Chapter 1. 3E 207, 22 Sun's Dawn.

Gulitte looked down at the sleeping baby tucked into her arms and smiled. The infant looked more like her than she would have ever hoped for, her lovely pale skin, her full pouty lips, and there was even a small tuft of soft tawny bronze hair growing from the baby girl's mostly bare head, they had all come from her, though that wasn't to say that the baby didn't resemble her father. There were defiantly parts of him within her as well from her narrow face and high cheek bones to her pointed ears, but none the less Gulitte decided, she was certainly a Breton, just like her mother.

She brought up a small hand and gently caressed her sleeping daughter's face, rousing the infant from her sleep and causing her to open her eyes and echo her mother's smile. Gulitte gasped quietly and shook her head. Those eyes hadn't come from her. Even hidden within the baby's sweet chubby face those deep crimson eyes were shocking and against her pale skin seemed wrong, almost unnerving. With those eyes she would never be taken as anything less than what she was, a half-breed, a shame to both of her parent's families. During her pregnancy Gulitte had even considered returning to her family in High Rock, and raising her baby far away from Vvardenfell in the hope that her time there trying to rebuild the shrine in Ihinipalit would simply be forgotten. But now with her daughter's striking resemblance to her father there would be no hope of such a thing.

"May I come in?" came a deep, quiet voice from the other side of the door to her room, heavy with an eloquent Dunmer accent. The owner of the voice didn't wait for an answer before pushing open the large circular door and stepping into the dimly lit room, a breath of fresh cool, though unfortunately still mushroom scented air, entering with him. He was a handsome young Dunmer man with long ebony hair and the same deep crimson eyes that he had passed on to his child. He was of average height though his shoulders were unusually broad and the muscles of his arms and chest were hardened. His ashen skin was riddled with many fading scars and a large steel axe was strapped across his back.

"Tired, but much better." Gulitte answered, then she paused and her gaze wandered from the man down to the baby "Torik." She began, smiling at him "Would you like to hold your daughter?"

He blinked several times, taken aback, as if the realization of his becoming a father had just dawned on him.

"I…" he stammered and took several steps closer to the bed where Gulitte was laying. When he was at her side she extended the bundle against her breast in his direction. He hesitated for a long moment before gingerly taking the infant into his hands, cradling her within his iron arms. She looked up and flashed him a toothless grin, a tiny spit bubble popping audibly on her lips

"She looks like you." Torik said his eyes dancing over the baby.

"But she'll grow to look like you." Gulitte smiled, though there was a hint of something sad and distant in her voice, Torik seemed to have missed it, his attention fixed upon the child.

"What will you name her?" He asked as the baby extended a small fist and waved it about wildly. Torik grasped her tiny hand gently in his own and tucked it back into the blankets she was swaddled in.

"Did you have something in mind?" Gulitte asked curiously as she pulled a small purple glass bottle from a drawer in the bedside table. She pulled the cork from the narrow neck of the bottle and let several drops of a sweet smelling amber syrup fall onto her fingertip. She lifted it to her lips and opened her mouth, placing it under her tongue. Smiling first as the sweetness enveloped her mouth, and then again as a wave of euphoria began to wash over her.

Torik looked over at her and frowned "Where did you get that? I thought you'd quit for the baby." He asked, quiet and polite as ever, though his eyes smoldered, boring into her. Minas Torik Dreloth had never raised his voice in anger to anyone as far as Gulitte knew, especially not to her. But he had no need to rely on anger to punish her. In fact, on most occasions he didn't even need to speak, it was all in his eyes, his disappointment searing into her.

She snorted and placed the bottle back down on the table top "If you look at me like that for much longer, the flesh may actually melt from my face, and then she'll definitely look more like you than me."

"Gulitte." He said simply, his acidic gaze still unaltered.

She gave him a light sigh, a sigh of surrender "Yes, I did say that I would quit for the baby and I did." She paused and gestured towards the bundle in his arms. "But as you can see, I've had the baby, and besides this is on the midwife's orders, for the pain." She lied easily. She knew that the skooma was a bad when she was carrying the child. But now, what could the harm be? Despite the lie it did help the pain, and anyway she wasn't smoking it. Taken in this form it was only as harmful as the moon sugar that it was derived from.

