A/N: This chapter has undergone revisions since the release of the final chapter of this story. Note, revised chapters may be inconsistent with reviews and with author's notes from unrevised chapters.

Sun's Height 20

(Fights-up-close): Anvil

The statue was covering my left, my dagger was unsheathed, and I was clad in all black clothing. I was prepared, yet for the first time I could remember, I felt fearful in the empty streets, silence, and shadows.

I could feel a gaze upon the back of my neck.

I once again decided to whip my head back. Nothing but the garden across from the chapel stared back at me. I turned back to the barrel.

For once in my life, I wanted to get back to the well-lit and tightly enclosed spaces where there was nowhere to hide. With all I'd been tricked into, I felt more like the prey than the predator, so the kind of environment that would normally give me a feeling of power gave me a feeling of fear. I couldn't help but imagine all kind of terrors emerging from the various hiding places grotesquely intertwined with the city.

But I knew if I got through this, this might be the moment that ended all this uneasiness. I could finally confront the traitor, who had been ebbing away any feeling of safety in me, mental or physical. With an opportunity to meet the mind behind this frightening plan, I knew this could be a chance seal these uncertainties once and for all. Yet I couldn't help but imagine so many unexplainable horrors coming around from my left, causing me to be swallowed up by fear like in last night's nightmare.

As the wind blew, I thought I heard the pages of a book fluttering to my right. I turned to my right only to see the leaves on a small stick fluttering against the ground.

I knew why it had sounded like a book to me. The books I'd read, written about the Argonian Royal Court's kidnapping and now of the Dark Brotherhood's greed and double crossing, had taken a ghostly presence in my mind.

I turned back to the barrel.

Then there was a more significant anomaly in the silence: footsteps against the sandy shores of the mini-lake by this statue. It was time. It was time to see the haunting figure, the second traitor, who'd been so much more effective than the first, Goes-in-heavy. It was time to see this person who'd cast a shadow of fear over me. But now, if things were going as they seemed, I would be taking him or her by surprise. Here I could confront the physical manifestation of my uncertainty.

But the first thing I noticed was a prominent, practically glowing, whiteness in the darkness, not the dark and mysterious figure I was expecting. A fury white vest was draped over the short figure. It looked like...a boy. A child was the root of all this terrifying cunning devastation? He was the source of the death of several members of the Black Hand?

The boy put down two items he was holding: a bag and a letter as best as I could make out. Then, he took the lid off the barrel and placed it on the ground. Yes, he was indeed the one dropping off the dead drop.

For all this time, I had wanted to put a name and a face to this mysterious terror: the source of the Purification, the source of this guilt, the source of this discouragement, the source of my worry. To finally burst out from that shell of helplessness and find some kind of closure. At the very least, I wanted answers.

I pounced the target. He was my answers, my fear, my guilt, my second thoughts, all wrapped up in a vulnerable little package.

As I made contact, he instantly gave way, falling to the ground like a rag doll, the side of his face was flat on the ground. I was sure he could barely even see his attacker.

With a firm hold and a firmer will, I kept my dagger near his neck. He turned his head to a more comfortable position, on its side, but I knew he still couldn't see his captor in any kind of decent focus. Now, he was here to face my demands and answer my questions. Finally, I was on top, and if I didn't like his answers, he would face my fury.

"No, please, don't! Don't hurt me!" The boy cried "He paid me to do it!"

Paid.

It made perfect sense now. He was a proxy of the traitor. I wasn't that close to ending this nightmare. He was taking money to do dodgy business.

A new found fury filled me. While I was eroded through this crisis, this little coward had accepted money to contribute to disasters he knew nothing about in his cushy world of amorality. Now he was at my "mercy". I pressed my left palm harder into his back. My right, dagger-holding hand quivered.

"You little fetcher!" I said, feeling the need of every bit of coarse hostility I could muster "Who is this 'he'!?"

"I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do anything wrong! It was the hidden man. He...he paid me to put those things in the barrel!" He said, as his face was uncomfortably pressed against the grass and dirt, only a fraction of the suffering he deserved and I felt I could inflict now that the tables had turned. The word 'paid' being used in an excuse was a slap in the face of all decent people. He had converted my helpless suffering into a quick septim, and the fact that he saw that as an excuse made me all the more bitter towards the world. "I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He called to me last week when I walked by the light house. I think he lives there. Or he did, anyway. He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"

I took every iota of time and space I could and converted it into intimidation. I brought the point of my dagger down to his soft, sensitive throat. I spoke in sharp whispers "Liar! Tell me everything or die!"

"No! Please!" he pleaded pathetically "The lighthouse! Just outside the city walls! I think the man lives there!" I brought my dagger slightly closer to his throat, and succeeded in squeezing out the last bits of information "In...in the cellar!" Then continued conspiratively "I don't know what goes on down there, but there's a horrible smell coming from underneath that door. It's like...something died inside. Listen, that's all I know, really!" I saw no reason to act like I believed him.

