AN: ONLY GALDUR, DAGUR AND DARLAYAH BELONG TO ME. THE REST OF THE CHARACTERS ARE OWNED BY BETHESDA :3
Rain beat the wooden walls of the building, producing a sound that seemed harsh and dangerous, intimidating almost. The light of the flames in the fire pit made the shadows from the furniture dance across the room in a threatening way. The night was just going on forever.
A young woman lay awake in her bed. She couldn't seem to sleep, thoughts circling around in her mind as she remembered what had happened.
She had recently set out on a mission, a hunt. She had to kill someone. She knew the target deserved it, and it wasn't the fact it was a haunting memory, it was the fact she enjoyed the kill. The thrill of escaping the city before the guards took notice. Laughing as she rode away from the place as fast as she could-
CRASH.
The heavy rain turned into a thunderstorm, the sound echoing in the walls of Breezehome, making it even more difficult for the woman to close her eyes. The thunder clapped outside, threatening to awaken the entire population of Whiterun. The sound was deafening.
The woman's name was Darlayah, Darlayah Dawn-bringer, known by her friends as Dawn, or Dee. She was a Breton, a race from High Rock. She was about twenty-eight years old, and had many associations with various guilds and deities, including the scorned Daedra. Darlayah was also a feared assassin, member of the Thieves Guild, and thane of various cities. She was particularly well known.
BANG.
More thunder. More lightning. More loud noises to keep her awake. Sighing, Darlayah got out of bed, trudging past her housecarl's room, down the stairs. She swung her sleepy body onto the bench next to the wall, and placed her head on the surface with a thump.She groaned when the pain finally hit her, and she wondered if there was a shout that could disperse the clouds and end the storm…
Wait. Shouts? No, not the yelling kind you may be thinking of. Shouts as in the Thu'um, a power used by the Dragons, a power rarely seen, a power mastered by few. Darlayah was no master, yet she had some experience with shouts, being acquainted with the Greybeards. How she knew them? That's a long story, one that could be told later.
As Darlayah raised her head, she looked as a thin light came from under the door, the rain still beating the house. She had been awake all night. How her housecarl, Lydia, had slept through the horrendous storm, she did not know, and couldn't be bothered to find out. She grabbed some bread from a sack nearby, and chomped away in frustration, as a yawn came from upstairs. Lydia must have woken up. Darlayah heard her come down the stairs, yet pretended not to take any notice.
"Morning, my thane." Lydia said, stretching and searching the sack for some food. She found a sweet roll, and Darlayah watched with envy as she munched away at the delicious cake. How did I miss that..., She thought. "Morning Lydia." she simply replied.
"How did you sleep, my thane?" she asked, while Darlayah stared at her bread, not feeling hungry anymore. She stirred, turning around on the bench to give her housecarl eye contact. "Errm…I slept fine…the storm kept me up for a bit." Darlayah lied, thinking about the dreadful noise the storm had made. A thought then popped up into her head. She had something she needed to take care of. "Lydia, I kinda need to get some…work…done." She lingered on the word 'work'. It wasn't really work, more like murder.
Lydia understood. She was well aware of Darlayah's...associations...and was almost perfectly fine with it all. Sometimes, however, she would be slightly afraid of her thane. Being a sort of servant to an assassin wasn't the most appealing job. Especially when you slept in the same house as them. "I might be gone a while, so take care of the house, okay?" Darlayah then added, and Lydia nodded, replying with the usual, and quite annoying, 'yes, my thane'.
After throwing the wasted bread into the fire pit, Darlayah headed back into her room, flinging her brown chest open, revealing all sorts of clothes and robes. She pulled out a simple black and red robe, and a dark brown hood, throwing them on carelessly, her long brown hair leaking from the sides of the hood. On her face, her red war paint seemed to be a bit brighter, probably because of the red on her garments.
She headed to her end-table, which was right next to her huge bed, and opened it, gleaming gems and beautiful jewelry, which Darlayah may or may not have stolen from several strangers. She had a sort of obsession with amulets, being a mage, and enjoyed enchanting random items to see what she could create. Divine amulets were her favorite.
Her gaze lingered on her amulet of Mara, and she smiled, taking the necklace gently, lowering her hood and placing the amulet around her neck. She then looked at the various rings, but none appealed to her. Closing the drawer, she grabbed two Daedric daggers (one of which she stole from some guy she killed the year before), and headed down the stairs. On the way, Lydia offered her a health potion. She knew exactly what sort of work Darlayah was off to do. Smiling kindly, Darlayah thanked her, before taking it and putting it in the pouch on her thick, black belt. She might need it for later.
