Greetings and salutations all. Thank you for faithfully following this story and all the comments. We are getting to the good parts now and I promise some Farkas love will be coming soon in the next few chapters. Thanks for your patience! I want to build a good solid back ground story to create more drama later. I promise they will get together soon. Several spoilers for DB quests here, including radiant quests. I'm not going to list them any more to save time because if people haven't figured out there are spoilers yet and we are in chapter 8…. well then.. derp. That's all I have to say about that.

Chapter 8

Into the Void

My head… Ohh, my head! That was the first coherent thought Schyre had. Her skull felt like there was a great booming drum pounding a hearty beat where her brain should be. She winced and slowly opened her eyes; the introduction of light to her already pained head made her vision swim. I feel like I've been drugged she thought as she quietly moaned and gently rolled to her side to sit up carefully. She sifted through her foggy memories to try recalling what reagents could cause such effects, but the symptoms were too common to pinpoint the culprit. Since her blurred vision only supplied her with shadows and strange blobby colors, she had to feel around to get her bearings. What happened? Did I drink too much? It felt like she was on a bare wooden floor. Did I roll off of the bed in my sleep? She gingerly moved her arm about, trying to locate the bed that should surely be nearby.

The last thing she recalled was going to sleep in a rented room at Candlehearth Hall. After receiving the note from the Dark Brotherhood, she thought about running, fleeing into the wilds in hope that the Black Hand wouldn't find her. In the end, she decided against it; she knew doing that would only prolong the inevitable. Sithis would guide them to her, and there would be no place she could hide. Since she was already fated to have an assassin hunt her down, she preferred the location of the encounter to be her own choice rather than being surprised while blindly running through the cold, uncomfortable wilderness. So, she decided to wait in the most obvious place. No, she wouldn't run, but she also wasn't going to merely lie down and die without a fight, either.

"Well, well, well. Looks like you're finally coming to," a voice like spun honey observed dryly. Schyre focused her attention in the direction of the voice and willed her eyes to focus. The hazy red and black blobs sudden snapped into shape, outlining the athletic figure of a human woman. Schyre reached for her dagger instinctively, immediately recognizing the color and pattern of her garments: a Dark Brotherhood assassin! Of course, her dagger was gone. Unarmed, Schyre gathered both feet under her, ready to spring from a sudden attack. Her headache started to recede shortly after her eyes focused on the assassin, whether from the drug's effect wearing off or mere adrenaline overriding the pain. With her thoughts sharpening again, Schyre darted furtive looks around to see if there was anything she could use to improvise a weapon.

It was then she realized that they were not alone in this dingy shack. Three others occupied the room, kneeling in a line on the cold floor, each bound and blindfolded. What is going on? she thought. A small flash of movement in the corner of her eye riveted her full attention back to the assassin who was now twirling a dagger deftly between her fingers. HER dagger. The woman chuckled darkly, her voice barely muffled by the mask she wore. "My compliments on the murder of Grelod. I heard it was a clean kill. More than she deserved probably." The woman stopped twirling the dagger and leaned forward. "That, however, presents a problem since it was OUR kill. You stole a contract meant for the Dark Brotherhood... But, I am generous. I will allow you to repay your debt to us. A life for a life." With a well-practiced snap of her wrist, she flung the dagger into the floor between Schyre's feet. The force of the strike buried the blade several inches into the wood. "Someone in this room has a contract on their head. It is your job now to decide who that person is. Take that life, and all will be forgiven."

Schyre glanced briefly down at the dagger. Cautiously, she reached down and yanked it from the floor boards, never taking her eyes off the assassin. With its familiar weight now comfortably resting in her palm, she instantly felt more secure. She eyed the woman, calculating her odds of survival if she attacked her now. Though the woman seemed to be in repose, Schyre could see her muscles were tense and ready; she would not be able to get the drop on this woman and would no doubt be in for the fight of her life if she tried. As if sensing her thoughts, the assassin gave her a subtle warning, "I do hope you don't disappoint me." The mask over her mouth seemed to stretch into an amused smile, "After all, you came so highly recommended." Schyre stared at her for a moment. Recommended? Who would…? Veezara! Her heart jumped up into her throat in elation. Veezara was here! It was probably only because of his influence that she was still alive right now.

