"It sickens Cicero to call these amateurs Brothers."
"Cicero, hush," Mortem whispered, her red eyes glaring at the jester.
"Cicero is only telling his good friend the truth!" the man said even louder, frustration evident in his voice, "they know not of the ways a Brotherhood is to be conducted! They are little savages compared to us."
"Babette is a good killer," was Mortem's only defense. She had known the small girl previously, had seen her hunt and had heard stories. While she knew much of how Cicero killed, the rest of her Family was a mystery to her, so she could not defend them.
"The unchild disturbs poor Cicero," the redhead pouted, turning his back to Mortem while he oiled the Night Mother's body, "she thinks he is strange and not even good enough for food!"
Mortem chuckled and shook her head, feeling the long, thick braid brush her back. "Is that not a good thing, my friend? She won't feast upon your blood without your knowledge."
As if he had not realized it, Cicero spun back around, his brown eyes wide in happiness. "You are correct Mortem! Oh, you were always more bright than Cicero; always right!" He then proceeded to do a little dance that had always entertained the Imperial woman.
Mortem chuckled and clapped for the man, encouraging him to keep going as his dancing got even more ridiculous. When the assassin's sides began to hurt, she was forced to tell the man to stop. He did so without being told again, but there was that content and happy smile on his face, something that rarely lit up his features.
While he continued to take care of the Night Mother—such is the job of the Keeper—Mortem let herself go into thought about her Brother. That smile, though showing that the jester was happy, only saddened the woman. It was only the ghost of his real smile before his mind started to fade. When faced with betrayal, death and loneliness, it was no wonder the man acted the way he did.
If Mortem hadn't been ordered away to act on revenge, it might have never happened.
Astrid's now familiar voice was what pulled the Imperial from her thoughts, making her turn her red eyes to look at her. There was a small smirk on her face, one the blonde always seemed to wear when things were good in the Brotherhood.
"Yes Astrid?"
"I've got a contract for you."
"Oh?" Mortem asked, her red brow cocked in question.
"There's been word that a boy in Windhelm has been locked in his home, saying the Black Sacrament over the bones of his dead mother," the woman chuckled at that and shook her head before going on, "I thought that since your idea all those months ago spurred enough fear into Skyrim's core, you take this as your first kill."
Yes, that idea so many months ago had given the Dark Brotherhood a semi-secure foothold, but they had gotten many contracts since then. Sure, they weren't overflowing in them, but it was enough to keep them afloat. Mortem had been stuck here the entire time without a paying contract.
Mortem could see right through Astrid. The others had been offered the job, but had probably turned it down because of the long trek to Windhelm. Mortem was her last choice, and the leader knew she wasn't going to turn it down.
The redhead put on a fake little smile and nodded her head. "I'll just pack my things and start to move soon."
"Good. And much luck to you."
Both of the Imperials watched the Nord leave the room, their eyes locked on her form until she was gone from sight and out of hearing distance.
"Astrid is threatened by us."
"As she should be," Cicero mumbled, though the growl was very prominent, "We carry the Night Mother's blessing and her love. Cicero doesn't know how long he can take the Nord woman."
"We'll find the Listener soon Cicero," Mortem said, standing up to head to her room, "And when we do, things will be back to the way they were. We'll be a real family again. With our Night Mother, our Dread Father, and the Listener."
"As it should be," Cicero concurred, even if his voice was a little sad.
"I must pack for my journey," Mortem voiced, changing the subject as she began to walk away.
"Leaving poor Cicero with the wolves."
Mortem chuckled, though this time there was barely any humor in the sound. "Just stay with the Mother and you'll be fine. I'll be back soon."
Not even an hour later, Mortem was on her way out, her weapons and some money the only things she carried. Veezera, Nazir, and Babette were the only ones to say goodbye to her on her way out. She gave them a smile, too busy to say the same, and ignored the glares and blank stares she got from the others.
Once outside, Mortem let a loud whistle call through the echoing forest while she rearranged everything on her body. Her dark horse trotted up not too much later, its slim body ready for the long travel ahead.
