Danasi was running away again. Skyrim was slowly falling into chaos, civil strife and the return of Dragons bringing fire and panic to its people. It was a province calling for a hero. She'd been that hero once before, back when Uriel Septim VII was murdered by the Mythic Dawn. The Hero of Kvatch, The Champion of Cyrodiil. Noble names, names one might think noble deeds had earned. Oh, to the common people who heard the stories through the songs of bards, the deeds were noble. Closing the Oblivion gates, defeating daedra, good versus evil. This valiant Dunmer woman had saved them all!

But Danasi knew better. Killing. That's all it was. She had agreed to help the Emperor partly in effort to repent for her actions that had landed her in jail, where he found her, to begin with: attempted murder. She had known her mother's new lover was mistreating her and, after finding her in a terrible state one day, resolved to poison his wine. But it was clumsy. He only fell sick, and the cause was traced back to her. The irony of becoming the people's champion through further killing bothered her every day.

She fell deeper into her role, death becoming all she knew. Martin Septim became a friend. He could see how the events were changing her, how she was withdrawing from the people around her and he tried to help. For a time he was her lifeline, the only link to sanity she felt she had. After he died she couldn't handle the fame. Surrounded by the congratulations of people who didn't understand- understand how it had been, understand her. None of them had spent anywhere close to the same amount of time in Oblivion as she had. They would sing of courageous victories over daedra and tell colourful tales of the acrid wastes they inhabited, but Danasi had truly seen into the heart of darkness. That darkness had seeped into her being during her many journeys through those wastes, she was sure of it.

But it was part of her now, she conceded. They wouldn't accept that from their hero, so she disappeared. She went to find her mother, to check on her and perhaps apologise, help her if she could. She was gone. Drank herself to death, the lover said. Because of you, Danasi thought. He turned the blame on her, saying Nilera had turned to drink on finding out her daughter had been sent to prison for attempted murder. Danasi couldn't deny her mother wasn't happy about that, nor would she have been with what she had become now.

She killed the lover, successfully this time. Knives rarely failed.

She was no happier but the world was, apparently, a better place without daedra and wife beaters and mothers and friends. She might have faded out of existence after that had it not been for the robed man who visited her during the night. The Dark Brotherhood would welcome her, he said, and perhaps even understand her, she thought. So she fled, shedding the name 'Champion' and embracing death without shrouding it in heroics as ordinary people did.

And he did understand her. Many of her new family did. Some were born into it and some grew into it and some were forced by circumstances into it, killing. On the other end of the spectrum to her priest friend, Lucien helped her understand herself and her place within the world. Now it was he who was her link to sanity, her anchor. And she grew to love him. Martin had been her friend and tried to help her, but he had been fighting against the tide. Lucien accepted her, helped her accept herself, knew everything, understood. They were family.

As death comes for every man, it came for her new family.

And she ran again. Not immediately- the Dark Brotherhood had been her salvation, where else would she go? Who would have an ex-assassin? Mostly, she knew Lucien would want her to continue living by the Tenets, serving Sithis, rebuilding his broken family. And she tried. But she was adrift in a sea of deafening isolation once more. With Lucien gone, no one was there to reel her in, to hear. She wanted to kill Arquen, to kill herself, but she owed him more than that. She tried for so long to honour his memory, in search of redemption for failing him. To ease the pain. But it remained. She was no leader without her guide, she was lost.

She disappeared quietly, heading north away from Cyrodiil, her past. She spent a lot of time living- existing- in a fort on the edge of Skyrim. Clearing out the inhabitant bandits to claim it as her own fort of solitude, she remained unmolested for an unknown length of time until civil unrest drove her out.

In fact she had hidden from the world for around two hundred years. In that time she came across many curiosities. The one that interested her the most was an amulet, which appeared to be enchanted to disguise her identity. The magic it held seemed to distract people from familiar features, or shroud her in a cloud of ambiguity. She wasn't sure exactly how it worked but it seemed to allow her to be anonymous, a nobody. Just the way she liked it now.

But it could not hide her from the growing commotion she was encountering in this land. Now she was running again. She had no interest becoming embroiled in Skyrim's troubles, being the hero only ever brought more pain. But she was tired of running. Was there nowhere she could find peace? She moved west for a quick escape from Skyrim's events to Hammerfell and passed through a town called Falkreath. She heard rumours of a 'Black Door' which the townspeople feared greatly. Trying to ignore it she continued preparing for her departure, but she knew she would recognise that door if she saw it. She hadn't thought about whether Skyrim had any Sanctuaries until now.

She found the Sanctuary desecrated. Mild relief greeted her, but mainly sadness. What had become of Cheydinhal after she deserted? Even so, she found herself delaying her trip. If the Dark Brotherhood still operated elsewhere in Skyrim, could she find a permanent home there? Despite her reservations she felt drawn to the place she had called home for a time. She had the amulet, at least. She would find them, if they were here, by performing the Black Sacrament.

It took a while, but somebody came.

With some convincing they allowed her to join after passing a test, much like the one Lucien gave her centuries ago. She was heading north, to Dawnstar.

Much colder than anywhere Danasi had ever experienced before, the winds of Dawnstar bit. The new sensation was a shock, as if waking from a dream. From the blizzard emerged the vision of the door, foreboding to most but familiar, almost comforting to her. Almost. With some trepidation she approached, nursing second thoughts on whether she was ready to return to this part of her life. What life? she mocked herself.

"What is life's greatest illusion?"

She paused and took a breath. "Innocence, my brother."