The next evening, rain had begun to drizzle over the land and drip down the leaves of trees. Zarissis pulled her travelling cloak tighter over her figure as she clutched the reins of the stolen horse. She was lucky her father taught her how to ride; otherwise she might have since fallen off the galloping steed.
The horse was male, with a dusky gray body covered in flecks of black over its belly and legs. He seemed overjoyed to finally be able to run free. Perhaps the horse felt as she did; trapped in a boring life and not living up to its fullest. He did not fight her at all when she tried to steal him, instead choosing to follow loyally behind her. After a half an hour on the road and some contemplation, Zarissis settled on naming him Dusty.
Before she left the inn, she decided to buy some food. Much to her surprise, her coin purse was overflowing with septims that were not there before, as well as a filled waterskin. No doubt Lucien had put them there. A new dagger, a purse full of septims, a loyal steed, and enough food and water for the trip. Zarissis was better off than she had been before she'd met Lucien Lachance, and a deep appreciation was growing in her heart. She would have to thank him the next time she saw them, and at this point, she was fairly certain she could kill again easily.
With the wind howling and rain pattering on the ground around her, Zarissis felt freer than she had in the past twenty years. If bandits attacked, something deep inside her mind told her she'd be alright.
After several stops along the road, sure enough Zarissis faced the danger she knew would accompany her adventure. The man had snuck up behind her, attempting to put a dagger to her throat, but Zarissis whipped around in time, drawing her weapon by some kind of unknown instinct and jamming into his chest with a speed she was unaware she had.
Then came his two friends, who the redhead wrestled away from. The first found a dagger between his shoulder blades as he lunged to grab her, and the second with a blade in his neck.
Zarissis didn't know that she was capable of taking on three full-grown men. She could only guess that some unknown force had aided her because she'd never been in a fight, let alone in the middle of night with a group of people who had twice her strength. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline.
Either way, Zarissis soon realized that chest wounds bled a lot less than a throat wound. The gouge in the bandit's neck squirted blood over her hands and sleeves, and down the front of her dress. It was quite the predicament; anyone who saw her might guess she killed someone, and she didn't have another dress. Luckily her travelling cloak remained unscathed so she had some way to cover up.
Pulling her cloak around her figure, Zarissis calmed her spooked horse before finally embarking again on her journey.
The rest of the trip had been peaceful and undisturbed. Zarissis had only been out of Leyawiin with her parents for merchant business, but Bravil was just as poor and rickety as ever, retaining its reputation for having a high crime rate and being the city with the highest number of Skooma addicts as residents. Needless to say, Zarissis did not sleep well at the inn that night. Every little bump and noise in the night spooked her from her sleep. Each time she checked her bag to ensure her belongings remain. Certainly Lucien Lachance would think her a fool if all of his gifts were stolen from her the very night after he came to her. Luckily, her possessions remained, and Zarissis was able to buy a cheap dress before she left the city. It was a bright, minty green and made her look like a child, but it was better than parading around in dried blood.
Zarissis arrived at the Inn of Ill Omen just past midnight. The moon was still high in the sky, and everything seemed quiet. With a deep breath, Zarissis climbed the creaky stairs and pushed open the door to the inn.
She was surprised to find a man at the counter with a cloth in hand, drying mugs. He looked up as she entered, excitement spreading across his face. "Why hello there, if it isn't a new customer! Don't see too many of those 'round here."
The inside of the inn was in just as much disrepair as the outside. The wood on the furniture was old, and the chairs at the counter looked as though they'd collapse if someone attempted to sit in them. A bowl sat on the edge of the table, half-filled with water, and gaps in the boards could be seen in the walls. It was likely that the ceiling leaked when it rained.
Either way, Zarissis was here on a mission, and she wasn't turning back now.
"I can't imagine getting a lot of business with a name like 'Ill Omen'," she replied honestly as she approached the counter.
