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Keljarn
On the Scent
Jorrvaskr
"Sod this," Keljarn barked abruptly, leaping to his feet. "I can't just sit here and drink."
It was what they'd been doing, for a few days now. Some half-hearted sparring, quite a bit of drinking. Farkas especially had been deep in his cups the last days. The Silver Hand was obliterated, but they all knew the job was left undone. The bastard that had killed Ria, Njada and Kodlak was still there. Skjor's murder had been avenged, but the other three… only half. And though nobody anted to admit it, it brought their spirits down. Every evening had been like this, some eating, a lot of drinking, and little talking.
"So what then?" Vilkas asked. "What do you intend to do?"
Keljarn wasn't going to take any more of it. "I'm going back outside. And I'm going to question every man, woman, child and horse I see."
"We've already questioned everybody, Keljarn", Aela said gently. "Whoever did this is long gone, and if he doesn't have ties to the Silver Hand, there's no way we'll ever find him."
"What do you mean, 'doesn't have ties to the Silver Hand'?" Keljarn asked incredulously. "He killed for them, that has to mean there's ties?"
"Not necessarily," Vilkas said, staring at his empty cup. "Could just be a hired killer."
"My ass," Keljarn snapped back. "No 'just a hired killer' takes out three fighters, one of which was the Nine damned Harbinger."
"There is a possibility," Athis joined in the conversation. The mer had just about recovered (enough to drink with the others), and he'd been listening to the others' stories about the assassinations, making a few observations they hadn't thought of yet. And he was about to make one more. "A possibility that our assassin didn't have ties to the Silver Hand, but wasn't just a hired killer either."
Everyone's attention went to Athis.
"There is a secret society of highly trained assassins here in Skyrim. We all know which one."
Keljarn didn't. "What? There is?" Incredulously, he asked the others, "Why haven't you mentioned this before?"
Farkas ignored him and said to Athis, "You're full of it. The Brotherhood are a bunch of Daedra-worshipping maniacs. When they kill someone, it's almost like a ritual. Remember the Jarl's nephew a year or two ago? Aela, you saw that murder scene. Black candles, sigils smeared in blood, it was like Mehruns Dagon's basement in there."
"The Brotherhood?" Keljarn asked. "You mean, the Brotherhood?"
"Yes," Aela said. "The Brotherhood. But really, we don't even now it even exists, and yes, Farkas, that murder site looked nothing like ours. Still…"
Athis shrugged. "It's worth looking into."
Keljarn sat back down. "Alright. Tell me everything there is to know about the Brotherhood. I didn't even know it was real."
"We don't either," Aela said. "But the stories are persistent. I suppose it may be possible. After all, the Dark Brotherhood, if it's even real, might not always commit murder like creepy nut jobs. It's not impossible that they also commit normal killings, for money."
"M-hm."
"The Dark Brotherhood," Athis explained, "is an organisation of assassins. People contact them by performing a ritual. The Brotherhood decides if the offering is sufficient, and if it is, they send someone to eliminate the target." He cleared his throat. "Supposedly."
"They're very expensive," Vilkas pointed out. "I doubt the Silver Hand has the money for a Brotherhood killing, let alone three."
"Maybe they had a benefactor," Keljarn said. "Or called in some favours." He really wanted to believe this was possible.
Aela shrugged. "Maybe. Doesn't change anything though."
"Not like you can just knock on their door," Vilkas agreed. "If they even exist."
"Well," Athis said, "There's the Black Sacrament, supposedly the ritual that calls the Brotherhood's attention."
"So if we perform that… Dark Sacrament thing – "
"Black Sacrament."
"Whatever. If we perform it, we'll be able to call a Brotherhood member over here. And then wring him for information."
Aela shook her head. "Keljarn. Even if all this is true. Even if the Brotherhood responds, which I doubt they will since they aren't stupid, they're likely to be a guild of highly trained assassins. You don't just 'wring one for information'."
Farkas nodded. "If they're real, they're not the type of people you want out for your blood."
Angrily, Keljarn threw himself back into his chair. "There has to be a way," he growled, biting his nails. "I'm not just giving up until I've done all I can. Even if it means pissing off those backstabbers."
"If they exist," Athis added.
"If they exist."
"Keljarn," Aela said again. "This is – "
"No, Aela. Either they exist or they don't. If they don't exist, there's no danger in contacting them. If they do exist, then they can lead us to the assassin. And in that case it's an opportunity we have to take, no matter how dangerous."
Abruptly, he got up again.
"Where are you going?" Vilkas asked.
"To the library. This Black Sacrament thing must be mentioned in some text somewhere. I'm not giving up," he called to them, stomping out. He made straight for the Jarl's longhouse. The library there was modest, but it did have quite a few volumes on cults and sects, the proselytizing priest had told him a few days ago, when he gave Keljarn some unwated advice about reading up on Talos and the old gods and all that junk.
"Hello Keljarn," the Jarl's housecarl greeted him when he approached the castle. "Business with the Jarl? I'm afraid it's late, you'll have to come back tomorrow."
"Evening, Lydia. No, I'd just like to have a few moments in your library, if that's alright."
"Oh. Sure. Need some help?"