Clenching her jaw in determination, she forced away any thoughts of attacking the woman and approached the captives. She was unsure what to do at first. Killing someone in the heat of battle was one thing, however murdering someone who was helpless and bound seemed cold-blooded. She spoke with each of them in turn, listening to their tales and tried to discern which person had a contract for their death. The first captive was a Nord mercenary named Fultheim the Fearless, a title completely at odds with his true cowardly nature. Through tears and blubbering, he admitted there might be someone that wanted him dead, perhaps the family or accomplices of one of his victims. He didn't personally have any problem with anyone, but being a mercenary involves killing whoever had a bounty put on their head, and someone was bound to eventually hold a grudge for it. It made sense to Schyre that this could be the case- he certainly seemed to understand there were certain risks in being a freelance sell-sword. So she rationalized to herself, but his weak-willed behavior coupled with his current helpless predicament almost sickened her at the thought of executing him.

Schyre approached the second possibility, this time an Imperial goodwife named Alea Quintus. Unlike Fultheim the Fearless before her, Alea was all spit and fire, almost literally. When Schyre asked her if she could think of any reason someone would want her dead, the defiant woman acidly exclaimed, "It's none of your damned business what my affairs are! If you're going to kill me, just do it already! As Mara is my witness, if I didn't have this hood on right now I'd SPIT right in your face!" A small part of Schyre was pleased with the woman's pride in the face of death. Her caustic attitude did remind her ever-so-slightly of the late Grelod, however, so there was a possibility that her actions at home were just as cruel as her words. If she was indeed a woman of some station, it probably meant that she had servants, and possibly children, to abuse. That thought sobered Schyre from ruling her out completely- she had seen firsthand what having a person like Alea in a position of authority could do to someone.

The last option was a finely-dressed male Khajiit. Despite his predicament, he seemed rather non-plussed to have been "bagged and dragged." When asked his name, he replied in a surprisingly smug tone, "Ahh… Vasha, at your service. Obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters. Have you not heard of me?" Schyre was immediately set on edge by his tone and words. This man openly BRAGGED to her that he was a thief, murderer, and rapist. Her mind almost made up, but wanting to give him the same benefit she allowed the other two, she asked if someone would pay to kill him. Vasha chuckled at this and replied, "The real question is 'would someone pay to have me killed… again?' If none of my enemies paid to have me killed, I would be personally insulted. My day isn't complete if someone doesn't try to gut me in the street! But come now, we both know you will let me go. This is all just part of the game we play, yes? A life threatening situation to ensure mutual benefit. Let us be done with the silly theatrics and talk about your problem like civilized folk, hmm?"

His arrogance and almost comfortable familiarity with this dire situation left no doubt in Schyre's mind: this is the one they made the contract for. He thrives on the misery and pain of others. To let him live would doom countless people and their families in the future. This is why the Brotherhood exists! Schyre realized with furious clarity. To rid the world of monsters like him. Schyre struck him mercilessly, driving her dagger deep into his chest, reveling at his dying shriek. There was no shadow of doubt in her that this was the right thing to do- and now the world had one less evil. She stood over his dead body, staring down at his still form with an aura of self-righteousness. Upon hearing his death, the other captives flinched away from her location and were now huddled together, Alea uncharacteristically quiet and Fultheim praying through his sobs of fear. She glanced at them, momentarily wondering what would become of them before returning to the assassin.

"Well done," the masked woman said, sliding off the top of the armoire. She landed gracefully next to Schyre, circling and assessing her like a prized farm animal. "So you chose the conniving Khajiit. With those kinds of boasts, he was sure to have enemies. It was only logical that you chose him." When she had completed a full circle, the assassin stopped in front of Schyre and handed her a key and a hand-drawn map. "My name is Astrid, mistress of the Dark Brotherhood here. Here is the key to the shack. You may leave anytime you wish. And here is the location of your new home. Approach the door and answer 'Silence, my brother' to gain admittance. I, and your new family, will await you there." Schyre glanced back at the two remaining captives cowering on the floor, feeling unease growing in her, "What about them?" Astrid had not lowered her voice when she introduced herself and openly admitted being part of the Dark Brotherhood. That did not bode well for the couple. Astrid's eye's smiled, "Do not worry about them, sister. Rest assured, all will be well. Now go, your family eagerly awaits you. You have much blood to spill."

Schyre slid the key into the lock and turned the tumblers. She pushed the door open and winced as the rays of the setting sun pierced the gloom and stung her eyes. As her eyes were adjusting to the natural light, the scent in the air brought an overpowering wave of nostalgia. The open door revealed an expansive marsh, and she was hit with a sudden pang of homesickness. Though nothing like Black Marsh, it had the familiar smell of wet soggy earth and lichen-covered rocks. She inhaled the well-known scents, longing to bask in them for a few peaceful moments. As the door latched behind her though, her serenity was cut short by the twin screams of the captives left in the shack. The shrieks of fear and agony were occasionally punctuated by cruel laughter. It soon dawned on Schyre that Astrid fully intended to have some fun with them before sending them to Sithis. She wasn't going to just kill them- they would be tortured first, and probably for a long time. Schyre clamped down on the unease of her conscience, determined that their fates had nothing to do with her now. That was Astrid's… no, that was the Dark Brotherhood's business. Grimly, Schyre wondered if she had done the Khajiit a favor by killing him swiftly. Shuddering and surprised at her own viciousness, she broke into a jog, trying to distance herself from the awful cries that echoed throughout the marsh.