"You're holding back." I coldly accused.

"Talk...talk to Ulfgar." He said, his fear evident and well deserved "He's the lighthouse keeper, and probably rented out the cellar. He's sure to have the key to cellar. You know, if...if want to get down there. Now please, just let me go!"

Talk to Ulfgar. I'd managed to squeeze a bit more information out of him. That was my next waypoint.

But now here was the vile little coward, at the point of my dagger, blatantly demonstrating his own greed.

I could it do now: rip through his flesh with the wrath of justice and let his blood seep into dirt and sand. It could happen by my own hand, with my own brutal passion. It was my duty to take those who made their way up through immorality down.

But it was an unplanned kill. I was already worried about the law after killing Philida and Draconis.

Both options stalemated in my head. Thinking of killing him brought me fear. Thinking of letting him live felt like an affront to me, and I couldn't shake the feeling of cowardess attached to it. I hated him, but I hated the situation even more. I hated how those who were said to "protect and serve" Anvil were what stood between me and doing this little fetcher justice.

I slowly lifted my dagger away from him, which was quivering at the sickening injustice of the situation, and lifted my body from his. It felt so horribly vile, and I couldn't comfort myself about what was going on. I couldn't pretend this vile injustice wasn't real: doing so would only make me as bad as them.

Slowly, and hesitantly, he got up. I wouldn't let this go. Whatever kind of absurd labels the Cyrodiils through on to that sort of thing: maturity, kindness, rationality, I wouldn't let him go.

He made it to his feet and looked at me with wide and fearful eyes, glimmering with suffering, half his face covered in dirt. He had found, no doubt to his surprise, that his amorality wasn't for his benefit.

My mind made contact with the wall of fury in front of any comfort I could feel as I delivered a passionate punch to his face. I felt a temporary relief, but I knew he deserved so much more. He fell into a sitting position, giving me the same look of pseudo-innocence. Whoever came up with the phrase "innocence of a child" should have been hanged.

"Just, just leave me alone!" He pleaded pathetically "I don't want no trouble!" Then, holding his nose, scurried off. I knew he wouldn't tell, because there was still more damage I could do, but I still stood there, twitching with outrage at the situation.

I began walking mechanically in the direction of the coast, where the lighthouse would likely be, but my mind wasn't on my destination. All my thoughts were on the conversation I'd just had. As I walked passed the chapel, the sickeningly ineffective way of Cyrodiils to instill morality, I was trying to drill that kid's face into my mind. This wasn't over. Nothing could be over until I won. Once I even considered that I was a coward like him.

I knew my reasons for hating the kid were entangled in complicated issues, and took some digging to get to, but they were valid none the less. It was not because he supported the traitor: it was because he turned death into a business, and made no qualms about it.

But this anger was providing guard rails for my thoughts. It was providing me with new energy. It replaced the doubt that was constantly peeling away at my consciousness

As I thought about the traitor, my thoughts also drifted to Goes-in-heavy briefly. It was he who started this new chapter in my life. I couldn't remember exactly when it was I killed him. It felt like yesterday, yet at the same time all the days before I'd found out of his betrayal felt like a lifetime ago. All this hardship had destroyed my concept of large-scale time. But now, in my fury, I couldn't feel guilt or loss. I could feel only disgust at injustice that went unchecked. My thoughts soon found themselves back on the greedy kid.

The kid had come from the Western part of the town, and scurried off in that direction. He lived there, somewhere. He wore a white vest. His hair was brown.

I tried to drill these details into my mind. I'd carve them into my arm if I needed to.

The kid had come from the Western part of the town, and scurried off in that direction. He lived there, somewhere. He wore a white vest. His hair was brown.

The streets were still empty, and eerie shadows were still cast, but hatred had replaced fear. I was ready to fight anything or die trying.

The kid's words came back to me again "there's a horrible smell coming from underneath that door. It's like...something died inside." There was no way he didn't know he was working for crooks. And what about the lighthouse keeper? He must have known too. He would have to face retribution as well.

I twitched as I thought of all the evil of the world had laid onto me. My path felt clear again. A blood lust had taken over me. They'd regret what they'd transformed me into. They'd soon witness the power of a courageous soul, even as they gave into evil behind their facades of innocence. I had become as hard as a rock through this, probably as cold as one too, but they'd regret that soon.

I was entering the harbor now. I was coming closer to finding the source of my suffering in this vast, mysterious, ugly world.

I made the transition from stone streets to wooden planks laying upon the sandy ground. Waves lapped against the shore.

