saw them as my family. I told them I'd never forget the lessons learned here. Finally, raising my glass, I proposed a toast. Let us drink I started, and paused until they all drank. I then finished: Let us drink to mercy, forgiveness, and a life of freedom, not servitude.
As the glasses and goblets clattered to the table and floor, the confusion on their face never changed its shape, only the reason behind it. First was their confusion on what I said, then confusion as they realized what was happening. They fell quickly...I made sure to get a painless, fast acting poison. They didn't even have time to ask me why. I sat with my family for a time, their lifeless bodies slumped around the table, and did something I hadn't done since I was a boy. I prayed. Not to Sithis, and not to the Night Mother, but to the Nine. Specifically: Dibella. The Goddess of Love. I prayed for forgiveness, for understanding, and for strength...but mostly I prayed for my now dead family. Whatever mercy could be shown them, I would have them receive it.
I wasn't afraid of Sithis or the Night Mother anymore. They had shown their impotence, or at least the lack of their worth for being in existence. Even if the gods I prayed to that day were false, their message at least gave people happiness, joy, love. The message of Sithis gave what? Happiness and joy to the few who caused so much more death and grief? Nothing more then a tool for the prideful, greedy, and vengeful. I knew I wasn't guiltless. I had participated, but I knew I had to right what I had done.
As I returned to L, I made that hard decision. I would continue with the Black Hand, if at least to find a way to cripple them irreparably. It would be hard, I knew, but I wouldn't allow my life to end without trying to find a way to properly pay for my crimes. L passed me my first orders, my first dead drop, and gave me my leave completely oblivious to my plans. As the sun hit my face upon leaving his sanctuary, I was reminded of a very similar situation that happened to me so long ago. Instead of the shore of Lake Rumare, I stood on a hill over looking Cheydinhal. And instead of feeling too small and insignificant to make such a large decision, I knew that I was capable and also responsible to follow through. I would not forget, and I would not stop. It was, for me...
A Matter of Honor.
Broken Vows.
I had to keep my head down and do what I was told if I was ever going to find an opening or opportunity to right the wrongs I had done. That's what I kept telling myself during my first few dead drop contracts. First a Necromancer, greedy and power hungry. I didn't have trouble dispatching him. My second contract, however, was the final test of my nerves and resolve.
The Draconis family in it's entirety was my target. The mother, who was old, frail, and kind. The daughter who went to live with the animals and became one herself. The other daughter who instead chased order, and became a town guard. The son who owned his own inn. And the rich successful son who lived in the Imperial City. I killed them quickly, and silently. No suffering for the innocent, only my apologies. I wondered if I would be able to continue this farce, and considered ending my own life as a form of justice for my crimes.
But something both within me, and without, kept me going. As I knelt in the back of my new sanctuary, the chapel of Dibella, far from the 'pure' worshipers, I could swear I heard a voice in my ear...not much longer now. I steeled my nerves and my resolve that day. Justice had to be done, and I was the only one with a conscience in the position to do anything about it. I stood, and took one final look around the chapel. During those hard times of self-realization, I had found much comfort within those walls. But I would not wallow in self-doubt there and vowed that I wouldn't return until it was completed, so that when I did return, it would be to face my judgment with my head high.
The next contracts came quickly, and fell easily. The Khajiit, the Argonian, the Dunmer, and the Nord were stronger then my usual targets, but my job was done. I didn't feel the same moral pangs when I killed them, either, and I cast it off as my new resolve to find true justice. It wasn't until I killed my final contract that it all began to make sense. He was a son of Valenwood, like me. He stood facing the old statue of a woman in Leyawiin, as if he expected it to speak. The second my bow-string released it's fatal arrow, a firm hand grasped my shoulder.
I spun around, face to face with L. He shoved me aside, taking a few steps toward the Woodelf now slumped forward against the statue, my arrow in his head. If I was ever terrified of L when he was calm, the terror of his anger is beyond description. He drew his blade and approached me, accusing me of being a traitor. He said that I had hunted down the members of the Black Hand, one by one, and slaughtered them all. And my final target? The Woodelf? The very Listener himself. He shoved me to the ground, my dead drop orders falling at his feet. His raised sword paused and the sight of the contracts. He seemed confused by them, and picked them up. Examined them.
By that point, I was still reeling with the thought of my previous contracts. The Black Hand? I had been the administer of the justice I sought for so long without even knowing it. Was I finished, then? Will L's final strike against me be the final part of my judgment? I looked up at L as he poured over my contracts, and he seemed to see the confusion in my eyes. Lowering his blade, he said I was innocent, and there was another traitor who was fooling us both. My work wasn't done. I was to find and kill him. My first thought was to tell L the truth and end it once and for all, but my thoughts raced about this traitor. Maybe he, or she, was like me. Struggling to cope with the injustice of the Dark Brotherhood. I had to know, and I agreed to find them.
