Of Mongrels, Fools and other Riff-Raff

by Kynrael

Formerly Two Girls One Jester - Rated M for later Chapters - Not so much fluffy Romance, but friendship, morbid moments, debauchery and bloodshed - 2X F Dragonborn / M Ingame Characters. Of two mongrel Sisters, Fools and other Riff-Raff trying to make a living or at least finding some entertainment.

3. 3 Broken Bond – Death of Silence

Notes:

This Chapter is very long - in MS Word it had about 30 + Pages.

I think most of my upcoming chapters will have around 20 - 35 Pages now - (maybe more?)

The length of the Chapter and also the lack of Beta-reader who help me squashing unwanted typos or "germanized" sentence structures, it took me some time to finish it. So have mercy should you find a typo here and there, or a weird sentence.

Beta-readers are also welcome ^^ (I am mainly writing for the fun and regaining my old writing skills... several long years not writing made me rusty) Oh and I hope no one minds that I might mix british and american words from time to time. I am chat with people all over the world and love collecting new words and "sayings" ^^

I am currently working and visiting an evening school at the same time - so it could happen that it takes me in worst case when I have exams 3 months at maximum to finish my chapters. But I can assure you, I will keep writing and finish this story. I hate nothing more than to start something I won't complete. So have patience :) Chapter 4 (Cicero) is in the making - I hope, but cannot promise, to have it finished around mid/end July.

Lore:

I try to add a pinch of Lore here and there. For those who just started reading - I stick as close as possible to the Lore. So, should you see something you think is totally against Lore... link please :D Honestly! I appreciate Links. I am also skimming through the Imperial Library and all Wikis and In-Game books to gain every scrap of information. So imho I am not really violating any Lore in my story.

Images:

I have been asked about the Image I am using as "Cover" for this story.

Yes I have some FanArt about Skyrim and some of my favorite Characters and my Original Characters. Unfortunately I can't post a link here - butchers it. Just go to DeviantArt and look for me under Rhian-Skyblade. I have a FanArt/Skyrim Section there :) If you search for: Burning of King Olaf you might find me instantly.

If you do not have a DevArt Account or if you have one but aren't 18, yet - one or two pictures won't show due the maturity filter. Nothing wild, but everyone knows that prudism rules the world and barely covered boobs might already offend some people.

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Chapter 3 - Broken Bond – Death of Silence

Myrabeth Falkreath/Dark Brotherhood

Both hands propped on the small altar, Myrabeth glanced with some annoyance into the swirling light in the center of the sacrificial bowl from where Haskill's projection stared back at her – as always, unblinking and utterly stoic. "As I already explained to you, Milord Sheogorath has gone for vacation visiting an old friend, and he took all the keys with him. I am afraid your request will have to wait until he decides to come back."

"I'll talk to him myself then - where has he gone to?" she asked.

Haskill shook his head, "He hasn't informed me about his whereabouts, Milady, and before you ask, there are no means of communicating with him for the time being."

"For crying out loud! I just want a crate of alchemical supplies. We're out of healing potions and ointments," Myrabeth sighed, not believing what she heard. "Since when do his granddaughters need keys to anything in his realm while he is gone?"

"To be frank, you brought this upon yourself when the two of you decided to plunder his entire stock of eidar cheese, he had intended for a fondue party," Haskill answered, showing the first signs of uneasiness.

"You've got to be kidding me. How are we supposed to get our scratches and cuts patched up?" she argued.

Next time at New Sheoth, she would set up her own storage at Crucible and command the Mazken to keep it well stocked. Maybe the need of dealing with her grandfather's eccentric notions would become obsolete, which would result in less straining discussions. Then again, this might have been his intention all along. One never could know what the Mad God had on his mind and why he did something this or the other way. His mental state was as fickle as the light of a drunken torch bug.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Haskill shook his head "Milady, nothing could be farther from my mind. Lord Sheogorath has been very specific when he implemented his rules."

At that he turned around and presented her his back, where she could make out a sheet of paper attached to his coat. Poor Haskill. That was her grandfather as he lived and breathed. But she couldn't really be considerate here, not under those circumstances.

Myrabeth thought hard, pondering her options. "Considering his idea of being specific about things there most likely is a loophole in it somewhere, too. So help me out here. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important for us."

Haskill's shoulder slumped in defeat as he held up a large bundle of keys, "One day you will be my undoing. However, unless you grace the Shivering Isles with your presence, my hands are bound."

Now it was her who had to cut Haskill some slack for once, since he was willing to bend the rules and most likely getting himself another barrage of their grandfather's humiliating pranks. In the past, during their childhood, the chamberlain had been caught right in the middle often enough, shielding them from the worst by becoming the target himself.

Myrabeth looked back at the wavering projection of Haskill, "If we agree to pay you a visit, will you have everything ready by then?"

The chamberlain nodded with a faint almost pained smile, "Are you still in possession of the Sigil Stone or do you require a new one?"

Myrabeth looked over her shoulder, scrutinizing the shelves where her sister stored all the magical artifacts not meant for mortal eyes and use. "Looks like we still have it. Expect us in about two Nirn-weeks and have some of your best tea ready! Haven't had a proper tea ceremony in decades."

With a tiny hint of a smirk at her last remark, Haskill bade his farewell and the magical vortex collapsed almost instantly.

So much to do and so little time. Myrabeth muttered a swear word under her breath. Her sister wouldn't like this, most of all the conjuration of a portal. But it couldn't be helped. They needed the ingredients or they would sooner or later die of an infection or worse.

Ever since the Oblivion Crisis and Umbriel's appearance, opening or even merely using a gateway to Oblivion had become quite an ordeal if not outright dangerous for those who lived on Nirn. Worshipping daedric princes at their shrines was now almost impossible unless someone had a death wish or was strong enough to fend off ambushes.

Over last couple of decades, the number of self-proclaimed Daedra-hunter and witch-hunter of Stendarr had increased drastically. Every damn magical disturbance that bore the signature of Oblivion, or wasn't native to Nirn lured them out of their holes like moon sugar did with ants. Except that ants weren't that dangerous and painful to deal with.

She sighed, shook her head and walked upstairs. Nope. Her sister wouldn't like this, no matter how important it was and then there was the thing with Lucia. Who kept an eye on her, and most of all who would be willing to watch over that little smart mouthed bookworm? Questions over questions.

ooooOOoooo

The room of her sister was still dark and very quiet; which meant that Lucia was still asleep as well. The little girl was usually the first to storm Ashlyn's room and getting her foster-mother out of bed with all the havoc and ruckus a human child of thirteen years could muster.

A tiny streak of light crept through a gap between the shutters, revealing several empty wine bottles, which turned Myrabeth's tired expression into a worried one. Her sister never used to drink more than one or maybe two bottles of her beloved blood wine within a week. Now she had killed six of those in two days.

With a frown on her face, she looked down at the bed and the pile of furs hiding her sleeping sister. Carefully, she patted the highest part of the heap where she guessed Ashlyn's buttocks. Nothing happened. Not even a twitch or growl.

This went on for a few moments like this. No matter how often Myrabeth shoved at the pile of furs, her sister refused to crawl out of bed. Losing her patience, she began to snatch away one cover after another while ignoring Ashlyn's angrily grunted complaints.

Poking a finger deep into her sister's half-exposed butt-cheek, "Ha! You're alive, so stop pretending to sleep! Get up. I need your help with something."

"Go away! I don't want to hear about what you want to ask!" Ashlyn returned, digging her face deeper into the pillow.

"Shouldn't you be in a better mood after two nights of intense boozing and Dremora humping?" Myrabeth asked almost bemused, evading her sister's hand clawing after her wrist. "Nope? Well, serves you right!"

Ashlyn's hand got hold of the last piece of fur, covering her very pained looking face "By Azura's tits, I feel as if a mammoth has stepped on me and some dragon chewed on the left-overs all night. It's all your fault!"

"I haven't told you to guzzle your entire stock of blood wine. Was your Dremora pet really that bad?" Myrabeth scoffed spitefully.

"Are you jealous all of a sudden or why are you so pissy?" her sister asked.

Myrabeth gave off a joyless laugh and gestured around the room, "Jealous? Considering the mess in this room and in your head, I am not even close envying you. You can keep that rose all for yourself, so don't worry."

With sun light coming through the window, various broken pottery, stains of whatever they had spilled on the floor and tossed over books looked more like the leftover of a fight than a night of carnal passion. This would take some serious scrubbing and tidying up, something she truly didn't envy her sister for.

"Hypocritical Skooma addict! You're the one who had the idea" Ashlyn mumbled, still clutching the last fur against her dark skin. "Besides, it hadn't been that bad."

Myrabeth began to pace forth and back in front of her sister's bed, hoping to keep her non-existing patience in check. But as she saw her sister turning back to sleep, the last restraint dissipated in a puff of outrage. Her hand gripped into the soft fabric of the patch of fur and with a couple of swear-words, Myrabeth tore the last furry defense her sister clung to, with one violent hitch away and threw it on the ground.

"Get out of that bed, now, or I'll get a bucket of water to make it happen" she sneered, folding her arms beneath her breasts.

Ashlyn rubbed her face and groaned each time she moved her arms, "Man, you're so awfully not fun today! Have mercy! I am just a poor deprived Dunmer who wanted some tiny bit of relief and bliss after months of austereness."

Pulling the curtain aside, Myrabeth hoped the bright morning light hitting the corner in which her sister's bed stood would make it uncomfortable enough to stay in there any longer. But what she got to see deeply disturbed her. Her sister's body now wholly revealed and bathed in the golden light of dawn, put a colorful pattern of fresh scratch and bite marks on display which left not much room for wild guess work.

"Are you sure that was bliss and not battle-fucking?" she asked bewildered.

"Since when are you so mincing?" Ashlyn sat up, ran a finger over her bruised shoulder and flinched. "He got his fair share of bruises, too, and now scoot. I will be downstairs in a few."

Her twin, despite her controlled demeanor, always had been the rough one in bed, but she had no idea how rough until now. Then again, Ashlyn hadn't been herself recently on more than on one occasion - which Myrabeth realized now. Had she missed something?

"Mooooom!" noisy and swift footsteps aimed for the bedroom, and revealed a cheerful squeaking Lucia who stopped next to Myrabeth and gasped. "Mom, you look like shit! What…"

Growling, Ashlyn pushed herself off the bed, "Thank you very much for that compliment. You just made my day!" Muttering under her breath she grabbed a bowl and poured water into it. "Anything else, or can I wash up in all peace and quiet?"

"They say a jester has come to the town! Can I go with the others and watch him doing tricks?" Lucia's voice almost toppled over with excitement. "Pretty please?"

That had Myrabeth' attention. She sincerely hoped it wasn't that particular jester from several weeks ago, because if it was she would have to deal with one hell of depressed and shit-faced sister for the coming weeks - which brought back the regret of not having torn the pesky human apart back then.

Myrabeth watched her sister's face very closely, "A jester huh?" But she received no reaction, not even a slight twitch on her twin's lips.

"Have you done your shores?" Ashlyn asked instead in an almost too casual tone, while pouring powdered soap into the bowl.

"It's still morning" the young imperial pouted, "can I go with Shazza and Molkuir when I am done with cleaning up?"

"Don't forget to feed the chicken and clean out the bath tub. There's still mud in it from your last bear-cave crawl," Ashlyn replied, not taking her eyes from her reflection in the mirror.

Pulling her niece into her embrace, Myrabeth gave her sister some room to wash up. Her twin really looked awful, not even close to someone who had enjoyed herself the last two days. "We need to treat your scratches. Who knows…?"