As I turned to walk down the planked path, I could see a few glowing torches. I hoped the people carrying them would stay out of my way. Anything slightly off kilter would be huge annoyance now. Even a friendly smile would seem like an affront.

In the distance, I could see the lighthouse. An amazing Cyrodiillic structure, but the base of a man I hated. It was a symbol of evil now. And yet the anger cleansed me somewhat. I had a feeling of purpose. I no longer felt jaded or afraid. I felt certainty. A morbid certainty, accompanied by gruesome desires, but a certainty none the less.

I felt myself heating up at the thoughts of getting that cellar key out of Ulfgar. Ulfgar must have known something was not right with the smells coming from his cellar, and let he harbored the traitor. I hoped he'd make me fight him for the key, and I hoped I could put every last iota of my energy into taring up his body. I fantasized about all the pain I'd built up being converted into energy and released for justice's sake in an impassioned struggle, showing my the superiority in the end even when I had so many more troubles to wade through.

There was a cold breeze, taking away some of my body heat. I looked towards the light house again, trying to formulate some kind of plan, the blood-lust finally serving some practical purpose in my mind. I could see there was a bright light on the top level, but that was it. Ulfgar was somewhere in there, comfortable and unaware of all the effort I'd been making which would ultimately lead to this downfall.

I began to see the end of the planked pathway. A few stairs descended into an untamed area of grass, sand, and rock. I felt sickened by the situation. I was sickened by what my transfer to Cyrodiil had become, sickened that the kid who planted the dead drops was still alive, and sickened that a man who let an obvious crook live in his basement was still hadn't even been given a good scare.

The rest of the path to lighthouse appeared to be a compromise between nature and Cyrodiillic additions, with a pathway of planks broken into small segments, lined with hanging lanterns. My shoes sank into the sand, came back onto the weathered planks, and sank into the sand again. I could see the door: the door to my enemy's base of operations. It was far from the rest of the city. Away from everyone else at night. Perfect for an assassin.

Then I was in front of the door. Lost in thought, and yet anchored in reality at the same time, I walked up the stone steps to the door. I put my hand on the door handle and pulled. Opened. Good. Just about anything getting me in the way of Ulfgar could cause my fury to spill out.

I stepped into the homey room, a stark contrast from the wide-opened and dark outdoors. Fire lit the rooms white walls. I hoped he heard me coming. I hoped I was terrifying. I unsheathed my dagger. I enjoyed the feeling of power more than ever now, and knew I'd enjoy the power of the stabs even more.

There was a small staircase. For some odd reason, half the room was a couple of feet higher than the other. I climbed up the small staircase of the weird Cyrodiillic construction. I swung open the door to my left only to find myself looking at the Gold Coast again. Just keep pushing it. I thought, but not quite sure who I was directing the dare to. The situation was outrageous enough as it was.

I ferociously pushed open the door that was directly in front of the staircase now. My heart was beating fast and I could smell the air of sweat with the wind that was created from the abrupt opening of the door. I walked up the spiral stone staircase, clutching the dagger tightly. I'm coming, Ulfgar. I clenched my teeth as I walked. I couldn't wait until all this anger burst out of me and liberated me from its burden. .

Around the last bend I came to face a ladder with a hatchway above it. I placed my hands on the wooden rungs. If he wasn't on top of the lighthouse, there was only one more door to check.

Truth and justice were so close I could feel them.

I opened the hatchway to find my face smothered with hot air. The stone that made the floor of the top of this lighthouse was glazed in an orange light. But through the large blaze in the center, I could see the figure of a tall, long-gray-haired man, hands in his pockets, looking into the sea.

I lifted myself onto the stone floor. The loud crackling of the large fire probably blocked out all my footsteps. Soon I would be able to rip away the helplessness to expose the inner beast. He was an ordinary man who thought he could make a quick septim without repercussion. He was wrong.

Dagger in hand, I was only a step behind him when he turned. It caused me to jerk involuntarily. He gave me a look of innocent curiosity that only brought on more savage thoughts.

The weathered old man spoke immediately "Well now, what might you want?"

In a blur I brought my dagger to his face and leaned in forward. He stepped back, then grabbed the railing, shaken by nearly falling off the lighthouse, and arched his back in instinctive fear of the raw fury I was demonstrating. "The key to cellar! Now!" I hissed.

"What?" He said, his eyes darting around fearfully, his death only a small push or slice away "W-what's the meaning of all this? What's going on here?" How dare he push for any answers. I brought my dagger point closer to his neck, smothering his situation with fear. "I-I don't want no trouble!" He said, then, I watched his shoulder move about as one hand rifled through his pocket "Here," he stammered. Then there was a metal tink as something hit the stone floor "t-take the damn key!"

There was no fight here.

I slowly withdrew the dagger from its place by his neck with a great deal of willpower. I felt sickened and dirty for sparing him the seconds of suffering, but the key was on the stone floor now.