She then left Breezehome, and to her surprise, most of the rain had stopped, and became a light shower. The sun smiled down on Whiterun, offering it's golden rays across the city, glittering on the puddles left during the night by the storm. As she looked around the town, she noticed children playing in the puddles, and several men clearing away objects which had been flung around by the storm. Guards strutted past her, with the occasional, 'morning, thane', or 'no lollygagging'. She shifted her blue gaze to the huge gate which closed off Whiterun from the rest of Skyrim. Darlayah then casually walked past the blacksmith, trying to hide her fatigue. Adrianne, a woman who worked at the forge, waved hello, and the breton returned the friendly gesture.
"Morning, Darlayah." she said, smiling. Darlayah went over to see her. Adrianne and Darlayah were fairly close, but they rarely talked. "Hey Adrianne. Any new jobs?" the breton asked, trying to keep her eyes open. Adrianne shrugged, before heading to the workbench next to her shop. "Just a bunch of swords for the guards. Nothing much." she replied, working on the metal sword on the bench. Darlayah turned to leave. "If you need any help, just ask. I'm always willing to help." she said, and waved goodbye to her friend, heading over to the entrance of Whiterun.
As she pushed open the large wooden gates, she gazed out to the rest of the Hold, and at the huge mountains that bordered the grassy plains. The sight never failed to make her smile. She stepped out into Skyrim, ignoring the fact she left the gates open. The guards shut them reluctantly behind her, as she ran down the path from the city walls to the stables, where her palomino horse stood, pale coat glistening in the morning sun. The horse immediately looked over to Darlayah, whinnying in delight. It cantered out of the stables (as it wasn't closed in), and towards her, and only then did she notice the poor creature was soaking wet and dirty, dust in the animal's coat from the huge storm. Darlayah sighed. She patted the muzzle of the horse gently, hushing it in his excited state. "Sorry Dagur. Looks like you can't go anywhere today, not like this." she whispered to her steed, and his head drooped in what seemed to be disappointment. "First…you need a good wash!" she added cheerily.Maybe washing Dagur might wake me up a bit, she thought, watching with a grin as the horse trotted about in excitement.
After grooming Dagur, the young breton grabbed her tack from the stable's wall, which was sheltered from the night's wind and rain, and wondered if she would need a saddle or not. She could ride bareback, and preferred to, so she simply placed the saddle back on the wall and went over to her horse with a bridle and reins. Dagur allowed his rider to slip on and adjust the bridle, clipping on the reins and stroke his pale cream mane.
Just as Darlayah tried to jump onto her horse's back, something made him stir. His head was right up, ears swivelling around, before pointing backward in distress. She calmed him, somewhat annoyed. She tried again, and the same thing happened. Did he want a saddle? She headed back to the tack wall, grabbed the saddle, and strapped it on him, but when she tried to mount him, he almost went galloping around the stables. Something was irritating the horse. Sighing, she stroked the horse, soothing him, while she leapt onto his back, this time, successfully. Maybe Dagur isn't meant for crazy adventures, she thought to herself, especially not my crazy adventures.
Darlayah had been riding for about an hour. The rain had dispersed, leaving the occasional white fluffy cloud blotched like ink across the blue sky. Her horse, Dagur, was acting perfectly fine now, content with the simple trot through the countryside. The breton was confused; why had he been acting so flighty earlier? Was something bothering him? She was even considering leaving him at the stables and taking Trew, a chestnut brown horse who was as stubborn as a mule.
As Dawnstar approached, she began to sing to herself, a strange yet mysterious little tune, and Dagur listened intently.
'"I have died everyday, just
Waiting for you to come home,
Lying on my bed, all alone,
And you still haven't come home.
It's been a long, cold year.
My cold heart grows restless,
Waiting for you to come home.
The stone floors are cracking,
And you still haven't come home.
It's been a long, cold year.
And the bird's song is a crow call.
A sharp rap on the door.
The crow's call, is a bird's song.
And the dagger ends all."
The bitter cold wind had little effect on her smooth, sweet voice. Her black and red robes seemed to block out the harsh winds, or most of it at least, and it soon began to collect the snow flakes, which contrasted against the thick black fabric. Her dark song became a quiet hum, and eventually, turned into silence.
She had arrived at Dawnstar. Dismounting her steed, she tied him to a tall wooden fence, before treating him with a small carrot. Dagur whinnied in delight, munching loudly on the crunchy treat. A few strangers glanced at her with odd looks, some even shaking their heads. They knew why she was here.
Stomping through the layer of snow that covered the path, she went into a small home, daggers hidden but easy to reach for. Darlayah looked around the house.
It was seemingly empty, empty mead bottles near the fireplace, bed untouched, raw meat laid out on the table…it was all…suspicious.
CLANG.