Ashlyn looked her direction, "I don't think Dremora have rabies. Now shoo shoo, away with you, before you wear down the last bit of nerves I have left." She snarled and stepped in front of a mirror, with a wet cloth in her left hand. "Sithis' balls… he calls that a love-bite? I really don't want to know what his bites look like when he gets angry or hungry!"

"Good thing I already asked Haskill to get us a few crates with ointments and potions ready," Myrabeth threw in, hoping to slowly prepare her sister for the upcoming journey.

"How very prudent of you…" Ashlyn replied, rubbing the wet cloth carefully across her skin.

"Who is Haskill?" Lucia asked.

"Someone you don't need to worry about," Myrabeth smiled down at the girl.

Shaking her head as she left the room together with Lucia toward the kitchen, her mind returned to her sister's strange notions. First it had been depression which Myrabeth hadn't given much attention. Everyone had mood swings from time to time. Though, giving it more thoughts, Myrabeth couldn't fail to realize now, that her twin had been swaying constantly forth and back between the normal tidy-freak and the demented aggressive vixen that had set course for self-destruction, for quite some time now.

Maybe she should get rid of the remaining wine bottles, before her sister drank herself to death and if that wasn't enough to get some sense back into her sister's skull, she would use the staff as firewood in the kitchen. At some point Myrabeth had to start.

'Don't you dare…I will feed your entire Skooma stash to the neighbor's pigs!' her sister's mind rolled over her like a raging storm.

Not willing to reply, Myrabeth started off into nothingness. This wasn't exactly what she wanted right now. Maybe staying on Nirn for too long had its negative side effects, too, turning them into their opposites. She would ask Haskill about this. Maybe their grandfather had the same issues?

This made the prospect of seeing her Mazken again much more appealing and truth be told; she looked forward the fun she would have with her dark cousins. Mazken against Aureals and some nice tea with Haskill afterwards. Myrabeth smiled at that vivid mental image.

"Aunt Myra?" the girl looked up at her, tugging at her hand and Myrabeth snapped back to reality.

Myrabeth stopped "Hm? What is it?"

"Why does she allow mean demons into her room?" Lucia asked with a hushed voice.

Thanks to Sanguine, they had to fill Lucia in about their true identity and what it meant in particular for her. Myrabeth's attempt to erase Lucia's memories had failed - utterly failed and backfired straight in their face in a torrent of questions and complaints about keeping secrets.

It was still surprising how well and positively she had taken this all in, without the slightest hint of fear or uneasiness. Nonetheless, it would have been better the child never would have found out about it. Kids weren't known for keeping their mouths shut at the right moments.

"Do I really have to explain to you what your mother did up there the last nights?" Myrabeth smirked evilly.

Lucia shook her head, sending brown strands of hair flying around her face "You're icky! I know what she, they, did…"

"Figures. But don't you crack your head over it. She won't allow anyone into her room she couldn't handle. Now off with you, I am hungry." She said and pushed the girl toward to the kitchen.

But her niece stopped, turning around at her, "Can I summon Tris… err Sam again? Maybe he could look after mom. He's at least funny and seems nice enough."

Myrabeth cursed inwardly at the naive inquiry. Having that conceited peacock around was the last thing she and her sister could use, right now. Handsome or not, all he cared about was entertainment, no matter the side-effects it had on their lives.

"Do you want to be turned into a lettuce?" Nudging the girl's nose, Myrabeth turned serious.

"Can he do this?" Lucia looked more amazed than scared, very much to Myrabeth's annoyance.

Slanting her lips into a mean toothy grin, she patted the girl's head, "No. But I will if you ask for such nonsense again. You will make a nice lettuce, and you know the best of it?" she smiled sweetly, letting the said sink in. "Lettuce can't cause trouble. So don't get any funny ideas and hands off your mother's conjuration books. The basement is off limits while we aren't at home, do you understand me?"

"But…!" Lucia started.

Dismissing the caviling undertone with a hushing gesture of her hand, she stared down at the child. "We discuss this later. Now, make us some breakfast, while I look after Ash. And don't burn the bread, again or I'll turn you into a lettuce anyway."

She really had no time for this, as much as she loved the girl. Before Lucia had a chance to retort and going into the usual stubborn brat-mode, Myrabeth went upstairs looking after her sister who fought with her boots.

"I think it's time we get someone to watch after Lucia, while we are gone. Maybe Haskill?" She said, sitting down next to her sister. "I fear she is up to something… asked if she could summon Sanguine, again. I really wish you hadn't left those books lying around in the open."

"I had no idea she would even be interested in books back then. Besides, Aranea already has agreed to watch over her, she will be here tomorrow," her sister explained, behaving fairly like her old self, again.

A world weary priestess of Azura wasn't one to mess with and even Lucia wouldn't dare to mouth off in her presence. Myrabeth liked the idea. No more uninvited surprises hiding under beds and attacking their feet when getting too close. Perhaps now as a good time to tell her sister about their upcoming duty call to the Shivering Isles.

Clearing her throat, Myrabeth started "I need you to open up a gateway, sis." Myrabeth almost cringed at the currish face her sister made. 'Here we go...'

"What? Tell me you're not serious! I had picked up some of what you were talking with Haskill, but I had no idea you were going to agree with this?"

"We are out of healing potions and all the other herbs we need for our salves and ointments. The only way to get those is paying Haskill a visit," Myrabeth tried, trying to sound as friendly as possible. "Now come on. You like visiting Bliss as much as I love seeing Crucible, again and it really has been an awfully long time since we have been there. Haskill will have some tea for us, too if we come by."

"Why can't he send the crates over? We really have no time and also not the resources for this kind of undertaking," Ashlyn said, pulled the strap of her boot tight and stood up. "Don't get me wrong. I love the Shivering Isles. I miss our dear Haskill and Bliss. But we still have to see Delphine, finding the Khajiit Astrid wants dead. Add a few dragons and Lucia's training - there's not much room left for idle tea party at New Sheoth."

Dropping backwards on her sister's bed, Myrabeth scowled at the ceiling, "You should hear yourself talking. I remember a time when you couldn't leave Nirn often enough, and now you're a total ass about it every time I ask."

"That was before I found out what our dear grandpa has in storage for us. You don't get it, do you? One day we change permanently and won't be able to return to Nirn without drawing unwanted and dangerous attention. And that's what our dear grandfather is hoping for – the sooner we assume our roles the sooner he can put a leash on us!" Ashlyn hissed.

"When have you become so paranoid? I thought I am the one seeing schemes around every corner," Myrabeth replied, going through recent events regarding her sister. Had someone switched their personalities? "Please tell me you have found a way to heal us with finger wiggling or mundane herbs? Because if you don't, Shivering Isles it will be! Dragons have sharp teeth and claws, you know. And looking at your skin, you can add vicious Dremora, too. Maybe I should charge Sanguine for the extra ointments you will need because of his not so gentle minions."

Ashlyn propped her face in her hands, "Leave San out of this. Bah! You're awfully annoying today. We have lived without our special brews long enough, and now you go all mother goose over our asses? Am I like that; too, when I am not brain addled from boozing all night?"

At that she could only snort, "You're the worst smartass and fun killer I have ever encountered, but I love you nonetheless – and I really don't want to be like you. It's not funny!" planting a kiss on her sister's palm, she tried again "So you're in or do I have to badger you until your ears bleed? You know, I am very good at that."

Ashlyn straddled her sister's hips and looked down at her with look hat spoke of defeat, "How much time do we have until I have to set up the portal? I'll need to collect a few components from the mage guild."

"Two Nirn-weeks," Myrabeth replied, sensing her sister's unease. "No worries. I'll help dealing with Ancano should he pester you again."

"Good. Because next time Ancano is giving me one of his superior Altmer speeches, I'll show him how superior a Dunmer and his cheese knife can be when it's up his romp," Ashlyn replied with a mock snarl.

Ever since Ancano found out that they were involved with the Eye of Magnus quest, he was spying on them. Myrabeth had used that a couple of times for her advantage, though she knew her sister's hatred for Altmer and did well on not provoking any bloodshed between the two of them.

The faint smell of fresh bread permeated the room, making it hard not to drool and even harder to ignore the growling stomach. Being a werewolf had its disadvantages, especially when it was about food.

Feeling famished, Myrabeth pushed her sister off and rolled out of bed, "Let's have something to eat. I think, once Aranea is here with us, things will look brighter. No more stress with Lucia releasing a wild furry in our house or dirty scamps in our storage."

Barely down stairs, they both stopped as Lucia stood in their way with a long wooden spoon in her clenched hand, "There you are. Breakfast is ready. I am hungry and want to be ready when Shazza picks me up."

From the look on Lucia's face, Myrabeth knew she had overheard their conversation. Little guttersnipe! Exchanging meaningful glances with her sister, she inwardly groaned at the upcoming discussion and unlike most children one couldn't fend her off with the typical explanations parents had for every upcoming question.

'Must be Skyrim… the children here grow up faster than in Cyrodiil.' Myrabeth thought sullenly.

Lucia had been with them for almost three years now, and besides the simple truth that she was mortal, she had an uncanny perception nothing could escape. She didn't pester one with an endless stream of why and why not, instead she dug through books or spied on others for the desired information - if she wasn't in one of her hissy-fit moods.

Following their fosterling into the kitchen, she and her sister quietly exchanged thoughts how to deal with this. It became more difficult each time they had to leave for more than just one evening. Maybe they could take her to the Shivering Isles since Sheogorath wasn't at home, anyways.

'Don't be ridiculous. As soon as he finds out, he will skin Haskill and us alive' her sister replied, and took a bite from the rabbit haunch, Lucia had placed on her table.

'He's just jealous, because we adore her.' Myrabeth thought, her gaze fixed on the plate in front of her. Just one egg and a piece of bread? Lucia must be mad at her. "Hey, where is my bunny meat?"

'Give it time. He isn't used to share our love with others. Remember what he did to Haskill, when he found out how much we loved him?'

"Are you mind-talking again?" Lucia asked after gulping down her milk.

Startled by the question, Myrabeth quirked her lips at her niece, "What gave it away?"

Lucia tilted her head to the side and frowned, "You always look silly when doing this. So, who is Aranea?"

"Straight to the point, eh? She's a priest and servant of Azura," Ashlyn replied, while inspecting a rather clean bone of her former breakfast. "So be at your best behavior."

The child's eyes grew wide, "A real Daedra worshipper? Wow! Does that mean I will learn to summon Daedra and wear pretty robes?"

Myrabeth almost choked on her bread, "What have I told you a few moments ago? Last time you were lucky it was Sanguine and not someone else… I still wonder where you got that idea, anyway. Why couldn't it have been Azura?"

Avoiding their gaze, Lucia looked like someone who had been caught stealing cookies. Before she could answer, Ashlyn stood up and patted her fosterling's back. "No more summoning Daedra until you're old enough to handle the consequences. Are we clear?"

"If it were for you, I am never old enough for anything besides doing shores. Daedra are more interesting than grinding beetles and tundra cotton," Lucia pouted, slipping halfway down under the table until only her head was visible. "And the book said Sanguine was a daedric Prince of Debauchery. I like parties and having fun. He said he would send me someone who showed me how to get friends and being invited at parties."

Milk sprayed across the table, landing on Myrabeth's arm as Ashlyn regained composure after coughing, "Do you have the slightest idea what debauchery is about?"

"Fun, food and dancing?" Lucia replied timidly, sinking a little further under the table.

Palming her face, Ashlyn gave Myrabeth a very frustrated look, "Do I really have to explain this to her?"

