"Astrid is mad, mad, mad at you, dear Sister!"
"You don't need to tell me something I already know, Cicero," Mortem snapped, her arms folded across her chest defensively.
"Touchy, touchy!" the Imperial man teased, taking a Deathbell from the pile at Mortem's feet to place around Mother's coffin.
"My hand just aches to take someone's life," the red eyed woman sighed, bending down and taking some of the dark flowers, "Astrid won't let me leave the Sanctuary to kill; not until that idiotic Dragonborn makes his way down here."
"You should not have asked the fool to come!" said the fool, rearranging the flowers that Mortem had placed until they were to his liking. The woman rolled her eyes but then turned wistful.
"You should have seen the way he killed Cicero. You would have done the same in my situation."
"He could not have been that spectacular. Not if he was so easily captured, no matter how charming my Imperial beauty may be."
Mortem smiled at the compliment, but it didn't deter her. "I did not woo him, my dear Keeper. He fell for a concoction of Babette's making; even you would have fallen for it."
"Cicero is insulted!" the jester joked, opening the Mother's coffin so that he could place a single Nightshade at her dried feet. "Beautiful, you look beautiful Mother!"
"She does," Mortem agreed, adding a Blue Mountain Flower while her friend wasn't looking, her own little gift to the Mother. Not noticing, Cicero closed the lid to the Unholy Matron's coffin and locked it, saying goodnight like she was a child before turning to Mortem.
"Would your foul mood leave you if I was to dance and sing in front of our family?"
Mortem chuckled at the humor of the scene, always loving Cicero's dark songs and silly dances, but shook her head no. "Don't you remember what happened last time you did that? Nazir might strangle you, Fool of Hearts."
"Cicero doesn't know why he detests the poor jester, he is only trying to get the grump to smile," he defended with a pout, pushing the two of them out of the room. As they headed to the large area that served as forge and training ground, the two Imperials noticed how everyone was gathered around in a circle while they listened to Babette's story; the exact same way they had been when Mortem first arrived.
"Oh, I want to hear the unchild's tale!"
Mortem waved the man away, telling him he could go silently, and leaned against the entrance wall to look down at the people she was supposed to call a family.
While the majority of them were very nice people—nice by the standard of assassin, anyway—Mortem didn't see the Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim to be her family. Maybe in time, but these people just weren't hers. The only one she owed allegiance to in the slightest was Cicero. They had been together from the beginning, had gone through the same struggles, and had barely lived the same disappointments.
As Mortem watched the man dance and giggle along with everyone else, she couldn't help but smile. Her family and home was with Cicero and the Mother. She didn't need anyone else.
Movement from the other side of the room caught the assassin's attention, forcing her red eyes to look towards the moving bodies coming into the room. Astrid was leading, as she always did, her stride slow but purposeful. The figure behind her was somewhat shadowed, but as soon as they exited the hallway, Mortem's eyes went wide.
"That son of a bitch."
"I'm sorry to interrupt your story Babette," the blonde voiced, catching everyone's attention, "But I'd like to introduce you all to the newest addition to our family; Rovaan, the Dragonborn."
It was almost comically silent in the Sanctuary as all the assassin's took in the sight of not just a new family member, but the god damn Dragonborn. Rovaan was feeling a little squirmy with everyone's eyes on him, but the ice was broken by a familiar voice.
"It's about time you got here," Mortem spoke up, pushing herself off the wall, "I was starting to regret letting you live for stealing my kill."
"It's nice to see you again, Mortem," Rovaan said, smirking towards the woman who was safely on the other side of the room.
Mortem rolled her red eyes and made her way down the stone carved stairs, taking her place by the side of her giggling Brother, who was overjoyed by the sight of the man.
"So this is the pest Mortem speaks of!" Cicero said, dancing over to the tall and well-built Nord, "If only he could have heard what Cicero heard! If only he could have heard her curse his name!"
Rovaan let his green eyes look over at the woman, looking to see if what the man was saying was true, but she only shrugged her shoulders, her arms still tightly crossed in front of her chest.
"Don't scare the poor boy, Cicero," Festus barked, causing the Imperial man to back off, though only slightly.
"He battles dragons on a daily basis, Festus," Babette reprimanded, "I don't think our harmless jester will scare him off."
"Cicero is anything but harmless, unchild!"