A sharp clanging sound made the breton unsheathe a dagger subconsciously, and she positioned her self in a defensive stance, as she crept towards a wardrobe. It was open, but empty. Was it one of those secret doors? Instead of gently opening the door, she forcefully kicked down the wooden back, and it splintered into several pieces, revealing a short staircase delving into a small basement room. She stormed down the stairs, knowing her presence was already known, and unsheathed her other dagger, both clean and restless for bloodshed. As Darlayah landed at the bottom stair, a large black coffin which was lying in the centre of the square room burst open, the lid flying across the room as a woman leapt out of it, grinning madly. Darlayah stared. She was never told her target was a vampire.
First, she needed to be stunned. Darlayah mustered her strength, and almost growling, yelled forth, "FUS RO DAH!" The vampire flew back, collapsing at the base of the back stone wall, grin vanishing, sharp teeth flashing. As the woman tried to get up, Darlayah proceeded to jump onto her, dagger to her throat, a devilish look in her dull blue eyes. "Any last words?" she hissed, dagger just scraping the pale skin of the furious vampire. She remained silent. Darlayah grinned. "Very well. Another soul for Sithis..." She muttered. A quick twist in her wrist and the vampire's neck was leaking dark, red blood.
Yeah, she was loud on this contract, but Darlayah found it more fun to be more…violent. She found fun in killing, but would never commit such a crime unless the kill was needed, wanted, or dared. An innocent never deserves to die, unless someone is willing to pay for it, Darlayah always thought. Yes, it was cruel, but she never showed this cruelty to anyone other than her enemies. Otherwise she was quite timid and rather friendly, if a little short tempered.
She dragged the body to the coffin, heaving the heavy woman into the black box before her blood reached the floor. She wanted to hide her kill, but there was only one place to hide it. In the giant noticeable black coffin (which happened to be the only object in the room, except for some daggers). Not a very good hiding spot, but if a young person happened to find the hidden room, at least they wouldn't scream and faint because there was a bleeding woman lying on the floor.
Leaving the house, she quickly sheathed her daggers, realizing it was a bit odd running around with a bloody knife in your hands. She concealed them within her robes. The townsfolk were staring, and Darlayah realized it was time to leave. She didn't want the guards to find her kill. She ran towards her horse, untied him, and then mounted. They needed to head to Falkreath, which was on the opposite end of Skyrim. So first, she decided to head to Whiterun.
An hour passed, and soon the two were approaching Whiterun. A farm was nearing, the Lorieus Farm, to be exact. Darlayah had never met Lorieus before. Apparently, he was quite a
"AHHHH, BOTHER AND BEFUDDLE!" A loud shrill male voice startled Dagur, who reared, leaving his breton rider clinging on with fear.
"CALM DOWN!" she growled to her horse, who was searching around for the voice. Dagur then stared at something in the distance, on the road past the farm. "Oh, what is it now?" Darlayah mumbled, dismounting and leading her troubled horse to the object.
As they neared, she noticed a wagon, and a brown horse who was happily grazing on the grass nearby. One of the wheels had broken clean off, leaving whoever owned the wagon on the small road. Darlayah heard the voice again.
"STUCK. STUUUUCK!" he voice called, and as Darlayah got closer to the wagon, she noticed an odd man dancing around with his arms on his head, yelling curses and profanities. His feet moved so fast, Darlayah could swear she could feel a headache coming on.
She cautiously approached the furious man, and looked at his unusual attire. He was wearing a red jester's motley, with a matching black striped hat, which hid red-brown hair that touched his shoulders. His gloves and boots matched, being black with golden patterns. He looked like a fool.
A jester? In Skyrim? Darlayah had never seen such a person before in all her travels. She knew there were court wizards and other roles in a Jarl's palace, but she had never seen any entertainers. Dragonsreach would be a lot more interesting if Balgruuf had a jester, she thought.
She cleared her throat, a loud cough which caught the jesters attention. "Uh…do you..have a problem? Sir?" she asked, rather uncertainly. She kept a fair distance from the odd little man, unsure of what he would be like.
"Oooohh! Poor Cicero is stuck. Can't you see!" he answered in an exasperated tone. He was flailing his arms everywhere and dancing around on one foot. He truly was insane. Darlayah tried to interrupt, but the jester, who was apparently named Cicero, continued his rant in his terribly annoying shrill voice. "I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well, not her. Her corpse! She's quite dead." he said, all of a sudden a lot calmer.
Darlayah glanced at the broken wagon, and in the back was a huge wooden crate. Was there really a coffin inside? She looked back at Cicero, who had a hopeful look in his eyes. "Would you…uh…like any help?" she asked him, somewhat reluctantly. Even though the strange man was quite mad, she felt some pity for him and his...'mother'. The jester's eyes grew wide with happiness.