Growing tired of this family discussion, Myrabeth decided to change the subject. Her plate was empty anyway, and there was still so much to do. "Tell you what," she began, and looked at Ashlyn who looked rather doubtful, "you improve your alchemy skills and Aranea will teach you everything she knows about the Et'ada."

"Et'ada?" Lucia asked, looking a bit disappointed.

"Yep. Et'ada. You will love it and to know about the history of the Et'ada is knowing about Daedra," Myrabeth promised and much to her surprise, the young imperial took the bait with a huge dosage of enthusiasm.

Ashlyn projected her physically hidden grin at Myrabeth, 'Poor girl. She doesn't know what she got herself into. Well done sister, well done.'

'My pleasure, but that was the last time you saw me being all prudent! If it were for me, she could perform all the pranks and insults she likes. Now let's head to the Sanctuary before Astrid believes we weren't serious about joining them.' Myrabeth thought and leaned back in her chair with a cattish smile on her lips.

Maybe it was time to reward herself with a nice calming smoke for a perfectly well executed and schemed plan. She still had some Skooma left and it would be a pity if someone else got to it first.

ooooOOoooo

Following the path leading out of Falkreath, they looked over their shoulder before entering the underbrush of the forest. For a few seconds they listened intently for any sounds that weren't of animals or rustling foliage.

Ever since her sister's nightly anger-chase after Sanguine three days ago, many villagers had become quite snoopy about their doings. And they just had moved in, not even a whole week had passed and some of the crates her sister had brought with her from Whiterun hadn't been emptied yet.

At least the rumor had been about a naked dark skinned man and not a Daedra, otherwise they would have had an unpleasant encounter with torches and pitchforks. A real classic among those nords, which they had the pleasure dealing with a couple of times in their early years living in Skyrim.

They followed a rather obscured trampled pathway for some time, past old mossy trees and huge boulders. Besides some animals and insects, no one else was around. Not even a huntsman or one of the old women collecting berries and mushrooms.

After a while, Myrabeth could make out the glittering surface of the small pond next to the Sanctuary. She remembered that it was shallow, without fishes and it looked rather unpleasant up close. It wouldn't be surprising if it harbored endless legions of midge nymphs during summer.

These thoughts had her shuddering. She hated blood sucking insects. Perhaps diluting the water with some heavy long lasting poison would keep the little beasts from breeding near the Sanctuary.

Lost in thoughts, she went through several deadly vials she had left. Myrabeth smiled when she remembered that she still had some Black Lotus left, and no real use for it at the moment. Poking people dead with her dagger was more fun than watching them foam and twitch slowly to death. The only exception had been Grelod the Kind, because it had pleased the children at the orphanage as well.

"Damned crap!" came from behind, having Myrabeth flinching out of her scheming against the hated midges.

The trees shook and rustled at her sister's ongoing violent verbal outburst, sending birds flitting into the sky, while twigs crunched under boots and the dry sound of old leaves being shoved across the forest ground.

Rolling her eyes, she turned around at her sister who tried to rub something off her left boot. "Having fun?" Myrabeth asked.

Another colorful stream of swear words flew skyward, this time small brittle branches fell to the ground and the forest litter danced along the vibrations going through the entire area.

Now, everyone knew the dragonborn were nearby in this forest, and it was merely a matter of time when the first villagers came by looking at what happened. They always came, if not for sating their curiosity they came by in the hope to snatch trophies from fallen dragons.

Still not having received an answer, she gave her sister a very disapproving stare. "By Sithis! Tune it down, will you?"

Ashlyn pointed at her boot, which was covered in a brown sticky mass "I sincerely hope you didn't leave that here… My boots are ruined."

Myrabeth was tempted to Fus Roh Dah the rest of the pile into her sister's face. "Just because I am a werewolf doesn't mean I am doing my big business outdoors! For your information, there are animals living in the woods."

Why had everyone a problem with her being Moonborn? Guards always claimed she smelled like a wet dog, one even said there was hair growing out of her ears and now her sister accused her leaving crap near the Sanctuary. She was a werewolf and not some stray mutt which left poop all over the place.

"I know of no animal that leaves such huge dung heaps…" Ashlyn complained, now trying to get rid of the fecal with a stick. "I am going to kill whoever left that out here – after rubbing his or her face in it."

"See if you can wash it off in the water over there," Myrabeth's grumble turned into a low chuckle, and pointed toward the pond. The water would be fouled soon enough; a bit of shit wouldn't make it worse.

As they closed in, they noticed a lonely car with a horse next to the entrance of the Dark Brotherhood. Myrabeth recognized the horse and as it appeared animal recognized her, too. Ears back, it withdrew at first but after a few warm sniffs at her hand the horse relaxed a little.

"Looks like we have a visitor," she said, having a hard time to believe that this foolish looking human belonged with a bunch of assassins.

With a shrug, Myrabeth inspected wagon, while waiting on Ashlyn. They would find out soon enough who the visitor was, and if this fellow was some old acquaintance from their youth.

It took her sister some long minutes, another barrage of four letter words and large amounts of old leaves before her boot was clean enough. "Silence, my brother." Ashlyn muttered, waiting for the door to grind open.

The soothing orange glow of torches, illuminating the darkness was a welcome change from the bright sun light. Myrabeth had to smile at this rather homely welcome. She loved the atmosphere of this place, and if her sister hadn't insisted on having her around the house, Myrabeth would have moved in here.

This was her home now, and her new family, something her sister hadn't been able to accept. Maybe she merely needed a bit more time, it's been just a couple of weeks now since their arrival, and barely one week since they had moved to Falkreath.

"What's that ruckus about?" Ashlyn asked, bobbing her head to the direction from where they heard voices. "Sounds as if Arnbjorn has one of his temper tantrums, again."

Myrabeth smirked, "Maybe he had the squirts, and you stepped right into it! Remember last time when he went after Lucia?"

"You have no idea how disgusting this was. The smell won't go away for weeks…," her sister scowled. "Maybe I should sell them as Boots of Foul Stench. Someone with a sick sense of smell might be interested in it, I am certain of that."

"And you always wanted a dog," Myrabeth teased, which earned her a bop in her back.

As they reached the entrance room, no one was there. Not even Astrid, who spend most of her time sorting out contracts or looked up new potential assassins at the cluttered table.

From deeper inside they could now hear Arnbjorn's droning voice more clearly, "Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets "punished."

The reedy voice of Festus chimed in, "Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog. The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

"Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our Lady's favour," came the reply of an all too familiar voice, which made Myrabeth's teeth itch.

The sudden tension in her sister's mind only enhanced the annoyance because it meant she hadn't gotten over it, still. Myrabeth had to see with her own eyes if this was truly the jester they had helped getting his damn wagon repaired. Losing no time, she quickened her pace and was run over by her sister who pressed past her.

A small concerned looking group stood next to a huge box, the one supposed to be some sort of coffin. Myrabeth had to wonder if this was truly harbouring a corpse or maybe something else. Their leader had complained often enough about the lack of decent weapons and Arnbjorn's slow progress making these.

Joining the gathering, she whispered to Ashlyn, "Don't you start a drama here, now. Everyone appears to be pissed off because him, so no need to drag us in to this, too."

"It's him", her sister said quietly, pointing at his weapons-belt, "Look at the blade. It's the same ebony dagger I have. It must be Verus!"

Myrabeth still wasn't convinced that this freaky odd-ball was the same man they had spent their youth with. His features didn't really match, nor did his behaviour. The man she remembered had dark brown hair and had been of a more portly stature.

Astrid gestured everyone to be quiet and spoke with her stern no-nonsense voice, "But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss," the jester replied, with a ghost of a sneer in his voice.

Myrabeth was surprised that Arnbjorn didn't pounce the fool for his rude cadence. His wife was the law, and no one questioned her in anyway. But besides glaring down at him, the Nord didn't move a muscle.

Before anyone else could comment on their newcomer, their leader and Arnbjorn retreated. Had they known he would come here? Myrabeth gave it a brief thought and decided to ask Astrid about it before her sister made an ass of herself by annoying the wrong man.

Babette tugged at the hem of her sleeve, "I am going to milk Lis, today. Do you want some?"

Smiling about the offer, Myrabeth said. "Always. Can't have ever have enough poison."

Lis was the pet spider of the little vampire, and a rather unusual specimen, too. Not much bigger than a hatchling, the frost spider packed some seriously potent poison. Myrabeth had been so thrilled about this fact, and even more pleased about having finally someone who understood the intricacies of alchemy. Her sister was a good cook, a brilliant artificer and blacksmith – but her potions were never more than useless adulterated swills.

"Come by this evening, I will have some ready," Babette replied with a tiny smirk. "Oh and don't forget about the blood samples you have promised me. Can't really help you when I have nothing to test it on."

"Ahhh crud. I nearly forgot about that. Will be right onto it," Myrabeth sighed. She had forgotten to take some vials of their blood. Babette had been willing to do some research on mundane healing potions which actually would work for them. "But don't drink anything of it, please. The last vampire, who tried, almost died of it."

"Have you forgotten? I am not into women, Myra" Babette grinned, winked and left.

Chuckling under her breath, she poked her sister. "Come, let him settle in. I turn in our contracts, and you check on Nazir, if he got some more."

But her sister didn't react, and the mental flux she was in frightened Myrabeth more and more. What had happened to her usually cheerful sister who took everything with a pinch of humour, always found something good even in the worst of situations?

Cicero?" Ashlyn's voice was low, almost too low and Myrabeth doubted the human had even heard her.

Carefully, Myrabeth groped for her sister's shoulder and turned her away. It was a good thing Cicero was too busy with his crate, because the emotional flux Ashlyn was in right now was highly alarming.

Having barely walked a few steps, her hopes were utterly crushed as the fool called out, "Wait, oh wait. I know you! Yes, yes. From the road! Cicero never forgets a face."

Ashlyn whirled around, almost pushing Myrabeth over, "Cicero, is this really you? I am so glad I could help you and your mother. I had no idea…"

But before her sister could finish her sentence, he interrupted her with his now almost lilting voice, "I am! I am! But not just my mother. Our mother, hmm? The Night Mother! Oh yes! And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius, got him to fix my wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our mother, she will never forget." Then his gaze shifted and pinned Myrabeth right where she stood. "And I remember you." He lifted a finger at her. "Don't you ever lick Cicero's face again or I'll have your fur for my new cloak! Oh yes, a nicely warm cloak for Cicero."

Feeling her upper lip lifting into a snarl, Myrabeth growled back at him, "Get that knife anywhere near my skin, and I'll turn you into components for my potions!"

Ashlyn went between her and the Imperial, but Cicero suddenly began to dance and cackle, "Ohh what wonderfully wicked response. Cicero likes you, yes I do – as long as you keep that tongue inside that smart mouth of yours."

"You didn't taste that well as that I would care for a repeat!" Myrabeth replied, hugging her sister close to her side, before she could do or say something stupid. "Now if you excuse us, we have work to do."

What a weird freaky clown he was. Myrabeth had no words, and couldn't decide if she wanted to chop him to bits and hide the remains in a hole, or if she should drop some poison in his drink.

Looking at her sister, he certainly wasn't good company right now. At least he was busy with the huge box again, or her sister would probably have refused leaving. One thing was for certain. This fellow wasn't as foolish and weak as he let on and she most certainly wouldn't turn her back on him. She would wait and observe, and strike if required.

Walking back upstairs, towards Astrid, Ashlyn didn't look too happy even if she was now a little calmer. Myrabeth at the other hand was rather happy, that nothing more happened. She had enough of coddling and guarding her sister.

"He didn't really recognize me," her sister said sadly. "He only remembered me helping him back at Whiterun."