My investigations led me to the port town of Anvil. How I discovered the traitor isn't important, but what is important is my discovery at his home. This traitor wasn't a person struggling with morality, it was a person struggling with sanity. The walls and floor covered in more blood and gore then I've ever seen. An alter was there with the decapitated head of some woman, and his journal was filled with the ramblings of someone barely in touch with reality, but yet so focused on an unbridled hate and fury, that it screamed obsession. The Brotherhood had wronged him, and he was seeking his own justice. We weren't as similar as I had hoped. The only thing I did not discover was the traitor himself, but little did I know that would be soon enough.
Applewatch Farm was the place where I was to meet L with any and all information I could find on the traitor, but as I approached the door to the old house it swung open. A hooded figure stood in the doorway, but it wasn't L. It was some High Elf woman in dark robes. She said her name was Arquen, a member of the black hand. She motioned me to enter, saying how they had caught the traitor. There were 3 others there, black hand members all. And there, between them, was L as I never saw him before. He was hung up by his feet, and his body mutilated and tortured nearly beyond recognition. His blood and entrails were splashed and splattered across the floor and walls. I could only recognize him from the intensity of the one eye left in his skull. That stare was unforgettable.
They were wrong. They stood there, explaining how L had used me and the others to kill off the black hand, but they were wrong. The journal I found was written by someone who was calculated, but certainly not calm. L was a terror, of that there is no doubt, but to say he was insane was not fully right. He may have been insane, but not the type to write that gibberish I found. No, his insanity would have been to coolly and calmly watch you bleed to death without making any expression, something I'm sure he did on more then one occasion.
It was as I was fixated on the now lifeless body of the ever soulless L that they said something to snap me from my trance. They were going to take me with them to see the Night Mother. The loss of the Listener crippled the Dark Brotherhood, and they needed her consultation. I had this one opportunity to see for myself the 'divinity' of the Night Mother, and I took it. The journey was uneventful, and I had guessed our destination based on the revelations following my last contract: The statue of the old woman in Leyawiin. The summoning ritual was simple and short, though it's effects truly were chilling. The once simple and quaint statue twisted and distorted from the kindly old woman to the grotesque image of what I assumed was the Night Mother. A door was made available, and I descended.
If you are a brother or sister of the Brotherhood reading this and you're aching to learn about the Night Mother's appearance, may your curiosity die here. She was no more divine then the rest of the undead haunting the barrows and pits of this land. Powerful? Indeed. A god? No more then you or I. As I realized that this Brotherhood was no more then a cult, she spoke. Her cold, lifeless voice sang the praises of L, and began to speak on how the traitor was still at large when the true traitor attacked. It was a member of the Black Hand: Mathieu Bellamont. He quickly slew Banus Alor and Belisarius Arius, two other members, before turning to me. I had not interfered by that point, and wouldn't have if he hadn't attacked me. Looking back, I probably should have let him cut me down, but instinct took over.
Mathieu quickly lay dead on the crypt floor, and the Night Mother spoke again. This time, to me. She had been following my progress, watching me. I worked my way quickly through the ranks of the Brotherhood and achieved much. Not once did she mention my struggles, my trips to the chapels, or my prayers to the Nine. It was then that I was certain of her true identity as and old, powerful, angry specter, and not as a god. A god would have known the traitor's identity, would know these things about me. She knew none of these. I was to be rewarded, she said to me. What else could a spirit give then station in it's own cult? I was to be the very Listener himself, second to none but the Night Mother. Was it an honor? No, it was an opportunity. I thanked the Night Mother and took my leave with Arquen, the only remaining black hand member. She told me to meet her at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary to learn my duties. To learn to...
"Honour Thy Mother."
I had to keep my head down and do what I was told if I was ever going to find an opening or opportunity to right the wrongs I had done. That's what I kept telling myself during my first few dead drop contracts. First a Necromancer, greedy and power hungry. I didn't have trouble dispatching him. My second contract, however, was the final test of my nerves and resolve.
The Draconis family in it's entirety was my target. The mother, who was old, frail, and kind. The daughter who went to live with the animals and became one herself. The other daughter who instead chased order, and became a town guard. The son who owned his own inn. And the rich successful son who lived in the Imperial City. I killed them quickly, and silently. No suffering for the innocent, only my apologies. I wondered if I would be able to continue this farce, and considered ending my own life as a form of justice for my crimes.