"Yeeesss! The kindly stranger can most CERTAINLY help!" he exclaimed, doing a little dance and clapping. "Go to the farm! The Lorieus Farm! Convince Lorieus to fix poor Cicero's wheel!" the man added, spinning around in a circle. Darlayah stared, raising an eyebrow. This guy was beginning to worry her.
"Uh…sure. I'll be back in a minute." she muttered, before sprinting up to the farm next to the road. The owner, Lorieus, was standing by the wall, watching as his wife tended the crops. He then glanced at the approaching breton, almost rolling his eyes.
As Darlayah went up to him, she pointed to the broken wagon. "The uh…little man needs your help. His wheel is broken and-" her speech was broken off by Lorieus, who wagged his finger in front of her.
"No, no and NO! That little mad-man has asked me seven times already! Seven!" he snapped, shaking his head. Darlayah sighed.
She took a step closer, just to prove she wasn't afraid of the old farmer. She looked directly at him. "That poor fellow is stuck. Just standing there. He asked you kindly for your help, several times, as you have said. And you had the heart to say no? What kind of Imperial refuses to help his own kinsman?" she said, persuasive tone smashing through Lorieus's defenses.
"Okay…maybe I wasn't being neighbourly. But imagine what he could have in that box! Weapons, skooma, stolen goods…" he stuttered. Darlayah stared coldly. "His dead mother." she stated bluntly. A sigh escaped her lips, as she looked over to the jester's wagon. "Just…help him. Okay? Please?" she added, in a more gentle tone. Lorieus sighed.
"Tell the jester I will be there in a second. But if it is illegal - whatever he has in that crate - Iwill give your name to the guards, woman." he growled, eying Darlayah, who rolled her eyes. "You don't even know my name, Lorieus." she said, and turned on her heel, heading back to the jester.
As she approached the strange little man, he leapt right up to Darlayah, dancing around her in joy. The breton woman stood in confusion. She hadn't even told him what Lorieus had said, and the man was already being an idiot. "Listen, er…Cicero. Lorieus said he'd fix your wheel. But be careful - he's not exactly the kindest person around..." she told him, stepping back from the excited jester. Before she could head back to her stallion, Dagur, Cicero grabbed her hand, and put something in it. "Shiny, clinky coin! For your help, stranger!" Cicero smiled gratefully, as Darlayah turned, staring at the small coin purse he had given her. "Thank you, Cicero." she replied, somewhat confused.. As she turned back around, she couldn't help but notice Cicero glaring at her robes. Did he recognise them? Hopefully not…
As she neared Dagur, she heard the jester's voice again. "What is your name?" he called out, "If Cicero meets you again!" he added. Darlayah grinned. She turned around, walking backwards towards her patient horse. "Darlayah! Darlayah Dawn-bringer." she answered, as she bumped into Dagur, who was glaring at his rider. "Come on, Dagur. Time to go home." Darlayah whispered to her steed, who all of a sudden seemed excited to get away from the farm. Well, the jester's voice was quite annoying. Many people would want to get away from him as fast as possible. Darlayah laughed as she mounted her stallion. "I was just being helpful!" she muttered to her horse.
Whiterun stables was fairly empty. The only life there was Darlayah, Dagur, and the stable's own horses. The coin sack which Cicero had given to the Darlayah was emptied and the contents were scattered on top of a crate, and were being counted. "Ninety-nine…one hundred! Wow, all I did was get Lorieus to fix the wheel…" the woman muttered, placing all one-hundred of the shiny gold coins back into the little purse.
"Thats a good purse of septims you have, Dee." a voice called from behind her. Darlayah turned, somewhat startled, and standing there eyeing the coin purse was Jervar, the son of the stable-master. He was the guy who would look after Dagur and feed him when Darlayah was out on her adventures. "Where'd you get that?" he asked, a curious look on his face. Darlayah bounced the pouch in her hand. "A stranger. I helped him get help. Nothing much, I guess he was just overly grateful." Images of the joyful jester's annoying little dances popped into her head. "You know what, I don't really need this. Here. Think of it as payment for looking after my stallion for the past week." Darlayah looked over to Dagur, and then back at Jervar, who was smiling with joy. "Oh, thanks Dee!" he said, as Darlayah handed him the gold. She patted him on the back, before she mounted Dagur again, this time, heading to Falkreath.
Darlayah would often do such kind things, even to complete strangers. She had a good amount of wealth already, mainly from raiding and exploring caves, but also from helping Jarls and other people. She would always accept the challenge of retrieving something from bandits, and wouldn't mind slaying a problematic dragon, or clearing out the occasional Forsworn hideout. It was just more fun for the breton assassin.