"Don't forget it has been more than two hundred years ago since he saw you. If it is truly him, he might have forgotten us," Myrabeth replied, not sure where this would be going.

If her sister was right, she would love to know how he had managed to live that long. He didn't look like a vampire, and there was nothing magical about him. The only human race with a long life span she knew of, were Bretons, and even they aged at some point. He didn't look much older than a human male in his mid or end-thirties.

ooooOOoooo

Three days later at the outskirts of Markarth.

From afar they saw Markarth's corundum spires and roofs gleam and sparkle in the blinding light of the late afternoon sun. The intimidating beauty of this city, embedded in a mountain and protected by a heavy fortified wall, was unlike anything Myrabeth had ever seen before.

From Cyrodiil she mostly knew the ancient Ayleid ruins and some of the few remaining daedric ruins found in Morrowind. The architecture and machines of Dwemer always had impressed her, but this was a master piece and a unique chance to take a closer look without being attacked by golems.

Maybe they could risk a peek inside, after killing Ma'randru-jo. Now with Aranea watching over Lucia, they finally could take their time. In the past, they had to rush everything and all too often her sister had worried overly much about her fosterling which made enjoying their successful work rather difficult.

"Do you see a caravan anywhere?" she asked Ashlyn, not taking her gaze from the shining city.

Myrabeth hoped they hadn't come here for nothing. That Khajiit was extremely elusive and they had missed him now twice. Astrid wanted his tail as a trophy by the end of the week, which was a rather steep time-frame, considering the time they needed to travel.

"You sure he's here?" Ashlyn asked back, "I see not even the slightest hint of Khajiits or any tents of a caravan."

Sweeping her gaze across the rocky landscape, Myrabeth noticed a couple of ruins, suitable to harbor a small caravan, relatively close to the city. "We should take a closer look at the ruins over there. Got some catnip on you?"

"Let's look for a stable. Don't want our horses around when we found our kitty cat," Myrabeth turned her mount to the right, riding down the path toward the city. "Do you think they have moon sugar?"

"I have never met a Caravan of Khajiit who had not moon sugar with them," Ashlyn snorted, while following until they reached the city gates, where they both dismounted. "But we have to find them first."

This place was brimming with life and every day bustle. The laughter of children and excited barks of dogs bounced of the large wall, while a group nords with brawny arms was busy hauling large crates toward the ruined buildings. From the style of their clothes Myrabeth figured they were miners. From her past dealings with mining companies, she knew many of the workers used Skooma to keep up with the never ending high demands of ore.

"Wait here, I'll have a closer look at the buildings over there," she said to Ashlyn, and pointed to where the men were bringing their cargo. "Maybe the foreman can help us."

Myrabeth turned back at her sister, because she hadn't responded. "Ash?"

Ashlyn's eyes stared blank at something in front of her, the bridles loosely in her hand. Slowly Myrabeth moved closer, patting her sister on the shoulder, waving one hand in front of her face, though her sister didn't even blink nor did she flinch at the sudden contact.

"Have you heard what I said?" she tried again. Maybe she should have left her sister at home.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Ashlyn sagged a little before she recognized Myrabeth. "Yes,… sorry. I was just distracted by something." Massaging her temples, Ashlyn closed her eyes and said, "Be careful. I saw a Vigilante of Stendarr on our way here, too."

Myrabeth winked at her sister and produced her most innocent smile, "Who would mistake a cute Dunmer such as me for a vile creature, especially if she's looking for company?"

Ashlyn gently pulled at her braid - an act of sisterly love as she always used to say. "Just hurry up."

Hurry up? Myrabeth' lips twitched bemusedly. At least her sister was behaving now like her old self and besides that, one priest they could handle should he have evil intentions.

So she would bid her time and enjoy this. With a little bit of luck, they could at least bring home some Skooma or moon sugar.

With watchful eyes, she walked past miners and guards looking for any signs of a Caravan. Now and then a guard walked past her, not even granting her the slightest bit of interest. It felt nice not being known for once. Back at Whiterun, the guards had been rather weary around her, always complaining about using the shouts inside the city and weak threats about putting her into jail.

As she reached the first buildings, she noticed that besides the workers no one else was around. Not even a foreman she could ask for information. Where was everyone and were was that accursed caravan?

Annoyed, Myrabeth blew a streak of her stubborn white hair out of her face. Yesterday they had received word about Ri'saad's Caravan heading for Markath, and she couldn't really believe they already had left, again. A caravan didn't move that fast, not even if they rode fast without rest. And they usually stayed a couple of days, restocking and selling their goods.

Not interested in going back empty handed, she looked for one of the guards which she had seen near the gates. Maybe they knew if a large group of traders had been here.

Not wasting words on courtesy, Myrabeth walked next to a young Nord clad in the garb of Markarth "I am looking for a caravan, any chance you know something."

The guard stopped his patrol, "There hasn't been any caravan here in weeks. What are you looking for? Maybe our merchants can help you out?"

Touched by the naïve question, Myrabeth smiled sweetly, "We're looking for wine and cyrodiilic brandy."

"Good luck with that. Mead, ale and alto wine is the best you can find. But brandy? Weak spirits like that won't do you any good here in the cold north, anyway," the young guard laughed harshly. "You better speak with one of the merchants inside the city. They are the ones who know first when a caravan comes by."

With a nod, she thanked the guard and walked back where her sister was waiting with the horses. Even if her question about buying spirits hadn't been a serious one, it irked her to know that Sanguine had been right about Skyrim being void of higher quality drinks. The only drinkable alcohol around was her sister's Argonian blood wine and the cheap alto wine to a certain degree – if one could cope with the headache the next morning.

"Shall we go inside and see if he can find out more from the locals? There hasn't been a caravan here, yet," Myrabeth said, as she reached her sister.

Ashlyn tied the horses to one of the wooden beams next to the stable and planted a gold coin in the stable boy's palm. "You think they aren't here yet?"

With a shrug, Myrabeth headed toward the city gates "No one by horse or feet travels as fast as we do, so it could be very likely that we arrived early this time."

"I hope you're right," Ashlyn replied, following her inside the city.

Once inside, Myrabeth held her breath at the grand view expanding before her eyes. She had read about Markarth, formerly known as the ancient city of Nchuand-Zel, in history books, but she would have never believed it to be so intimidating and beautiful at the same time. The houses were framed by waterfalls, some of them built on top of each other, hewn and carved out of the very mountain surrounding the city like a protective wall.

"For the Foresworn!" someone yelled, drowned by a high pitched shriek.

Startled about the sudden and rather unpleasant interruption, Myrabeth's eyes went toward the source of chaos, only to see a woman falling to the ground, while others began cry and shout in fear as the guards took down the savagely dressed man who still had kept attacking at everyone around him.

Ashlyn was the first who moved, running up to the wounded Nord on the ground, but she was dead already. "Man, I really hate foresworn."

Myrabeth had to agree when she looked down at the dead body, pondering if she should try looting some of the valuables from it. Some of the guards approached them, and she decided instantly against it. They were here to kill someone and not robbing corpses.

"Has anyone seen what exactly happened? I had no idea this city has a problem with foresworn?" Myrabeth asked one of the guards, who regarded her rather hostile.

"Move on, we have everything under control," a guard snarled, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "This doesn't concern you stranger!"

'We better stay out of this Myra. Let us look for someone who might know when the next caravan is to be expected.' Ashlyn took her hand and pulled her away.

Some of the merchants still looked shaken from the recent murder, and Myrabeth feared they wouldn't be in the mood for trading information.

Her sister made a sour face, "I remember this place…and it's not really a pleasant memory."

"Hm?" Myrabeth was surprised to hear this from her. When had she been here?

Before her sister could answer, they almost bumped into a very grumpy looking Nord "Bloody enough for you, outsider?" he scowled, but Myrabeth could tell he was bluffing.

"Eh?" she said and took a step backwards.

Looking down at her, his eyes narrowed "Are you deaf? I asked if it is bloody enough for you?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Myrabeth replied, while side-stepping him.

But he moved in their path before they could get away, "Answer my question!"

"Look. Either you explain to us what you mean or you let us pass," her sister hissed.

From the corner of her eyes, Myrabeth saw Ashlyn's hand moving towards her daggers. This aggressive side about her sister was still new to Myrabeth and she didn't like it all.

A the other hand, if it was a fight he was looking for he would very soon find out that he picked on the wrong women for his rather petty display of male dominance.

"Excuse me, but do you know anything about this house? Seen anyone enter or leave?" someone asked from behind, and everyone went quiet.

The Nord, whatever his name was, rolled his eyes. "Not him again… Well, have fun you two. Maybe we see each other at the Silver-Blood Inn. Maybe you answer my question, then over some ale?"

Opening and closing her mouth Myrabeth watched him walking away with, "Hey! What the fuck was that about?"

Was this some sort of strange mating ritual around here? However, before she could dwell on it any further, her sister approached the newcomer.

"Why are you asking?" Ashlyn asked lightly.

Myrabeth feared the worst. Those priests always had a potential of ticking her off and now was not really the time for ticking off.

"I'm Tyranus and with the Vigil of Stendarr. We believe this house might have been used for Daedra worship. Evil rites and so forth," the human in robes explained, pointing toward the door. "So have you seen anyone entering or leaving?"

Puzzled, Myrabeth probed her sister's mind before asking, 'Are you sure that's smart. I am glad he hasn't taken a closer look at us!'

Slinking around the priest, her sister moved closer toward the door where she put one hand against the metal door. 'When we got here, I sensed a daedric presence. But this here feels different and I want to know what it is. Though, I doubt it's dangerous.'

Being curious herself, Myrabeth decided to play along. As long as Ashlyn was calm, all was well. "We just came to this city. So, no. We don't know anything at all about this house or who might have left."

Tyranus sighed, "Damn. It's like everyone in this city has amnesia."

"Well, we might be new to town, but we still could offer our help if you want it?" Ashlyn's golden eyes glittered with anticipation.

"I was actually just about to head on inside. Be good to have someone watch my back. Follow me, and keep your eyes open. Daedra are powerful creatures and tricksters. Never know what you'll find."

Maybe it would be worth their while, and the caravan wasn't here anyway. Whenever they had encountered daedric presences, it turned out to be the consequence of a botched conjuration. She always had good use for scamp hide or any other daedric body part, which the priest most likely wouldn't mind.

Once inside, nothing looked truly out of place nor could Myrabeth really feel anything unusual. 'So much food! Look at all the cheese and wine! Do you think we stumbled over one of Sanguine's hideouts – or is this grandpa's vacation spot?'

Ashlyn shook her head, 'Sanguine doesn't really have hideouts on Nirn. He prefers inns and taverns with people in it for his weekly ego stroking. And grandfather would have showed himself by now, plucking our eyes for disturbing is vacation."

The Vigilante of Stendarr frowned at what they already had noticed, „Fresh food. No wood rot on the furniture. Someone's been here. Recently. But the people I asked say no one enters or leaves."

Myrabeth picked up an apple and took a hearty bite. "Smells and tastes like an apple."

Ashlyn picked up a slice of cheese, sniffed it before putting it back. "I wouldn't eat that if I were you. Something doesn't feel right."

With a shrug she put the half eaten fruit back on the table, certain that no one would fuss about her having taken food. She just hoped coming hadn't been a mistake. Entering houses without invitation was considered a crime, which meant a higher bounty which again meant more dead guards and so forth.

A sudden thud and clank of metal hitting against stone had them all on their toes. Another clamor followed, as if someone had wiped the content of an entire shelf to the ground.

