First Seed 16, 3E433
I could not sleep. I also refused to acknowledge why; to admit to a positive emotion during the current circumstances was like giving in to the darkness' will. I cursed my analytical nature as I was forced to define the emotion. 'Excitement' was on my blacklist, so I settled on 'curiosity'.
Carefully positioned in the centre of the makeshift table beside my bed was the object of my fascination. I hadn't known that I had still been capable of 'curiosity' in my current circumstances. Even though it was the first enchanted trinket I had ever possessed, and even though it was the first enchanted trinket I had ever held, I shouldn't have allowed myself to be distracted from my resistance against the darkness. I couldn't separate my thoughts from the ring.
In contrast to the darkness of the night, the ring glowed. Tendrils of magical light coiled around the shining silver; occasionally tiny flecks would escape from the ring before being dissolved into the surrounding air. I focused, tracing the patterns of energy that spiralled around the ring. Something troubled me; if this ring was to keep the wearer hidden, why did it glow?
I then realised that my eyes were closed as I gazed. I was looking at the ring with that strange energy-sight without even realising. I opened my eyes, and could only find the ring in the dark because of my energy-sight; the ring was even camouflaged with the surface it had been placed on.
I was intrigued by the magic that surrounded the ring. Never having had owned an enchanted trinket before, I had assumed that the magic of the ring was separate to the magic of the air. I had never though about what fuelled an enchantment. The ring drew magic from the air to fuel its enchantment.
I picked up the ring and held it in my hand as my head buzzed with ideas. I remember my last attempt to use magic. I had been able to direct the energy but hadn't been able to transform it. Transforming the raw energy into fire, ice, or any spell at all had been impossible.
My hopes were renewed as I realised something. The ring drew raw energy from the air that surrounded it. I could direct raw energy towards myself. Perhaps I would be able to boost the flow of energy into the ring, and produce a more powerful enchantment.
I could feel a subtle tingle from the ring in my hand. Was it my imagination that the magical energy seemed to shiver with the regularity of a beating heart? Was it merely my own heartbeat that I was sensing? I could feel the magical energy as it flowed into the ring to be converted.
I slipped the ring onto the middle finger of my left hand, and observed as I became slightly camouflaged with the floor. With my mind I adjusted the flow of energy; I strengthened it, and bent it to my will. I could not see any difference in the transparency of my skin and clothing, so I looked at the ring. However, I couldn't see the ring; I could still feel the ring, but it had become invisible.
I ceased my interference with the ring's energy flows, and it became visible once more. Whenever I willed more energy into the ring, the ring itself would become more transparent rather than me. I searched the swirling rivulets of energy, and discovered a field of energy projected by the ring that clung to my body like a second skin. I guided a flow of energy through the ring and into that field, and I began to fade.
I understood why the ring had been given such a petty enchantment. The enchantment by itself would have negligible effect, and thus little use. Vicente must have given it to the lowest-ranking member of the sanctuary as a way of getting rid of it; he had not understood its true function. The ring's enchantment allowed for a chameleon spell to be 'cast' silently.
An inexperienced spellcaster would not be able to cast a spell without being noticed by others. In a situation that would require the use of a chameleon spell, casting the spell would reveal to people nearby that someone is using magic, and thus raise their suspicions. In such a situation, the act of casting the spell would increase the chances of being discovered rather than decrease them, so the spell would be pointless. With the chameleon spell pre-cast, the wearer of the ring would be able to increase the effectiveness of the enchantment by providing additional magicka to the ring.
I willed more energy into the enchantment, and my skin and clothing became increasingly transparent. I looked down at myself, and the shadowy floor filled my vision. I could see only the haziest outline of myself. I lifted my hand, and I could see light bending unnaturally; it was as if my arm were made of water, or the heat that lingers over a burning fire.
I looked around the room for sources of light. I was compelled to sneak as silently as I could as I approached the torch. My outline was much clearer beneath the burning torch mounted on the ancient stone walls. I increased the intensity of the chameleon spell, but it taxed my magicka reserves so I was forced to stop completely.
I knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep in my current state, so I changed into warmer clothes and belted on the ebony dagger. As I was about to leave, I noticed that I couldn't see the ring. I knew that I was still wearing it, but it was invisible. I probed the enchantment with my mind, but the invisibility was impossible to reverse; not even when I removed the ring from my finger did the ring become visible.