Of course, her new role in the assassin organization, the Dark Brotherhood, was also a huge contribution to her coin collection. Her helpfulness to strangers soon evolved into a willingness to kill if needed, and Astrid, leader of the Sanctuary in Falkreath, saw this as an opportunity to build up her gang of hired killers. The Dark Brotherhood had been slowly decreasing in power and numbers, and it became more and more difficult to keep the illusion that the assassins where all around, still powerful, and still fully operational. Skyrim only had two sanctuaries, one of which wasn't being used anymore. The Falkreath one was still operational, but the group soon demoted from a feared organization to a small gang of hired murderers, but plenty of money was still earned from this.
The Brotherhood's contracts were originally given to someone called the Listener, the only person who could hear the Night Mother's voice. To contact the dark group of murderers, one would pray to the Night Mother by performing the Black Sacrament, an ancient and taboo ritual which was heard by the Night Mother, who would extend the details to the Listener, who would in turn give the contract to the Speakers. But there hasn't been a Listener for a long while. The Brotherhood now had to find out about the prayers via rumours spread around Skyrim.
Darlayah had been told that the Keeper, the person who looked after the Night Mothers coffin, was coming to Skyrim from Cyrodiil. The Night Mother's crypt in Cyrodiil was destroyed by the Thalmor during the Great War, and so her corpse had to be moved. Maybe, in Skyrim, a new Listener would be chosen. Maybe.
I wonder what the Lady's voice sounds like…,Darlayah thought to herself, as she trotted down the stone road south. Why isn't she speaking to anyone though? Is there no one worthy of being Listener? Can she even speak?
She pushed the thought away as she brought back the image of her most recent contract. A vampire? She had never been told the target was a vampire. "I'm going to kill you when I get back, Nazir." Darlayah growled to herself. Nazir was a red guard who gave out most of the contracts, and normally he would have said if the target was a bloodthirsty monster or not. The breton could of contracted Vampirism herself, and a vampire wasn't something she'd want to be forever. Shaking her head, she focused back on the road.
Dagur halted. He knew they were where they wanted to be. Darlayah patted her stallions mane, before dismounting, and lowering her hood, shaking her head and allowing her long, dark hair to be released from behind her neck. She gave her horse a small treat, before heading to the black door that concealed the sanctuary. Dagur obediently stayed put.
The door spoke, a mysterious voice. "What is the music of life?" it asked, unwilling to open if the answer was wrong. Darlayah knew the correct response. "Silence, my brother." she replied, and the door spoke once more. "Welcome home."
She swung the odd door open, went inside, and then shut it behind her. A cold draft blew in through a hole in the roof near the door. Humming to herself, she walked down the small steps to the Sanctuary, and there stood Astrid, the leader of the Sanctuary. She had an exasperated look etched on her face. "You're here, finally. The Keeper has just arrived. He's not what we thought he'd be…" she told her, and Darlayah could hear what seemed to be laughter…incessant, vexing laughter…
"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely…punishment?" Darlayah recognised the voice. It was quite familiar…
She leapt down the steps, pushing past Astrid, curious as to who this person was. She had an idea of who the voice belonged to, but she wasn't sure she wanted such a person in the Brotherhood sanctuary. As she reached the rest of the group, she realised her suspicions were true.
"AH! I KNOW YOU!" the jester jumped up and down, grabbing Darlayah's hands and spinning her around, much to her discomfort. "Oh, Cicero never forgets a face!" he suddenly let go, and Darlayah would of fallen face first onto the ground, if it weren't for Veezara, an argonian. He held onto her, stopping her fall. The world was spinning around in circles in her eyes. "Oh…uh…thanks Veezara." Darlayah managed to mumble, getting to her feet. She looked at Cicero, who was innocently standing there, hands behind his back, as if nothing had happened. "You were the man…with the wagon. Carrying his…mother." Darlayah said, keeping a fair distance from the mad man. He once again began to dance.
Now she understood. He was the Keeper, and his 'mother' was the Night Mother!
"I am! I am! But not just my mother. Our mother, hmm? The Night Mother! Oh yes!" Cicero exclaimed, clapping his gloved hands and hopping from foot to foot. "But wait - Cicero knows your name. Yes, yes. But what is it? Hmm…" he muttered, suddenly frozen, rubbing his chin as he thought hard. Each time Darlayah tried to remind him, he would leap around, telling her, "I can do it! I can do it! Be patient!".
Finally, after a few minutes, Cicero found an answer. "Dawn-Bringer! Well…Something Dawn-bringer. I forgot…" he said sheepishly, but Darlayah smiled. "Darlayah Dawn-Bringer." she corrected him. Cicero shrugged. "I think I was close enough. Can I call you Dawn-Bringer? Or Dawn?" he asked her, eyes pleading. "Uh…sure. If it's easier for you to -" she was cut off by the jester's crazy dance and exclamations, and she soon gave up even trying to communicate with him.
