Heya, reader, I had a lot of free time lately, so I figured I'd whip up another ch. If you can, please hit me with a review so I can get some insight into what I need to improve. I want to ensure the story is as engaging as possible for those who take the time to read it. Anyways thank you, and on to the next ch.
She lay there, face first on her desk, begrudgingly sitting up and wiping the sleep out of her eyes. Dimmed light hit her face, and she could see the sky still holding its ominous greyish hue from the previous night. Pretty soon, she would hear the familiar inevitable pitter-patter of the rain against the window.
It seemed Daggerfall was going through its seasonal rainy period. Once upon a time, she would rest in her mother's lap, and the two would stare out the window, watching the rain splatter into the outside grass. While she, as a kid, enjoyed watching the rain. Her mother, though, always seemed like she was waiting for someone...
'Of course that was before that woman lost her damn mind.'
Stretching her arms and yawning, Anyarah stood up and started towards the kitchen. Deciding to make some tea, she put the kettle on the stove and added the tea leaves after the water boiled. Anyarah poured the tea into the cup and savored the taste as it went down her throat. She sat back at her desk while enjoying the tea she had created for herself. Looking out the window, she couldn't help but contemplate what that rat, Vicue, had told her.
"Are you dead too, Lyla?" The assassin said lowly to herself, barely above a whisper, as if speaking it would conjure it into reality, but it seemed it might genuinely be the case. She'd been in constant denial of the idea for years, but she always knew in the back of her mind.
Perhaps in Skyrim, she can find the answers to her questions. Maybe even gain some closure through finding Lyla's kid. Had it even survived birth? Vicue had mentioned birth complications. However, that was likely the cover-up for the very obvious assassination.
Which in itself has to be taken with a grain of salt. Everything the bastard told her could have possibly been wholly fabricated. She looked down at her tea and frowned, watching the smoke rise before dissipating into the air.
'Lyla, my daughter, I've failed you.'
Anyarah slowly finished her tea, making sure to enjoy every bit as long as she could, and then she took the quill that lay on her desk. Dipping it into the small container of ink, she began to write a letter. If memory served her, the newest leader of the Brotherhood Sanctuary was someone by the name of Astrid. She wrote an appeal to the woman, asking for refuge in the last brotherhood sanctuary in Skyrim.
After signing it, she folded it and slid it into an envelope. She'd send it when she could, but her eyes moved to a wanted poster pinned to her desk with a dagger. The assassin grasped the dagger's hilt and ripped it from the wooden furniture.
'There was work to be done.'
A faint sigh escaped from a figure standing on a hilltop in the forest. The vantage point allowed him to overlook the Imperial encampment undetected. Down below, there had to be around a couple of dozen men guarding his contract. He'd been tracking the unlucky bastard for several hours through the accursed Rift's forest, and much to his dismay, he'd followed them deeper into the bowels of the woods. Although, he'd been waiting for when the distant travelers presented him with the perfect opportunity. The target he'd been stalking had proven himself an incompetent leader.
Stranding himself in the forest, along with his guards, he'd been traveling from Cyrodil. The shadow scale could slightly empathize with these men. He'd been in a similar situation, but his former leader's blunders caused the downfall of the Black Marsh sanctuary. It had been the second time his home was forced to do purified.
The Argonian shook his head, ridding himself, albeit temporarily, of the bad memories that threatened to haunt him once again—deciding to keep his mind busy and continuing to watch the guards from afar and noting every little activity they did. From how many times they patrolled the perimeter, to how many times they chewed their food.
He mentally recorded all of that information, no matter how insignificant. Knowing your targets better than they knew themselves was always ideal for an assassin, and besides, it kept his mind busy. His tongue darted out, using it as a sense to feel out his environment. His lizard features tugged into a grin as he sensed the slightest movement behind him.
"You're late. That's very unlike you…Astrid," he said without turning to face her. The figure stepped out of the shadows shrugging and a smirk gracing her features.
"You'll have to excuse me, dearest brother, but I had other business that required my attention." The Argonian turned his head to the side and allowed his scarlet reptilian-like eyes to focus on her.
"Maven again?" The lizard questioned, "She's really starting to become a real pain to deal with."