He knew she was lying, he was really quite adept at reading people, and after the two years that he had spent with her it was as if he could read her mind; every one of her expressions holding its own secret, every line of her beautiful face telling him more than her words ever could, and her eyes, the same sweet gold and green of a summer afternoon were like windows to her heart, so easily revealing her intentions. He knew that she resented such things at times, and that this was probably one of those times. But along with her lie, he could also see the dark circles under her eyes and the light misting of sweat on her forehead. She'd had a long day, and he decided it was probably best to leave her for the time being.

"I would like to name her..." He paused and pursed his lips; his eyes distant as he tried to picture a face that he wasn't sure had been a memory or a dream. "After my mother. Runethyn."

"Runethyn Dreloth." Gulitte let the name roll off her tongue slowly as if she were trying to taste the meaning behind the words. It was a very dunmer name, unmistakably so. She repeated herself though this time echoing his accent. "It sounds like a wonderful name for your daughter."

"You don't like it?" He asked cocking a curious eyebrow in her direction hearing the tiny hint of steel in her voice.

"No, it's lovely. I just, I was thinking of something a little more…oh I don't know." She shook her head and shrugged "I've grown rather fond of Rowanna, or Lyrrke or Vienne, something that reminds me of home." But as she spoke she caught the distant look in his eyes. She knew that though he had hardly known her as a child, Torik's mother had likely made him who he was, sweet, reserved and thoughtful. It was only later in his life that he became what he was.

Torik's lips parted slightly and he drew in a breath to respond, but she cut him off " No. You're right, none of those would sound very good with your surname, and she will grow to look more like you than me. I would be honored if she were named after your mother." She sat up further against her pillows and moved over on the bed, making room for him to lay next to her.

He moved into the vacant space, sitting on the bed and swung his legs up on the blankets, muddy boots and all. He passed the baby over to Gulitte and smiled at her. She took the now once again sleeping infant from his arms and cradled her in her own. She then brought up her hand and rested it on his jaw, her thumb tracing over the small scar on his bottom lip. Of all his nearly countless scars, that one had always been her favorite. She leaned in close and planted a gentle kiss on his neck, mostly because that was all she could reach.

He cradled her head and closed his eyes. Dunsalipal would be pleased with the child, though he was sure that his master would have preferred a son, to be honest, he himself would have preferred a son with dark hair and skin. It would have served them much better in their life. But as he gazed down upon what would be the only one related to him by blood that he'd ever truly known he couldn't help but smile. She was his legacy.

Chapter 2. 3E 217, 14 MidYear.

Dunsalipal Dun-Ahhe furled his brow as he surveyed the line of young prospects. Their faces were eager; some were even smiling in anticipation of the day's trials.

Those smiles won't last long he thought to himself, and turned his face away so that the children wouldn't be able to hear him chuckle. It was a beautiful day, warmer than most this far north and a wonderful breeze was lifting the sweet scent of the sea from the port through the streets of the city. As he stood, the sun kissed his face and he was acuity aware of a small bead of sweat as it trickled down his tattooed cheek, he swiped it away and then turned back to the soon to be apprentices.

"Good morning." He said simply, keeping his face void of emotion.

"Good morning master." The youngsters repeated back, all except one.

Dunsalipal frowned and turned his gaze upon a young girl at the far end of the line. Though she stood at attention like the others, her expression was distant, and her mind was clearly elsewhere.

"Rune." He said sternly, and her crimson eyes snapped quickly to his face, sending a rebellious lock of silky bronze hair into her forhead.

She made no effort to straighten her appearance as she looked at him. "Yes master?" she asked innocently.

"Oh nothing dear." Dunsalipal said, crossing his arms and scowling at her "I was just wondering if you're here to join us, or if you got lost on your way to the privy."

She screwed up her young angular face, but her eyes didn't leave those of her master, proud as ever. "No master." She said quietly, obviously trying her best not to smile "I'm here for the trials."