The Black Door before her pulsated with a life of its own: thrumming in time like some morbid heartbeat. If Schyre had any hair, it would have been standing on end from the pure malice that radiated from the portal. It had taken her several hours to reach this place due to a damnable blood dragon that had sniffed her out in the swamp. By the time she had brought it crashing down with only her dagger, Schyre was also fighting off several mud crabs, frostbite spiders, and even a few chaurus that joined in the fray. It had seemed like the entire swamp had marshaled together in an attempt to end her. Now, here she stood, bruised and battered, before the ominous door… trying to summon the courage to enter. The irony was not lost on her. I can rush headlong into battle with dragons, but am afraid of a DOOR.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Schyre approached the door and placed her palm against it. She felt the presence within acknowledge her, a sensation that crept into her veins from her fingertips and causing her blood to turn to ice. "What is the music of life?" a ghostly voice whispered from the door. The words permeated the air, waiting for her response. "Silence, my brother," she replied expelling the breath she didn't realize she was holding. After several tense seconds, the chill left her veins and the door swung open as the whispering voice murmured, "Welcome home." Steeling herself, Schyre descended into the darkness as the door slammed shut behind her, plunging her into darkness.


Astrid studied the map in front of her, planning her next move to strengthen the Brotherhood. She almost didn't hear Schyre as she rounded the corner... Almost. She smiled to herself. Veezara was right. She will be an asset to my Family. Feigning indifference, Astrid addressed her without turning around. "Welcome to the Family, Sister. I was beginning to think you had gotten lost… or had second thoughts." She turned slowly, pleased to find a surprised look on Schyre's face. The Argonian looked like hell though: she was covered in mud, blood, and insect slime; there were large rips in her armor; she also had several cuts and bruises marring her jeweled scales. Astrid raised an inquisitive, disapproving eyebrow. Schyre managed a shrug and simply offered one word as explanation- "Dragons." Astrid admonished gently, "This won't do. As a member of our Family, you must represent us better. You represent the Black Hand now. You represent me."

Astrid turned and retrieved the shrouded armor she had picked out for Schyre, grateful for her foresight. She presented Schyre with the dark supple leather, "Wear it with pride sister, for you are one of us now." Schyre took the armor with an almost holy reverence, causing Astrid to smirk a bit. "Now, go and meet your fellow family members," she said nodding towards the hallway, "one of whom you are already familiar with. Nazir will be giving you your assignments. The corpse of the Night Mother is en route, and I have an important task I am working on and may need your assistance with later." "The Night Mother is coming? ...Here?" Schyre asked, her voice full of mute awe.

Astrid sighed mentally. Great, she venerates the Night Mother. The last thing Astrid wanted was that dried-up mummy in the Sanctuary. It had been entirely HER efforts that kept the Brotherhood from falling apart, not some rotting corpse. It was SHE who had sacrificed, SHE who had pulled them from the ashes. If it wasn't for her there wouldn't BE a Brotherhood for the Night Mother to return to! "Yes, yes," she sighed, "She's coming sometime soon. Do not concern yourself with such things though. I am well prepared for her… return." Schyre gave her an odd look. Astrid couldn't read the Argonian's expression, but something about it irritated her to her very core. "Very well," Schyre replied finally, "Is there anything else I should know? What of the tenets? Are they-" Astrid scowled, gesturing dismissively, "There are no tenets!" She had replied more forcefully than she intended, so she softened her tone before continuing, "These are the rules of the Dark Brotherhood: Respect the Family. Do your job and act professionally. And remember… my word is law. Do these things and you will succeed here. Now, leave me. I am very busy." Astrid returned to her table, watching from the corner of her eye as Schyre retreated down the corridor. She sighed heavily sitting down in her chair, unable to shake the feeling that she had just welcomed trouble through the front door.


The corridor widened to a large cavern where hushed voices echoed softly among the stalactites. Several assassins gathered around a young girl as she described in a deceptively innocent voice her latest kill. Schyre had to look twice before she realized the child was a vampire. She stopped in her tracks and listened for a moment, scanning the crowd for her brother. With a flash of green hued scales, she spied Veezara in the back leaning against a large ornate wall. As the girl finished her grisly tale, earning merry laughter from the onlookers, the crowd dispersed and Schyre got a clearer view of her brother. The years seemed to have been kind to him, honing his lean muscle into a perfect predatory figure.