Trying to keep the state of absolute dominance, I crouched down to pinch the key while keeping my right hand, which held the dagger, raised. Then, with the key in hand, slowly got back into my old position. The old man was sweating now. His breathing was irregular. Now I had the key in hand. To see the ugly old man standing there, intact, was an outrageous sight. But my goal was accomplished.

The forces of mission efficiency and revenge began battle in my head. If I pushed him off the edge right now, it would look like an accident. He would have a terrifying last moment. But there was always a risk. My hand quivering violently.

Ulfgar didn't understand my inner dilemma "Look I...I got nothing else to say to you. Just leave me be." He stammered fearfully.

My grip around his life was loosening with the indecision.

I took an ever so subtle step back, dagger still at bare. He leaned ever so slightly forward, glistening with sweat. Another burst of fury came to me after that. This is blatant injustice, you can't let him get away with that! I clutched the dagger tighter.

What if someone sees? You've murder impulsively before, and this time you can't just escape the town. You have things to do.

The situation was so frustrating I could feel oncoming tears. I was standing in the middle of the night with a man who's crime I'd witnessed directly, hesitating to kill him.

I took a step forward, but collided with an emotional barrier again. Fear. It grasped me tightly and held me back. It made the reasons for avoidance come back to me. But Cyrodiil had a sort of power over me, maybe greater than the power I had over him right now. There was no comfort I could find in that.

I took a step back again. The answers are in the cellar. They might determine if you'd been right or wrong all these years. If someone sees you kill him, you'll have to leave this place. I took another step back. And another. It looked like I was going to take the mellow approach, even while the alternative still nagged me.

I lifted the hatchway and positioned myself on the ladder.

Down the rungs. All these inner battles were peeling away my confidence and security just like before. I was still hot and sweaty, my heart was still pounding, but I had decided on the mellow approach.

I yearned for the days where my superiors made these tough choices for me. It seemed like every minute was occupied by another mind-aching decision these days.

I walked mechanically down the steps, anger still nagging me that Ulfgar was up there, safe. There was nothing I could comfort myself with. I needed to hard-press his crimes into my mind for the next time we'd meet.

Every moment of my life was becoming an exhausting burden, the anger-induced adrenaline being what little fuel I had to continue.

But even that was a fuel I couldn't embrace with enthusiasm. Maybe it was just an unfulfillable, pathetic urge that would torment me. I'd let two of those scumbags get away already, and I knew nothing about this traitor.

I opened the door, back to the room at ground level, back to the staircase. The urge for battle was still boiling inside me. And that urge had been denied. Denied. Another burst of anger.

I wanted to rip the nearest painting from the wall and tare it to pieces. But what would that mean? Nothing unless I deluded myself into believing it was my enemy, but that was a weakness. I could never delude myself to what they did. I'd be a coward just like the rest of them.

I exited the lighthouse, back into the cold night air. I'd made it this far. I'd pushed nearly all the pain of the past out of me to make room for anger. The answers would either never arrive, or they would be found in the cellar. I walked around the light house.

As I stood by the cellar door I could detect that horrible stench the boy was referring to, but I unlocked the cellar none the less. Ahead I could see nothing but shadow. I pushed magicka into my eyes to get the night-eye effect.

I stepped in, beginning to feel tense as the truth was so close. I went down the steps of the stoney cellar. The anger was starting to fade, replaced with disgust at the stomach-wrenching stench and an unexplainable fear of the power of what I would find here. I could see a dog carcass below, but I knew that wasn't where all the smell radiated from.

As I finished my way down the stairs I turned to the right. There was a room full of barrels, and disorderly placed tables and cupboards. The stink was growing so intense I could almost taste it. The fear was growing worse. I felt not only nauseous, but queezy. Fear wrapped around me and the scent of death smothered me. I was used to killing, but never really saw its after effects.

There was an orcish women, naked, laying sloppily atop one of the cupboards, flies all over her body. My mouth felt extra wet as I tried to keep the contents of my stomach down. I needed to get my answers and get out of this hell.

As I got deeper in the macabre room there was some source of light. It stung my eyes, so I stopped inducing in the night-eye spell.

Some candles provided an eerie glow for the back part of the room and illuminated a most terrible sight. Bones, blood, and rotting body parts marked the floor. Some lay atop a table, as if being dissected and studied. I was used to blood, but the sight of detached body parts was too much. I thought I would be mentally prepared for this sort of thing: to see the human body degraded and mutilated into these sort of lifeless things. I wasn't.

There was an overwhelming sense of confusion and fear. I was beginning to gag. I rushed through the door up ahead, burst through it, trying to escape the horror that had invaded all my sense.