"Don't mind these mannerless fools," Gabriella sighed, moving forward a bit so she could personally greet the bulky blonde, "It's nice to have you come to our home Dragonborn. Though, I'm a little shocked someone like you would be with the likes of us."
She was shocked, but Rovaan wasn't. After he'd killed those three innocents and had been let loose, his blood lust had overloaded him. He needed to feel the life liquid in his hands, and he needed it badly. Badly enough that he contemplated finding a town who wouldn't miss one person. Thankfully, he'd stumbled upon of a group of necromancers that had quenched his thirst.
But he knew that wouldn't be the end of it. The lust would come back, like lust always did, and he would snap. But the Dark Brotherhood had contracts, had people that wanted killers. His best bet to learn how to control himself was with them.
Now here he was, underground in one of the safest Sanctuaries in Skyrim, surrounded by people who felt the same as him, and he felt welcome. Knowing that they wouldn't judge him because of his tendencies let a part of him relax that had been tensed for so long.
"I'm a man of many ways," was the blonde's only response, which was enough to make the Dunmer smile.
"That has yet to be seen, I'm sad to say," Astrid said, once again catching everyone's attention.
"What do you mean Astrid?" Nazir asked, his dark brow raised in confusion.
"While I don't doubt Mortem's ability to spot a good assassin," the blonde woman stated, making the Imperial tense, "I am leader here, and I have to be the one to truly see his potential within our ranks. Because of our fading title in Skyrim, I can only accept the best. I'll need to show you the ropes, then see what you've learned."
"We've never tested anyone before," Arnbjorn stated, "I think it's a wonderful idea, love."
"I have three available contracts for the purpose, Astrid. You can take those."
"Three? How perfect is that?" the Nord commented, her smirk forever on her face, "That means a kill for me, a kill for Mortem, and a kill for Rovaan."
"Why are you including me in this Astrid?" the redhead voiced, pushing herself forward.
"Well, since the last contract I sent you on seemed to be a bust, I think letting you take the life of one of these contracts will make up for it."
Mortem bowed her head a little bit, hiding her face so that her leader wouldn't see the scowl on her lips. "Thank you Astrid."
"Of course. Since you know our newest member so well, why not show him where he'll be resting his head. The rest of you can get to know each other later." With that, the woman climbed back up the stairs, her husband on her heels like the puppy he was, and Mortem's red eyes turned to look at the Dragonborn. Everyone did as their leader told and dispersed, leaving Mortem and Rovaan.
Rovaan looked over the unmasked woman before him and had to admit even though her face was visible to him, she was still as intimidating as when she had been just a mysterious character. Her glowing red eyes didn't look happy in the least, but the Dragonborn was happy that he knew it wasn't directed at him.
"Not very fond of Astrid?" he questioned with a smirk.
"Not in the least," the assassin said truthfully—shocking their newest recruit—and turned on her heel. Her long, red braid whipped behind her as she walked off, up some stairs. Guessing he was still meant to follow her, Rovaan hurried after her form.
"I wasn't really expecting you to say that," he said to the Imperial. She glanced at him over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.
"Everyone knows it already; I shouldn't leave you out of the party."
"Astrid doesn't seem too bad," the Dovahkiin voiced, being uncharacteristically nosy, "She welcomed me into her family with open arms because you asked it of her."
"No, she only allowed you in here because you are the Dragonborn, new blood," Mortem sighed, like it was something so obvious, "She is a good actress, I might say. She welcomed Cicero and I too, like we were part of the family."
He wanted to prod the woman for more answers, but the Imperial cut off the conversation by making a motion to the beds against a wall. "This is where you'll be sleeping when you're in our presence. I'd watch out though, Babette's pet spider has a way of wandering up here, and she'd be more than furious if you killed it."
"I'd be safer if I just slept in an inn," Rovaan mumbled.
"You're welcome to leave, you know. We haven't undergone our hunt yet."
"You ask me to come and join your family, but then say I can leave?" Rovaan huffed, turning to look at the redhead, "I really don't understand your reasoning."
"The man I saw in that shack," Mortem started, her voice emotionless, "Was someone I would have welcomed into my family. This man that stands before me, however…" Her chuckle was dark as she shook her head. "This man belongs to the Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim."
She left with those words, leaving the Dragonborn more confused than when he had first laid eyes on her in that abandoned shack.