"I'm afraid so, apparently the last contract we had with her wasn't fulfilled."
"How is that possible." The shadow scale looked at her with shock visible in his tone, and which somewhat contrasted with his composed demeanor. "I was the one who handled that contract."
"Yes, but you eliminated the wrong target. Unfortunately, the contract had a body double for that night in the case Maven was to reach out to us for his life."
"I see...I must rectify this failure." Astrid merely waved off the comment.
"I'm sure you will, but for now, we have another contract that needs eliminating," Astrid stated while nodding towards the encampment.
"Right." The shadow scale's tongue zipped out as if tasting the air as he drew his sword. "Around nine or so men are guarding our target. I'll eliminate the guards, and you could go for the target while they're distracted" Astrid stared at him, unsure for a moment before speaking.
"No, I don't think so." She said once again, surprising him for the second time that night.
"Are you starting to doubt my skills now, Astrid?" His reptilian eyes bared a glint of disappointment, but Astrid snorted in disagreement.
"Of course not Veezara, but we both know I don't like taking chances, especially with how things have been going for us lately. Consider the Brotherhood in Bruma as my main example."
A moment of silence passed between them at that thought. Although a considerable amount of time has passed since then, the Brotherhood will never recover from that kind of loss, and they'd probably not even survive another attack like that. He supposed he couldn't argue with Astrid on this, not that he really could.
'Astrid's word is law after all...'
"You could flank the rear guards after I've made myself known."
Astrid grinned and laughed before lifting her face mask. "Now that's a plan I can get behind." She paused for a moment. "Literally, I suppose." She mused before sliding down the hill and getting into position. Veezara wasted no time following her lead and getting into place himself. This time they will not fail; with Maven as their lifeline, they couldn't afford to.
Two robe-bearing figures transgressed through the rocky southeast coast of Storm Haven. The uneven and loose terrain made it potentially hazardous to traverse, but neither gave any indication of weakness. Even when being harassed by the storm that stubbornly refused to give way and the thick fog that tended to plague the coastal regions, their boots would make contact with the mud and gravel each time. The ongoing fallout would be splattering noises followed by a loud 'crunch.'
After hours of enduring the elements, they soon approached a fort that lay in ruin. Half of its structure had collapsed and was buried beneath the earth. The ancient system was less than a shadow of its former self. Most likely, spanning back to as early as the start of the third era. The first figure led his companion through the entrance of a watchtower. Or preferably, what was left of it instead. There was an out-of-place rug inside that had looked weathered inside.
"Just through here." The first figure said as he removed the rug from the spot, revealing a hidden hatch. "You're the moon sugar runner from Morrowind, yeah." He spoke offhandedly. That is the second thing he said since they had begun traveling. A 'click' followed his question as he began to input the hatches lock combination. His temporary travel companion had decided to ignore the question pointedly. He continued despite it, taking the silence as confirmation. "Bossman was expecting you days ago."
"I had run into trouble along the way." The figure stated as she set her eyes above them and gazed at the spiraling ascending stairs that were dangerously decrypted. Half of them existed only as mounds of rubble that cluttered the floor.
"We had half a mind to come looking for you." He spoke again, attempting to resume the conversation. "Lucky for you, we didn't. I'm sure there would've been a nice reward for your corpse." A sinister chuckle escaped his lips as he smirked and looked back at her. " As you should already know, we don't take too kindly to deserters."
"I'm here, aren't I?" She responded uncharismatically and wished he had never opened his mouth.
Another bit of laughter emitted from the bandit, and soon after followed another 'click.' "That you are." He replied while continuing to fumble with the lock. "Fact of the matter remains, you left the Bossman waiting," The lock clicked in place for a final time before it became undone. He opened the hatch, stood up, and brushed his hands off. "I believe this will be the last time we meet. You should pray to whichever foolish g-"
The bandit tasted his blood before he could comprehend what had happened. He raised his hands and felt the assassin's cold blade through the back of his neck. He hit the ground choking up blood, his eyes became weary, and his sight began to darken. In his last moments, he heard another whisper that made his blood colder than it already was. "Sithis take you, you damn fool. I liked you a lot better when you were quieter."