He sighed. "It's a horrible name for an inn, I know, but I just can't bring myself to change it. Besides, I like the sign." The man placed the mug on the table and tossed the rag beside it, brushing off his hands. "I'm Manhaim. We got plenty of rooms if you want one. Ain't nobody here except old Rufio."
So he is here then. Zarissis didn't want to draw suspicion to herself by asking about him, but she wanted to know what room he was in. Lockpicking wasn't her specialty, and she needed to know what room the old codger was in. Perhaps I needn't ask…
Zarissis thought back to her experiences with Tristeran. The foolish boy would tell her anything under the influence of alcohol. She turned to Manhaim and began unbraiding her hair, running her fingers through the soft orange waves.
"A room would be lovely." With a flirtatious smile, she added, "Also a drink. Whatever is your favourite."
The man's face turned bright red. "M-my favourite? Well, that'd be twelve septims…" Zarissis saw him hesitate, until she reached into her coin purse and pulled out the gold. He reached for a mug and set it in front of her before popping open a bottle of mead and pouring the thick liquid. Corking the bottle, Zarissis watched it as his eyes ran over her figure.
"Oh no, the drink isn't for me. It's for you, since I can imagine you work really hard to keep this inn running." She smiled and pushed the mug toward him. "I always admire such hard work."
Manhaim's face flushed again, and he fumbled with the mug. "Oh, well, uh, thank you." He lifted it to his mouth and took a drink, never taking his eyes off of Zarissis. After swallowing, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Say, you never told me your name."
Zarissis knew she couldn't tell him her real name. She was probably already wanted for murder in Leyawiin; having another murder tied to her name wouldn't be a good idea. Thinking quickly, she was reminded of a character in one of her favourite books, The Wolf Queen. Manhaim didn't look like the kind of man who would read, so hopefully the reference would pass him.
"I'm Jyllia. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance." Zarissis flashed him a brazen smile and twirled her finger in her hair again. "Now Manhaim, I have all night. Please do tell me more about yourself."
Another kill, another dead family member. Pure rage boiled in his veins and Vicente tightened his hand until he nearly broke the quill he was holding. Whoever this traitor was, he wanted them to pay.
This time it was a member of the Bruma Sanctuary, a Dunmer named Sathden. He was a master in poison brewing, even better than Lucien, although the Speaker would never admit that. Lucien had received a contract that called for a person to be poisoned in a very specific way, and Sathden was the one who had the skills to make it happen.
He never made it to finish his contract. Two days later, Sathden was discovered dead on the road a few miles west of Cheydinhal, poisoned through an arrow shot into his leg. His skin looked as though it had boiled, and all of the veins in his body had darkened considerably, giving his corpse a ghastly look. Even Vicente felt the urge to vomit when seeing the state of the Dunmer.
Lucien didn't know what kind of poison had the ability to kill someone in such a way, and that made Vicente nervous. There were very few people that Vicente had met who had the same knowledge of poisons as Lucien. He suspected some form of dark magic had been used, but had no way to support his suspicion.
Vicente sighed and cupped his face in his hands. Two deaths, both linking back to Cheydinhal. He knew none of the members of his sanctuary had the skills to pull off both assassinations, but the rest of the Black Hand wouldn't see that.
If the murders continued, then Vicente feared that he'd have to begin worrying about the fate of the Cheydinhal sanctuary.
After buying Manhaim more than several mugs of mead over the next couple of hours, Zarissis began to feel kind of dirty. She had never intentionally manipulated someone for information, and this newfound side of her personality was frightening. She realized she had no problem with pulling the hem of her dress down just a bit to reveal the slightest cleavage, and batting her eyes seductively at Manhaim seemed almost a nature instinct.
Either way, it worked. All she had to do was nod her head appropriately and encourage his friendly nature, and she had learned exactly where Rufio's room was. The best part was that she had time to think of a plan in the meantime, and Zarissis was certain it'd help her remain innocent.