With her weapon's drawn, Myrabeth advanced further into the dark corridor around the corner and stopped in front of a metal door. Maybe it was a silly scamp after all. They loved playing hide and seek while turning the house into a mess.

Much to her disappointment, no one was here. Not even a rodent or roach, which was strange considering the amount of food standing around in the open. If a scamp had been in here, they would be wading through excrements and mountains of garbage.

Either this was a neatly planned trap with a twist, or someone with an extreme desire for cleanliness lived in this place and had now one heck of a temper tantrum.

She could hear the pattering of feet as her sister and the priest closed in. "And?" Tyranus asked, stepping next to her.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," she replied with a frown and reached inside her pouch for a key-ring full with lock-picks. "I'll open the door and you keep an eye out for trouble." Myrabeth went down to her knees to take a closer look at the lock.

It was a simple mechanism, but something was off. The door was shut tight, and the lock didn't look as if someone had turned a key in it. Stashing her thief-tools, he carefully pushed against the door, but it sat tight. Not even the slightest shudder.

While figuring out if the door was locked by magical means or if someone had barred it from the other side, Myrabeth's ears picked up the alarming quiet scraping sound of metal against metal.

More out of instinct than common sense she surged out of her hunched position and almost hit her head at the handle of the door as a sharp pained scream went through the room, followed by wet gurgling croak for help.

With both blades drawn, Myrabeth witnessed how the priest dropped down onto his knees and her sister loomed over him. Her face was a frozen mask, only her eyes sparkled with a sadistic joy that had Myrabeth shudder. Every time he reached for the stuck blade at the back of his nape, her sister swatted his hands away.

Myrabeth sheathed her daggers, and send a silent prayer to Sithis. "Was that really necessary?"

"Do I really have to answer that? He's a bootlicking Aedra worshiper and I merely ended his life before he can turn on us. Got a problem with that?" Ashlyn sneered at her, kicking Tyranus to the ground where drowned in his own blood.

'There we go again,' Myrabeth dreaded.

Uncertain how to respond to her aggressive demeanor, she assessed her sister for a moment. If this degeneration of her personality got any worse, it sooner or later would do the same to her, or it already did and she hadn't really become aware of it.

"What got into you? I barely recognize my sister anymore," Myrabeth croaked, not feeling well with this situation. "If I wouldn't know any better I would say you either caught rabies and it is getting to your brain, or you had one drink too much and there is nothing left of that grey mass of yours."

Without warning, Ashlyn rammed her head into Myrabeth's belly sending her backwards against the wall. "I so have enough of your complaints you insolent cow! It's not your business what I do, with whom and how!"

Still gasping for air like a stranded fish, Myrabeth caught some of her sister's tresses and yanked hard but Ashlyn retaliated with well-placed kicks and punches. They both turned into a hissing and cursing wad of aggression, only letting go long enough just to start over again more fiercely.

Having enough, Myrabeth deeply inhaled and realized far too late that her sister had the same idea. As their shouts clashed with a violent burst of energy, they both flew backwards. Myrabeth smashed with a painful crack against the wall taking down a barrel and a couple of shelves, while her sister had gone straight through the door, unhinging it entirely.

At least that damned door was open now, she thought. After giving her body a few moments to recover, Myrabeth lifted her head to gain a better view at what was behind the destroyed door. Not much, besides another store room and legs of her sister's poking through the opened passageway.

"Weak. She's weak. You're strong. Crush her!" a grating voice boomed.

From the other side of the room, she could hear her sister pained voice, "Oh fuck. It's the shit-dweller. Let's get out of here before he gets funny ideas."

Pain seared through Myrabeth's neck and collarbone down her shoulder as she pushed herself off the ground, back on her feet. Their little not all too friendly tussle had left her now sore and aching all over.

"Damn you Ash. I hope that wasn't some sort of kinky sex-game of yours," she snarled down at her sister, who scrambled towards her for support.

"Shut up and keep moving," grabbing her forearm, Ashlyn hauled herself up and limped back to the entrance with her in tow.

Myrabeth's neck hair stood straight as she floating cups and knifes heading toward them with deadly intent. If her sister hadn't raised a ward in time, they most likely would have ended up nailed to the wall.

"How classy. Seems Molag likes stupid campfire ghost stories…" Ashlyn noted sarcastically as an old wooden dresser crashed into the wall next to them and burst into myriads of tiny splinters. "One would think daedric princes would come up with something more creative."

The furniture had been rearranged, stacked on top of each other. Goblets, plates and even food turned into projectiles bouncing of the magical barrier which protected them. A huge cheese wheel hurtled toward her head, and despite ward Myrabeth followed her urge to duck. This was getting ridiculous.

Myrabeth pushed against the door, but it didn't budge, "This is a joke, right?"

Molag's voice went through them like a sickening wave, "No. Kill her. Crush her bones. Tear at her flesh. Extinguish that inner light of hers! You will kill. You will kill, or you will die!"

Calling into the room, Myrabeth shook a fist into the air, "And who of us is supposed to kill whom?"

"You! I want you to kill your sister. Her light offends me, disgusts me!" Deep cracks appeared along the walls.

Snarling, Myrabeth's voice took now a mocking undertone, "You are easily offended for someone who lives in a tower coated in poop! Forget it! I am not going to kill my sister even if i would love to, right now."

Ripples of dust and tiny pebbles rained down on them as another tremor went through the building above them. "How dare you, cur! No one talks to me like that and lives."

Still keeping the ward up, Ashlyn moved away from the door, "We won't get that door open, let us go back. There must be a shrine somewhere he's using as conduit. Follow me. Maybe we can destroy it and break his hold over this place."

Myrabeth hoped she was right. The very thought of becoming a slave to Molag Bal made her sick. If he had a gateway hidden away in here, they would stand no chance against him.

Reaching the storage room, they found a hole in the wall connected to a tunnel leading further down, which they followed until a small room with a daedric shrine came in sight. On top of it was a thorny mace, which Myrabeth recognized instantly.

'See, it's just a shrine, not a rift. So the worst he can do is keeping us in here for a while,' Ashlyn's thought carried now a little hope.

Myrabeth allowed her hurting muscles to relax a little, while she inspected the shrine from distance. She wanted that mace, if only for the sake of making a point. Boethia would be proud of her, if she presented it to him.

"Ohhhh shiiiiiny!" Ashlyn cooed and went for the mace.

"Don't get too close, there's a trap," Myrabeth warned as her sister went for the weapon, pointing to the ground. "I'll see if I can disarm it."

She had seen this before at the library of her grandfather. He collected all sorts of traps, even had once suggested poor Haskill to wear one on top of his head to keep other daedric princes from snooping around in his mind.

This one was really some wicked craftsmanship. Stepped someone in front of the altar, sharp pointy staves would come up and form a cage. If the victim happened not to stand perfectly in the center, it would find itself impaled.

Myrabeth bent down and picked up a rock and threw it in front of the altar, "Watch out sis!" But nothing happened. The cage didn't come up. "This won't do!"

"Filthy mongrel! Did you think Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, would allow you to steal from him? Kill her and the mace is yours. Her bright soul for my weapon."

Keeping her distance, Ashlyn moved behind the shrine, "You want me dead? Come and get me yourself shit-dweller…" she mocked, "Oh, I forgot. You can't. Poor poor cheated Molag."

"You will regret this! I'll flay your soul and make you wish for true death," the daedric prince roared, his voice now shaking the entire inside of this little house of horrors. If he kept that up, the entire area would collapse and bury them alive… or dead.

"Bah, I can't reach the mace!" Myrabeth cursed. Her arms weren't long enough to reach over the spot where the trap laid waiting. "Forget the mace, we have to destroy the shrine now!"

Her sister deflected another rain of dirt and much bigger chunks of stones, "Use telekinesis."

Feeling like an idiot, because she hadn't thought of that before, Myrabeth sent out her senses while her mind traced the shape of the mace. The small surge of power in both her hands began to expand and intensify, tugging with the need to latch onto something until she directed it toward her prize.

At first the mace didn't budge, and she had to use her dragon shout at it. Trying a second time yielded some success, and her lips slanted into a broad greedy smile as the weapon came loose, breaking out of its socket.

"Victory is mine!" she hollered and drew the hovering artifact back into her waiting hands.

Now they had to wrack havoc over the entire room, including the altar-like pedestal in the center. With Ashlyn back at her side; Myrabeth began wracking havoc over the shrine, creating their own cacophony which drowned out Molag's promises of retribution. Parts of the tunnel walls caved in at the Daedra's raging voice, but they kept shouting and slinging destructive spells at the altar until half of the ceiling came down and the air was permeated with dust.

"I think we did it," Myrabeth coughed. The air no longer was breathable without serious damage to their lungs. "Now let's get out of here."

Blindfolded by the darkness, she groped for her sister with her still good arm, but couldn't find any trace of her. "Ashlyn?" Panic gripped her heart as she heart a faint groan from inside the room. How had her sister gotten in there, again? Hadn't she stood next to her?

Destroying the shrine had also destroyed the torches around them. Everything was pitch-black, there wasn't even the slightest hint of light coming from moss or insects giving away where the wall started.

She went down on her knees, trying to breathe as less as possible, Myrabeth combed her fingers through and over the piles of the ruined altar until she connected with her sister's arm.

Carefully, she got hold of Ashlyn's limp hand and began to pull her out of the room. "Don't you dare dying on me!"

A sharp metallic swish tore through the darkness, and Ashlyn began to scream incoherently almost simultaneously, sending an icy chill down Myrabeth's spine. The mental reflection of searing pain tearing through her left abdomen and thigh had her almost vomiting on the ground. It was the trap. How could she have forgotten the trap? They might have destroyed the altar, but the cage had still been in place and now some of its poles stuck inside of her.

Another wave of nausea washed over Myrabeth as her mind began to succumb to her sister's agony and then there was only blackness.

ooooOOoooo

Somewhere, someone played a melancholic melody on a lute. Clinking of glass and laughter could be heard. Myrabeth's woke with a frightened yelp as she surfaced from her uneasy dreams. Having expected absolute darkness, she squinted several times as the bright golden light of candles pierced painfully into her swollen eyes.

She couldn't tell how long she had been lying here, but realizing that she was still in one piece, even if every single bone and muscle hurt gave her hope. Someone must have found them and it most certainly hadn't been Molag Bal or Hircine, or she wouldn't have been tugged all snug in a clean bed.

Letting her eyes wander, without turning her head too much, she noticed the wall carvings which were common in Markarth. So they were still here, but had found them? Her thoughts began to orbit around the whereabouts of her sister, wondering if she was alright.

She couldn't be dead, because if she were Myrabeth would have known the instant it had happened. The link which connected them was still there, faint but existent.

Wincing at the sharp blooming sting in her shoulder, Myrabeth rolled onto the side and slowly slipped one leg out of bed until her foot came in contact with a rather cold stone floor. The second leg followed and as both her feet stood on the ground she slowly lifted herself up heading toward the corner where someone had tossed all her belongings.

Her legs buckled each time she moved one step forward, and Myrabeth had to fight against the nauseating lump rising in her throat. Having no real choice, she gave in and sagged to the ground where took slow even breaths until her blurred vision returned to normal. The soothing melody in the background suddenly subsided, footfalls from outside her room taking its place.

The door flung open, having Myrabeth crawling backwards in terror as a furious looking Breton strode in. His fists clenched at the sight of her and she knew at once that Sanguine was here because of what she and her sister had done and it hadn't pleased him.

Towering over her now, his smoldering eyes transfixed her like barbed arrows, "Congratulations. You and your sister just won the undivided attention of a tremendously rip shit pissed Molag Bal."

