Prologue: Prophesy of Darkness
Darkness...a maddening oblivion of torment for some, or a welcoming haven for us, the select few. Those who shun it fear it, find themselves lost in its void, unable to escape; but for those who open their arms to its cold embrace…we are the grateful ones that discover true warmth. Darkness is destruction and unsuspecting murder to those damned souls of the weak.
To the few whose hearts seek the darkness—the love of the unholy matron and the guidance of the dreaded father—it is our ultimate, and unlimited implement of death.
Thus is the credo of the Dark Brotherhood. Thus is the doctrine of Sithis.
A bitter wind settled through Cyrodiil; the late hour of evening was cold and lifeless. Even the hard-driven wolves dared not to howl at the full splendor of the magnificent moon or creep from their burrows to seek prey. Only a lone, shadowy figure lurked through the dense forest, his movements making not even a whisper in the dead silence.
His black cloak slid effortlessly across the forest underbrush like a slithering snake, but he traveled quickly, waiting for nothing but a hair's breadth of a moment. Once he chanced the sudden gesture to turn around and check if he was alone, but he only did it once before picking up his pace.
Everywhere around him, even the silence was not completely void of noise for his acute senses; every creak of a swaying tree, the far-off trickle of a stream in the distance…he heard every sound, and the silence did its merciless justice to magnify them ten-fold. The lungs nestled between his ribs urged to scream in agony from the flood of this unbearable racket, but the figure restrained his impulses with a steady, mental prayer to distract himself; it was very rare that he could have such an opportunity such as this one, and giving away his position because of his irritation would be a heartfelt disappointment.
Reaching the edge of the forest, the figure hid in the shadow of a great oak.
Stretched out for miles before him was a great plain, dotted with trees and natural formations that, from his post, appeared as mere specks across its hilly expanse. Subjected to the ultimate exposure of the pale moon, every surface was cast in a brilliant glow, like the always-shimmering nirnroots that rooted along the banks of lakes and rivers. Glinting stars canvassed the midnight sky, twinkling and glimmering their perfection into the mirror-like pool of Lake Rumore surrounding Martin Septim's domain, sitting in the deep valley below. The erected tower of the ancient Ayleids reigned in the heart of the distanced Imperial City; its massive walls of stone and marble shone a pearly white and gray under the moonlight, contrasted against the dark obsidian of the lake encircling them.
For the first moment in many ages, Lucien gazed upon this setting, marveling at its beauty. It had been a long time since he could behold such a heavenly spectacle without returning to the thought that his daemonic rites would be the one to break it.
Death had a way of ruining wonderful evenings like this one. Luckily for him, he wasn't sent out to kill in his normal fashion; his job tonight was simply to listen.
"Lucien," someone whispered softly from the dark.
Lucien groaned inwardly with deep annoyance. He glanced to his left as an elven male appeared through the dense thicket. He stumbled easily; the frustrated features of his face were not hard to discern, even through the dark.
Smirking, Lucien remarked, "Having trouble, oh powerful Listener?"
His friend grunted in disparagement. "Quiet, underling! You have status, but around me you should watch your tongue! One such as myself shouldn't have to endure this sort of miserable..." The last of his disgruntled whining could not be understood as his voice trailed off.
A twang of provocation shot through Lucien's nerves. Although high elves as a race were known across the land for their nimble grace in both body and etiquette, this one was clumsy, uncouth, and lacked all ability to retain the utmost secrecy to his whereabouts, which the latter constituted a most important character of their Brotherhood. He even refused to wear the traditional black robe suited for his status, but instead dressed gaudily in garb such as a flashy, colorful tunic that could handily draw the expert attention of a trained marksman. It was a mockery—no, even worse—a disgrace for a member of his rank to give as much disdain to his duties as he did! But, it gave Lucien a good reason to believe the high elf was of lesser skill than himself, which opened his mind to the possibility that the position would receive better service if he were in the high elf's spot.
It wasn't such a bad idea. Lucien had made it as far as Speaker…why not advance to the rank of Listener? Humph, what with this twit doing such a poor job at it, he thought. After so many seasons of his efforts, Lucien could hardly imagine how the Night Mother could possibly deny him the honorable duty.
But for now, he decided reluctantly, he would obey the whims of his less able superior. At least until the high elf's blunders would…eventually get him killed.