But something both within me, and without, kept me going. As I knelt in the back of my new sanctuary, the chapel of Dibella, far from the 'pure' worshipers, I could swear I heard a voice in my ear...not much longer now. I steeled my nerves and my resolve that day. Justice had to be done, and I was the only one with a conscience in the position to do anything about it. I stood, and took one final look around the chapel. During those hard times of self-realization, I had found much comfort within those walls. But I would not wallow in self-doubt there and vowed that I wouldn't return until it was completed, so that when I did return, it would be to face my judgment with my head high.
The next contracts came quickly, and fell easily. The Khajiit, the Argonian, the Dunmer, and the Nord were stronger then my usual targets, but my job was done. I didn't feel the same moral pangs when I killed them, either, and I cast it off as my new resolve to find true justice. It wasn't until I killed my final contract that it all began to make sense. He was a son of Valenwood, like me. He stood facing the old statue of a woman in Leyawiin, as if he expected it to speak. The second my bow-string released it's fatal arrow, a firm hand grasped my shoulder.
I spun around, face to face with L. He shoved me aside, taking a few steps toward the Woodelf now slumped forward against the statue, my arrow in his head. If I was ever terrified of L when he was calm, the terror of his anger is beyond description. He drew his blade and approached me, accusing me of being a traitor. He said that I had hunted down the members of the Black Hand, one by one, and slaughtered them all. And my final target? The Woodelf? The very Listener himself. He shoved me to the ground, my dead drop orders falling at his feet. His raised sword paused and the sight of the contracts. He seemed confused by them, and picked them up. Examined them.
By that point, I was still reeling with the thought of my previous contracts. The Black Hand? I had been the administer of the justice I sought for so long without even knowing it. Was I finished, then? Will L's final strike against me be the final part of my judgment? I looked up at L as he poured over my contracts, and he seemed to see the confusion in my eyes. Lowering his blade, he said I was innocent, and there was another traitor who was fooling us both. My work wasn't done. I was to find and kill him. My first thought was to tell L the truth and end it once and for all, but my thoughts raced about this traitor. Maybe he, or she, was like me. Struggling to cope with the injustice of the Dark Brotherhood. I had to know, and I agreed to find them.
My investigations led me to the port town of Anvil. How I discovered the traitor isn't important, but what is important is my discovery at his home. This traitor wasn't a person struggling with morality, it was a person struggling with sanity. The walls and floor covered in more blood and gore then I've ever seen. An alter was there with the decapitated head of some woman, and his journal was filled with the ramblings of someone barely in touch with reality, but yet so focused on an unbridled hate and fury, that it screamed obsession. The Brotherhood had wronged him, and he was seeking his own justice. We weren't as similar as I had hoped. The only thing I did not discover was the traitor himself, but little did I know that would be soon enough.
Applewatch Farm was the place where I was to meet L with any and all information I could find on the traitor, but as I approached the door to the old house it swung open. A hooded figure stood in the doorway, but it wasn't L. It was some High Elf woman in dark robes. She said her name was Arquen, a member of the black hand. She motioned me to enter, saying how they had caught the traitor. There were 3 others there, black hand members all. And there, between them, was L as I never saw him before. He was hung up by his feet, and his body mutilated and tortured nearly beyond recognition. His blood and entrails were splashed and splattered across the floor and walls. I could only recognize him from the intensity of the one eye left in his skull. That stare was unforgettable.
They were wrong. They stood there, explaining how L had used me and the others to kill off the black hand, but they were wrong. The journal I found was written by someone who was calculated, but certainly not calm. L was a terror, of that there is no doubt, but to say he was insane was not fully right. He may have been insane, but not the type to write that gibberish I found. No, his insanity would have been to coolly and calmly watch you bleed to death without making any expression, something I'm sure he did on more then one occasion.
It was as I was fixated on the now lifeless body of the ever soulless L that they said something to snap me from my trance. They were going to take me with them to see the Night Mother. The loss of the Listener crippled the Dark Brotherhood, and they needed her consultation. I had this one opportunity to see for myself the 'divinity' of the Night Mother, and I took it. The journey was uneventful, and I had guessed our destination based on the revelations following my last contract: The statue of the old woman in Leyawiin. The summoning ritual was simple and short, though it's effects truly were chilling. The once simple and quaint statue twisted and distorted from the kindly old woman to the grotesque image of what I assumed was the Night Mother. A door was made available, and I descended.