Anyarah descended into the hatch and entered the underground hideout. The Wayrest sanctuary was once her home, which had been sacked twenty years ago. Sadly it was also reduced to nothing by corsairs. The head of this bandit gang had, at one point in time, been a dangerous seafaring captain. The bastard was also one of the leading figureheads for the "privateering" faction. They were responsible for ransacking Wayrest and destroying her home in the process. This bounty had provided the extra incentive to hunt him down and settle the score.
The man she'd been after quite often burns through his men quickly. If she had to guess, they had to be inexperienced street rats and farmers. To be so expendable and likely, he relied on the number of his men rather than quality. He had a surplus of recruits in the workforce, but the recruits were likely green. 'Hence easier kills.' She deduced while watching a scrawny bandit struggling to load a crossbow and failing miserably as he shot himself in the foot. Others merely stood by and laughed at the man's misfortune.
'That is if they don't kill themselves, anyways.'
Though there was a single detail she had yet to consider, Rehemus Languin, the leader of these poor sap, was a pirate captain and a cut above the rest as Anyarah continued through the underground path. She would eventually cross into a more reserved part of the underground.
She stopped in front of a Khajiit. The humanoid held a muscular composition and was the tallest Khajiit she'd ever seen. He towered over her by several feet. The cat person glanced down at her with a look that mirrored lethargy but in a way that was also quizzical. "And you are..." He spoke expectantly, still eyeing her. He knew the smell of moon sugar was pretty potent on her, but a human's nose couldn't pick up this particular strand.
"I have something that belongs to your boss." The Khajiit scratched his orange mane, similar to that of a lion.
"Yes, this one can smell it on you." The predator said while licking his lips and smiling. " You've kept Captain Languin waiting for a while now. He's not known to be the patient type."
"Then you should move. That way, I don't have to keep him waiting much longer."
"What a smart mouth on this one. You should check yourself. For surely this one's claws wrapped around your neck. Wouldn't be so good for your health." He extended his claws to have an extra dramatic effect. Then the cat person opened the door and gestured for her to go inside.
Behind the door were stairs that elevated back up to ground level. At the top was a large room of weathered down stone that threatened to come down like the rest of the fort. Though, that did not stop the few dozen people from smoking skoma from their water pipes. A glanced around, and she noticed these pirates possessed a different skill level than the ones she had seen before. These men most likely served under him during his prime.
'This could prove to be more of a challenge than I originally thought.' The assassin's thoughts were cut off as she passed by a loud crowd of obnoxious bandits. They were shouting and cheering as two of their very own were brawling, and upon noticing her, some turned and shouted sexual obscenities. Most were too busy committing other debaucherous acts to pay her any mind.
Languin was seated at a roundtable on a wooden stage and was positioned to overlook everything in that room. He was laughing and drinking with a few other people at his table. She attempted to approach the leader of these ex-pirates and was stopped by another crew member. An Argonian blocked her path and crossed his arms. "Captain won't be seeing anyone today. He's not feeling well." Anyarah glanced back at Languin, who had just downed an entire tankard of rum at the moment. The feat was met with applause from his companions and another mug.
"Looks fine to me." The Argonian scowled and moved toward the cloaked woman with the intent of shoving her.
"You calling me a liar?" Just as his hand made contact with her shoulder, she grabbed and twisted it. He was making sure to break it with a sickening 'crack' forcing him to his knees. Anyarah ignored his cries of pain and brushed past him. She walked up the stairs leading to the stage and caught the eyes of the pirates. A devilish smirk graced the privateer Languin's face, and he leaned forward to get a better look at the newcomer. The others paid her no mind but were more interested in the dice game they had started.
"What do we have here," Languin said, his smirk never wavering. His face was adorned with a plethora of battle scars. He wore his greying hair loose but partly braided. "A stranger with the balls to walk into my court." The old pirate said as he raised both hands and gestured around the room. He pointed a pale finger at her and laughed. "You mam, are either brave or suicidal." He grabbed a bottle of rum from the table and popped the cork off with his teeth. " So what brings you to my castle, business or pleasure?" Before he could drink from the bottle and drown himself in its contents, a satchel landed on the table in front of him.
"I have something you've been waiting for." The old pirate put his bottle down and peeked into the bag. He smiled gleefully before shutting it close and dropping the bag beside him. He eyed her curiously and hummed thoughtfully to himself.
