All I can say is: Cicero from here on out. You have been warned.

It was almost midday as the birds were chirping with a light breeze and clear sky as his horse's hooves were gently clopping. Wearing a simple yellow tunic and satchel over his chest, the young man seemed like an ordinary man going on a journey. He had told his wife that he was going to Falkreath to visit Ryvren. It wasn't a lie. His beloved wife had packed some food for the journey and kissed him farewell. He knew he was coming back to her soon. Not sure when or what his new, dark life would hold, but it was going to be soon, that was for certain.

An assassin.

Was he mad for going through with this? Ryvren did it, but the dark elf always had this… power within him. He was more than just a sailor. Either way, it was either joining the Brotherhood or being murdered by his best friend. He did kill the man last night. Quick, too. It was easy since the miner only lived in Kynesgrove. Styrr didn't want to think about if Ryvren hadn't shown up. It was senseless murder that he was committing- a necromancer gone mad with power and experiments. Almost like the Butcher in Windhelm a month ago. He shook the thought from his head. He was going to be an assassin with a purpose– not a mad dog that needed to be put down.

"Huh?" Styrr murmured to himself.

Up ahead was a cart off the side of the road with a person in red standing beside it. As he neared, he blinked in disbelief. A jester? A jester standing beside a broken cart with a large crate in the back? He pulled his horse to the side of the road and hopped off. "Excuse me," he said, approaching the jester.

The jester was cladded in a red and black outfit with yellow accent on the edges and matching hat. His red, thin hair was shoulder-length that seemed to be combed back. He turned around to him and his amber eyes gleamed with frustration. "Poor Cicero! Stuck here! Stuck!" His voice was almost shrill.

"Problem?" Styrr simply asked.

"Cicero was just on his merry way to give his mother a new home, but," he gestured to the busted wagon, "wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke! Don't you see?" He roughly pointed at it with black, gloved hands; staring at him with large eyes.

A blind and deaf man could tell this man had something loose in that brain of his, but that only made him more invulnerable. Styrr couldn't just leave him. Sighing, he walked around the cart and hissed at the sight. It was worse than he thought. The wheel not only broke off, but one of the shafts snapped and the brown horse was just relaxing as he pawed the ground, still attached to the cart.

"See?"

The shrill voice nearly gave Styrr a heart attack. He didn't even hear the fool walk around the cart! The nord looked at the jester, who was a good foot smaller than he was. "I don't know what to tell you. It is bad."

"The Lorious farm," he hissed, pointing to the farm house just up the path behind them. "He has tools. He can help me, but he refuses!" He growled, crossing his arms, pouting.

Styrr couldn't help, but smile. "Surly he must be jesting not to help a poor fool out."

Cicero sniggered with humor in his eye. "A fool indeed!" He joyously cried. "And Cicero hopes he was jesting about not helping, but," he sadly frowned, "it's a poor, cruel jest!"

The nord laughed. "Don't worry, my friend, I'll go talk to him."

His head perked up, looking at him with bright eyes and hopeful grin. "Oh, you will? Excellent! I'll even give you coin! Pretty, shiny coin!"

Styrr waved a hand as he began to walk up the path. "Not necessary!" Coming up to the farm, he found a man tending to the farm as a woman was sitting on the porch, reading a book. He looked back at the man and approached the fence. "Excuse me."

The older man stood up, dusting his hands off. "Oh, for the love of Mara, what now?"

Styrr wanted to narrow his eyes, but remained polite. "The jester needs help fixing the wagon."

"Seriously? I told him no. Cicero, I think his name is, says he going to bury his mother, but honestly, that crate is huge. Who knows what is actually in there? Weapons? Skooma? He seems to be on skooma..." he murmured, glaring at the jester's way.

"So you're going to let him sit there for gods knows how long? He's a man in need of help."

The farmer looked away, then back at him with a sigh. "You're right. Okay. Tell Cicero I'll be there shortly."

Styrr smiled. "Thank you." He turned around and returned to Cicero.

The jester was fidgeting and mumbling to himself, then spun around at the sound of the man's footsteps. "Well?"

"He's coming," he replied with a smile.

Cicero practically jumped for joy and shook his hand with both hands and a grin. "Thank you, oh, so much! I shall take mother to her home! Her new crypt straight away! Thank you, thank you!"

Styrr chuckled, taken aback by the man's energy, but enjoyed it at the same time. It was rare to find such joy in Skyrim. "No worries, my friend. Maybe we shall see each other again!"

The jester released him, still grinning. "Maybe indeed! Oh, what is your name, kind sir?"

"Styrr."

"Styrr! Cicero shall remember that!"

"Have a safe journey, Cicero," he said with a wave as he returned to his horse.

"Thank you and you as well wherever you may go!"

He mounted his horse, clicked his tongue, and returned to the journey at hand.

It was almost sunset when Styrr took a dirt path off the main road before entering the city of Falkreath. He carefully led his horse deeper into the forest, hoping that he remembered Ryvren's vague directions correctly. The path bend into a little clearing by a pond that looked more like tar than water and sure enough, deep in the rocky wall was a black door. He dismounted his horse and carefully approached it. The black door was macabre itself with a grotesque, black skull on it and crimson outlining.

"What… is the music… of life?" a whisper asked.

"Silence, my brother," he answered.

"Welcome home."

Styrr blinked. "Uh, okay." He pulled the door open and was greeted to a narrow, torch-lit hallway, and entered as the door closed behind. He carefully made his way down the hall to a room with a table and a map of Skyrim laid on it with a few bookshelves. He halted at the sight of a woman with long, blonde hair; wearing the same armor as his friend.

She was standing beside another hall with her arms crossed, staring at him with stern, blue eyes. "Styrr, I assume?" she coldly questioned.

"Yes," he firmly answered.