The next room had slightly better light, but it only illuminated more horrors. Though I was relieved to see no more detached body parts, the body of a man lay similarly atop a barrel, in a grotesquely unnatural positioned signifying the helplessness we had to the effects of death and its unremovable grip.

But there was something to the right. Closer to the light of the candle than anything else was a book. With my attention chiefly on that object, all other thoughts out of mind, I ran to grasp it. Swooping with one hand to pick it up, I was left with one last revolting scene: a head, placed right-side-up on a plate, most of its exterior rotted off, revealing the ugly, seldom known truths of human physiology.

Then I ran again. I ran frantically to get back outside. I knew the disturbance of what I saw would never wash away fully, but then and there I was fighting and losing a battle with my own stomach.

I viciously burst through the cellar door. The crisp night air was more refreshing than a swim in the Topal Sea on a hot day but the gruesome images were still all too real in my mind.

I ran from the grassy hilltop down the steep sandy shores, crashing into a rock standing between me and the Abacean Sea. I panted, but it wasn't the run that made me do it. It was much deeper than that.

I tried my best to relax, allowing my back to fall onto the steep sandy shores. I was in this alien place, facing alien horrors. It was starting to feel like nothing I'd learned through life in Argonia would be of any use here.

I shuddered and fidgeted as the images of what I'd seen came back.

I looked down at the book. There was no title. A diary, most likely. I was feeling tension take hold of me again. I clenched it tighter. But I knew this was just a battle of will, and, finally taking the side of courage, I opened the cover, and forced myself to look at the words.

This was where all the answers were.

It's all right, mother. It's almost over. I'm close. So very close. How long have we struggled? How long have we waited? Too long, I know. But it's almost over. I promise.

I took in every word slowly and carefully.

killhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhim
killhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhim
killhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhim
killhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhim

I turned the page, that sick feeling I'd gotten in the cellar coming back.

mommy mommy as you lie the dark man comes and makes you die my daddy's hands are red with guilt because he killed the life we built

I hate it! All this lying, all this pretending! Sithis and the Five Tenets be damned! How long do I have to live by their rules? How long before I get my chance? I saw Lucien Lachance yesterday. He was in the Sanctuary talking with Ocheeva. He was right there! So close I could have severed his spine in less than a heartbeat! Oh Mother, never before have I had to exercise such self-control. What's sickeningly ironic is that it was the Dark Brotherhood's discipline that allowed me to restrain myself. I've been a part of their "family" for so long it's a part of me, whether I like it or not. And in all that time I've fooled them all. They see me as a fellow member of the Brother, a trusted family member. Some day soon I will learn the truth about the Night Mother, and when I do, I will use that trust to get close to her. Close enough so that I may rend the head from her body, just as Lucien Lachance did to you so long ago!

I turned the page again. A sickening fear of the extent of the situation was starting to encroach upon me. The Night Mother? He thought he could get to her...and kill her? And he knew Ocheeva...did the Purification...fail somehow? How...

Damn it, mother! Why did it have to be this way? Maria was so beautiful. She was perfect in so many ways. Why couldn't she handle the truth? Why couldn't she realize her "family" didn't really love her? She was a murderer like the rest of us. Paid to kill in the name of Sithis. I really thought we could be together. Make a real family, with real love. But she told me she could never accept your place in my life. So now she's gone. She didn't deserve to live after the horrible things she said about you. I never should have told her, I know. I'm so sorry. It will never happen again, and the others will never find her, don't worry. There's nothing left of her to find.

IliketolieinthegrassandwatchtheantsandwishI
wereoneofthemintheirundergoundmazesosafefromthe
darknessofpeoplehorriblepeopleIwillkillthem
allkilltheantskillthepeoplekilleverything

Maria. There was something familiar about that name. What had gone on before I'd arrived in Cheydinhal? The urge to remove everything from my digestive system was growing once again.. I was afraid. I knew how he thought. He had the cunning and motivation to pull this off. We had empowered his spirit just as he had empowered mine. I understood his determination. I understood I should fear him. I turned the page again.

Some wonderful news, mother! Advancement at last! Lucien Lachance paid a visit to the Sanctuary today, to talk with me! He told me the Black Hand needed my services. One of the other Speakers is looking to replace his assistant, who was killed fulfilling a contract. So Lucien Lachance suggested me! I met with the Speaker, and will serve as his new "Silencer." Ha! Lachance might as well have given me a contract to kill the Night Mother herself! I am now one step closer to realizing our dream. I will learn the Night Mother's identity and tear the heart from her chest. Oh yes, and I have something special planned for Lachance himself...

mommy I so afrade. I mis yu mommy. I just wantyu to kis me agenn

My hands were quivering with...some kind of emotion. Something guttural. Something unfamiliar. He was in the Black Hand. He'd been that dedicated.