"Then you'd do well to keep your attention fixed where it belongs." He continued and she nodded. He then turned back to the others. "This is quite possibly the most important day of your lives." He started, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the line as he spoke. "These trials will determine both to me, and to yourselves whether or not you are worthy to continue your training within the guild. I will break you into groups of three based upon what I know of your abilities. Each group will be tasked with finding an assigned target, and taking them down. The first member of each group to return to me successfully will become my personal protégés. The others, will have to find a master within the guild on their own accord."

A collective whisper rippled through the line and Dunsalipal continued " Runethyn, Marcus and Sivilli will be team one." The three named children stepped forward from the line, the Bronze haired girl at their head. Behind her the taller,full blooded dunmer girl Sivilli and then Marcus, a bright faced young imperial sporting a head of blonde hair and a particularly runny nose.

"Your target, is Alven Salas. He has graciously agreed to take part in this year's trials. His last know location was the ship Star-Follower in the harbor." The three nodded and then moved away from the line over to the far end of the training courtyard.

"Team two, Silas, Sarric and Dalse. Your target is Raven Omayn, her last know location was her privet chambers in the council hall." The three young dunmer boys all exchanged wide eyed looks. It was undoubtedly intimidating to hear the name of such a loved political figure as their target. But the Mouth of Mistress Dratha had always enjoyed being a part of the trials, and had been a regular volunteer for several years.

"And finally, team three, Yvaiin, Mah'Jo Lorrik. For your target Master Neloth has volunteered one of his slaves. A striped Suthay-raht male who will be left at the Gateway." Dunsalipal pursed his lips, the words tasted a bit bitter as they left his lips, and suddenly he regretted sending Mah'Jo after one of his own, especially considering that the young dark furred Suthay cub had been the offspring of two of the many slaves held at Tel Naga, but the experience would likely prove him stronger if he succeeded.

"The only rules are." The Morag Tong Master continued, now addressing the three groups of children as a whole. "You may not leave the city limits, and you may not harm your targets, or your competitors. Anyone who does, will answer to me. When I turn my back, the trials will begin, and they will end, when the last target is brought to me, or at sundown, whichever comes first. Good luck." Without another word he turned on his heel and began walking back in the direction of the guild hall.

Behind him, he could hear the sound of footfall as the young hopefuls rushed off into the city streets after their targets. Of course, no real blood would be spilled, but the mock assassinations would serve both the children and their master in the determining of their future positions within the Morag Tong. He himself had a particular eye on Sivilli, he'd even given her several privet training sessions in preparation for the trials, to assure that she would place within the top three, though he did feel poorly about giving her an unfair advantage, such promise like hers could not be wasted on trivial mistakes.

"Master!"

Dunsalipal turned to face the young Imperial man whom had spoken to him. Sillas, he was sweating, as most Imperial's did this time of year, but the expression on his face roused something within the grizzled Dunmer, something was very wrong.

The Imperial brought up a gloved hand and brushed a long strand of raven colored hair back out of his cool gray eyes "We found something near the shore, Torik said…..well, you'll want to see for yourself."

Dunsalipal followed the Imperial across the guild's property and down to where the sea kissed the sand of the island. The first thing he saw was Torik, standing with his muscular arms crossed over his chest. His expression was dark, but before the Dunsalipal had a chance to address him, he saw what Torik was standing over. There, at his feet, laying half in and half out of the water was a young Guar, or at least, what was left of it. A long piece of leather was looped around its neck, and tied tightly to the roots of one of the great mushrooms that served as the guild's residence. A long clean cut trailed all the way up its belly from its flank, to its throat. The blood that carpeted the sand was slowly being lifted away by the tide as the gentle waves lapped at the mutilated corpse. Several of calf's organs had been removed; liver, heart and stomach as well as a good portion of its intestines were spread out across the beach in a long straight line as if someone were taking inventory at a butcher shop. Wrapped around the calf's mouth and eyes was a long crimson scarf. It was impossible to tell what had killed the poor thing, the leather around its neck, the scarf over its mouth or whether it had simply bled to death, though the deep gouges in the earth around where it was laying suggested that it struggled quite a bit before the end.