"That I have," He scratched his beard and reached for the coin purse around his belt. "A deals, a deal, I suppose. Though honestly, I should deduct from the originally agreed-upon price for this one, I'm in a good mood tonight." He placed a coin purse on the table and slid it to the other side. A sharp blade pressed against her back as she reached for it. "Or I could kill you and keep the gold altogether." Anyarah scowled; she had not expected things to turn out this way so quickly. "You can hardly blame me. We both know you're an imposter," he said before drinking from the bottle of rum. "So my question to you, lass, is who are you?"
The old pirate stood up, revealing his cuirass, which was constructed of thick leather embedded with steel scales. It was also crisscrossed by leather bandoliers, allowing him to carry multiple daggers. In case the sword at his hip failed him, but she doubted that was ever the case. As if on cue, the man holding his weapon to her back removed her hood and exposed her face. Again the pirate examined her with a curious eye, and he concluded that she was probably sent here to kill him. That much he gathered, but the question is, by who?
'Legionary maybe,' he thought while inspecting her from head to toe and acknowledging the dark cloak. 'A highly covert one at that….' It wasn't too much of a far-fetched idea. ' Eight knows those bastards aren't so lazy anymore. What they did to my firstborn...' He shook his head and refocused his attention on the person in front of him. This woman, however, refused to say anything, and he could tell even torture wouldn't get her to talk. He put his hand on the shoulder of one of his subordinates. "Finish her quickly, I no longer find myself in a festive mood," Languin said as he turned to walk away and sat back down at the table.
"Aye, Aye, Captain." The subordinate replied gruffly, then drew his axe, raising it over his head and preparing to swing. "Say good night, wretched wench," he said before bringing the heavy axe down upon the assassin, but at that moment, she had weaved out of the blade's path. The sickening sound of the axe tearing through both bone and flesh flooded their ears.
With the deadly speed and grace of a master assassin, she followed up with a counter-attack faster than they could react. Anyarah delivered several quick thrusts with her short blade into his chest and finished him with one to the throat.
Another pirate, the Argonian from before, ran towards her with his sword raised, completely disregarding caution. He was overwhelmed with outrage and as well, the thirst for revenge. Though, the assassin wasn't going to cross blades with him.
She slipped a hand into her cloak and threw a dagger that struck the lizard violently in his exposed chest. His face morphed into something that resembled a fish out of water. The following two had finally recovered from the shock of their comrades' death and mustered up the courage to attack. But due to their minds being sp enveloped in the substances they were abusing. Their reactions were pitiful, and they couldn't dodge or block the assassin's blade effectively. Which ultimately led to their premature demise. The men below them were also in a similar state, meaning they could not comprehend what was happening. The ones tripped over themselves while attempting to run up the stairs.
"Stender's beard, what do I pay these idiots for?" He asked while taking another drink from the bottle, not seeming to be all too interested in the death of his crew. He cursed when there was none left in the bottle and threw it to the side.
The last one gathered his wits and proceeded with caution. He raised his sword defensively and blocked just in time to prevent her blade's tip from piercing his skull. She aggressively pressed on in rapid succession and even managed to amputate an ear in an overhand strike. He instinctively clutched the side of his head and backed away. He put as much distance between the two of them as possible and quickly glanced toward the Captain. The man didn't seem to care that they were dying all that much, but that moment of distraction was all she needed. Anyarah had rammed her blade into his stomach, and she pushed the Dumner off her sword and allowed him to collapse on the ground. He was leaving the barely conscious elf to the fate of bleeding out.
"Sithis is due to a soul, don't you think?" Her voice was beautiful, honey to his ears, yet the malice that coated her tongue contrasted it.
"So that's what you are." The Captain didn't fear her; he merely stood up and sighed. Grasping his handle, he drew his sword and spoke. "I've killed plenty of your kind before. Back in Wayrest, I think it was." He said, stroking his beard and thinking aloud. Anyarah had no intention of answering him, but the corners of her mouth tugged into a frown. That reaction alone was enough to prove his theory. The whitening of her knuckles from her tightened grip on the handle of her sword was even more confirmation. She readied herself in an aggressive stance, subtle, but he caught her accurate response nonetheless.