I've been careless! Too careless. The bodies, the burnings. Killing that fool Blanchard was the worst mistake I've made so far. I was seen! I was cloaked and hooded, and escaped into shadow, so no one learned my true identity. But now the Black Hand is suspicious. They suspect treachery, suspect a traitor! I must be more cautious than ever.

when in the snow I like to lie and fold my arms and wait to die

The traitor's efforts were neck and neck with mine. I was unraveling his plan, but he had torn apart the Dark Brotherhood. I got the chills.

I did it, mother! I killed them all! I killed them and I cursed them to wander their ship in undeath for all eternity! They came to talk to the old man in the lighthouse. When they saw me, they could have kept walking. But no. They laughed! They laughed at me, mother! They called me names! They said I was strange, that I was a human rat, living here in the cellar of the lighthouse. They did not know who they were dealing with! So I snuck on board, later that night, and I slit their throats. Every last one of them. So there the Serpent's Wake sits. The ghost ship of Anvil they'll call it now! Ha ha ha ha ha!

I've been switching them! Switching the dead drops! It was so easy! I tracked Lachance from his lair at Fort Farragut to the first dead drop location. After Lachance placed the orders, when I was sure he was gone, I switched them! It was so easy. Now Lachance's fool Silencer is working for us, mother! Oh, the fun we'll have. One of the Black Hand told me they haven't seen such an ambitious family member since I first joined the Dark Brotherhood. I will use that very ambition to my own advantage. The fool will never question the dead drops, and as I write this is en route to the first target -- one of the very members of the Black Hand! And so it begins. Lachance's silencer will kill one high ranking Brother member, then another, then another, and so on, until the entire family implodes. Eventually, as is the custom, the survivors will consult the Night Mother and seek her guidance. When that day comes, I will be there, ready to punge a blade into that dark whore's fetid heart!

I could feel a rising sensation in my torso. This was a documented case of deceiving the Black Hand. It was talk of killing a deity.

My enemy had outdone the Black Hand, and nearly outdone me. I couldn't help but feel a sense of...reverence. I turned the page.

!eid lliw ecnahcaL neicuL

The next page was blank.

As was the next.

And the next.

I was staring at the words of a man whose dedication had killed four members of the most feared council in the world. He had a decent plan to defeat the entire Dark Brotherhood. Would it take the entire Dark Brotherhood to defeat him? Obviously the entire Dark Brotherhood was no longer available.

I wanted to go limp on the shores and lie there. Starting anew only brought worse problems. Maybe it was time to finish.

A painful memory of the Purification, Tienaava's death, shot through me again:

I could see Tienaava again. He was staggering wildly. He'd removed my dagger but was now helpless to the effects of blood loss. A sad and disturbing sight, but one I hadn't fully processed at the time. There was a finally thud, and various clatters, as my brother's body landed ineloquently.
The memory was more real than my surroundings. I let out a long string Argonian profanities as it flew through my mind again.

And Ocheeva:

I realized my fleshy vulnerability an instant before I delivered a merciless blow to side of her face with my left hand, disorienting her, and compensating for my first set back. She stumbled back down the stairs still grasping my hand. Her head hit the floor with a sharp thud. Not enough to kill her, but it caused her to release her grasp. I plunged my knife into her neck with brutal unhesitance, focused simply on eliminating the threat.
I wanted to tell them why I did it, but when they died I was a monster in their eyes.

Then the end came back to me:

I heard a sound I couldn't quite distinguish from my right. It sent an unpleasant tingling through my body. I heard it again. It was clapping. A robed figured flowed from out of the shadows, advancing, and clapping. It was Lucien Lachance, the man who had caused all this death. His face was plastered with a confident smile amid the gore and odd poses of death of the family members.
When the brutal string of memories was over, I was panting. Sometimes I could be so cold-blooded, other times this was all painfully realistic. Right now, it was painfully realistic.

But I propped myself up. The entire Dark Brotherhood could fall. I was neck and neck with this traitor in this battle. Every second counted if I was to save it.

I walked the steep shores, my shoes digging into the sand..

As I walked back down the path of sand and planks, I was internally debating with myself using logic, emotion, and something in-between...intuition maybe. If I delayed, or abandoned the Dark Brotherhood now, it could well be the end of it, but was that a bad thing?

I'd come here for answers. And what had I learned? I had learned that the traitor was out for revenge. He had witnessed the murder of his mother, and now he was out for revenge.

As I walked along the harbor I began trying to work that fact into the equation of all this, but my thoughts didn't feel solid enough. I wasn't quite falling again, but they didn't seem solid.

He had joined the Dark Brotherhood in his quest for revenge despite how despicable he found us. He became what he hated. Surely that was despicable.

I knew I should have hated him for that, but I couldn't. I could only feel pity. Still, he was unexcused. He could have done it another way. He could have fought us as Philida and "Scar-tail" had.