Having no spunk left in her, she only managed a hoarse rasp before dropping back to all four, "Where is my sister… is she alright?"

Muttering curses, Sanguine lifted her into his arms, and dumped her rather ungentle back into the bed, "You have nerves asking me that! Stay in there, before I can't resist the urge to bend you over my knee and give you the trashing of your life!" Bringing his face close to hers, he growled "You want to know where your sister is? She's upstairs, being treated by one of my most trusted servants. But I wouldn't call her current state 'alright' and you damn lucky we found you in time."

All blood drained from her face, pooling painfully in her chest "I want to see her. San, please let me see her."

"First you will answer my questions. What were you thinking going in there?" his voice almost cracked as he stepped back, grabbing for a nearby chair which he dragged close to her bed. "You should have known better than messing with that shit-dweller. And for what? An impotent artifact? Now he knows what you are, and besides wanting revenge he hungers for your souls. Was it really worth it?"

"We hadn't been aware that it was Molag Bal hiding his shrine inside of a building," Myrabeth felt hot shame creeping up her face, "When we found out it was too late – so why leaving with empty hands?"

Slumping down on the chair, his baritone became deep and brooding. "I should have never promised your father to keep an eye on the two of you." Reaching inside of his shoulder-bag he pulled out a stoneware bottle, uncorked it and took a deep long draft before continuing. "I never make promises I can't or won't keep, but you are making it really difficult for me recently. I risked my hide for you when the news of your deeds reached my realm. Are you even aware of the consequences this will have? You can only hope that Molag will tire of you at some point. But until then you will have to be on your toes. So better don't grow too attached to any mortal you encounter, because he will use this to his advantage."

Myrabeth swallowed hard, trying to answer but she couldn't without angering him more. She never had seen him like that, but knew from some worshipers that one should tread lightly, when he was cranky.

Sanguine lifted the bottle to his lips and drank without looking at her, but she knew he was aware of everything she did or thought. He looked terribly tired, dark rings had formed beneath his sunken eyes and his skin had taken onto a pallid unhealthy sheen. Whatever he had done to save them, it had left him drained.

Letting her head drop on the pillow, she finally managed "What do you expect me to say? We fight dragons; we are aught to stop Alduin devouring everything we hold dear, which should be in your interest as well. We kill for gold and we dive into caves or ruins for treasure and glory. It never bothered you. Why now?"

"You have never assaulted a daedric shrine before and my kin doesn't take such affronts lightly, in fact we severely punish those who touch what is ours. The wounded pride of a daedric prince is a dangerous thing and in all honestly and friendship, I am not certain how to pull you out of that mess you created." Sanguine said testily. "So, let me show you to your sister before you get all whiney. I don't like tears," he said and helped her out of bed and propped a robe around her shoulders. "Put that on. Nords can't handle exposed tits."

Outside the room, they entered a corridor, separating them from what looked like a tavern room. Still not being able to walk steadily, she clung to his shoulder while heading upstairs, where her sister was. She could only hope Ashlyn wasn't angry with her.

As they stopped in front of a door, Sanguine spoke without looking at her, "No matter what you'll find in there, you will not touch your sister. Understood?"

"Why?" she asked.

"You will see why," he replied darkly and pushed the door open.

Myrabeth's heartbeat picked up speed as she hobbled in. A hooded frame was kneeling in front of a bed, wearing the very same dark brown leather robe Sanguine always wore when assuming his human form.

"Remember. Don't touch her!" he reminded her, walking past Myrabeth. "Rose, give them some room."

The hooded figure stood and joined Sanguine's side where she put a hand on his forearm. "I did what I could but she still refuses to shift back." Her voice was soft and easy going.

Scared of what she might find, she approached the bed where her sister was buried under a heavy looking quilted blanket. Resisting the urge to draw the cover back, she knelt down and began to cry at what she found.

One hand came up, reaching out for her sister's face but Sanguine's warning growl from behind made her withdrawing it quickly. Ashlyn's once ash colored skin had turned into metallic gold, smooth and unnatural.

"What happened to her?" she managed to sob, not taking her eyes from her sleeping sister.

"Ashlyn had been in conflict with her two opposing natures for quite some time now," Sanguine said, stepping next to her. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed her being out of character the last months. You're undergoing the same process – only difference is you handle it much better than her."

Myrabeth's head tilted, meeting his gaze as she whispered. "You knew? This here shouldn't have happened outside of Oblivion. Sheogorath said we will have to choose eventually!"

His lips set in reluctant lines. "Why do you think I have kept following you around? Thanks to Molag your sister won't probably have that luxury of choice anymore."

Before he could say more, Myrabeth came up fueled by the anger boiling inside her chest. "You follow us around because we're nothing but a fleeting minor distraction in your drab eternal existence." she snapped coolly, ignoring the tears running down her face. "You knew and all you did was dragging her into your crooked lifestyle? You bastard!"

"How dare you to speak to him like that you insolent child!" the still faceless woman whispered sharply, but Sanguine gestured her to stay out of this. Apparently vexed by his leniency she left the room in a huff. "As you wish… "

Myrabeth's words must have stung, because his angry tone lost its edge. "I have actually better things to do, a realm to keep and enemies to defeat – something your wannabe-immortal mind is not capable of comprehending! But that doesn't matter right now. If it weren't for me, both of you wouldn't be here so show some gratitude and stop playing hurt."

"But what has this to do with us pissing off Molag Bal?" she wanted to know.

Was he now angry because they angered another daedric prince, or because of what happened to Ashlyn? Confused about this whole situation and awfully depressed, she closed her sore eyes. Myrabeth felt as if someone had dropped a huge boulder on her and she saw no way to lift it.

"Molag is a major pain in the backside, and I know what I am talking about. I cannot leave my realm on a constant base, making certain he won't get to you someday. As long as you don't get your issues under control you can't even hope to defeat his lesser avatar he uses to wander Nirn," Sanguine said quietly. But as Myrabeth looked at him quizzically, he asked, "Has Sheogorath ever told you about the aspects you have inherited and how these are connected to each other?"

"Aspects?" Myrabeth asked, her eyes still closed. "You mean Mania and Dementia? What of it?" Then it dawned upon her. The golden skin, the trademark of an Aureal. "Has… has she fully ascended?" She always believed she and her sister would ascend together, or not at all.

Sanguine rubbed his tired eyes and shook his head. "Yes and no… you two are currently in a state of flux. Something my kind had undergone after we came into existence. You could call it a process of self-discovery. Or maybe puberty? Yes, I think this describes it best even if it doesn't involve growing boobs or going into sexual frenzies."

Myrabeth sniffed. "We went through our puberty when we hit forty, and it had nothing to do with Ashlyn behaving like a rabid Hagraven on fouled Skooma."

He carefully asked, "You know our History of Origin, do you?"

"Only from books." Myrabeth whispered, not trusting her voice. This was too much to digest.

Not looking at him, she could hear soft footfalls and suddenly he was next to her. "When we came to be, we had no physical bodies nor did we know about aspects and concepts. We created and we destroyed if it didn't satisfy us. We were pretty much lost, not knowing where to start or what to do. We changed, we fought and we dissolved which had us starting over and over again until we found our place, becoming the aspects you know today as the daedric princes. And even back then, it took us centuries refining our personalities," Sanguine went quiet, most likely taking a swig from his vile brew. "You two have the advantage of a physical body and already knowing your world you live in. But it won't help you to avoid the emotional and mental change you have to see through – for Ashlyn it will be a torture because her chaotic nature had been tempered by order and now it's in total imbalance. This will affect her abilities tremendously."

"I don't buy that shit Sanguine," Myrabeth mumbled in both her hands, as she rubbed her face and then threw him a doubting look. "We're only mongrels, not even half-bloods. We shouldn't feel the same effects as father did or any of you."

Digging through his brown hair, Sanguine's voice was now laced with irritation. "Not buying my 'shit' won't change the facts. I helped your father through this time of change because Sheogorath had no interest in doing so. Now I am doing the same with the two of you because your grandsire apparently sees still no need playing his part as guide!"

"How terribly kind of you," she scoffed. Daedra never did anything out of kindness. "Was that the reason why you gave Ashlyn your rose staff? So she could quell her sexual hunger with it? Or weren't you aware what she uses your staff for?" Myrabeth interrupted him quietly, walking away from the bed, wiping off the tears from her cheeks. She didn't want to wake her sister from her healing sleep. "I would bet she went through half of your army of minions the last couple of days. I wouldn't call that puberty or self-discovery."

"Believe me, I know firsthand that she didn't." He grimaced while rubbing his shoulder. Before he continued speaking, Sanguine sat down next to Ashlyn, carefully not to disturb her sleep. "Do you really believe I would allow any pawn of mine touching her? Then you don't know me at all. First of all, she would have killed them and that's not good for morale among my minions, and second, I am a possessive bastard who doesn't share." He then pointed a finger at her. "And if you interrupt me again, I am going to stay true to my word and give you the promised trashing!" Picking another bottle from his bag, he extended his arm offering it to her. "Here, drink. You don't look so good."

Taking the stoneware bottle, Myrabeth thought about clubbing him over the head with it. "What's in there?" she asked. Sanguine's beverage always held unpredictable surprises.

"Shut up, drink and sit tight on your ass!" He snapped and went still as Ashlyn stirred.

Reaching for her face he touched her forehead and murmured something Myrabeth couldn't make out. They both went very quiet until her sister stopped twisting in her bed and the breathing became even again.

"Why does it affect my sister so badly and leaves me almost unaffected?" Myrabeth still didn't understand. "She is my twin, she suffers I suffer. But besides being worried and having a sudden sense of responsibility, I don't feel anything twisting my brain."

Fixing some invisible point in the room, his voice bore now a sad undertone "Your father had been sired before the Greymarch, so he inherited all aspects of Sheogorath – including the dormant aspect of Order." He went silent for a while, tracing a finger carefully along Ashlyn's eyebrows. "Your sister got the most incompatible combination - but I mentioned that already. Mania as part of Chaos and the aspect of Order oppose each other. Which explains her erratic mood swings and out of character deeds. I would bet she hadn't been able to access all of her abilities during that time, as well."

Looking at her sister again, Myrabeth began to realize what this meant. "Will she be herself ever again?"

"I can't give you an answer to that question." He shook his head and winced, "But as long as her inner light shines bright, even if it flickers at the moment, there is hope that she will find back to her former self. But she will have to do it by herself and we can only offer guidance."

One eyebrow cocked, Myrabeth perked up. "What is it with this inner light? Molag said the same, he wanted me to put an end to my sister because of it," she said, feeling very cold now. "Why should Molag care all of a sudden if she lives or not, why does it matter to you that he is now pissed at us? Malacath is mad at us, too."

Closing his eyes, Sanguine's forehead furrowed. "Malacath is a different story. He hates everyone connected to Boethia so that's hardly bad news. But Molag know having seen her soul, it's not revenge driving him. Now it's greed and of that my kind doesn't tire. She carries something inside of her, which is highly uncommon for a Daedra - even a mongrel." As he opened his eyes, he regarded Myrabeth seriously. "You will have to return home without Ashlyn. I'll take her with me for a while. There might be someone who could be able helping her with the imbalance."

Unsettled by what he said, she jumped out of her chair. "You can't take her! We need to return to the Shivering Isles in less than two weeks. Maybe our grandfather can help her!"

"Don't be foolish. If she enters the Shivering Isles, every damn Dark Seducer will be over her like flies over a pile of dung. He didn't help your father, why should he help her? She embodies what he loathes." Sanguine muttered the last words under his breath.

