The Writer: I suppose this is where I put my disclaimer. I don't own anything by Bethesda aside from my copy of The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. I don't own any of the lore I'm basing this story off of.
That being said, if you guys like this, I'll write more to it, if not, it'll go into the pool of no return. With that out of the way… I give you "Sorrow"

There was once two brothers, typical, like the grass growing all around their typical house. The boys, like every other, liked to run and play, getting dirty and not caring where they went as long as they had fun. They were young and they had each other, who would stop them? Time is the stopper of many things, life, youth, emotional wounds for some, and emotional health for others. Time also stopped such a strong bond between the two brothers. One going off into the Imperial Legion, the other… another, more sad and macabre story, and that is where we begin.

The boy in the Legion, going by the name Icail Roderick, was a good soldier. He would get his task and do it in loyalty to his Legion and to the safety of the citizens of Tamriel. Although he had one characteristic that many did not have in his shoes that made him different then the others. He could make the judgment call if a situation were to occur. Such as, if there was a domestic dispute and an enraged husband starts punching him, he would not go and unsheathe his blade to strike the man down; he would just use his guarding to tire the man into a passive, fatigued, state of normality. Because of this, he went up the ladder quickly, and was now a captain of the guard, proudly displaying his pearly white and gold armour. Icail was a role model among the citizens he watched over.

Then we meet his brother, Malakai Roderick, and we realize his story is quite different. Perhaps it was when he first tasted Skooma that sent him down the path, or maybe it was his parents' demise. Either way, what matters is what happened, not why it did. Malakai was no stranger to the streets, often sleeping soundly on a rock as if it were silk. He, like many others, was impoverished, and he didn't care. But his rags and unfamiliarity to success is not what's important, for what is, is far greater than such trivial human desires.

Malakai was going through withdrawal again from a lack of Skooma, and he was on edge like everyone else going through the occurrence. His friend, Sovientier, approached him and asked what was wrong, not knowing it had been days since poor Malakai's last fix.
" 'Ey there, what ya doin' in the corner?" asked Sovientier curiously, whilst observing Malakai's constant fidgeting and grunts.
"Nnng…guh…need…I need…need it…no money…need gold.." muttered Malakai, unable to speak any more coherently.
"Gold? Haha you be a poor bugger eh? I got me some a'it!" cheered Sovientier in a mocking gloat. But poor Sovientier did not understand the ramifications of his words, as Malakai pulled out his otherwise-worthless rust-covered iron dagger from his sheath at his side and charged Sovientier. Sovientier, frozen from shock at his friend's lust for death amongst him, let out a disgruntled gasp as Malakai plunged in the dagger, again and again, until Sovientier fell in a bloody mess on the ground. Malakai then looted his blood-covered friend, taking the gold from him and feeling a little bit of a chill on him, but thinking nothing of it and only focusing on where a Skooma dealer would be.

It would be a full three days before Malakai – with a fresh renewal from his few bottles of Skooma and withdrawal seemingly far away from him – finally went to sleep on a hard and unforgiving dirt and rock bed, with the feeling of guilt and sadness for his loss of a friend. But it wasn't a very consuming guilt, nor was it a heavy sadness. He did not care that Sovientier had died, only that he died by his hand. Malakai had very poor empathy along with his other list of ailments. However, he did not slumber long, for a cold air soon flowed around him and he was disturbed. Malakai opened his eyes and peered up at a shadowy figure, causing him to jump in reflex to defend himself. The figure then put his hands up and spoke in a bone chilling voice that was both aggressive and serene at the same time,
"Stay your blade, Malakai, I am not here for violence. I am here to offer you a timeless gift… I am here, to offer you into the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood. My name is Lucien Lachance."
"… I've… Heard about the Dark Brotherhood before, but I'm not normally a murderer…" Malakai stated, in fear.
"I also know you're not normally in the possession of much gold… we kill for profit in the Brotherhood, you'll have more gold than you can carry in that dusty sack on your belt, does this interest you?" questioned Lachance calmly.
"Hmm…well yes, it does, but am I in now..?" asked Malakai curiously.
"No, not yet dear child, but you soon shall be. You must perform a simple task. I want you to take this blade" Lachance pulls out a dagger that resembles Daedric-craft. "and stay the heart of another… she goes by the name of Martha Bellamont. She is a Breton who lives in Anvil. You must use the dagger I hold, for it is your pen, her blood, the ink, and her death, the signature you need to become a fellow brother. Do you understand?" asked Lachance, a morbid smile cast across his face.
"Yes…I understand…" Malakai states, taking the blade from Lachance and looking it over.
"Good…do understand though, if you fail, for any reason other than your own death, I will give you only one other chance. Do know, if you do fail, I shall take matters into my own hands with Ms. Bellamont." Lachance chimes in a feint happiness at the thought of murder, but then as quick as he arrived, Lachance fades away, the walls rippling a bit where he used to be, then nothing, and the air returning to the slightly warm and humid way it was before. Malakai had a lot to think over, but he knew he would have to do this, it was simply too good to turn down.