But then I remembered they had failed. They never made this kind of progress. But did that justify taking up a career in the very organization he intended to destroy, becoming no different than any of us? Did killing tens in retribution for killing one justify anything? No.

Yet...he was planning on destroying the Dark Brotherhood. That was something people had attempted for centuries and failed at. I was facing the choice to make or break the most significant event in underworld history. I remembered Lachance's words "our organization has survived for more than a millennium." If the traitor was stopped, we might continue that much longer.

As jading as it was to acknowledge, his savage methods might have been justified.

The others had failed. But this traitor...he was about to become the Dark Brother to end all Dark Brothers. If he succeeded...it would be 'worth it'.

I got the chills. I was beginning to think the situation was so bad that his atrocities really were in right. It was a horribly depressing thought, but I couldn't shake the urge to congratulate him for making it this far. I could feel a guttural pity for him.

Nothing I'd learned from the book I'd picked up in Skingrad, The Brothers of Darkness and Sacred Witness: A true History of the Night Mother, was in the Dark Brotherhood's favor, either. Even as a Dark Sister, I had an urge to...root for him. Maybe if I had known my parents, I'd be in a similar situation: stuck in childhood with an maddening thirst for vengeance.

During all this internal debate, I'd made my way back into the city from outside the harbor. I was staring at that statue again. With the situation solved, it seemed like a totally new place. The emotion of it all was different. It wasn't fear anymore, it was sadness. Discouragement. No matter which side I chose, I knew I'd never feel the confidence and nobility in it I once knew in uniform.

I had come here undecided...and learned nothing to make me love my family anymore. After reading the other two books I found on "Scar-tail"'s body, his words seemed all the more true. The traitor wasn't becoming what he hated, but I was hating what I'd become. Most of us were no better than the boy with the dead drop or the lighthouse keeper, and those of us who were only obeyed the Black Hand because of our ignorance.

Once again, a coldness tingle across my scales.

As I walked past the chapel once again, I made the conscious decision I was no longer a Dark Sister. I would give the traitor his revenge. As a form of reconciliation, I knew my life was over. At best, I would be in Cyrodiil with no place to live and not enough money to buy one. At worst, I would be hunted down like Goes-in-heavy, maybe slain by another well-intended Shadowscale.

I felt guilt shoot through my body once again as I remembered him.

I tried to comfort myself the same way I comforted myself with Dovesi and Primo's deaths: it was just a few minutes of pain and terror.

But now, just when I thought the world couldn't get any heavier, I realized I had never truly noticed the ripple effect of my actions. The traitor's mother may well have only experienced a few seconds of terror, but the shockwave of it had cause so much pain Bellamont's life. I realized the true power of a kill wasn't towards the one murdered.

I kept walking. I wasn't sure where I was going, but there was no reason to stop and acknowledge the pain I felt. My throat ached with oncoming tears, but I hardly cared about that anymore. I had no other option. It was the traitor's fate I was starting to be concerned about. He was flooding my thoughts, almost like we had been together in the cause. I just hoped he could find peace soon.

I could see the gate in the distance. I was heading out of Anvil. Why? I wasn't sure. I had no where better to head. I'd just go North. I'd walk through the woods and swim through the water until I was killed by a wild animal or found a way to live with myself, whatever came first.

I was nearly at the gate. I only wished I could give something back to the martyrs, Goes-in-heavy and Philida. I wished I could talk to them one more time and tell them what I'd learned. Since I had come to realize the ripple effect of my actions, I couldn't comfort myself with the idea that it was over quickly for them anymore. I had felt the ripples of "Scar-tail"'s death myself, even when I hadn't really seen it that way.

I went through the gate, not really caring where I ended up. I looked ahead into the unpopulated hills of the North. All that would be land I'd soon travel, away from the past, and the future.

I stepped past the walled gardens flanking the gate and the hanging lanterns which illuminated the path.

Then there was a moment of shock as I could no longer breath. A moment of disgust and irrational fury and panic overcame me as I realized there was hand over my mouth, a scaley hand, and I was being pulled left. I thrashed vigorously, but to no avail.

Someone was taking me to the area behind the stables. That jaded state I was feeling earlier had been completely ripped away and replaced with an overwhelming, nightmarish fear.

Then I saw two familiar faces. Learns-fast, and Surveys-from-above. Both nearly had their backs to the stable. I began to feel light-headed, my thoughts erratic as the drab world was now invaded beyond recognition by mysterious terrors that seemed to have melted away all reason and solidity in the world.

Learns-fast stepped forward, hands behind his back, and leaned forward in a way that was infuriatingly slow and casual. It was a disgusting contrast with the intensity in my mind and body. Prominent figures in my memory, now standing in front of me in their physical forms, watching me as only my captor's continued indifference could mean my death? "Don't say a word." He whispered. Then nodded to someone: most likely the person covering my mouth.