"I hope you can stand the Skyrim cold, because we're about to go to one of the coldest cities," Mortem grumbled, rubbing the black horses' side. It made a noise that didn't sound very happy, but galloped on when its rider prodded.
Unlike the horses in Skyrim, a Cyrodiil steed was made for speed where its counterpart was made for mountain climbing. In only a minute, the two were speeding out of the Pine forest and through what looked like an abandoned town by the name of Helgen, which was charred from fire and destroyed as if some kind of army had gone through it. Mortem had heard the story though; the tale of the dragon and the Dragonborn.
That had been a story heard too many times by Mortem. It had been something fearful and exciting when she had first entered Skyrim, a story that none other could compete with. But now that she had heard it many times since then and had heard differing stories, the tale fell on deaf ears.
However, looking at the ruins of Helgen, it was hard to not feel something. A creature from legend had come down from the skies and caused this kind of destruction, wiping out a town in only a matter of minutes. It could make someone shake in their skin.
Shaking off the thoughts, Mortem pushed her horse forward once again and led them off, following the well-worn cobblestone trail that would lead to Windhelm.
Keeping to the west, Mortem watched as night began to fall upon Skyrim. The assassin had made good time, reaching the edges of Eastmarch when the sky was at its darkest. It would have been hard for most to see in this time of night, and other adventurers would have settled down for the night to continue travel in the morning, but Mortem wasn't the average adventurer. She was an assassin.
Her faithful horse knew this well and had been trained to ride harder and faster than any other horse in Cyrodiil. When the redhead had been caught in one of her contracts, there was no horse better to ride than hers, and when it came to traveling across Skyrim, the job fell on him.
With sweat clinging to the beast's body and its breathing heavy, the dark creature stopped at the stables of the very chilly hold of Windhelm.
Mortem tacked her animal in the stable next to a variety of others, letting him water and feed himself. With a smile, she rubbed his snout and whispered into his ear.
"I'll be back soon. We'll get this contract, let you rest, and be on our way."
The tired beast neighed softly, letting her know that he understood, then laid in a pile of hay to sleep. Mortem smiled like she was looking down at her child before she quickly walked up the steps and through the gates of the city, shivering at the cold breeze that passed into the town, though the wall and large doors kept out most of the cold.
The place was quite large, looking more impressive than it had when looking at it from outside. Without the exact location of the house in which the Black Sacrament had been performed, Mortem was forced to act. Literally act.
With a simple pout of her lips and well as a couple bats of her eye lashes, a guard spilled everything he knew of the Aretino boy, warning the pretty redhead to stay away from the house, in which he gave the exact location.
"Idiot," the assassin muttered after she walked away, shaking her head as she followed the directions the guard had given her.
Besides the few poor sighted guards that patrolled the town, Mortem ran into no one in the city, due to the time of night in which she stalked. Even so, she clutched to the shadows, making sure that not a single person could see her, even if they were out and about.
When the Imperial reached the door of which the guard had described, Mortem was surprised to see that the door to the home was already unlocked. And not just unlocked, but had been picked by someone previously. They had done so in such a shabby manner that the lock was no longer functional, leaving the door unprotected against anyone.
Wary of what would be inside, Mortem pulled out an ebony dagger from her hip, letting the familiar blade rest in her ready hand as she slowly made her way inside.
Once the stairs had been climbed into the home, Mortem's masked face searched the room with her eyes, looking into one room to see a skeleton lying in the center of some candles and some rancid ingredients. This was where the Black Sacrament had been performed.
When mumbling reached the woman's sensitive ears, Mortem turned her head to look over at the bed pushed against the corner, where a sleeping child was nuzzled in furs and darkness. Mortem smiled wickedly under her mask and moved forward to shake the boy awake.
He woke up dazed and confused, rubbing his eyes and seeming scared to find a stranger in his home. He had called for an assassin, what did he expect?
"You have prayed to the Night Mother and received one of her children from the Dark Brotherhood."
"I-I already spoke to someone," the child whimpered, curling into a ball as his large eyes stared at Mortem's form, "he came here a couple days ago and took my contract for Grelod the Kind in Riften."
"What?"