Why Cevenor Should Never use Skooma
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
-William Shakespeare: Macbeth, Scene V
It was late in the night in a small, yet very busy inn within Whiterun, music trailing out of the door like magical tendrils, enticing passers-by to come in and enjoy themselves.
Two such people wearing dark cloaks, were none other than the infamous duo of Cevenor, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, and Cicero, his faithful jester friend and compatriot, whose job it was to care for their leader, the Night Mother: A task he had driven himself mad fulfilling.
Stepping into the darkened inn, the two travelers spot their objective, a Khajiit, wearing a black cloak, sitting at the back of the bar.
"Now, Cicero, I'll lure him over to the corner, and then you kill him while I distract the crowd. Please keep it quiet; I'd hate to get the whole city ticked at us again," Cevenor whispered over the crowd, garnering a nod from Cicero in response.
"Of course, dear Listener, you can count on me~" Cicero replied, sneaking his way over to the pre-determined corner to lie in wait.
Stepping up to the Khajiit, Cevenor engaged him in conversation, "Do you perhaps have anything of use I might find… useful, to my trade?"
"It depends upon the trade you ply: If it is anything dishonest, you might have come to the right place, but it'll cost you to get more outta' me," the male Feline purred, striding straight towards the corner Cicero was hiding in.
"Oh, you could say that," Cevenor said, waiting for just the right opportunity to call out Cicero.
"By the way," the Khajiit started, turning his head toward Cevenor, "It would be wise in future, not to reveal you identity before you commit an act, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood.
Surprised, Cevenor barely took in the feeling of powder being thrown in his face, and a muffled scream, before he passed out.
"Listener… Listenerrrr, it's time to wake up now. Cicero has brought you home now, Listener, so it's time to wake up!" Cicero said, watching as Cevenor opened his eyes, and looked around his room, finally landing upon the insane jester himself. Something was quite wrong however, as instead of the plain stone of his bedroom, he was sitting on a white cloud with a winged Cicero flapping his feathery appendages next to him.
"Oh goodie! The Listener is awake! Cicero doesn't have to be alone anymore!" Cicero exclaimed, doing a loop-de-loop out of excitement and joy, ending the performance with his signature dance.
"Eh, Cicero, about that dance… Do you think that you could teach it to me?" Cevenor questioned timidly, pushing his index fingers together.
"Why, the Listener wishes for Cicero to teach him his dance? Oh yes! Yes dear Listener!" Cicero exclaimed excitedly, flying around in a large circle before coming back into focus again.
Later that day, the inhabitants of the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary were absolutely shocked and horrified to find their leader running around their home, babbling nonsense, dancing, even singing constantly! It was far more than Babette could stand, as the youthful Vampire girl tried to figure out what was causing Cevenor to even act this way in the first place, as he was normally so stoic and seemingly untouchable.
Still, like all good things, even Cicero had his fill of randomness and play, and when Cevenor continued to act like a raving buffoon, Cicero was forced to take drastic measures.
Babette was one of those people who were rarely surprised. In all honesty, the last time she had been truly surprised was when Cevenor was proclaimed Listener two years ago, and even then, it was only a mild occurrence of said emotion, or, lack thereof. This, however, was the first time in many years that she was not only surprised, but totally taken aback and speechless. There before her, was the pleading form of Cicero; begging for her help. In any other circumstance, Babette would be jumping for joy at Cicero's cries for help, but when the help involved Cevenor, well… That was an altogether different matter, especially when it involved a possible Skooma overdose, which often proved a very nasty and painful death.
"And he won't leave me alone! He just keeps dancing and singing and yelling at poor Cicero! I'm at my wit's end with the Listener!" Cicero cried, tears beginning to glisten in the mad jester's eyes.
"Okay, okay, Cicero; I'll look into it. Just bring Cevenor into the medical room, and I'll take care of him," Babette sighed, prying Cicero's fingers off of the front of her dress.
Several hours later, an abashed looking Cevenor stepped out of the medical wing, and, after thanking Babette for her help, dashed into his room. If one thing was to be learned from this experience, it was that even Cicero had limits, and Skooma was definitely going to be banned in the Sanctuary from then on.