Cheesed by the outcome of their botched adventure had Myrabeth almost crying again. How should she get to the Shivering Isles? She knew nothing about conjuration, not to mention how to open a Gate to Oblivion. "I need her to open a passage to Sheogorath's realm. Without her it's impossible. We need to get supplies from there…"

"Don't worry. I'll get you someone who can open a gate" Sanguine said, looking at the bottle in her hand. "Still don't trust my special brews, don't you?" His lips formed a weak grin. "Now come on, drink. You will feel better and it will help you to sleep a little."

Half absentmindedly she removed the stopper and gulped valiantly before the gagging reflex set in. Whatever it was, her throat and stomach felt like on fire. "I never understood what Ash enjoys about this rat piss. I thought you had better taste..:"

"Pussy," he mocked and took the bottle from her hand. "You better go back to your room and rest. I'll send Rose with you, so we can keep in touch."

"Rose?" she asked

His eyes sparkled with mischief, "Yes, Rose. You'll like her. I am very certain of that."

"She didn't seem to like me…" Myrabeth said doubtfully.

Framing her face with both hands, he planted a kiss on her forehead. "Stop being difficult and be nice to Rose and she will be nice with you. Now off to bed with you, you insufferable brat of chaos."

"Yes aunt Sanny," she said. "Rose? That's not very original."

Chuckling, his eyes slanted. "Well considering there's a child story about Myrabeth the magpie… yours isn't either."

As she went for the door, her bones still aching, she looked back at him. "Take good care of her. She's all that keeps me from losing my mind entirely and going all murder death kill over Nirn."

Upstairs, she found Rose sitting next to her bed with a book in her hand. "There you are," she said and pulled the hood of her robe back, revealing the dark skinned face of an elderly Dunmer woman. "Let me have a look at your bruises." Patting on the bed she beckoned Myrabeth closer. "Come here. I won't bite. Unless you insult our Lord again."

Not really convinced that she liked the woman in front of her, Myrabeth refused to come closer. "So you're one of Sanguine's groupies?"

The woman started to laugh. "My dear Myra. You're so much like your mother. Sarcastic and blunt like the club of a troll. Sanguine told me so much about you and Ash, but I never would have imagined it so accurate."

"Do I know you?" Myrabeth asked slowly, one eye narrowed.

"No you don't and to answer your first question. I am not one of his groupies. I am his loyal servant and no, that doesn't include getting intimate with him if this is what you wanted to know," Rose replied and patted again on the mattress. "Sit now child. I had to relocate your shoulder. I imagine it still hurts?"

"Hard to believe. The Lord of Lechery not getting intimate with his devotees…" Myrabeth said baffled, and sat down next to the woman. "I heard other stories about him and his followers – it involved bondage, gags and loads of blood."

Making a disapproving sound, Rose's lips twitched with scorn, "That has been a very long time ago. Don't you think it's awfully one-dimensional to reduce Sanguine to one single aspect of the greater whole which he embodies?"

Myrabeth's left corner of her lips twitched, "Well. I can add boozing and barfing. Does it make him less one-dimensional? Don't get me wrong. I adore him… but…"

"I see, you haven't gotten around understanding the nature of what Sanguine actually means. Your mother didn't either, so I can't even blame you for your ignorance." Rose heaved a sigh, and patted her thigh. "Poor child. You're missing out quite a lot."

Eyes wide, Myrabeth realized who was sitting next to her. "You're our Grandmother?"

"Smart girl. Took you long enough," the woman smiled proudly. "It feels good to finally see my descendants with my own eyes. Your mother had made it a point keeping me far far away and I had to respect her wish."

"You're the one she always called a whoring Hagraven," Myrabeth gasped, slapping both her hands over her mouth. "Sorry…" she whimpered ashamed.

Guiding a streak of hair behind Myrabeth's ear, she smiled sardonically. "Your mother always had the finest insults in store for me. Would have surprised me if she hadn't used them in your presence. But that was then and this is now." Inspecting her shoulder, Rose reached inside a small pouch. "That shoulder still looks swollen. You won't be stabbing anyone any time soon, I fear."

"Great. I still have an open contract to fulfill. Oh boy. I will have to explain Ashlyn's absence… " Myrabeth groaned which turned quickly into a hiss as her grandmother applied something sticky. "Ewww what is that?"

"Marigold salve. Simple but effective," Rose replied.

Wrinkling her nose, Myrabeth turned her head away "It stinks!"

"It helps and that's all that counts," Rose countered sternly.

Not in the mood to discuss stinking ointments, Myrabeth changed the subject. "So, how did you end up in Sanguine's service if it isn't sex he seeks of you?"

"One could say he adopted me," her grandmother said with a hint of a smile. "He caught me with my hand in his belongings, which he didn't find amusing at all. So he made me cleaning up after him at his shrine and he is really a sloppy untidy one. One day, a bard came by and I nicked his lute when everyone was busy drinking and coupling."

"I thought he doesn't do that anymore," Myrabeth asked bemusedly, but shut her mouth at once. "Sorry, didn't want to blabber again."

Rose groaned, almost laughing, "He hasn't touched mortal flesh in centuries. No. Sanguine may be a perverted creep with a sick sense of humor, but I have never seen him joining an orgy himself and I live for now over four hundred years. Some say, he got his fill and most mortals are too frail for what he has in mind. Once, there had been one who tried getting under his toga. But she ended up strapped to a table where his true devotees had their fun with her while our Lord kept watching." As fast as the mirth had come to her grandmother's voice, as fast it was gone. "Why do you want to know this? Do you have a crush on him?"

Twisting her mouth Myrabeth made a sound of disgust. "Nah. He's not my type, even if some of his avatars are quite appetizing. But if I understood him correctly, my sister is doing it now with him almost every night ever since he has given her that damn rose-staff… and that has me worried. My sister never did repeats before."

"Ah that's what this was about the Sanguine Rose, why he took so much care in crafting it," Rose's mien was content, and not the slightest bit disturbed about an old fart humping her granddaughter, as Myrabeth would have expected.

"That's doesn't bother you?" she asked perplexed.

"Why should it? Many would consider this a great honor and it will do him and your sister some good to find some comfort. Times have been straining, even for a daedric prince" Rose shrugged. "So do you want to know how I became his servant or not?"

"Sorry, yes please. What happened after you stole the lute?" Myrabeth asked feeling like a child again, craving bedtime stories.

"I always had great love for music. Not having the best singing voice, I had to find other ways to express the beauty that was locked up in my soul. A couple of years before I came to know my Lord, I had learned from some wandering minstrels."

"Sounds as if you had a lot of fun?" Myrabeth quipped.

"Oh yes, it was fun. I always wanted to become a mistress of some rich ever-horny noble, having fine dresses, good food and learning the finer arts," her grandmother sighed dreamily. "But we are straying again. When I got hold of that lute, I began to play. I spilled all my heart's desire, all my dreams and my love of life into the melody. No one cared, no one even noticed me playing – no one but Sanguine. You should have seen him. He was mesmerized; looked almost like an old owl perched on the stairs of his shrine, swaying to my melody."

Myrabeth couldn't help it but to ask, "Did he look like a fat red horker back then, too?" She imagined a chubby Sanguine sitting in his toga and hooting like an owl and in the end she had to bite her tongue to prevent her from laughing.

"Beg your pardon?" Rose's eyes were wide, but the twitch around her lips gave away that she was close to crack into a guffaw, too. "Don't let him hear that. He is terribly vain about his appearance."

"Too late. Ash called him that, when he asked her to become his champion… long ago," Myrabeth sniggered.

Rose cocked an eyebrow at her, "He asked her to become his champion? He never really had a champion, just errands doing his bidding so he could lean back and enjoy the chaos coming of it."

"Well, Ash caught his interest almost the same way you did, except for the stealing part. There was a bard festival in Cheydinhal, and my sister wanted to participate," Myrabeth remembered with a swoon on her face. Good old times. "Ashlyn never was one for grabbing attention but that day she reveled in it and kept playing until her fingers hurt and her voice was nothing but a feeble croak. Some Breton who called himself Sam Guevenne approached us and offered her his tankard to cool her fingers in."

"Ahh, yes that's how we know and love him," Rose smiled. "And, did she take his offer?"

Myrabeth's grin deepened, revealing her teeth. "Well, she drained the whole content and thanked him. You should have seen his face. He looked as if he was about to cry and laugh at the same time."

Rose made a lopsided face, "Ashlyn drank his moonshine, all of it? Really?"

Myrabeth nodded. "I have no clue how she manages to keep it inside, but every time they sit together at one table, they start drinking the vile swill until one of them drops or vomits."

"So what about you?" her grandmother looked her up quizzically. "You follow anyone?"

"What about me? I am the deranged one in the family. Ashlyn always has to clean after me, because I am a sloppy git. I love killing for Sithis, stealing for Nocturnal, gutting for pleasure, brewing poison, cooking, bloodbath and playing flute. Oh and I am a werewolf. Hope you don't mind?"

"Now that was a brief summary. Had hoped for a bit more," her grandmother quirked. "Well, I don't mind werewolves as long as they don't leave hair all over the furniture." Rose gave her an assuring smile. "So you serve Hircine, then?"

"Nah. I am just having fun being a werewolf. As soon as I grow bored of it, I'll lift the curse," she admitted a little embarrassed. Myrabeth wasn't used to talk about it so freely. "The thing is, I am dragonborn, but I don't have wings, so I will never know what it feels like to fly. And racing across the plains as werewolf, feeling the wind in my face – it allows me to dream about flying:"

Rose sat up straight, suddenly very tense. "You better get some sleep now. I'll get you clean clothes and prepare everything so we can leave tomorrow."

"Are you skilled in stabbing?" Myrabeth asked, snuggling back into bed.

Rose draped the blanked around Myrabeth's shoulder, "No. But I am good with bows. Who do you want dead so badly?"

Closing her eyes, she slurred. "A Khajiit called Ma'randru-jo. Need his tail as proof for our Dark Brotherhood leader. He's supposed to be with a caravan. I'll hope I haven't missed them, or my sister and I are in deep shit."

"A caravan has arrived this morning," her grandmother said pondering. "I'll see if he is among them and bring you the tail…"

Drifting off into the soothing arms of sleep, Myrabeth smiled into her pillow despite all the terrible events she had to endure today. Her sister was still alive, even if unconscious and they had now finally met their grandmother of which their mother never spoke amiably. She had an easy going air around her, and didn't appear as the harpy her mother always claimed her to be. Myrabeth liked Rose just as Sanguine had predicted.

ooooOOoooo

Falkreath / Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary

Head propped on her folded forearms, Myrabeth lay there half slumped over the table with closed eyes. No word from Ashlyn and in a few days she would have to open a gate to the Shivering Isles with her grandmother's help. How would she explain this to Haskill and most of all to her grandfather, should he decide to pop in? He loved nothing more than making an appearance at the worst of times.

The first week back at home had been rather difficult for Myrabeth. Astrid had been highly displeased with Ashlyn's disappearance, seeing schemes and treachery everywhere. Their leader had always had one hell of a paranoid personality disorder and with Cicero's arrival it had become worse.

With the help of her new found grandmother Rose and Ashlyn's friend Aranea, she had at least not to worry about Lucia who still kept asking when her mother would return. If Ashlyn wouldn't return any time soon, they would have to stop beating around the bush.

Left to hope that Sanguine would stay true to his word, nursing her back into her former state before it was too late and Ashlyn never could walk Nirn again without the limitations all Daedra had to face when entering Mundus.

At first Myrabeth had been content with this plan, but now, without having really a way of communicating with Ashlyn, and despite what her grandmother said about the Prince of Debauchery, she wasn't certain anymore, if it had been a good idea trusting him that far.