I still do not understand why we must meet like this…" the high elf said disdainfully. "I do not have this trouble with Arquen, I assure you of…"
"I apologize," Lucien interjected, forcing the contrition through gritted teeth. "You know I prefer seclusion, and it is hard for mercenaries to follow, or even track us through this harsh terrain." Putting his own words into consideration, Lucien's eyes scanned the wilderness cautiously, searching for any sign of a hidden guest eavesdropping in on their conversation.
"So you force your own Listener to trudge like an animal through this mess to give you the information I risked my life to receive? It ought to be you who comes to me, and not the other way around, Speaker," the high elf scoffed. "I just don't get it why you would rather live here in the dungy forest with its beasts and its diseases and starvation, or why you refuse any attempt to provide you a decent lodging with suitable associates to serve you…"
The elf's angular face grimaced in detest as he shied away from a tall, leafy fern that clawed at his sleeve.
Lucien sighed, a gesture he normally did not practice but was hard to withdraw when his heart plummeted into a pool of painful memories. "You understand my reasons perfectly, Ungolim. The less who are near me, the better I feel I am not involved. I've suffered enough having been in a Sanctuary before, and should the same accusations arise and I, too, be targeted…I'd rather avoid that again, even if it means isolating myself…" Lucien softened his voice so the Listener couldn't hear him, "…and putting you through this much trouble to reach me."
"You still blame yourself for that mess?" the high elf chuckled. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that Lucien might actually feel guilty about having committed murder!"
Lucien scowled at his mockery, and the high elf settled down reverently.
"Either way you feel—whether it's shame or fear for your own slimy hide—I respect you, and so I respect your wishes, as frustrating as they can be to accommodate," the high elf continued. "But it's hard not to: of all our Speakers…" he leaned forward, grinning slyly, "…you were always Mother's favorite."
"What is it that you came here to tell me?" Lucien ejected testily. "What new contract does she desire of me?"
The high elf folded his arms across his thin chest, drawing himself up to show the importance of his request. "That is why I am here, dear Lucien. As I'm sure your ego tells yourself daily, you are the best and most trusted of the Speakers. You hold the utmost discipline and practice to our beliefs, and that is why the Night Mother wishes you take up this important task."
As much as Lucien would like to have smothered the high elf's face into the side of a rock for his utter boldness, his interest was ultimately piqued for the better. "Oh really?" he asked.
The high elf's lips pursed, as though he were unsure of how to explain. After a moment, he said tiredly, "Let me be quite frank with you, Lucien. Arquen is a deadly woman, for her beauty can surely be the downfall to any man for its hypnotic charm, but she is incapable of impartiality, which I'm afraid is crucial for this unique favor; Gering's ingenuity is only overlooked by his extreme ruthlessness and unconcern for others, even you and I; Elowyn's lack of common sense leaves much to be desired to fulfill any task our Mother has for her; and of course, Bellamont is…well, he's…"
"Insane?" Lucien finished, displaying a coy grin.
"Yes…precisely," the high elf agreed humorously. "And for all these just reasons, the Night Mother has made it perfectly clear that you alone will complete this assignment."
The Listener's voice had dropped to an unusually smooth and serious tone; something in what he related gave Lucien a bad feeling, which never occurred very often.
"Listener, what do you mean I alone should complete this task?" Lucien inquired. "Why not ask the others to—"
The high elf silenced Lucien with a motion of his hand before saying, "I've given you my reasons. You should feel honored to have been chosen for this splendid opportunity, Lachance!"
The high elf took a deep breath, brushing back his slick ebony locks from his face. "I will take no more questions from you, Speaker. Although the Mother's information was unclear, for believe me, I too asked her about the meaning of this affair, but she made it absolutely clear that you were to be assigned to it, and no one else; they are not even to know a word about what you are doing."
Lucien let his mind sit on the information that the Listener was giving him. As much as he hated the other Speakers for their own fowl versions of ignorance, they were as close to him as brothers and sisters; and keeping such valuable information from them…seemed only too suspicious.
Or rather…relieving. How often he had been forced to share intimate details with the likes of those fools. Now, he finally had the chance to do things his way, and without their pesky interference.
Raising his brow with interest, Lucien said, "I understand, great Listener. But pray tell, what great mission is it that the Mother wants of my…talent?" He waited, his whole body tensed with excitement as his ears awaited the Listener's reply.
The high elf steeled his face as though the words he was about to say would be the short death of him. "Recruitment."
The silence was broken as Lucien screamed, "What?!"