"Ryvren told us about you. How he gave you a second chance of life of handing you an offer to join our family."

Was Ryvren in trouble? Was this a trap?

"I killed the man who made the contract," he stongly stated. "I want to join you and not just for my life, but–"

She raised a gloved hand. "Our brother and your friend explained. You have no other place to go for your... lifestyle. It would only be a matter of time before the guards would want your head for multiple murders; you killed two people before." She smiled, stretching her arms as a welcome. "And this place is home to murderers and people who need a place to call home in their dark way of life. You have done well killing the one who wanted you dead. I am Astrid- leader of this family. Welcome home, dear brother." She turned the bookshelf close to the hall that had clothes. She removed a small pile of clothing with shoes on top and offered it to him. "Mage robes for the necromancer. Wear them well in the name of Sithis. Now speak to Nazir for contracts."

Styrr smiled, graciously accepting his new robes. "Thank you, Astrid."

"You will find the sleeping quarters at the end of the Sanctuary and before you go looking for Ryvren, he is on a contract, but should be returning soon. Now, go and meet the rest of our family."

He gave her a small smile and walked down the stairs that opened to a large room with a small waterfall and pond that had a strained glass window of what a different grotesque skull with horns above it. "Wow," he whispered in awe. He looked to his left, finding a large nord hacking a training dummy with a battle axe while an argonian sat close by on the ground. He approached them with a smile.

The argonian looked up at him with a smile of a row of tiny, sharp teeth and bright, yellow eyes. "Ah, the newcomer. We were expecting you. I am Vezarra. That is Arnbjorn. Don't mind him, he doesn't like talking much."

"I'm Styrr. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. If you want to try your new robes on, the beds are up the hall." He pointed to stairs behind himself with a thumb. "And up there," he pointed over his other shoulder with the other thumb, "is the alchemy room. The dining room is in between."

"I'm looking for Nazir?"

"He usually hangs out in the dining room. He likes cooking."

He chuckled. "Thanks." He walked up the stairs and followed the hall to the room of beds. He quickly changed out of his tunic and into his robes that fitted a little loosely over his narrow frame. He placed his satchel and clothing by the nightstand, unsure if the bed was taken or not, then made his way down the wooden ramp that led to the dining room below and sure enough, there was a redgaurd shrouded in traditional redguard robes, speaking with a little girl across the large table. "Nazir?" he uncertainly asked as he approached the man.

The little girl looked at him with large, glowing, orange eyes.

Styrr gave her a double take. "Vampire?"

She beamed with little fangs showing in a smile. "That's right! 200 years old to be exact."

He didn't know whether to feel sorry for her or not, but she seemed happy. "Oh."

"I'm Babette."

"Styrr."

"Ah!" the redgaurd pleasantly said with a smile. "Ryvren's friend! Nothing what I expected at all! I'd thought for sure you'd be as grim as he was." His voice was deep and, honestly, Styrr could listen to the man talk all day.

Styrr laughed, not arguing with that fact.

"Well, I suppose a necromancer is rather grim, but I digress. I am Nazir. I assume you are here for your first contract?"

His heart lurched with excitement. "Yes," he answered with a grin.

"All right." He placed a hand in a pouch at his hip and removed a letter, reading it. "Looks your first one is a tough one. You're going to Half-Moon Mill for a vampire named Hern." He handed him the contract. "You can leave tomorrow since you just got here." He kindly smiled, leaning back in his chair with dark eyes shining. "Relax and make yourself at home. You'll need it. Oh. You may face Hert, his wife."

Styrr hid his fear. He never faced a vampire before! "Are there others here?" he wondered, slipping the contract in the pocket of the robes. "I met Vezarra and Arnbjorn."

"Festus Krex, our mage, is on a contract, but should return soon. Gabriella should be here and, oh, don't mind Lis."

"Lis?"

He chuckled, amused. "You'll see."

Styrr made his way up the stairs and heard a strange scratching as a young mage was hunched over the alchemy table making some form of potion. The newcomer neared to the edge of the room and jumped back at the sight of a frostbite spider in a small pool. "She's tame?"

"Yes," a monotone voice in a dunmeri accent answered, earning his gaze. "She's mine." The mage lowered the mortar and pestle down and looked at him with cold, red eyes. "I am Gabriella. Pleased to meet you, brother." A kind smile formed on her grey lips. For a dunmer, she was pretty.

He returned the smile. "Styrr."

"Oh, I've expected you. You're Ryvren's friend. I have a good feeling about you, Styrr."

"Does Ryvren have a reputation?" he uncertainly smirked.

"He has a... strong personality. He kept to himself when he first arrived about a week or so ago and murders more than needed. He's in absolute control of his situations. When he chose to spare you, he saw something in you worth keeping alive otherwise those swords of his would've lopped your head off."

Styrr nervously chuckled. "I know... I've seen him in combat before."

She looked at him with curiosity. "How long have you known him?"

"Six months."

"Friendship certainly was not the only thing that kept you alive. He's found his potenial like a mage mastering magic. He found his nitch and it's murder. Ryvren isn't the one who would spare so easily. Contract or not."

The man looked at her with wonder. "How do you know all of this?"

A sly smile formed on her face. "I have a... knack for these things. You're friend is dangerous. He'll slit a traitor's throat in any moment and he won't give any chances at life if found unworthy." She frowed, staring in his eyes. "Don't disappoint him. If you mess up, it'll make him look like a fool for believing you. I'm telling you this because you're friends. Honestly, he can be feared by many if he keeps it up." She lightly chuckled. "I'm glad he's on our side."

Styrr blinked, taking in the information. He didn't know what to say. He needed to see Ryvren for himself, but how much has he changed since joining the Dark Brotherhood? Will he change himself? He hoped Ryvren will be back by tonight.