Author's Notes:
Silence the Laughter takes place in the world of Tamriel, in the city of Skingrad, set not too long before the Daedric Invasion of Tamriel. As usual, I'd love feedback, but whatever, as long as you enjoy. I can't believe I was considering doing this as a one-shot, but instead I'm releasing it as a chapter-by-chapter thing, as I didn't want to break over two thousand words per chapter.
Laughter rang through the midnight air; loud, obnoxious, echoing laughter.
The laughter filled the air every night it seemed, no matter the day or the hour of night.
And every night the residents of Grey Street would wish for peace to envelop their little corner of Skingrad. One particular individual, who shall not be named, even went as far as to guarantee a resolution of sorts to their problem.
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear," went forth a plea one night, whispered over the remains of a High Elf's heart, flesh and bones, the flickering candlelight casting a mockery of movement in the sockets of the meat-encrusted skull. The Imperial watched the shadows dancing on the stone wall, dancing like the villainous Daedra after eating the souls of the wicked.
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, most unholy matron, there lives one who must be sent to the Dread Father," continued the chant, the old Arena Champion continuously stabbing the heart and flesh of the recently-deceased, the smell of freshly-cut Nightshade bittersweet in the Imperial's nostrils.
"How may the Dark Brotherhood serve you?"
The voice came from behind the Imperial, and standing behind him in his very basement was a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, a black-robed figure, its' cowl masking it's features. But as the Speaker spoke, the cowl was lifted slightly, and in the depths of the hood the Imperial could see a most handsome face, chiseled to perfection by the Gods that be, but the Imperial knew of the dark deeds that this man must have committed to serve such as dark mistress.
"M-my lord, I have come asking a favor. Several houses down, in my own street, sits a house of inane laughter and chatter. I wish to have the house silenced forever."
"And how do you wish this done; publically, secretly, brutally, to name a few?" asked the robed man, his cowl now hiding a dark grin.
"Brutally. I want them to suffer." The Imperial was surprised at his own courage to speak so freely, his face openly showing the torture the laughter had brought to him.
"And how many live within this house of laughter?"
"Five, including the child," answered the Imperial.
The robed man stood silently for a moment, taking in the Imperial's sleep-deprived face, before looking down at the sacrifice, staring intently at the permanently grinning skull. He withdrew a scroll of plain parchment from his robe and a feather, and asked the Imperial for a bottle of ink. Kicking a small stool over to a crate, the robed man sat, and started writing in an incredibly elegant motion.
I, Lucien Lachance, have answered the summons of the Listener and made contact with the Client. The Client, who for privacy's sake will remain anonymous, will pay a blood bounty of five hundred gold septims per head, which shall be delivered to me by the time I finish this report. The target in question is a house that lies not far from the Client's home. Inside are five targets, including a child. The Client has asked for the murders to be particularly brutal and violent, and wishes them to suffer. The location of this house is on Grey Street, Skingrad, and will be identifiable by the laughter being emitted by the house every night. I recommend an agent of Slayer-level or higher to be sent.
Signed,
Lucien Lachance
Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood
As the Speaker finished writing, he quickly rolled up the parchment and tucked it into a scroll case. Lying on the ground beside him was five large pouches, all filled with Imperial septims, the currency of the land. The Imperial stood next to the pouches, one hand clasping the other, and a look of forced-calm on his now-sweaty face.
"All the gold's here, you can count it if you want." The Imperial's right eye twitched when saying this; he knew that he would be broke, and had to hope somehow he'd be able to scrounge up enough money to pay for his rent, or he'd be out the door.
But the Speaker simply snapped his fingers, and two silhouettes detached themselves from the shadows on the stone wall and quickly picked up the pouches, their black leather armor creaking from the movement, before they disappeared as quickly as they had come. The Speaker started to laugh, a horrible, gravely sound, as if an old man with a lung condition was attempting to laugh.
"No one dares to cross the Dark Brotherhood, so if I find that the gold lacks in amount, I'll be back, trust me. Good evening."
The former-Arena Champion allowed himself to sag against the wall, the robed man finally disappearing, seemingly into thin air. It was almost too much for him to take, and began to worry more fearfully about next month's rent as he clasped a small bottle of Cyrodilic Brandy, and took off the stopper with his teeth. That would be next month's problem.
Two nights later, a cloaked woman entered Skingrad through the Western Gate, having tied up her horse at the Grateful Pass stables, and proceeded to pass underneath the dozing eyes of the guards, unseen. She had nothing particularly to fear from the guards, after all she wasn't clad in her 'work' clothes, but the woman loved to humiliate them. Walking up the stone steps that led into the Two Sister's Lodge, she pushed open the door to be greeted with loud boasting and the smell of rich ale.
The lodge was packed with customers tonight, each eager as the last to pass forth into the gates of oblivion, and find new levels of numbness in their drinks. Paying the innkeeper, the woman took the stairs up, and proceeded to the inn's rooms.