'Our blades shall do the talking.'
She charged at him, deciding to feign an overhand strike, and attempted to plunge the blade into his throat quickly. He easily brought his sword up and parried, smirking. He countered with a fist to her gut. She winced in pain and back paddled, but he refused to give her breathing room. He lashed out with his sword, keeping up the aggression and setting the pace for their duel.
The assassin managed to draw a second dagger while fending off the relentless barrage of steel. Planning to utilize her off-hand eventually, she countered with her attack from the side. He easily dodged the sword, but instead of fighting the blade. She flowed with the motion, turning it into a circular cut, and aiming her knife into his face. The move she used managed to nick the side of his cheek, but he blocked the edge before it could do any real damage. What he didn't have enough time to account for, though, was the dagger. She guided the weapon low, striking his lower left abdomen before backing off. He gritted his teeth and raised his hand to tend the wound.
The old pirate sighed while straightening himself up and rolling his shoulders. "Quite the clever trick there, lass," Languin said while watching her swing her sword, freeing it from his blood. She didn't choose to acknowledge his praise but instead watched him cautiously. They both knew how this fight would proceed, and she'd attempt to wear him down from here. He was unsure whether he could hold out long enough to land a killing blow.
"C…captain..please..help." The Dumner Anyarah had run through was barely conscious and only hanging on due to pure will. He reached his hand out, but Languin did not indicate that he'd take it.
"Seeing as I could be at the end of my rope right now I have an confession, can you keep a secret?" He asked while using his sword to brush off the blood on his shoulder that dripped from his cheek. Anyarah ignored the question but took that as his sign to continue anyway. "Truth be told, I've always hated pirates," he looked down below at his wasted crew. They overindulged to the point where they were too intoxicated even to fight. He found it to be truly disgusting. "Those useless bastards are worse than parasites!" Languin slammed the tip of his blade into the barely conscious Dumner's skull and then tore it out. The assassin gazed at him in shock, and she admittedly had not been expecting that outburst. "Now then," he said while looking back towards her, with madness in his eyes that wasn't there prior. "Shall we continue?"
Anyarah readied her blade and dropped into a low stance. He followed suit and waited for her to close the distance. He twisted the knife, facing the edge toward her, and swung the weapon in an underhand strike. The amount of strength he put into that blow was instrumental, and there was a marginal difference compared to the previous ones. This forced the assassin to use both her weapons to block, but she couldn't nearly compete with that strength. She was disarmed of her dagger and staggered. Anyarah received a vicious kick to the ribs before regaining her balance and hitting the floor. She'd be dead if she did not roll out of the way for his next attack.
Though she had no time to get back up because he followed up his assault and unleashed a wave of repeated overhand strikes and thrusts, the assassin fended off the offensive branding as best she could, but it was almost impossible in her position. He managed to plunge his sword into her side and had the next strike hit her, it would've likely been fatal. Still, though, she managed to scoot backward and protect herself. He was doing her best to keep her blade between his sword and her flesh. As she backed away, her free hand slipped into her robe and grabbed a throwing knife. Glancing back up at Languin, he had gripped his weapon with both hands and pulled back the sword. If he swung the blade this time, it would be far more potent than before.
Reacting quickly, Anyarah threw the small blade at his face, which caused him to throw the sword downwards instinctively. He managed to deflect the attack, but because of the surprise of it, as well as the instantaneous jolt of pain, he experienced from his wound. Had, consequently, caused a slight hiccup in his footwork. She took full advantage of his mistake and kicked his weakened knee, causing him to stumble lower. Languin's sword ultimately missed her, which left him completely open, and unable to defend her next attack. The assassin swiftly arced the path of her blade vertically towards his throat and severed his head from his shoulders.
She then kicked the headless corpse away before it fell on her. Anyarah slowly picked herself up, painted in the blood of her bounty. She grabbed the severed head by the beard and shoved it into the suitcase she'd given Languin. Then she limped away from him while trying her hardest not to fall during her escape. The cut was deep; she would bleed out or run the possibility of infection if not taken care of soon. She sighed in frustration and wiped the sweat away from her forehead. Two more of Languin's crew managed to make it up the stairs. They seemed relatively sober enough to fight—one of which was that tall Khajit from before. Anyarah growled in annoyance as they drew their weapons and began their approach.