Never trust a Daedra. Thus was the first lesson she and her sister had learned the hard way. Merely being the rotten apples of an entire family tree of half-bloods and daedric princes, they had been exposed to their double-minded and volatile ancestry long enough to know better, today and she still had allowed him to take her sister.

"Less moping more snipping! The stew won't cook itself." Nazir dumped a huge pot of washed potatoes in front of her. "Peel them and cut them into nice even dices. After that you can move over to the carrots and leeks."

Snapping out of her thoughts, she picked up the first corm and began to chip away the brown skim. "Why can't you ask Cicero? He loves peeling things…"

This week it was her giving Nazir a hand. She hated kitchen duty, unless it involved disemboweling and cleaning stags or boars. There was nothing more fun than being arm deep in a bloody mass of dead animal and graze some of the entrails. But Arnbjorn hat already taken care of that.

"No clowns in my kitchen! Period!" was all Nazir growled.

Nazir was still angry, because last time Cicero ate half of the carrots he was supposed to clean. Then again, when was there a time Nazir wasn't miffed about something?

"Myrabeth. I need to speak with you – alone," Astrid called from outside.

Myrabeth sighed and put her half peeled potato away. What did she want this time? Having her cutting off ears of Thalmor, or maybe a bundle of Argonian hides? Not certain how Nazir would react she looked him straight in the eyes, but he merely shrugged and told her to get her ass moving.

Rubbing her hands off on a filthy cloth, she made her way up to Astrid's office where she found her leaning against the wall.

"Got another contract?" Myrabeth asked.

She rather hoped it would be something else. She needed a break. The last two kills had not been very pleasant – a classic love story gone horribly wrong. That stupid contact, Muiri wanted her to kill a former lover who had used her for his own little schemes. Actually a very cleverly executed scheme, using her affection to get into her parents' house to steal goods.

Myrabeth still regretted that she had to kill Alain after she had her fun with him. He had been handsome and wicked. But a contract was a contract. At least that dumb wench was dead now, too. Muiri had made rather disgusting suggestive advances and Myrabeth answered with a dagger between her shoulders.

Astrid threw her a dark look, her voice low. "It's Cicero. Ever since he arrived, his behavior's been... Well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he is truly mad. But it's worse than that. He's taken to locking himself in the Night Mother's chamber, and talking. To someone. In hushed, but frantic tones. Who is he speaking with? What are they planning? I fear treachery."

"Err, I don't think anyone would want himself involved with him." Myrabeth frowned.

Astrid's tone was now sharp, close to hysterical. "Can you claim for certain your sister isn't involved? She always defends him, and she believes in the old ways."

Myrabeth went rigid at this accusation. "Now wait a second! I respect your dislike for that fool but don't you lump my sister into one pot with him! Being the head of the Brotherhood or not, you are going too far this time!"

Was Astrid now totally out of her mind? Maybe madness was infectious, although this wouldn't explain her having already up the pole when Myrabeth and Ashlyn had arrived a couple months ago. Another one of those speeches and she would forget herself and burry one of her less clean daggers in that bitch's eye socket.

Sitting on the edge of her table, Astrid gave her an exasperated look. "As the Night Mother's Keeper, he believes he's entitled to the rule of this Sanctuary and your sister encouraged this all along. If I allow this, Cicero will cite our independence as the need to revert to the Old Ways. He'll claim we're undisciplined, unruly. Heretical, even. Ironically, the Night Mother could prove to be just as much a victim. The queen in a fool's twisted game of chess."

"He will? Doesn't he already? Kill him, remove him but keep my sister out of it. Or our path will take a sharp painful turn, which I promise you won't like," Myrabeth threatened, ready to shift into her wolf form. No one, not even the Dark Brotherhood touched one of her kin. No one. "Are we clear on that or do you require another kind of convincing?"

Baring her teeth at Myrabeth, the human woman stepped away from her chair. "You threaten me? In my own Sanctuary? Maybe it's you who supports him. What has he promised you? Becoming the next leader?"

Bones began to crack and pop as Myrabeth crouched into combat stance. She would tear her to shreds if she made the wrong move. "Careful Astrid You know what I am capable of." She spoke almost softly, directing a black claw at the woman.

"They won't allow you to hurt me!" Astrid moved now backwards now blatantly frightened.

"Are you sure about that?" Myrabeth's muzzle lifted into a snarl. "Think of what I have done to your husband last time he went after my niece. Want to become a drooling wreck rolling in your own crap, too? This time I won't take it back. I promise!"

"What do you want?" Astrid gasped, she stank of fear and Myrabeth could her heart racing like that of a hunted rabbit.

Lumbering closer, she looked the human deep into her eyes emitting a fearsome growl "You are so lucky that my sister and I do not care about leadership or I would have you splayed open. I am convinced your cowardly heart will be a fine treat. But I will honor our agreement as long as you honor yours, human. So I'll ask you – what do you want of me, why have you called me up here? Think before you answer. Because, if I do not like it I cut you down and feast on your innards. Maybe I make your husband feast upon you, too."

"You need to find out what he is up to and bring me proof. If need be, hide in his coffin," Astrid spoke now very rapidly, fear oozing out of her like the sweetest perfume Myrabeth had ever smelled. It made her hungry.

"Isn't that a little disrespectful toward our Dark Mother?" Myrabeth growled, allowing her body to shrink back to its normal state. "I may not agree with Cicero's fanatism, but I honor the Nightmother."

Looking a little relieved at Myrabeth's peace offering, Astrid shook her head. "There is no other way. He locks himself up and from inside the coffin you can listen and see what he is planning."

"By Sithis. I'll hope this will end, no matter what I find out today. I am so sick of this," Myrabeth cursed. "After that I never ever again want to hear anything of that shit from you!"

Without further words, she left the still shivering human and returned to the kitchen, seeing if Cicero was hanging out somewhere near the upcoming dinner. The fool was not to be underestimated. Crazy zealots were always dangerous and hard to predict if prodded the wrong way. Touching the coffin was most likely the worst thing one could do in his case.

Not seeing him anywhere near the kitchen, she poked her head into Babette's room but only found Gabrielle slaving over the alchemy table and Festus trying to feed Lis without getting himself bitten.

So he must be in his room, Myrabeth expected. But he was nowhere to be seen. To be entirely certain that he wasn't hiding somewhere, she invoked the draconic Thu'um of Aura Whisper. The world around her darkened for a couple of heart beats and red pulsing shapes sprang to live. Slowly she counted the moving glowing blots and relaxed a little as she couldn't find Cicero among them. Babette and the fool apparently had left the Sanctuary.

Quickly she scurried into the room with the Night Mother's coffin, tugging her lockpicks out of her pouch. "I am sorry for this intrusion Dark Mother, but there's a disturbance among us which needs being taken care of."

That said, she opened the coffin and twitched her nose at the acrid odor coming from it. Snuggling up with a corpse, even if it was a dry one wasn't her idea of quality time. Reluctantly and careful not to damage the preserved body of their unholy matron, she stepped in and shut the coffin behind her.

Keeping her breathing as flat as possible she strained her ears, waiting patiently for Cicero to enter the room. Eventually she must have fallen asleep, because her eyes flew open at the nerve eating sound of his voice, as he entered the room humming and speaking under his breath.

"Are we alone? Yes... yes... alone. Sweet solitude. No one will hear us, disturb us. Everything is going according to plan," Cicero purred and Myrabeth made a face. So Astrid was right, he was planning something. "The others... I've spoken to them. And they're coming around, I know it. The wizard, Festus Krex... perhaps even the Argonian, and the un-child..."

He called Babette an un-child? If she found out what how he thought about her, she would bite him in the leg and rightfully so!

Cicero began to bustle around; Myrabeth could hear the soft clanking of stoneware being carried toward the shrine. There was a clicking of stone against stone and soon a sweet heavy scent crept to the holes of Myrabeth's hideout.

It was the kind of incense which made her all weepy. 'Oh shit, he is going to smoke me out.' As a werewolf she couldn't stand strong scents, especially not this particular incense. The only thing she smoked or inhaled was refined moon sugar.

The clanking and grinding stopped. "What about you? Have you... have you spoken to anyone? No... No, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and saying! And what do you do? Nothing! Not... not that I'm angry!" Cicero drawled almost desperate with a pinch of anger. "No, never! Cicero understands. Heh. Cicero always understands! And obeys! You will talk when you're ready, won't you? Won't you... ...sweet Night Mother."

What a poor creature he was. Myrabeth almost felt pity. He was desperate, seeking affection from a dead woman known to be everything but kind.

'Poor Cicero. Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. For he is not the Listener' a soft voice flooded through Myrabeth's mind, drowning out everything that happened outside.

She couldn't move, nor could she breathe. The Night Mother had spoken to her, held her securely in her grip making it impossible to escape her impeding punishment for spying on her most trusted servant. Ice cold dread ran down her, fearing she would be doomed to die in here and found when Cicero would clean and oil the corpse.

"Oh, but how can I defend you? How can I exert your will? If you will not speak? To anyone!" Cicero pleaded from the outside, totally oblivious what was happening.

The dark mother's caressing voice replied, 'Oh, but I will speak. I will speak to you. For you are the one. Yes, you. You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. I give you this task - journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre.'

Tears formed in Myrabeth's eyes as the already weakened bond to her sister faded out and was replaced by the all-consuming presence. They had called it a blessing, a great honor. She had been chosen by Sithis' bride, but it didn't feel like a blessing. It felt like a leash, a very short leash she couldn't hope to free herself from.

'Child, don't despair. You serve Sithis with all your being, now. Such is your destiny. Your sister will walk a different path and has no longer a place in your life. Together we will reweave the fate of the Dark Brotherhood,' the night mother soothed. 'But first you will have to remove the taint from your blood, for I won't share you with another Lord.'

Crying and still paralyzed, she had to listen to the rambling of that maddening fool. "Poor Cicero has failed you. Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet mother. I've tried, so very hard. But I just can't find the Listener."

Uncaring for her despair the dread mother spoke once more, 'Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years: 'Darkness rises when silence dies.'

The iron grip of the dark presence dispersed and Myrabeth almost fell out of the coffin, dragging the dead body with her. Starting a guttural growl it very quickly changed into an agonized howl. Raging, she directed her eyes at Cicero who now stared back at her equally outraged. The inner wolf lifted its head and howled for release but Myrabeth couldn't answer its feral call.

"What? What treachery! Defiler! Debaser and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother's tomb! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!"

She wanted to lunge at him, tear his throat out but before she could do any of it her lips formed the words on their own accord, "Darkness rises when silence dies!"

His anger twisted features smoothened into surprise and then into unbound joy "She... she said that? She said those words... to you? 'Darkness rises when silence dies'? But those are the words. The Binding Words. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I would know. Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero..."

As he started to dance and sing, the last remaining scrap of dignity shriveled away. Lips drawn back, growling Myrabeth stormed out of the room, just away from this nightmare. She never wanted anything else than belonging to the Dark Brotherhood. She never wanted to become the Listener. Too much responsibility, too binding… it was too much, more than she ever would have asked for.

Barely out of the door, she crashed into Astrid. "What is this lunacy?"

"Nothing. He's just a fool, a pawn like me. He talked to no one but himself you dumb cow," Myrabeth roared and ran, through the cave, through the secret door, until she had left the Sanctuary far behind her.

Not thinking, she shifted but even the pain couldn't take away the knowledge of being trapped, forever. She would make everyone pay for this and most of all Atsrid. If it hadn't been for her scheming and paranoia she never would have been chosen.

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