With an unrestrained grin, she practically ran to Veezara. It wasn't until she was only a few feet away that it registered WHAT he was leaning on. She had been so intent on seeing her brother that she was completely oblivious to the steadily increasing chanting until it was too late. One of the words carved in the stone wall hissed with the crackle of awakening life as its power swelled and burst forth towards Schyre. She gasped and curled down instinctively, covering her head in a useless attempt to shield herself from the invading power. The full force of the Thu'um assailed her body, burning into her very soul. The afterglow of the word shined in her sight with radiant white light as the ancient word's true power became hers to command: Krii, Kill. My voice heralds doom, calling the soul to the Void as body and life fade to nothing.

Catching sight of his figure in the corner of her eye, Schyre startled briefly and focused on Veezara again. Suddenly, she inexplicably felt ashamed and lowered her gaze as she slowly rose to her feet. Every other flagrant demonstration of the Dragonborn legacy had brought nothing but distance between her and those around her. She had intended to tell her brother everything that had happened to her regarding this Dragonborn nonsense, but she wanted to do it gently, or at the very least be able to TELL him without SHOWING him... So much for THAT small favor she thought dejectedly. Fearful to see the all-too-common horror and awe she was cursed to inspire in others, she finally brought her gaze to her brother's face.

Schyre searched his features briefly, trying to interpret his reaction, before her fear faded to confusion: Veezara's face was surprisingly emotionless. He was looking at her with the same response he would have to looking at a stone on the road- indifference. From his unchanged, relaxed posture, she realized that through the entire event, he hadn't moved either towards or away from her. Even afterwards, when the swirling magic had faded and she was cowering on the floor, he didn't offer her a helping hand or even a single word. Not finding any reaction to what he just witnessed, she simply stared back at him. What did they do to you? she wondered as she looked at him with growing dismay. It wasn't just a physical change that now marked him different from the person that briefly visited her home back in Black Marsh. He was looking at her with a stranger's eyes: seeing her, but not connecting with her. There was no trace of the quiet companionship he offered her as he taught her the bow all those years ago, no trace of acknowledgement that it was his eggsister that stood before him…

A lump started to form in her throat as Schyre came to this uncomfortable realization. Desperate to be proven wrong, to be shown that she was jumping to conclusions and her fears were unfounded, she tried to say something, anything to him. He is still my brother… isn't he? All words died in her throat though, and several moments of awkward silence stretched between them. Finally ready to force herself, she took a breath and was about to speak when Veezara broke the silence. In a voice as dispassionate as his eyes, he said, "If you want to talk to someone about it, you should go to Astrid." He easily leaned away from the stone wall and walked right past her, not taking another moment to look at her. Schyre turned to watch as the man that used to be her brother receded into the shadows.


Schyre stoked her small campfire and braced herself against the wind. In her lap rested the beautifully carved ebony bow she found in the small weapon room of the Sanctuary. She was currently on her way to Markarth to avenge some betrayed lover, the next task in her string of jobs to do as a Dark Brotherhood assassin. She had already completed the first three contracts with ease, though the deaths weighed heavily on her spirit. One of the marks had been a hapless simpleton named Narfi. Try as she might, Schyre couldn't figure out why someone wanted the poor man killed. The man was obviously mad from loneliness at the disappearance of his sister, but he was harmless. For a long time she just stood over him, watching him sleep and call out pitifully to the vision of his lost sister in his dream before Schyre finally drew the dagger across his throat. He went silently into Sithis' arms, and likely to where his sister was as well. Schyre tried in vain to convince herself that it had been a mercy killing; the pitiful fool would have paced around that riverbank forever waiting for someone that would never arrive. She knew deep in her heart however that she was lying to herself, and it just made her feel even more isolated.

Her integration into the Brotherhood hadn't gone as smoothly as she had hoped. She found most of the Sanctuary's residents either really creepy or just downright hostile, so discussing the battle with her conscience was a moot point. Nazir, the Redguard tasked with giving her petty missions until Astrid decided otherwise, was constantly making sarcastic jibes about her abilities. Gabriella delighted in disturbing her with disconcerting juxtapositions such as her enjoyment of knitting and unicorns, and then describing how on one occasion she used her knitting needle to stab a unicorn to death. She was also the owner of the Dark Brotherhood's unofficial pet- a frostbite spider named Lis that spent most of its time in a shallow recess of the floor. Arnbjorn, a tow-headed Nord that announced he was a werewolf and Astrid's husband, had taken to calling her "morsel," "tidbit," and other pet-names that involved bits of meat. At first he told her to not mind the names- it was just hard for him to not think of people as snacks. Things didn't work out too well though when Schyre decided to return the nicknames in kind, referring to him as "Spot," "Fido," and her personal favorite- "Here boy!" Now they just avoided each other as much as possible.