I mentally shrugged and turned to exit the living quarters. The ring's enchantment was still functioning properly, so the ring's permanent invisibility would not matter unless I lost the ring.
I entered the main hall of the sanctuary, and immediately felt uncomfortable. Teinaava was sitting in a chair at the small library. I wanted to turn around and go back into the living quarters, but he had already noticed me. He stood up to face me, and excited expression on his face.
"Can't sleep, sister?" he asked.
I didn't respond. I didn't even want to respond. I knew that he had a poorly thought-out scheme that he wished to turn into reality. I knew that I would be unable to say no.
First Seed 17, 3E433 (early morning)
A chilling breeze drifted past, teasing the hem of the black robes. The wind blew south, parallel to the river that tore Cheydinhal in two, and perpendicular to the bridges astride this river. When the hooded figure reached the eastern end of the bridge, he stepped from wood onto the gravel path. He glanced towards the drowsy guards at the eastern gate before proceeding south towards the abandoned house.
Like a cat, he slunk among the shadows behind the houses until he reached the well. The hooded figure peered at his immediate vicinity before opening the grate of the well. There was an audible screech as the reluctant grate moved on his hinges, causing the hooded figure to wince. He was about to climb down the ladder, but was interrupted by the sound of two pairs of poorly concealed footsteps.
The hooded figure dropped the grate and quickly pulled himself up onto the roof of the abandoned house, wincing again as the grate clashed back into its original position. His hood was thrown back as he swiftly moved through the air. The two people who had just left through the front door of the abandoned house didn't seem to have noticed his presence or the loud opening and closing of the grate on the well. He cursed the rusty grate for almost betraying his presence.
He recognised the pair, even though they were wearing civilian clothes, and even though he was looking at them from behind. He would have even been able to recognise them by their silhouettes. He had memorised every Initiate he had introduced into his sanctuary. Before him were the Assassin Teinaava, and the Novice 'Nagaia'; he stalked them with his gaze.
The wind changed direction and caught in Lucien's hair. His hair was brown and flowed like a river upon the chilling wind, and catching the soft white moonlight. It was uneven and slightly longer than the norm for a man's hair, as if he had been neglecting it. His trade was very time-consuming, and offered very little spare time.
Lucien watched as the Argonian crossed the path that wound its way through Cheydinhal. The little Bosmer followed cautiously behind, and glanced nervously over her shoulder. Her glance passed over Lucien's shrouded form, but she did not see him. As he looked into her mysterious green eyes, there was again a strange sense of familiarity.
The pair angled around to the western wall of the Chapel of Arkay. Lucien Lachance jumped from roof to room along the line of houses to keep them within his field of view. For a few seconds they left his view and when he next saw them, Teinaava was climbing the external wall of the Chapel with 'Nagaia' at the base. Teinaava didn't seem to notice that the girl wasn't climbing with him.
Lucien could not accept 'Nagaia' as being her name. He didn't even take into account the slight possibility that 'Nagaia' could be her real name; the name just didn't seem to fit. His own confidence that 'Nagaia' couldn't possibly be her name bothered him, but he couldn't keep himself in a logical state of mind. His predecessor had trained him never to accept anything as truth; there was only the possibility of truth, never certainty.
Another entity entered his field of view. Black armour, faint footsteps, and a subtle metallic clinking told him that it was Ocheeva. She wasn't due back for at least an hour. She had returned early.
Ocheeva slid into the shadows of the chapel graveyard as a guardsman walked past. She hid herself from the guard's dozing eyes, but placed herself into the vicinity of her siblings. Lucien watched as the other Shadowscale stiffened. Teinaava had noticed her presence.
Ocheeva stepped out of the shadows, and strode towards the abandoned house. Teinaava relaxed and continued to scale the roof of the chapel. He glanced back, expecting to see the Bosmer close behind. Lucien heard the sound of his foot scratching across the tiles of the chapel roof.
The sound was barely audible, but it was enough. Ocheeva pivoted on the spot, her eyes darting towards the source of the sound. Her eyes widened when she recognised her brother. She glanced around herself to check that she was alone before she began speaking.
"Teinaava!" she hissed.
He turned to face her, his stance immediately losing its excitement.
"Get down from there!"
"Wait, sister," he muttered in response. He glanced around himself, looking for 'Nagaia'.
"Get down now! You'll injure yourself, like last time."