He'd talked to Lydia a few times these last few days, and she'd always been helpful with the investigation, even though she didn't have any information to help with. She'd asked around on the Companions' behalf, and told the guards to be wary of any suspicious individuals. Even though her efforts had been fruitless, it had been quite nice of her to help without asking anything in return. But her good intentions aside, she might not understand if he told her he needed to know how to perform the Black Sacrament. The last thing he needed was to be accused of something illegal. On the other hand, the search would go much quicker with her help, so he opted for an intermediate solution.
"Well, if you could just point me to the right books, that'd be nice."
"Of course, it'd be my pleasure."
She led him to the library, and he asked her where the section on cults and sects was. It wasn't really a section, just a few books, because after all, it was a personal library and not one of those massive institutions, but still, it was a start. The books in question were at the top of the shelf, and Keljarn climbed the ladder to reach them.
"Could you just take these?" he asked Lydia, who waited at the bottom of the ladder. He held out two books and she took them. "Oh, and this one too." He spotted another one called The Children of Mephala. Oh, definitely that one. "And also this." He also saw two more, The Brothers of Darkness, and The Night Mother's Truth. Oh, he was certainly grabbing those too. He lowered the books to Lydia, who took them, muttering, "I am sworn to carry your burdens."
She laid the books out on the reading table for him, looking at them with a sceptical eye. "This is… interesting reading." Her eyes went up to him, the candles making the light dance on her angled but pretty face. "I… hope this has nothing to do with the killer you're looking for."
"I hope it does," he said flatly. Realizing it was probably an unsafe thing to say, he went back on himself, "I mean, it's mostly assassination methods that I'm looking for. How to identify them and all."
Lydia didn't seem satisfied, but she dropped it regardless. "Mm. I'll be at the gate, if there's anything you need, let me know."
"Will do, thanks, Lydia."
"Don't mention it." She gave him a nod and turned, leaving the room.
Keljarn began thumbing through the pages of the books, discarding them as he went, if they didn't look like they contained the things he needed. And what he needed most was a description of how to perform the Black Sacrament.
Hours went by as he pored through the volumes, getting more frustrated with every book he dropped on the 'useless'-pile. Lydia had come by at some point, saying she was relieved and heading up to catch some sleep, and to wish him goodnight. He'd hidden his frustration and smiled at her, telling her to sleep well, and then resumed his searching.
The 'useless' pile was now all but one book. A thin little bundle of papers called A Kiss, Sweet Mother. He had to get through this before sleep pushed his eyelids entirely closed
Sighing at the title, which didn't foretell much good, he opened it, and froze.
Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.
This was it.
Reading the book further, all sleep driven from him, he learned about the ritual that had to be used to reach out to the Dark Brotherhood, here described as the Children of the Night Mother. Licking his lips, he turned page after page, taking in the information.
The ritual involved a lot of symbolism and hokey superstitious acts, but the prayer, the prayer was most important.
Looking over his shoulder to see if he was truly alone, he said the words aloud. Quietly at first, but more forceful as his confidence grew. And it became his own version, which he recited purely for himself, and be damned whoever heard it.
"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear. Your sins, and those of your children. The fear you've wrought shall be returned tenfold, the pain you wrought a hundredfold. I will find who committed this cowardly deed, and if it is one of yours, not even your protection will save him. This I swear, I will find this murderer and make him suffer, make him beg for death. If he's one of yours, give him to me now and I will spare your fellows. Send your child unto me, and save the others."
The candle on the table in front of him fell over, the wax spattering onto the open book, the flame greedily licking its pages.
"Shit," Keljarn cursed, tearing his cloak off and throwing it over the thin little book. After a few pats, the fire was out, and Keljarn lifted the cloak to see the book damaged, but not destroyed. Wax had left coagulating globs on the paper, but those were easily scratched off. The burn damage wasn't fixable, but nobody would know if he just slid the book back onto the shelf.
Was it a warning? Or just a coincidence? Had this Night Mother creature heard his words, heard what, to her, was blasphemy? Had she decided to send him a warning for his threats? Keljarn dreaded the possibility, and hoped for it just the same.
Or it had just been a gust of wind, or an unconscious movement that had sent the candlestick falling over?
It didn't matter what it was. Keljarn was certain of it. It had been them. Had to have been.
Hastily, he rearranged the books, put them back on the shelf and hurried back to Jorrvaskr to get a few hours of sleep. He'd have work to do tomorrow.
Athis nodded to him when he entered. Poor sap had guard duty tonight. After the killings, Jorrvaskr had to be guarded at all times. It was a sad necessity.
He silently crept downstairs, not to wake his fellow Companions, then went to his room and threw himself on the bed.
Sleep caught him almost instantly, but when he woke up, a few hours later, he felt just as tired as he had the night before. Still, he had plenty of energy. He'd tell the Companions all about his findings, and they'd look for this Brotherhood together. And they'd find them.
When he sat upright, however, he felt something fall from his chest and into his lap.
It was a folded note. How in Oblivion had that gotten there?
He unfolded it, surprised that his fingers were trembling. It merely said,
Loredas the third, midnight, lakeview construction site
COME ALONE
Loredas the third. That was tonight. He didn't know who it was, and what he wanted, but he was willing to bet his boots that it'd be someone from this Brotherhood bunch of backstabbers.
Oh he'd come alone alright. But the meeting wouldn't go the way this mystery person planned.