If you are a brother or sister of the Brotherhood reading this and you're aching to learn about the Night Mother's appearance, may your curiosity die here. She was no more divine then the rest of the undead haunting the barrows and pits of this land. Powerful? Indeed. A god? No more then you or I. As I realized that this Brotherhood was no more then a cult, she spoke. Her cold, lifeless voice sang the praises of L, and began to speak on how the traitor was still at large when the true traitor attacked. It was a member of the Black Hand: Mathieu Bellamont. He quickly slew Banus Alor and Belisarius Arius, two other members, before turning to me. I had not interfered by that point, and wouldn't have if he hadn't attacked me. Looking back, I probably should have let him cut me down, but instinct took over.
Mathieu quickly lay dead on the crypt floor, and the Night Mother spoke again. This time, to me. She had been following my progress, watching me. I worked my way quickly through the ranks of the Brotherhood and achieved much. Not once did she mention my struggles, my trips to the chapels, or my prayers to the Nine. It was then that I was certain of her true identity as and old, powerful, angry specter, and not as a god. A god would have known the traitor's identity, would know these things about me. She knew none of these. I was to be rewarded, she said to me. What else could a spirit give then station in it's own cult? I was to be the very Listener himself, second to none but the Night Mother. Was it an honor? No, it was an opportunity. I thanked the Night Mother and took my leave with Arquen, the only remaining black hand member. She told me to meet her at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary to learn my duties. To learn to...
"Honour Thy Mother."
Epilogue.
That brings me to now. Brothers and sister of the Dark Brotherhood: I have written this out so that those in the brotherhood can read my story, learn, and change. Read and understand I was once like you. I was lost, confused, and broken. I thought my options were slim and few. I needed acceptance, and I thought I found it within the chilling embrace of this 'family'. But I didn't. I found a family that uses you, manipulates you, and twists any sense of right or wrong you hold. Some members were beyond help, but there was good in even the most terrible, which means there is good in you.
Learn to think for yourselves. Learn that the Night Mother's divinity is self proclaimed, and that her aim isn't happiness for herself or her followers. Her aim is that everyone is as angry and alone as she is. Take charge of the life you have been given! The Night Mother would take it from you to use as she sees fit, but you are not slaves. Even the Nine wish you to live your life in happiness. Learn to love again, learn to forgive again, and learn what it means to be merciful. It is by those virtues that life has true meaning.
And change, dear brothers and sisters, change. You are not a lost cause. If you can see the need for you to change, you are not lost. It was by that same glimmer of understanding that I struggled and pulled myself from the depths of the Brotherhood's grasp. You can be forgiven, and you can be loved.
My journey ends here, however. This journal is entitled 'My Confessions', so let it be:
I confess that I have murdered for convenience.
That I have murdered in anger.
That I have murdered for selfishness.
That I have murdered because I was simply told to.
I confess that I have stolen, lied, and cheated my way to this point.
I confess that I have destroyed families, friendships, homes, and trusts.
And I confess that there is nothing that I can do in this life to truly repay what I've done.
I am Daes, a Son of Valenwood, the Listener for the Dark Brotherhood, and I will face my judgment.
Arquen slowly closed the journal, gingerly running her fingers along the cover in the candlelight. She looked up and saw the young assassin who brought it in. "Where is the Listener?" She asked once more, though quieter...calmer...as if she already knew the answer. "I-I-I found his body at Applewatch Farm. He hung himself, Mistress." Arquen stood, her mind racing with the events of the past few days, and the revelations of the Listener's journal. "Did you touch him?" she began to pace the room "No M-m-mistress." She stopped. "Take me to him" she said. "N-n-now Mistress?" the young member stammered out. Arquen turned to him, the authority returning to her voice "Yes, now."
The door to Applewatch creaked open, Arquen and the young initiate stepping into the musty room. Arquen knew how much death this room had seen. She still remembered the defiant screams of Lucian as she flayed his dying body. The blood stains were still on the floor. She stepped deeper into the room, toward the center...toward a slowly swinging shadow hanging from the same beam Lucian hung from. She snapped her fingers, prompting the initiate to bring up the light of his torch. The light chased the shadows from the hanging figure, and as his face was revealed she caught her breath.
"What does it mean?" The young initiate asked her. "Who else saw this?" She said softly. "Only m-m-me, Mistress" Staring at the Listener, she could barely whisper "Did you read the journal?" The initiate look at the floor "Yes, Mistr-" His voice stopped short. Arquen slowly pulled her blade from his stomach, and watched him slump to the floor. "You think you're so smart" she muttered to the swinging dead body of the Listener "You know you've crippled the Brotherhood, don't you?" her voice vainly tried to raise to show her authority, but she didn't know who she was trying to fool "Sithis is dealing with you now!" She screamed in his face, though even she could hear how hollow that threat was. Jaw clenched, she dropped the journal at the feet of the Listener and kicked the torch from the dead initiate into the corner. Stepping to the doorway, Arquen turned back once more as the flames began to envelope the house. She took one final look at the Listener hanging from the rafter, a smile on his face, and a small sign hanging from his neck that read:
"I am forgiven."