"Darlayah! I've been waiting for you." Nazir, the red guard, came up to the confused breton, and then remembered what she wanted to say to him. She scowled. "You never said my contract was a vampire." she growled, crossing her arms, trying to ignore the jester behind her. Nazir's brows furrowed. "I was never told she was a vampire, Dee." he replied, and Darlayah raised an eyebrow. Normally, she would be told if her contract was a werewolf or a vampire, or some creature. That way she could be prepared. "Well, didn't the contact tell you? He should have." she muttered angrily. "I could have been bitten."
Nazir shrugged. "Well, here's your payment anyway. I'll be sure to 'talk' to our little liar later." Nazir said, before handing Darlayah a sack of coins. She weighed it in her hands., wondering how much was inside. Nazir took notice. "It's got four hundred septims in it." he said, grinning. Darlayah nodded gratefully, and left Nazir, past the irritating little jester (who was now arguing with Astrid) and headed up the stairs to her shared room. She had her own little end table, which she usually kept little tokens from her contracts. This time, she came back with nothing, but she didn't care. Four-hundred gold is four-hundred gold, and Darlayah never said no to the money.
When she went up, she saw Gabriella practising some spells. Darlayah had some knowledge of destruction spells, and also with restoration, but she was never fond of the other schools. "Hey, Dawn." the Dunmer said, smiling. Gabriella had been a good friend to Darlayah ever since she first joined the Brotherhood. She rarely ever called her Darlayah, almost always calling her by the name given to her by Meridia (the Daedric Prince of Life) - Dawn-bringer, or just Dawn. Gabriella never knew this, though, she just found the name easy to remember when they first met, but it then became a nickname for the breton.
"What do you think of the Keeper? I think he's a bit too…exuberant for my likings. But, we can't change him, can we?" Gabriella added, shrugging and smiling. Darlayah grinned. "He's most definitely a little bit…odd…but I guess we should give him a chance, right?" Darlayah replied, and they both laughed. Gabriella suddenly began to blush. "Well…he does have nice hair…I-I guess…" she stuttered, and there was an awkward silence. All of a sudden, they both erupted into fits of laughter, rolling on the floor clutching their stomachs.
This was the duo's usual antics, pretending to be serious assassins, but when no-ones around, they are both the very definition of trouble. Babette, the 300-year-old breton vampire (who had the body of a ten-year-old) , sometimes aided their tricks, but often kept out of their troublesome ways. Usually, the vampire would end up walking in on their hysterical fits of laughter, and just shake her head and walk straight out again. Which is exactly what just happened.
"You two are simply mad. Worse than that Keeper." Babette muttered, crossing her arms. This made the assassins on the floor laugh even louder. The vampire simply chuckled, and left, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Ho ho ho and hee hee hee! Break that lute across my knee-" the jester's disturbing song was cut off by a sharp rap on the table by Astrid, who was beginning to get annoyed. Cicero pouted, stuffing a spoonful of food into his mouth.
It was dinner in the sanctuary, and this time, Darlayah decided to stay and eat with her fellow assassins. On the menu: Apple and Cabbage stew. Nazir was the cook for the night, and everyone loved his cooking because of his experience with spices and herbs. He was a fan of the Gourmet's recipes too, so it was a real treat for Nazir to make the food.
"Astrid, give him a break. It must have been a tiring journey from Cyrodiil to here." Nazir said, waving his spoon at her, before eating the stew. Astrid rolled her eyes.
Wait. Cyrodiil? That was south of Skyrim. Cicero was near Whiterun when I found him. Thats way north of here, Darlayah thought. What had he been doing so far north? Maybe he just got lost, she concluded, stirring her stew with the wooden spoon in her hand. She looked up at Cicero, who was still pouting, and surprisingly silent, and Darlayah felt some pity for him, considering he had come a long way. She decided to talk to him. "So…Cicero…did Lorieus fix your wheel alright? No trouble?" she asked him, and he smiled happily. "Oh yes! My wagon was fixed in no time, and I made sure to pay Lorieus. Cicero wouldn't be here if it weren't for him…and you!" he said, a huge smile plastered on his face. Darlayah smiled back. He wasn't as bad as everyone was making him out to be. "How much did you pay him?" the breton asked him, and Cicero told her he had payed the same as what he had payed her. Darlayah nodded, before continuing to eat her stew. Cicero was a lot happier from then on. He isn't that bad. She thought, Why does everyone hate him so much? His shrill voice and irritating speech came into her mind. Oh, right.