The hand was released from my mouth, and I began gasping for air. Freedom. Facing the ground, my breaths were at first pushing my lung capacity to its limits, then getting gradually more mellow as I sucked in the cold air. Slowly, everything fell into place as the panic dissipated.

Still breathing heavily, I whipped around to see who had been the one to capture me.

For a second I didn't believe what I saw. No, it couldn't be. But yes, second after second it was still the same face.

It was Cleaver.

My mouth dropped open. No, that was impossible.

What if this is just a nightmare? The thought gave me a second of bliss. Maybe I'd wake up back in the swamps when none of this had happened.

But I didn't wake. This was real. Cleaver was here. So was I.

Learns-fast put an end to the pointless stare and pulled my arm to get me to face him. His head tilted down conspiratively, his eyes lifted to look at me directly. Then, in a low voice asked "Who is the traitor?"

This doesn't make sense. How are they all here in Anvil? How do they know about the traitor?

"I...I don't know. He ju...I...his..." Then, unexpectedly and disrespectfully, he ripped the diary from my hand. I had almost forgot I was holding it. I began to quiver, unsure what to make of the situation.

He opened the cover and began skimming the first page. I held my breath, wondering what he'd make of it all. In the mean time, I could feel the gaze of the back-from-death Shadowscale behind me.

What did he make of me?

I considered pushing out some kind of question. I knew they were here, and nothing else. I wondered what they knew about the recent crisis. I didn't know why, when, and how they came here, especially Cleaver. But I declined to ask. I didn't know what I could say without worrying about how I'd come off. I knew whatever was keeping Cleaver from doing any harm to me was fragile.

The guilty memories came back again, full surge. I clenched my fists tightly, almost as if trying to stand my ground against the fury of my conscience. I wanted to forget about the past, but here it was, staring me in the face. I tensed. I saw Cleaver's "death" again.

How could this happen? How could I ask? I wanted to just collapse. I thought about the golden hills longingly. I wanted to get away from all this. I wanted to end all this suffering. When such unexplainable occurrences like this happened, I just felt ready to give up on life.

I wanted to get out of here. There was a grueling tension as the eyes of the two other Shadowscales, one of whom I thought I killed, were upon me. I had been wrong to think this was over. Now I was filled with all sorts of odd and epic emotions as I stood feet away from the Shadowscale I'd stabbed. But I didn't dare look at him. I didn't know what to do or say. He needed to initiate any interactions.

As he read the traitor's diary, I could see only stern concentration on his face. He was not softening like I had.

But my mind was just as much on Tienaava. I had to fight the urge to shudder as I remembered his death. I didn't know what to say to him. I thought I wanted to see him again, but caught off guard it was all different. I was growing afraid he might break the silence, force me to talk to him again when I had no idea what to say.

Now Learns-fast, barely changed, flipped angrily through a few pages, which I assumed were blank. Then he slammed the diary shut and looked back up at me.

"You never saw the traitor?" He said, somewhere between a question and a statement. I nodded.

"He hired someone to place the dead drop. He lived in the lighthouse. I went there and found that diary." I replied, pouring over my own words an instant later, tensing as I became my own toughest critic of how I should present myself in this awkward situation. "The traitor lived in the lighthouse."

Learns-fast was silent for a moment. He pensively put his snout between his thumb and index finger.

"Fine...you're going to Applewatch. That traitor will have to reveal himself eventually."

Reveal himself? How does going to Applewatch do that? "But how w..." I was cut off before I could finish, as if he was trying to suppress any questions.

"You're going. If you don't the Black Hand doesn't have a chance." He stated sternly. I didn't reply. It didn't make sense, but what did I care? I'm just going to walk into the Golden hills anyway. "We'll be escorting you there. You'll know what to do when you get inside." Or not?

"I can make it on my own." I said. This was all against the decision I made to leave the Dark Brotherhood for dead. I didn't want anymore tension. I didn't want anymore questions.

"This is too sensitive for that kind of attitude!" He reprimanded. I was starting to feel annoyed with him. I was hurt too, like I usually felt when I disappointed my superiors, but in a different way. I was hurt that I had to swallow the bitter truth that I'd pretty much declared them my enemies, so even in their company I felt so alone. I had only Sithis, the true Sithis, if even. Then he spoke again "Follow me, we're leaving now."

I struggled within myself to find a way out of this. Try to kill them now? They were all armed, but were the other alternatives cowardly or wise?

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Cleaver facing me. Studying me? I didn't dare turn to look. I just had to wonder what he was feeling. Would he be understanding, given that I was under orders? Or did he hate me?

I knew this would be a grueling trip.