"Fighting the Uderfrykte Matron in the middle of a blizzard? You are either very brave or very foolish"
That was the first thing Anderson heard. A calming elven females voice, from the person who was carrying him down the mountain. He could not see however. His vision was blurring, and he was fading in and out of consciousness. This woman was just a solid mass of black as far as he could see. Though he could tell that she was an Altmer. Evident from her height. She began speaking again
"The Night Mother has watched you for many years now, Gerich Anderson"
Anderson's eyes widened slightly. Nobody had ever called him by his first name in over ten years. He found it more respectful to be called by his last name, and only his last name. He mumbled "How'd you know my name...?". Of course, his semi-conscious manner made it sound like sleepy gibberish, so she simply ignored it.
"Of course, you were constantly being chased by the law, so she could never get an agent close to you. But now that you're in Cyrodiil, things are different. By the time you wake, a new destiny will await you"
As the elf ended her sentence, Anderson drifted off again into the darkness.
*The next day*
Andersons eyes opened slowly, and his vision swam in and out of focus. He raised an eyebrow, seeing thatching on the ceiling above him. He looked around slowly, and was surprised at just how stiff his movements were. How long had he been out? His armour was neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and his cleaver was propped up against one of the wooden walls. He slowly sat up, grunting in discomfort. He was sore and stiff, but certainly alot better then he was while he was being carried by that elf.
The question was, where had he been carried too? This was clearly a bedroom, most likely an inn room, but he still had no idea where this inn was. He stood up off the bed, dressing himself in his armour, which was looking worse for wear in all honesty. He grabbed his cleaver and strapped it onto his back and headed for the door. He paused, checking his face in the room's mirror. He looked alright. Same short brown hair, same two scars arcing around his right eye. Didn't seem like he had any lasting injuries from his fall or his fight with that giant troll.
He turned the brass door handle, and stepped out, into a short wooden corridor, with another bedroom not to far from Anderson's own. The hallway lead into a large tavern, with about three Nords sitting around. Was he still in Skyrim? No, that'd be impossible, he would have been killed on sight if this were Skyrim, not given a room for the night. But still, he couldn't be too careful. He took a few slow steos into the tavern, approaching an aged Nord dressed in a green shirt and light brown pants.
The Nord seemed surprised to see Anderson walking around, and stood up to greet him "Ah you're awake, that's good. The Altmer that brought you in here asked me to give you this note when you awoke". He held out an envelope, sealed with a strange red stamp. Anderson took the envelope from the aged Nord, giving off a quiet 'thank you' as he did so. Anderson sat on one of the old wooden chairs, opening up the envelope, and looking over the letter.
Gerich
I apologise for not being able to give you this message in person, but there were many urgent matters I needed to atttend to, and I simply couldn't waste time waiting on you. I'm sure you have many questions right now, but I will only answer a few in this note.
Before I left you in the Tap and Tack's guest room, I gave you several healing potions, hoping they would have you healed when you woke. You were in pretty rough shape when I carried you here, so it might have taken about a day for your body to fully heal. You may also be wondering why I saved you in the first place. The reason is simple. You are a perfect candidate to join the Dark Brotherhood.
The Night Mother has watched over you for many years, from when you stood over your fathers bleeding corpse, knife in hand. However, you have been on the run for many years, and she has never been able to get an agent close to you. Now however, you are believed dead. You have a clean slate, and an opportunity for a new home. You must complete one task. Simple, given your previous qualifications.
On the silver road from Bruma to the Imperial City, there is a small log cabin tucked away at the roadside. Inside, you will find Gaspar the huntsman. Gaspar's arrogance has earned him several enemies in the past. One of them wants him dead, and they have employed the Dark Brotherhood to perform this task. Be warned however, that Gaspar is skilled with his axe, and will fight to the death if given the chance.
If you perform this task, then I will meet with you the next time you sleep in an area I deem secure.
~Arquen
Anderson narrowed his eyes. This 'night mother' knew much about him. Perhaps too much for his liking.
He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Working with the Brotherhood would give him a safe haven if thing ever got too hot. And there is nothing better then getting paid to do what you love. Anderson, stuffed the note into his trouser pocket, his mind made up. He gave a quiet thanks to the Inn-keeper, and opened the door to Bruma. The cold mountain air of the Nordic town hit him like a slap in the face, removing what little sleep was left in his system. He took a quick look around at the quaint Nord town, with it's wooden houses and snow-capped rooftops. Didn't feel like he had left Skyrim at all.
He grumbled something vaguely racial about Nords under his breath, and continued on his way.
*Two hours of walking later*
The further Anderson got from Bruma, the warmer it got, and Anderson was glad of it. He had spent too long out in the cold, and was glad to be in a warmer climate. He paused a moment, spotting smoke on the horizon, most likely from a chimney judging by the size of the smoke cloud. Anderson raised an eyebrow. Could this be the cabin he was searching for? All the animal pelts strung up along it's walls certainly made it seem like it.
Anderson neared the cabin, and forced open the well-built wooden door. No point wasting time on his targets. He looked over the cabins occupant, a rather tall Breton, built like an ox. He was clad in a red iron chest plate, dark blacksmiths pants, and a pair of fur gauntlets. His hair wasblack and well looked after, and there was not a single scratch on his face. He looked like a priss. "Hail, lowly traveller!" he boomed.
"What can I, the great Gaspar, do for you?" he asked, his voice grating on Anderson's nerves. Anderson narrowed his eyes "You can bleed" he hissed, drawing his cleaver. Gaspar barely had a moment to react before Anderson swung his ckeaver down on the huntsman. The mighty blade missed Gaspar, cleaving into the table behind him The huntsman now had his wits about him, and grabbed his iron battle-axe. No lunatic would take his life.
The huntsman dove forward, and traded blows with the assasin, cutting into his fur and leather armour. Anderson managed to deflect most of the huntsman's attacks, and gave several deep gashes into Gaspars cuirass. Anderson rolled backward, dodging a strike from Gaspar. He swung his cleaver outward, cutting through the large Breton's right knee like wet paper. The once formindable huntsman fell to the ground, screaming in agony, fighting back tears in his eyes.
"YOU CUT OFF MY LEG!" He screamed, as Anderson circled around him, chuckling lightly. "Yes. Yes I did. And now I'm going to do the same to your head" The assasin raised his cleaver up, and the last thing Gaspar the huntsman ever saw was Anderson's cleaver flying downward.