She would forever swear that the tears streaming down her face were from the smoke.
That brings me to now. Brothers and sister of the Dark Brotherhood: I have written this out so that those in the brotherhood can read my story, learn, and change. Read and understand I was once like you. I was lost, confused, and broken. I thought my options were slim and few. I needed acceptance, and I thought I found it within the chilling embrace of this 'family'. But I didn't. I found a family that uses you, manipulates you, and twists any sense of right or wrong you hold. Some members were beyond help, but there was good in even the most terrible, which means there is good in you.
Learn to think for yourselves. Learn that the Night Mother's divinity is self proclaimed, and that her aim isn't happiness for herself or her followers. Her aim is that everyone is as angry and alone as she is. Take charge of the life you have been given! The Night Mother would take it from you to use as she sees fit, but you are not slaves. Even the Nine wish you to live your life in happiness. Learn to love again, learn to forgive again, and learn what it means to be merciful. It is by those virtues that life has true meaning.
And change, dear brothers and sisters, change. You are not a lost cause. If you can see the need for you to change, you are not lost. It was by that same glimmer of understanding that I struggled and pulled myself from the depths of the Brotherhood's grasp. You can be forgiven, and you can be loved.
My journey ends here, however. This journal is entitled 'My Confessions', so let it be:
I confess that I have murdered for convenience.
That I have murdered in anger.
That I have murdered for selfishness.
That I have murdered because I was simply told to.
I confess that I have stolen, lied, and cheated my way to this point.
I confess that I have destroyed families, friendships, homes, and trusts.
And I confess that there is nothing that I can do in this life to truly repay what I've done.
I am Daes, a Son of Valenwood, the Listener for the Dark Brotherhood, and I will face my judgment.
Arquen slowly closed the journal, gingerly running her fingers along the cover in the candlelight. She looked up and saw the young assassin who brought it in. "Where is the Listener?" She asked once more, though quieter...calmer...as if she already knew the answer. "I-I-I found his body at Applewatch Farm. He hung himself, Mistress." Arquen stood, her mind racing with the events of the past few days, and the revelations of the Listener's journal. "Did you touch him?" she began to pace the room "No M-m-mistress." She stopped. "Take me to him" she said. "N-n-now Mistress?" the young member stammered out. Arquen turned to him, the authority returning to her voice "Yes, now."
The door to Applewatch creaked open, Arquen and the young initiate stepping into the musty room. Arquen knew how much death this room had seen. She still remembered the defiant screams of Lucian as she flayed his dying body. The blood stains were still on the floor. She stepped deeper into the room, toward the center...toward a slowly swinging shadow hanging from the same beam Lucian hung from. She snapped her fingers, prompting the initiate to bring up the light of his torch. The light chased the shadows from the hanging figure, and as his face was revealed she caught her breath.
"What does it mean?" The young initiate asked her. "Who else saw this?" She said softly. "Only m-m-me, Mistress" Staring at the Listener, she could barely whisper "Did you read the journal?" The initiate look at the floor "Yes, Mistr-" His voice stopped short. Arquen slowly pulled her blade from his stomach, and watched him slump to the floor. "You think you're so smart" she muttered to the swinging dead body of the Listener "You know you've crippled the Brotherhood, don't you?" her voice vainly tried to raise to show her authority, but she didn't know who she was trying to fool "Sithis is dealing with you now!" She screamed in his face, though even she could hear how hollow that threat was. Jaw clenched, she dropped the journal at the feet of the Listener and kicked the torch from the dead initiate into the corner. Stepping to the doorway, Arquen turned back once more as the flames began to envelope the house. She took one final look at the Listener hanging from the rafter, a smile on his face, and a small sign hanging from his neck that read:
"I am forgiven."
She would forever swear that the tears streaming down her face were from the smoke.
I want to say a big 'thank you' to all those who commented and gave encouragement and tips for improvement! I've never written anything like this before, and it was great to hear all the feedback! It was those posts that kept me writing! Notably Galletea and NewClassic, who offered really great advice and put up with my bugging them consistently for feedback and spamming the IRC whenever I put out a new 'chapter'.
I'm considering writing another episodic story, though I'm not sure if I should do it using Oblivion as a base again, or do my own original tale. I'm always open to suggestions! So feel free to throw 'em my way!
Again, big thank you! I'm glad so many enjoyed it! And if you just stumbled upon this thread for the first time, please let me know what you think!
--BT