The Listener's eyes doubled in size as he incredulously motioned for Lucien to lower his voice. He glanced around nervously, saying quietly, "Lachance, you imbecile, keep your voice down!"
In a coarse, restrained whisper, Lucien remarked, "This is the great task the Mother has set forth for me?! Mere child's play?!"
"It is more than that…" the high elf said, his voice shaken, but resolute in his meaning. "Much more…according to—"
Lucien laughed, turning away as he said, "You butter me up with this nonsense that what I possess is what the Mother desires of me, and yet you present me with a menial chore that the lowest of our scum-licking underlings could just as easily perform! How dare you mock me, Listener or not!" He looked away, but stopped and turned around to face the high elf again, rage in his heated eyes. He jabbed a pointed finger at the elf. "I have toiled my life away to this covenant for ages, worked my way to this rank, and this is how my dear Mother repays my deeds?"
The high elf hesitated, but said as sincerely as Lucien had ever heard him before, "Lachance, the Mother holds only the greatest gratitude to your service; I hear even the Dread Father takes note of your accomplishments these days."
Lucien scoffed in wry amusement of this torment, looking away. The high elf continued:
"I understand that something as simple as this may seem deceiving; I questioned the Mother herself. She claims this is no ordinary task…for it is no ordinary man she wants you to enlist."
Curious, Lucien cocked his head to the side, gazing at the high elf as he asked, "What do you mean?"
The Listener tried fervently to sigh a motion of his own heavy relief, but Lucien caught it and smirked under the shade of his hood. The high elf was indeed afraid of his wrath.
"This is a special man that the Mother desires to add to our ranks. She told me no further, but said that you were to be the one to keep on eye on him, let no one else catch wind of this special treatment, and assure that as he progresses he will be properly rewarded, but only by you when the chance arrives." The high elf paused to look at Lucien. "She assured me that you would know what to do with him once he was one of us."
Lucien's mind did a back flip in his skull trying to wrestle with the words he was hearing. Although this was more than a typical recruitment, or even a normal request from the Night Mother, it still seemed no more important than babysitting. Was it really worth his trouble?
"What do you say, Lachance?" the Listener finally asked, waiting for Lucien to respond. "Will you accept the offer, or not? I won't give you another chance once it's gone."
There wasn't much else of a choice for him. Lucien groaned softly. "I could never refuse my Mother," he replied weakly.
Pleased, at least by Lucien's peaceable cooperation, the Listener flashed his superficial grin of approval, and bowed a few inches before standing straight again. "Good," he said coolly. He reached into a pocket of his trousers and supplied Lucien with a folded parchment.
"You will need these," he told him. "They are the more significant details the Mother did not share with me, but entrusted to you for how you should deal with this matter."
Lucien snatched the parchment and looked long and hard at it; he didn't feel as pleased as he would have hoped. "Thank you….Listener. I will do the Night Mother proud."
"Of course."
The high elf bowed again, then turned on his heel to leave Lucien. He passed around a large, blasted tree, then vanished entirely into the darkness of the forest.
An annoying notion troubled Lucien; he had gone from a respectable Speaker to a nanny, all in the course of one evening. Perhaps it didn't take death anymore to make his life miserable. He held the parchment and stared at it; the blood red ribbon curled and flickered around his fingers as a breeze brushed around him.
"Such a waste of my—"
He stopped. Calming himself with another prayer, Lucien tucked the instructions into his cloak, securing it safely next to his breast and to the dagger that chilled his skin. He glanced to his right where the Imperial City sat like a cloud of stone and marble atop the watery ocean of the infested Lake Rumore, and he scowled at its peacefulness; he was not envious, but merely disgusted by it. He wheeled around and headed back to his lair far to the north.
Lucien hoped, that as he traveled through the wilderness, the rough journey would help to rekindle his unwavering affection and devotion to the Night Mother as it had always been since his stolen childhood. Who was he to judge his Mother's wishes? he thought. Wasn't it she who had first saved him? There was no reason to doubt the importance of his quest, for she had placed it delicately upon his capable shoulders in the faith that he could get it done.
And he would, he was far more than sure of that; the Night Mother's faith was rightfully placed, and judged. How couldn't it have been?
Mother always knew best.
+End: Prophesy of Darkness+
Thank you those of you who read my first story!! I am SINCERELY open for any reviews that you might have, so please, lay them on me! And be patient: MORE IS TO COME!!
-Kelifer