Manhaim now sat at the counter silent, while he fought back sleep, his eyes drooping without his control. Zarissis stood up, feeling refreshed and energized as adrenaline rushed through her veins. The game was on, and with any luck it'd go off without a hitch, and hopefully Manhaim had consumed enough alcohol that he wouldn't remember the day's events.
"Here, let me help you to your bed." Zarissis put one arm around the man and carefully led him up the stairs. After several inquiries from Zarissis, she was able to figure out which room was his, and lead him to the bed. The next part of her plan was the tricky one – she needed to get him completely undressed, but in his present stupor, she felt it'd be quite difficult. Not to mention that Zarissis had never even seen a man naked, and the thought of what she'd find terrified her, but it was a fear she'd have to face.
Fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, she sweetly whispered false praises and sweet nothings, allowing Manhaim to remain completely relax and merely grin in a silly manner at her. Zarissis was surprised to see several rows of scars running down his chest, as though he'd had a bad accident. She ran her fingers over the white marks and leaned in, kissing the man on the lips. It felt surprisingly less invasive than when Tristeran kissed her, but she supposed it was because of her intentions.
A few minutes later and Zarissis was able to unlace the man's pants and pull them off, followed by his loincloth.
Oh. She didn't know what she expected. It wasn't like she thought men had a monster, like a cliffracer, beneath their loincloths, but it seemed to be very disappointing and she never knew why girls sat in corners and whispered over which men in the town were more endowed.
Manhaim did not complain at all about having his clothes removed, but he was in such a trance that he didn't particularly respond to it, either. Zarissis held his head as she helped him ease into bed and pulled the covers over him. As soon as his head hit the pillow, the man closed his eyes and didn't move.
Perhaps I gave him too much wine,she fretted. Well, at least if she did kill him, it'd be one last witness to the crime. Although she knew Lucien wouldn't be too pleased. Killing more than just her target would be sloppy, and would draw unnecessary attention.
With part one of her plan in action, Zarissis headed back down the stairs and opened the hatch to the 'private quarters', as Manhaim had put it. Luckily, she still had a couple more hours of night available, so the old man would still be sleeping. Creeping down the ladder, she approached the door and used a key she got off Manhaim to unlock the door.
The door creaked open slowly, and carefully Zarissis crept in. In a bed at the far end of the room, a figure laid curled up. Careful not to step too hard on any creaky floorboards, the redhead snuck over to the edge of his bed.
Rufio looked as though he'd once been quite muscular, but now all that was left was a frail shell. His sleep was troubled, and every now and then he'd whimper as if having a bad dream. Zarissis reached into her bra band, where her dagger was presently stashed, and pulled it from its sheath. Gripping it tightly in her fist, she gently nudged the old man onto his back. He didn't wake, merely shuddering again.
With a firm blow, Zarissis struck the dagger into his chest. Rufio's eyes flew open for a split second, staring her in the face, before his heart stopped. She watched as the life drained from his body and his muscles went limp before extracting the dagger, wiping it on his bedsheets. A red stain blossomed over his tunic, like a flower opening its petals. It fascinated her, but Zarissis didn't want to linger anymore than necessary. Sheathing her dagger, she left the room, relocking the door before she left, and headed back up the hatch to the room she rented.
Manhaim would likely be asleep for quite a while, which gave her just enough time to catch a few hours of sleep before Lucien came to check on her, if the Speaker wasn't already watching. If he was, then she hoped he'd have the decency to wake her up before the innkeeper, so she could finish the last part of her plan.
Undressing down to her smallclothes, Zarissis wiggled into the bedroll on the floor and snuggled her head into the musky pillow, exhaustion slowly overtaking her.
"You know, you do sleep quite soundly for a murderer. I'm pleasantly surprised." A familiar voice drifted through the fog of Zarissis's dreams, coming from the floor near her bed roll. "I've tried several times to rouse you from sleep. Normally my fellow Brothers and Sisters respond a lot quicker to the call of their Speaker."
Zarissis peaked an eye open, her gaze settling on the crosslegged Imperial who sat with his back to the wall. He held her dagger in his hand, running his finger over the blade in a way that Zarissis might describe as lovingly.