It wasn't all bad at the Sanctuary though. Schyre was surprised at how well she got along with the childlike Babette, never picturing herself becoming friendly with a 300 year old vampire. Granted, the context of their conversations tended to revolve around alchemy, but it was nice to have an intellectual discussion with someone well versed in the art. Babette had even given her a few lessons, teaching her some new potions. The last member, Festus Krex, was a cantankerous old mage, but his view of Astrid and the old ways caused Schyre to warm up to him quickly. With hushed tones they would discuss the tenets and how they both couldn't wait until the Night Mother arrived. He'd often made her laugh with his off-the-wall statements like telling her about his foolproof plan to getting a job done: "You walk up to them, introduce yourself, melt all their skin off and run like the wind. Works every time!"

The thing she longed for most, however, was to reach the brother that she hoped was still locked somewhere in that emotionless husk named Veezara. Even though her first encounter with him left her in despair, Schyre couldn't simply accept this is way it would always be- she wasn't the type to not fight back. Whatever had happened in his life that made him so disconnected didn't matter anymore; she was here now, and she would do everything she could to try to bring him out again. So she persevered in trying to remind him of who he was. Veezara did not make things easy for her though; he was always courteous to her when she spoke to him and would even exhibit some form of interest when she spoke to him about her missions, but beyond that he was blasé when she tried to connect with him emotionally.

Three weeks had passed and not once did he offer to chat about anything other than the missions she brought up. Schyre still desperately wanted to discuss with him what had been happening to her since she came to Skyrim. Any time she broached the subject however, Veezara would immediately tell her to seek counsel with Astrid- that Astrid will know what to do. Schyre swore that if she heard one more thing about ASTRID she would scream. On the evening of her first mission, she thought she saw just a glimmer -a tiny spark- of his old self when he requested her to follow him, saying there was something she should have before she goes. The cryptic request had the appearance of being a surprise, and she looked forward to the mystery he seemed to have hidden. He guided her to a small storage area next to the practice room. Inside were several fine weapons hanging on the racks, including an ebony bow.

He remembered! Schyre's eyes lit up as she looked to Veezara happily. He was looking at the blades, however, and gestured to everything in the closet while commenting, "I've tested all of these weapons and any of them will serve you well. Pick whatever you are most comfortable with to take on your mission, and when you have time in between jobs you can practice with the others if you want." He left immediately after that, leaving her to make her pick in solitude. Nothing in his presentation indicated that he knew she would take the bow. It seemed that to him she was just as likely to pick any other weapon as that one. Of course Schyre reached for the bow, but somehow most of the luster of the "gift" was lost.

Is this what being an assassin does to you? Schyre wondered as she watched Veezara cruelly twist his blade as it struck the practice dummy. Such a wound on a live person would leave them bleeding to death for an agonizingly long time. Schyre took him at his word to visit the practice room in between jobs; this was the location that he was most likely to be at any time when not out on his own mission. She had thought it would be a different venue for the two of them to bond, but he was always single-mindedly focused on practicing his own skills. Ignored as she was, she had plenty of time to watch his techniques. After a while, what little wonder and awe she had felt from watching his perfect form slowly became unease as she realized that each blow was honed to deadly perfection- not just to kill, but to maim, bleed and cripple its victim.

Schyre sighed again, turning her pheasant on the spit to fully cook it. Markarth was maybe a day's travel away from her current location. She was appreciative not only for the assignment, but for the chance to get out of the Sanctuary before tensions exploded. Cicero, the odd jester that she helped on the road several weeks back, had shown up carting, of all things, the corpse of the Night Mother with him. Schyre was more than surprised that SHE was the mother he was referring to, not to mention that fate had brought them together. After all, it was her help that had expedited the Night Mother's return. As Cicero overzealously thanked her for her assistance, Schyre couldn't help but notice the peeved look Astrid shot her. Astrid had been on edge all day since the jester arrived and was apparently taking it out on Arnbjorn, putting the werewolf in a fouler mood than usual. He actually growled at Schyre when she offered to help Cicero set the Night Mother up in a private room. Astrid was curt while giving Schyre her mission, advising her to be professional and telling her to keep the reward. She couldn't be sure, but she thought Astrid may have given her the task specifically to keep her away from the Night Mother and deranged jester. It seemed pretty obvious that Astrid was not at all happy with the Night Mother's return.