"Who could have done this? Do you think it's a message from the Brotherhood?" Sillas asked of no one in particular, his eyes wide. The Dark Brotherhood had left things of a similar nature at their doorstep before. But this wasn't them, had it been the children of sithis they would be looking at the remains of one of their apprentices, not some helpless animal.

"No" Dunsalipal said quietly, his brow furling, half in disgust, half in thought "This wasn't the Brotherhood." He paused and frowned in the direction of the other Dunmer man. "Did you see anyone?"

Torik shook his head, but his eyes didn't leave the mess at his feet, his attention fixed particularly upon the red scarf.

The three stood in silence for several long moments before Dunsalipal spoke again.

"I'll send someone to clean this up later. It's probably nothing of consequence, and it's of no use to start lighting fires if there's nothing to burn, so we speak of this to no one until we have reason to do so." He said, and the other two men nodded their agreement, though the troubled look that they all shared stayed planted upon their faces as they walked back in the direction of the hall.

The sun had long passed its prime and was beginning its slow decent westward when the first of the children returned to the hall. Much to everyone's surprise it was not Sivilli who entered next to Alven, but Torik's daughter Runethyn, smiling brightly with the defeated Marcus in tow, the young boy's stricken expression seemed to be missed by all but Dunsalipal. The child's eyes were scared and long streaks in the dirt on his cheeks were visible left from recent tears.

"Where is Sivilli? Is she not with you?" asked a red haired dunmer woman, stepping out from behind the gathered crowd. The woman herself was a spitting image of Sivilli. Sivilli's mother. Her deep red eyes danced over the two returning children almost frantically.

"I don't know." Rune answered the smile that she wore earlier still playing at the corners of her lips "I haven't seen her sense this morning when we split up. She's not back yet?" Her young face was bright and joyful, but again the Morag Tong master seemed to have noticed something that no one else had. There was a large dark brown stain on one of the girl's shirt sleeves, and another on her boot, both on her right side, the same side as her blade hand.

"Oh come now Drava, I'm sure she'll be along shortly" Alven smiled in the red haired woman's direction, stepping forward to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Drava nodded and turned back towards the living quarters, the rest of the assassins following behind her, smiling, laughing and praising the young half-breed. As they followed behind, Dunsalipal watched the young Runethyn grab Marcus' hand, he cringed under her touch and she drew him close, moving her mouth towards his face before releasing him and following the others towards the dining room for the coming celebration, leaving Marcus and Dunsalipal alone in the cavernous entrance chamber.

Dunsalipal couldn't hear what she'd whispered in the boy's ear, but as soon as she pulled away he began to sob quietly, the Dunmer man stepped forward out of the shadows and crouched down next to the crying child.

"Marcus" he said quietly "What's wrong? What did she say to you?"

The boy shook his head and wiped viciously at his eyes, chasing away the tears by force, he didn't look into his master's eyes when he said shakily "Nothing master. I'm alright."

"Do you know where Savilli is?" Dunsalipal persisted.

Marcus shook his head wildly "No. No, we split up. I don't know." He then moved away in the direction of the living quarters. His small shoulders still shaking with the effort of suppressing his sobs.

Dunsalipal let him leave, his steady gaze following him as he left and he made a note to press into the matter later, until then there were the other children to look to.

The fire was nearly dead in the hearth, and many of the guild memebers had retired to their privet chambers for the night. Though still, alone and in the near dark Dunsalipal sat. It had been a long day, and he would have three new apprentices to tend to in the morning, but still something kept him from rest. Savilli had not returned yet, and now with the comming of the moons a search party had been sent out.

Dunsalipal sighed, and rubed his tired eyes standing up and moving in the direction of the staircase leading up to the second story. As he passed the heavy door barring the entrance to Torik's families privet chambers he could hear voices on the other side. He paused and listened.

"I found the scaf that I gave you, don't lie to my Runethyn." came Torik's voice, calm and collected as always.

"I wasn't lying." answered an equally calm but much younger and femine.

There was a long pause before she answered "I just...I wanted to see what it looked like."

"Why would you do that?" Torik asked his daughter, ignoring her defence.