Soon, the Brotherhood finished their meal, cleaning up and chatting. Cicero had disappeared. Probably off dancing somewhere. Darlayah thought, grinning at the image it had given her. She decided she would stay the night in the Sanctuary. Dagur will be fine, she assured herself, hoping the palomino stallion would understand where his rider was.
She headed to the big shared room, where there were beds scattered around the room. Gabriella was lying on her bed, focusing her magic, and Festus Krex, the other wizard, was probably doing some alchemy. Veezara was sitting on his bed reading a book. Darlayah went to hers, opening her end table, and pulling out her journal. She would often write in this, just as a little thing that could hold her deepest, darkest thoughts - ones she hadn't the heart to tell to a living person. She pulled out an inkwell and a quill, and began to write.
Fredas 17 Second Seed, 4E 201
The Keeper has arrived, and is not what we thought he would be. He is rather eccentric, and tends to sing the most unusual songs, usually about death. He dances constantly, and even his voice is rather annoying to hear.
Anyway, my contract went well, an easy kill as usual, except the target was a vampire. I was never told that our kill was such a creature, so I wasn't the happiest person when I confronted Nazir about the issue. It turns out, the contact never told Nazir either. What were they trying to do? Kill us? Of course, a vampire is not too difficult for me, but a warning would have been nice.
Darlayah frowned. Cicero was singing again, and it was irritating. He wasn't bad, but it was the lyrics he sung that were annoyingly disturbing. He constantly sang about feeding cats' corpses to rats, and breaking birds' necks, even something about setting someone on fire. From down below, Arnbjorn, the werewolf husband of Astrid, could be heard yelling at the jester, and then silence. A small cheer could be heard from Veezara. Darlayah rolled her eyes, and continued to write.
The town lay in ashes and ruins before her. The land was stained with blood, and the fresh air was distorted by the smoke still rising from the smouldering piles. The stench of decay lingered in the breeze as it blew past the rubble into the forest.
This used to be Helgen, a tiny town where Ulfric was meant to be beheaded. But he wasn't. The execution was interrupted. Ulfric Stormcloak was saved. But by who?
Alduin, first born of Akatosh, had ravaged the town with fire and claw, sending the townsfolk diving for cover as he sent flaming rock pounding the earth from the sky, burning each and ever living thing he saw...except for them.
Darlayah, Ralof, Ulfric and a few others were the only survivors. They were the last people to see Helgens population alive. They were the last to see the walls standing tall. But the first to see Alduin's return.
Now, the people of Helgen lay in horrid positions, burnt to a crisp or buried under the heavy stones that were once the protective walls that surrounded the city. The families huddled together in their last attempts to stay calm, their last attempts to be safe.
Darlayah fell to her knees in front of what was the gate. It was now a pile of burnt splinters and broken rods, some parts still hot and covered in ash.
This town used to be alive. This town used to be thriving. It used to be called 'home'.
She still remembered the children who were watching the Imperial soldiers, who stared with wide eyes as each wagon pulled up to meet Helgen's walls. The children who had to be pushed inside their homes to avoid watching the fate of the Nord prisoners.
But where were those children now?
Burnt? Torn apart? Orphaned? She never remembered seeing children running out of the town. She never met a child who said "I survived Helgen."
That was it. Tears began to fall down the breton's cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands, choking up the tears that had been the lump in her throat.
Darlayah, feared assassin and deadly mage from High Rock, crying because of a burnt city.
The skies suddenly turned black. The grey clouds swirled in the dark sky, smothering the stars in thick, wispy smoke. Ashes began to rain, rocks fell to the ground next to her. Thundering roads echoed through the rubble, echoed in her head, a shadowed figure soaring across the sky, bright orange fire spitting out from it's mouth. Darlayah began to scream. She began to run, she tried to hide, but the dragon came ever closer, and yelled forth in his thundering voice-
"WAKE UP!"
A shrill voice awoke the sleeping breton, and when her senses came to, she felt beads of sweat pouring down her face. The room seemed clammy all of a sudden. "Oh, thank goodness you're awake." another voice said, a lot more gently than the other. Gabriella and Cicero stood over Darlayah's bed, worried faces staring down at the woman. "You've had another nightmare. It's okay-"
Darlayah leapt from her bed, straight into Gabriella's arms, who desperately tried to comfort her.
It wasn't the first time she would have these nightmares. During her life, Darlayah had had some terrifying things happen to her, and they would appear in her dreams and turn them sour. Apparently, she would even scream if the nightmares were harsh enough.