Schyre was determined not to let them sour her mood. She was actually quite excited about this assignment. After reading the missive and hearing the details, the murder of this mark was well-deserved. Schyre had begun to lose faith in the purpose of the Brotherhood, but this mission restored her belief that they were doing this for the good of all. She rationalized that even though the first three contracts had seemed like cold-blooded murder, those individuals must have done something to warrant their deaths. Perhaps the clients didn't want to share to details, she mused as she wrapped her bedroll tighter around her. This, however, was exactly what she had been hoping for-revenge, and with just cause. She would truly relish the death of Alain Dufont: womanizer, thief, and betrayer. With a smirk, she turned her spit again, daydreaming of how she would make him pay.


"No. I'm sorry, I'm not doing that. That wasn't part of the contract." Schyre crossed her arms and looked sternly at Muiri, trying to keep the annoyance out of her tone. Muiri glared back at her, venom in her eyes. Schyre couldn't believe the gall of this woman. She had just trekked all the way back to Markarth to inform her of Alain Dufont's demise only to have Muiri ask her to murder an innocent woman- all because she was angry at the family for kicking her out for her own stupidity that cost them handsomely. Schyre shook her head. Though the woman was offering more gold and two lotus extract potions, she wasn't about to kill someone out of jealousy. Astrid had told her to keep it professional, and she was fairly certain taking marks that were not part of the contract was the exact opposite of professional. She wouldn't have done it even if she wasn't concerned about how she represented the Brotherhood.

Schyre quietly seethed at the fact this woman, who at the start of this deal claimed to LOVE the victimized family as her own, was now willing to cause that very same family more pain and suffering in order to worm her way back into their lives. She snatched her payment of gold from the woman's hands, wanting nothing more than to leave her presence as quickly as possible. Suddenly inspired, she leaned in close and whispered in Muiri's ear in her coarse, throaty voice, "Best be careful about whose lives you meddle with, girl. Yours are not the only prayers the Night Mother heeds." As the color drained from the woman's face, Schyre turned and walked away, satisfied with another day's hard work.


Astrid watched Cicero with narrowed eyes. He's up to something she thought as the jester paced back and forth in the hallway, chanting nonsense so loudly it echoed off the walls. His whiny sing-song voice grated on her nerves to no end. Astrid rubbed her forehead, trying to quell the headache that was blooming behind her eyes. She had tried to be civil, welcoming him and his stupid corpse into her home, but she already felt the shift of power. Festus Krex had started pestering her about the tenets again and Schyre has insisted on setting the Night Mother up in the nicest room to "honor" her. She could feel the grip of her power slowly eroding, and it infuriated her to no end. To add insult to injury, she had walked by the Night Mother's chamber the other night and distinctly heard the lunatic Cicero talking to someone. She wasn't about to tolerate people conspiring against her. Not in HER Sanctuary. She was pulled from her dark thoughts as Cicero entered the training room. NOW what is that buffoon doing? …Is he skipping? He was SKIPPING! Skipping in her Sanctuary! Astrid clenched her gloved fists into balls, the leather squeaking in protest under the pressure of her grip. He mocks everything we do! He mocks ME! I'll kill him!

Astrid almost lost her temper, almost went and slit his throat right there as he danced around like an idiot talking to himself in the third person. Thankfully, Arnbjorn's strong arms wrapped around her at that moment, stealing her rage as his warmth enveloped her. He kissed her gently on the hollow of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "Want me to eat him?" he whispered in her ear. Astrid chuckled darkly, envisioning her husband mangling the jester in his were-form. She patted his arm replying, "No, he'd give you indigestion. Then I'd still have to deal with him for several days as he wreaked havoc on your gut." Arnbjorn smirked against her neck. "Might be worth it," he teased.

Don't tempt me, lover. Astrid entertained the thought with a secretive smirk on her face before finally sighing in exasperation. She broke the embrace and headed to their shared bedroom. She beckoned her husband inside and latched the door behind them. Arnbjorn dropped heavily into a cushioned chair and reached for a large roasted goat leg that rested on a silver platter. He took a huge bite of the cooked meat, his strong jaws actually crunching through part of the bone, while watching his wife as she paced. In a heated tone, Astrid muttered quietly, "I heard him last night, Arn… talking to someone. He's trying to turn them against me, I know it! I won't have this in my Sanctuary. I have to DO something!" "You sure he was talking to someone?" Arnbjorn asked while wiping grease from his chin with the back of his hand. "He IS a nut job. Maybe he was just talking to himself?"