"The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio's blood, the ink." He took the Blade of Woe and slid it into the sheath, before placing it back into her bag. "I am quite pleased with your work, and believe it is time for you to embrace your fate."
Lucien Lachance looked directly at her now, his dark eyes scanning her face. "As a Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join that group, and fulfill any contracts given."
Zarissis sat up, more alert to the conversation. "Now what?"
"Now you must go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement, and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly, 'Sanguine, my Brother'. You will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. Once inside, speak with Ocheeva." Lucien stood to his feet with all the grace of a Khajiit, looking down on the little redhead. "We must now take our leave of each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I'll be following... your progress. Welcome to the family."
Before he was about to cast whatever invisibility spell he used last time, the Speaker paused, and his eyes darted over the nearly-nude figure of the girl before him, settling on her bra band before darting up to her face. Zarissis felt her cheeks burn red with shame and pulled the bedroll closer to her chest, silently cursing herself again for forgetting her nightgown.
Lucien merely laughed. "Before I go, I feel perhaps somewhat obligated to inform you that Manhaim still sleeps. If I were any less of a man, I'd say I feel nearly jealous that an old fool will be graced to see you in such a…state." With a wicked smirk, his figure faded again from view, and Zarissis glared at his shimmery, translucent form as it snuck from the room.
His last comment left her a little flabbergasted. She didn't know how to respond, or even how Lucien guessed her plan. On one hand, his comment was a compliment, but bordered too closely toward being creepy. She knew very little about the Speaker, except that he gave her enough supplies to make it on her journey, something she was grateful for.
And I forgot to thank him. She'd have to eventually do so later, once she made it to Cheydinhal.
Zarissis packed up her satchel and threw it over her shoulder before lifting her dress off the ground. She wouldn't put it on, not yet. Treading over to the door, she carefully opened it and peeked out. Seeing no one in the hallway, the redhead darted over to Manhaim's room, carefully turning the knob and peeking in.
The man laid on his back on the bed, his mouth open as he snored. He was still fast asleep, just as Lucien said.
Zarissis carefully placed her stuff on the ground and dropped her dress on the floor, carelessly pushing it with her foot to make it seem as though it'd been torn off in the throes of passion.
Her plan originally called for her removing her smallclothes to seem as though she had slept with the fool, but Zarissis hesitated. It seemed far too embarrassing and revealing for her to do, and after Lucien's comment, she was more than self-aware of her body.
She silently cursed him. Before seeing the Speaker, she'd felt confident with her plan, but now she was too terrified to finish it. She angrily scooped her dress off the floor and pulled it over her head before she gently picked up her satchel and snuck out of the room, casting one last glance on the sleeping figure.
Biting her lip hard, Zarissis tried her best to think of a new plan, but drew only blanks. She had one last option, and that was to run. If Old Lady Luck smiled on her again, Manhaim would wake with no memory of any new patron entering the inn.
Throwing her bag over her shoulder, Zarissis made her way down the stairs. To her surprise, an Imperial guard sat at the counter, drinking a leftover bottle of mead from the night before. He nodded as she entered the room, but said nothing, seemingly ignorant of the rotting corpse in the quarters beneath his feet.
Zarissis merely smiled and left the inn, returning to Dusty who'd been tied up to a fence post over night. The horse whinnied happily as she approached. She opened her bag and pulled out an apple, to which the horse greedily snatched from her hand.
She stroked his muzzle as he chewed, and thought about Cheydinhal. She'd been there only once, and she remembered it to be quite the beautiful place, but she was not sure exactly what to expect when she met her new 'family'. If they were all killers, would they even be that friendly?
I'm friendly, she reminded herself. It was still odd to think of herself as a murderer, and even stranger to tell herself that she was an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood. With a long sigh, she untied Dusty and pulled herself into the horse's saddle.
"Well now, I suppose it is time for both of us to set off for Cheydinhal," she whispered as she patted the horse's side. "My fate awaits me."