'I'm getting too old for this shit.'
Through the fog, she saw a few lodges with a frigate docked nearby flying the Empire's flag. The crew seemed to be loading cargo onto their ship. "Must be a trading outpost." Anyarah conclusively thought aloud and later confirmed her theory upon seeing the Empire's red flag. She noticed they were merchants from that desert hellscape, Hammerfell. As she drew nearer to them, she caught the eye of one of the crew.
"Woe there, traveler," He said as he rushed towards her side.
"I'm injured." Anyarah weakly spoke and flashed her wound as proof. It made the Redguard cringe at the sight of it, but he allowed her to use him as support anyways.
"Yes, I can see," he said, aiding the assassin onto the ship and getting curious looks from the crew. Another Redguard bearing the traditional Yokudan attire approached them.
"Who do you bring here, Achabras?"
"She's hurt, we need to get her to my sister." The second man said nothing but instead chose to analyze Anyarah before responding.
"If she can survive, fine, bring her down to her. When you're done escorting our friend here, come back up, I need you topside." Achbras nodded and brought Anyarah down the deck. The Captain turned towards his crew of various races. "Prepare yourselves, we make way for Skyrim!"
Wayrest Sanctuary Year 4E 167
If there was one thing Cilyn hated, it was paperwork. During his time leading the Wayrest Sanctuary, he quickly came to find that such a seemingly harmless concept could soon prove to be the bane of his existence. There aren't any actual physical contracts, but that doesn't mean they don't document each deal in their ledger. Even more was added to his to-do list with talk amongst the other sanctuary leaders in other various provinces and the possibility of reopening shadow scale training, which was a headache in its own right, and it was difficult stressing to some of the more thick-headed of the bunch that the Brotherhood did not have these resources.
He began to massage his temples as he felt the tellings of a headache. He heard a knock at his door and neglected a response, hoping the unwanted visitor would give up and go away. To his annoyance, it wasn't the case. The door opened despite his silence, and a man dressed in a black cloak stepped in. A bitter scowl formed on Cylin's mouth as if finding the man's presence repulsive.
"Cylin, we have much to discuss." The hooded man said as he sat in the chair parallel to the leader of the sanctuary.
"Old man." Cylin stated with a hint of disdain. "It's been a while, how is your daughter?"
"Do you feel some sense of entitlement? I am a Speaker, and you will address me as such, boy. It'd greatly behoove you to watch that tongue of yours, Cylin, before I forcibly remove it." The Listener spoke sternly; his voice was both cold and resentful, showing he had no love nor patients for the man in front of him. "Shut the fuck up and listen.
'Straight to business then.'
"I've recently received word from the lady Valna that apparently the mission in Glenumbra didn't go as planned. Elonis was killed prematurely, irrationally killed by one of your's disregarding the original plan in a way that left our sponsor incredibly upset. Would you like to know the certain individual responsible? I've told you long ago to keep that girl on a leash."
Cylin's expression went sullen as he glared at the man in front of him. The old man always knew pulling that particular card would always get underneath his skin."That assassin has the most potential the Dark Brotherhood has seen in a possible decade."
"Your protege's skills are admittedly quite impressive, I'll concede you that, but you've seemed to have neglected a crucial lesson."
"And what would that be, Speaker?"
"Discipline. In the face of a lack of discipline, all that skill isn't worth much. It's a real shame your a shit mentor otherwise she'd have your position as head of this sanctuary. Or better yet, maybe I would've had her as my silencer."
"What can I say, I learned from my mentor, and he had not been such a coward, maybe he could've taught me better as well." Although he couldn't see, he could feel the Speaker glaring at him with the utmost contempt, and it was enough to make him smirk nearly. He could practically see the hooded man ground his teeth in rage at the audacity demonstrated by Cylin.
"Do you realize that the fate of the brotherhood in Wayrest lies in the death of one man?" The hooded man, in his rage, raised a single finger in emphasis. "This is all set up for our ultimate goal. How, pray tell, could the Brotherhood put fear into the hearts of men if there is no brotherhood!" He slammed his fist into the desk rattling it."