Astrid nodded; that thought had crossed her mind as well. The problem was she couldn't act until she was sure of treachery. There was too much at stake to gamble an unsubstantiated accusation. She sat stiffly on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands, wanting nothing more than to rip her hair out in frustration. "What about the lizard? Sire? Sheer? Whatever her name is?" Arnbjorn suggested. Astrid looked up, "Schyre? Veezara's sister? What of her?" Arnbjorn shrugged, "You said you weren't sure if you could trust her. Why not put her to the test? She's scrawny enough to fit in that coffin. Order her to eavesdrop on the babbling idiot. What she reports back will show you where her loyalties lie. Then you can kill 'em both if need be."

Astrid looked at her husband in surprise. True, he wasn't much of a thinker, but these occasional shining moments reinforced why she had married him. With a wicked grin, she seductively crawled into his lap, taking the half eaten goat leg from his hand and tossing it to the floor. "Hey! That's my-" he began before she cut him off, kissing him roughly. "You were saying? " Astrid murmured in a sultry tone. "Never mind," Arnbjorn said as he picked her up in his burly arms. They retreated to the bed, half-eaten goat leg forgotten.


Cramped within the confines of the Night Mother's coffin, Schyre tried desperately not to breathe. She knew the corpse behind her had long ago stopped exuding any noxious odors and would only smell of the lotions Cicero massaged into her dead skin, but Schyre's brain kept recalling the scent of decay simply because of her proximity to the corpse. Why did I agree to this? she asked herself. This is so blasphemous. That was only a rhetorical question though- she knew why she had agreed to it. She and Astrid had been at each others' throats since the arrival of the Night Mother, and she had hoped that doing this would mitigate some of the woman's paranoia. Astrid seemed to sense conspirators around every corner. For the sake of Sithis, she even thought Cicero, who could barely form a coherent thought, was plotting against her!

Schyre had enough problems already without worrying that the head of the Black Hand might decide she is a threat. She'd had a rather heated argument over the blatant disrespect that Astrid displayed towards the Night Mother. In retrospect, although she still thinks she is right on the matter, it occurred to her that escalating that disagreement wasn't the best way to win her over. Astrid isn't the type to take dissention lightly, and like it or not she is Schyre's leader, or more accurately the Dark Brotherhood's leader. As aggravating as the woman was, Schyre IS invested in this family until death. If she wants to keep the relationship, she'd have to do what was necessary to keep the peace. So when Astrid approached her with the task to spy for her, she knew it was the best way to quiet the tension between them.

Schyre sighed softly as she shifted her weight in the coffin, recoiling as her scales brushed against the corpse's skin. It wasn't long before she heard the door to the room open and shut as Cicero entered, still talking to himself. Schyre strained to hear what he was saying through the heavy steel door of the coffin. He was… talking to her? No, not her- the corpse she was sharing a space with. "Are we alone? Yes… alone." He cackled suddenly, "Sweet solitude! No one will hear us. All is going according to plan." Schyre gently pressed her head against the lid, straining to listen as he continued in a conspiratorial tone, "We've talked to the others. What about you…? Have you talked to anyone? No. No, of course not. Why, Mother? Why won't you talk to Cicero? We've waited soooo long to hear one sweet word from your shriveled lips. Just one, dear Mother, would be music to Cicero's ears. The silence is soooo deafening." He rambled on like that for a solid five minutes as Schyre rolled her eyes in the dark.

Schyre decided being ordered to spy on Cicero wasn't a test: it was a punishment. The man's ravings were excruciating in large doses, and Schyre was sure being forced to listen for this long wasn't good for her. She was just about to give up and ignore him when she heard a sound behind her. Unable to turn around in the coffin, she simply froze as a voice crept into her head. A soft glow enveloped her as the voice, soft yet strong like weathered leather, touched her mind. "Oh, poor Cicero," it cooed, "He wants so desperately to hear the words meant only for your ears. But he will not hear. No, these words are for you alone, Listener, not the Keeper. So listen well, my child, for I have much to say. When you exit, tell Cicero this: Darkness rises when silence dies. Let him know a Listener has been named and all his patience has paid off. Then travel to the ruins of Volunruud. There you will meet a man named Amaund Motierre. He has something for you. Retrieve it and return to the Sanctuary for further instructions. Go now, Listener. I await your return."