The day she had been sent to be beheaded was one of her worst memories. She would never forget the feeling of fear, anger and sadness after the incident. Alduin, the legendary dragon who was meant to have been slain, had returned, shredding the town of Helgen to pieces with fire and claw. The bodies of the men, women and children lay burnt on the ground, their last moments of fear captured in horrid positions, forever left to rot in the rubble and debris.
"I-I-I can't do this anymore." Darlayah managed to mutter. She needed to get away from the memories. Gabriella released her, sitting the breton back onto the bed. Cicero watched anxiously. "Maybe you visit the temple in Riften. The priests of Mara will know what to do." Gabriella suggested, and Darlayah nodded, a lump forming in her throat. "Wh-what time is it…" she muttered, laying her head down on her pillow, covering her face with her hands. "The sun has only just risen." Gabriella replied, unsure of theexact time. "Come on. Let's get you some food, and I will come with you to Riften." she offered, and Darlayah smiled, moving her hands off of her red and tearful face. As Gabriella left, Cicero stared with anxious eyes at the woman laying in front of her. "Is…Dawn okay? Cicero gets nightmares too. That's why he doesn't sleep." he said, kneeling down to Darlayah's level. "Yeah…I'm fine. I wasn't…you know…yelling…or anything - right?" she muttered, hoping she hadn't made a sound. Cicero shook his head exaggeratedly. "Dawn was quite loud. Luckily I was awake and heard you, and quickly went to fetch the elf." he said proudly, holding his head high. Darlayah smiled sheepishly, sitting up and looking at the floor. "Thanks." was all she managed to say.
The ride to Riften was a long, slow journey. Darlayah insisted that she go alone, and Gabriella reluctantly obeyed. Instead of taking Dagur, she had hired a wagon, and the journey was painfully silent. The driver hadn't spoken, mainly because Darlayah never answered him when he tried to start a friendly conversation.
When they finally arrived, Darlayah tossed a small sack of septims to the driver(without checking the amount inside) and leapt off the wagon without even a 'thank-you'. Shaking his head, the driver turned his cart around and left.
"Riften. Nice to see you again." the breton muttered as she approached the enclosed city. Tall stone walls barricaded the whole town, and a guard stood at the entrance. He stepped forward. "Halt. You will need to pay a toll of say…fifty septims to pass through." All of a sudden, Darlayah ran forward, punched the 'guard' in the stomach, pulling off his helmet, and slapping him across the face before pushing him to the ground forcefully.
"W-well, you're a smart one, a-ain't ya?" the 'guard' muttered, clutching his stomach with one hand, and holding himself up with the other. He was no guard. He was Galdur, a member of the Thieves Guild, and wasn't very well aquatinted with Darlayah at all. In fact, they did enjoy giving each other bruises along their arms and face. "J-j-just go right in, Dee." the nord grinned, getting up and shaking his head, scanning around for the helmet. Darlayah obeyed, not even opening her mouth to speak.
Pushing the huge gates open, Riften was revealed, depressed looking people wandering around aimlessly, several homeless people sitting about…it wasn't the nicest city in Skyrim. Darlayah stepped forward, and went to shut the gates. As she scanned about more, she noticed the expressions on the people's faces.
Everyone looked either worried, deppressed or afraid. They didn't recognise Darlayah, did they? No, they couldn't. She didn't have her red war paint and her hood was off. There was no way the townsfolk could know who she was. But what was going on? Maybe it was just a bad day for the people, or something. Or maybe this was normal.
Riften was one of Darlayah's least favourite places to go, because of the trouble and mess in the city, the dark clouds that loom overhead, the irritatingly dull people…it was really quite boring. The only reason she would ever go there was to visit the Temple of Mara, which was the first place on her list of places to go when feeling down.
She wandered over to where the Temple was, kicking about a small stone that had broken from the city's ground. Instead of going out in her assassin's robes, she decided to change into something a bit more…acceptable. She was wearing a belted tunic with an old gold circlet, and an amulet of Mara hung around her neck. She needed to look as civilian as possible for a while, just while the rumours about Grelod's murder were disappearing.
Darlayah finally reached the temple, but something didn't seem quite right.
The huge torches outside the temple were dim, the fire dying, smoke wishing away from the embers. That was most unusual. The priests usually kept the flames going, no matter what. It was also very, very quiet. Not like the temple at all.
The breton took only a step towards the temple, when suddenly a guard appeared out of seemingly nowhere, and halted her immediately. He drew his sword, and Darlayah raised her arms in surrender. "Halt! Do not go any closer." he growled, and made sure Darlayah went no closer. She was extremely confused, and also very worried. What in the name of Sithis was going on?
She sighed, lowering her arms. "I'm not here to cause any harm. What happened?" she said, a blunt tone which made the guard sheathe his sword. He shook his head grimly, folding his arms and sighing.
"The priests of Mara have been murdered."