"Trust me, Speaker, I am well aware of our current standing."
"Is that so, but what about them? Do they know? That this needs to be handled with utmost precision? The kind of impact that will this have on us? That this isn't a fucking game!" Cylin drew a sigh. He didn't intend to be the vent of any man's anger, even if the old bastard was a Speaker now.
"I can assure you I have this under control. There will be no more slip ups."
"You'd better hope so, Cylin. It wouldn't be good for your health if there was."
Anyarah wasn't necessarily in the most sociable of moods, especially after what happened with Elonis. But for Cylin, she would make an exception, but it wasn't like she had a choice. He was their leader, after all. 'Or does the listener claim that title?' Even with half a decade in the Brotherhood, she never immensely cared to learn about all the ranks and titles.
No use scurrying around in a meaningless rat race. They all did the same thing after it was said and done and therefore be labeled the same thing. Killers. To her, that's all that mattered, but she digressed.
The imperial turned the knob until she heard the usual 'click' that followed. Then Anyarah opened the door to see Cylin. He was pacing back and forth with his mind seeded in deep thought, and it seemed the man hadn't noticed her enter the room.
"Cylin?" She asked curiously while wondering what could possibly get him so worked up.
"Sit." He demanded while taking a seat himself. She hesitantly obeyed.
"Is there a problem, Cylin…"
"Where do your loyalties lie." He quickly interrupted Anyarah's sentence and very much left her off guard with such a random question.
"The brotherhood of course."
The man chuckled a little. "Oh, and what of me? What of our Listener, and even our dear Night Mother, for that fact?" He took her silence as an invitation to continue.
"The Brotherhood took you in as one of their own, I trained you like I would a daughter, and the Night Mother, well is the Night Mother. Mistress to all who claim to be in the Dark Brotherhood."
"Is there a reason for you to have summoned me?" Cylin gained the sudden urge to slap her for her insolence, but he settled for a toothy grin that sent shivers down her spine.
"Patients is a virtue, Anyarah," He switched his foreboding smile for his usual. "You should know that, or is that another lesson I've neglected to teach? Apparently, discipline is already one, but I'll answer this question for you." Cylin stopped pacing and looked the assassin in the eyes. "Your loyalty lies to the Night Mother, listener, then your family here. Never forget that, and above all else,
"Sithis."
"Yes, my words alone cannot do the entity known as Sithis justice. He can best be described as everything and yet nothing. He is the dark abyss and the cold terror that follows you in the night. That is Sithis, this I'm sure, you must know." Anyarah pondered deeply on her master's vague words. "Pretty soon, I will no longer be able to spoon feed you the answers anymore, understand?"
'Sithis'
The very name itself seemed taboo even for her, an assassin. The very thought of the name chilled her to the bone. "Though that's enough of that," He said, stopping her thoughts. "That isn't the only reason your here, believe it or not. I wanted to tell you I have a special contract for you, and you'll be the one to kill him alone, understand." Once again, he took her off guard, but she gulped before hesitantly answering.
"Crystal." Cylin smiled again.
"As the will of Sithis."
She couldn't help but let her thoughts wander as she gazed into the fireplace. As the leader of the last members of their Brotherhood, she was tasked with maintaining their order's integrity, but that very same integrity led to their fall in the first place. She was very indecisive about how to lead her family at times. Despite that, it was always her quick thinking and sound judgment that got her family out of the worse of the situations. Not the Night Mother. It was becoming evident that the long-dead hag had turned its back on them. Not providing them guidance with a much-needed listener was the main reason she'd come to that conclusion.
'And who better to be named listener than I?'
The question is rhetorical because the answer will always be no one, especially now. No one could lead better than her directly, and she was why their order was still hanging onto its existence. She crumpled up the letter she had received from a madman named Cicero and threw it into the fire. As far as Astrid was concerned, she was the Night Mother. Then she picked up the next envelope on her lap and tore it open, revealing a second letter. As she read the letter, her face broke out into a smile. "Anyarah The Betrayer..." So they would receive an infamous celebrity amongst their ranks along with the Night Mother. It seems that things might be getting interesting from here on out. Perhaps she should lay out the red carpet for their new guest.