Ocheeva hadn't noticed that two more family members were listening. Lucien knew that she would never speak of her twin in such a way with other family members present. Teinaava glanced away, looking embarrassed before walking up to the edge of the roof and diving into the river below. Ocheeva rolled her eyes.
The twins entered the sanctuary, leaving only the guards, the beggars, and Lucien and 'Nagaia' in the open darkness. The girl did not follow the others back into the sanctuary. He stared at her, curious.
She looked downwards, her hands reaching into the thick grass. When she straightened up, a single flower was held in her right hand. As she tucked it behind her ear, he saw the colour of its petals; deep purple, the colour of nightshade. She seemed unaware of the deadly nature of the flower, so Lucien predicted her death.
Lucien knew that there was a high possibility that she would die as a result of the flower that accessorised her ear, so he watched. He waited for the moment that she would join Sithis. He would not prevent it from occurring; most initiates into the Dark Brotherhood don't survive their first month. Unravelling the mystery of her life would not outweigh the pleasure of watching her die.
The girl turned towards the tree that overlooked the river. It was an old tree, and was almost as tall as the chapel, but its branches were supple and sinuous. Its leaves lazily dangled downwards as if they were too heavy for the tree to hold them aloft. She reached for the lower branches of the tree, despite the tree's unsuitability for climbing.
The Speaker watched as the tiny elf pulled herself up, higher and higher, through the branches of the sleeping tree. He could see her upbringing through the skill with which she scaled the tree. He could see had lived a traditional Valenwood existence for the majority of her lifetime. She was new to Cyrodiil.
Lucien watched as she delicately balanced on a branch near the top of the tree. She was standing high enough up the tree for the highest leaves to reach only up to her shoulders. The branch she stood on bent and shook violently, but did not collapse under her weight. It was an unnatural sight to Lucien's eyes; any normal person, even an underweight Khajiit, wouldn't have been able to climb so high without falling from the over-flexible tree.
The top leaves of the tree jiggled nervously as she shifted her weight. Her head vanished from Lucien's view as she pulled herself down into a crouch. He was surprised when she sprung, flinging herself towards the wall of the chapel. He was even more surprise when she did not fall; instead she clung to the external wall of the chapel.
She appeared weak and uncomfortable when climbing the man-made structure. This contrasted her earlier confidence and agility from when she climbed the tree. The girl seemed like she was going to fall at some points. Somehow she managed, with great difficulty, to pull herself onto the roof of the chapel.
Lucien flung himself off the roof of the house as the girl disappeared from his field of view. He followed after her, not wanting to miss the moment. He bypassed the tree, and instead swiftly climbed from the base of the chapel. He reached the place on the roof of the chapel where he had last seen her, but it was already too late.
She was nowhere to be seen. He searched the entire roof of the chapel for clues concerning her whereabouts. By the time he found it, she would have had ample time to climb down to ground level. Nestled among the spikes that crowned the chapel was a single purple flower.
The wind violently changed direction, caressing the petals of the nightshade flower, and threatening to blow it eastward off the roof. Lucien delicately picked up the flower with his gloved hands and examined it. Lucien sighed into the wind, surrendering to the logical conclusion that the girl's isolation from the deadly flower would increase her chances of survival. Lucien prepared to throw the flower into the night's wind, but was distracted by his train of thought.
Why had she climbed the chapel just to decorate it with a purple flower? There seemed to be no purpose to it, so he wanted to presume that it was due an insane compulsion. However, Lucien knew that there had to be some kind of trigger or meaning behind the action. Was the action symbolic?
He examined the flower closer, and saw that the flower's stem had been severed by one of her fingernails. He marvelled at her recklessness and stupidity, and hoped for her sake that she washed her hands before eating. Such recklessness in the presence of poison seemed strangely familiar to him. Why was it familiar?
Lucien was reminded of his earlier frustration. Why must everything about this girl be familiar to him? Why couldn't he remember where this familiarity was from? He strained his memories, but force would never work.
He thought of her action. She had exposed herself to several possible causes of death in order to decorate a roof that no-one could see. It was like a piece of art, a symbol, a means of communication, but the message could not be received. There was no-one who could listen to her, because she had no-one left…
Where had that come from? He didn't know anything about her, not even her name. How could he know that her birth family was dead? He could never know anything; he could never know for sure if anyone was dead unless he was the cause of their death.
And then he remembered.
Neia.