The voice and the unearthly glow left as quickly as they had come. Schyre pushed open the lid of the coffin and gasped for air, no longer caring if Cicero was still there. Cicero shrieked as she burst from the door, his dagger drawn and ready to strike. "What treachery is this? What are you doing in there? DEFILER! You… you DARE! Explain yourself!" he sputtered in rage. Schyre stood her ground as the madman advanced, "Cicero wait! You don't understand. The Night Mother spoke to me. She said I am the one. She named me Listener! I'm the Listener!" Schyre hoped he wasn't too far gone to acknowledge her words. Cicero stopped in his tracks, looking at her suspiciously. Schyre could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to decide if he should believe her or not. He soon made his decision, and it wasn't in her favor as he cried furiously, "More treachery! She only speaks to the Listener."

Schyre suddenly recalled the code that the Night Mother gave and she quickly quoted, "Darkness rises when silence dies." She waited, breath held and body tense. Her brain was in overdrive trying to compensate for his unpredictable behavior should he decide to attack her. Suddenly, a huge grin broke out on his face. He dropped his dagger and grabbed Schyre by the shoulders, practically dragging her around in a circle as he danced and sang loudly, "Then it is true! Listener! It is you! Oh, joy of joys! Wonder of wonders! So very long I have waited. She is back! She has chosen a Listener! She has chosen you! ALL HAIL THE LISTENER!" He let her go and danced a psychotic jig, using his toe to flip his dagger from the floor back into his hand.

As he cavorted about, Astrid ran into the room with her own dagger brandished. A triumphant snarl marred her pretty face as murderous fire lit her eyes. Schyre thought she saw a hint of madness there too, but Astrid's scream interrupted her thoughts, "By Sithis! What is going on here? You!" She lunged at Cicero who nimbly danced out of her way. She eyed Schyre warily, "What has he been up to? Who has he been conspiring with? Tell me!" Suddenly Astrid seemed to remember herself and composed herself, her blank mask sliding back into place. "I heard a commotion and came running. What's going on? Are you alright?" she asked Schyre without much genuine concern in her voice. Schyre nodded curtly as Cicero broke out in song, "I spoke to the Night Mother, but she didn't speak to meeeee. She spoke to HER! For she is the Listener and does the listeningggg!" He danced around as Astrid spat at him to stop acting like a fool.

Listener. Thane. Dragonborn. How many titles can a girl have? Schyre thought, not liking at ALL where this situation was going. Astrid stared at her, her face calm and impassive, but her eyes were fiercely burning. "Is that true?" Schyre nodded again before suddenly becoming aware of the increasing tension in the room. "What was said to you?" Astrid asked mildly as her gaze turned harder. Schyre recited the Night Mother's orders to Astrid, watching as the crease on her forehead deepened at each word. When she was finished, Astrid began talking to herself, "Volunruud? I know that place well, but I have no idea who that person is. By Sithis, what does it all mean?" Schyre awkwardly shifted her balance from one leg to the other, wishing she was anywhere but here. "So… I should get going to Volunruud," she commented while starting to edge toward the doorway. Astrid's head snapped her direction, forcefully responding, "No! I… I have to think about this. Go talk to Nazir about a few more contracts. I'll get back to you after I do some research."

Schyre's jaw dropped at the news. She was defying the Night Mother! It was bad enough she had ordered her to infiltrate the Night Mother's coffin, but now she was defying a direct order from the bride of Sithis herself! Anger flooded Schyre, and before she could think to close her mouth she blurted out, "We should do as the Night Mother commands, Astrid. She is our leader!" Astrid leveled a deadly glare at her, replying in a dangerously soft voice, "No… You may be the Listener, but I am still in charge here. Do not forget that, Schyre." Her name fell from Astrid's lips in the form of a menacing hiss, reminding Schyre of the leviathan she had fought nearly a year ago. They faced off, each one judging and assessing each other, daring the other to make a move. Finally, Cicero broke the tension as only he could, "Oh ho! Today is our lucky day! We found the Listener and now we get to watch a girl fight! Please, don't mind me… don't mind me at all." He sat cross-legged on the ground, beaming with anticipation, and clapped his hands together.

Schyre snorted at his comment, relieved to see Astrid visibly relax as she directed her ire at the jester. "Mind how you speak to your superior, jester!" Astrid snarled. Cicero smiled, grabbing his feet and rocked back and forth like a child, giggling the entire time. Astrid made a disgusted noise and returned her gaze to Schyre. Relenting, Schyre bowed her head in mock respect. "Very well, Astrid. I shall go see Nazir as you have requested. I trust we will discuss this when I return." "As I trust you will recall who you are addressing," Astrid replied icily as Schyre started leave, "I am in charge here. No matter what the Night Mother may say." Unable to resist one final jab, Schyre added, "Fear not, Astrid. I will never again forget who our TRUE leader is." She smirked as she left the room, Cicero's mocking laughter drowning out her foot steps as she went to find Nazir.