Settling into the comfortable living quarter, Antoinetta shrugged off her stifling cloak and threw her pack onto the queen-sized bed. It was almost too late tonight to do any investigation of the situation, but she decided that she could still question the drunks downstairs, but first she had to choose a persona.
Rummaging through her pack, Antoinetta pulled out velvet dresses and rough-spun cloth shirts, formal coats stitched with gold and the sort of rags you'd see a beggar wearing. Choosing too extravagant of an outfit would draw unwanted attention to her, so she chose carefully.
Coming down stairs, she was pleased by the interested looks the drunken laborers of the city were giving her. Dressed in a long burgundy skirt and ruffled blouse, her shoulder-length blonde hair done up in a Breton Braid, Antoinetta's outfit was well-suited to her needs. Yes, she appeared to be of a middle-to-upper class standard, but women of her sort weren't such a rare sight in times like these, but it was her softly rounded features, twinkling blue eyes and almost-constantly smiling face that sealed the deal, and immediately several young men from the city offered to buy her a drink.
"My lady, you are like the image of an angel from the Chapel of Julianos!"
"Such rot, how dare you accuse her of being so low? She is surely as beautiful as one of the Divines!"
"Sacrilege!"
"Blasphemy!"
"Gentlemen, I believe you've all had a wee bit too much to drink, I'm only an honest merchant's daughter, but it's really nice to be thought of as an angel, or a Divine, even for a night. Would any of you be willing to hand me a goblet of wine, I hear Skingrad's wine is simply the best." Antoinetta was immediately offered four goblets of wine, and she pretended to blush. She should have known that the famous rivalry between the wine-makers in Skingrad would also extend to the inns and taverns in the early hours, each rival paying their laborers to only drink their wine. Taking a goblet filled with Tamika's West Weald wine, she sipped on the delicious liquid, savoring his taste and texture. Although no wine connoisseur, Antoinetta enjoyed the finer things in life which were denied her in her childhood. Settling down at a table with her small group of admirers, Antoinetta immediately went to work.
"Tell me, do any of you live on Grey Street?" asked the young merchant's daughter.
Most of the laborers were silent on this, but an especially pock-marked one immediately leapt on the opportunity, claiming to indeed live on the street, and while it was unlikely, Antoinetta decided to show him considerable more attention, much to the envy of his peers.
"Are there any odd families living there?"
The youth gulped down his wine and smiled, "Well, yeah, there's the Viducia family, they're pretty strange."
"How so?"
"Well, they never seem to mingle with anyone else, they never come drinking down here or at the other inn, and they always seem to laugh a lot at night. A few neighbors of mine have gotten together and tried to ask them to quiet down, but they didn't even speak to us," answered the pock-marked youth, almost sadly, then took a swig from his goblet, and finding it empty, signaled for another.
"Why do they laugh so?"
By now most of the admirers realized that Antoinetta wanted to persue a conversation solely with the pock-marked, and they moved away, leaving the two to talk.
"I honestly can't tell you ma'am, they keep to themselves, and they always have."
"But surely they have come out to shop and the like?"
The youth leaned back in his chair, his face suddenly full of worry. "Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you? But no, they get their maid to go out and do all their shopping. They don't go to the Chapel and they never leave their house. That poor kid…"
"Kid?" Antoinetta knew that a child lived there, but feigned ignorance; clearly this young laborer knew something about the family he wasn't telling her.
"Yeah, name of Sheila. She's not really a kid, she's probably around fourteen now, but no one's seen her for years now."
"You knew this girl?"
The chattering in the tavern suddenly grew twice-fold, as more drinks were passed around. The barmaids flew from corner to corner, refilling mugs of ale and pitchers of wine, while an old, senile man made shadow-puppets on the timber wall, to the delight of several of the more intoxicated patrons.
"You could say that, I knew her back when she was just a young sprite, I used to take her to the Chapel since her parents wouldn't, but that stopped when she was ten. She stopped coming outside, same as her parents, and that's it."
Antoinetta stayed with the pock-marked laborer, and indulged in some light chatter with him, humoring the young man in his attempts to woo her hand, but eventually on his fifth goblet of wine, the poor lad passed out, leaving Antoinetta to dodge the attentions of those who had previously given up. It was well past midnight when she went upstairs, the drinking downstairs slowly dying out to just a few groups of drunks who were likely to sleep in the gutter that night. Slipping into a skin-tight black body-suit, and pulled the mask over her face, completely obscuring her features. Opening the door of her balcony, she stepped out into the cold, windy night, her silhouette against the full moon, before quietly leaping to the opposite balcony. Lifting herself to the balcony's railing, she sprang upwards, and caught hold of the roof, then lifted herself effortlessly. Running silently on the sloped tiles with a cat's grace, Antoinetta made the jump to the opposite roof, and headed for Grey Street.