Chapter Text
He had never considered himself to be much of a killer, or perhaps the right word was murderer. He had, of course, killed people, but were they ever considered to be murders? It was always out of self-defense. Anyone walking along the roads of Cyrodiil has the possibility of being attacked by bandits or thugs of any kind. Killing them was merely a matter of self-defense. If they stopped to discuss things then maybe there would be less blood covered dirt. Azarien doubted that would ever happen. Maybe he really was a murderer. Aside from the odd jobs he picked up that somehow included killing some bad people, he had also killed perfectly innocent ones. Three, in fact.
The Dunmer didn’t have what many would call a good moral compass. His background hadn’t provided him with much of one, but he did go out of his way to do his best to be a decent person. He helped people, but for a price. He had no real job other than whatever odd jobs he could get his hands on. It got to the point where he figured that joining up with the Mages Guild, the Fighters Guild, or tracking down the Thieves Guild would provide him with some stable form of existence. Azarien hadn’t had a real family growing up and it seemed to be the one thing he was missing. Sure, money could lead to a form of happiness, but it was never a constant kind of happiness. It had started to feel like he was chasing after something he couldn’t find and would end up settling for whatever he could get. A visit to Skingrad changed that.
A nice, quiet, and altogether too safe little town, Skingrad was perhaps the last place one would expect crime to be committed. Or maybe the first place. It all depends on how you chose to hide or not hide the crime. It was not the place Azarien expected for a stranger to flag him down. First, it was whispered sounds to get his attention followed by being, well, followed. It made his skin crawl when it became evident that he wouldn’t escape the strange Bosmer. Finally, the man caught up to him around sundown on a deserted street.
“We can't talk here. Too public. Meet me behind the Great Chapel at midnight. Don't let anyone follow you. I'll make it worth your while.”
It sounded far more likely someone would ambush him there rather than ask him for help. Regardless, Azarien went. The elf wanted him to look into three different people on three separate days. He claimed they were following him and watching him; he was in danger. Azarien learned otherwise as he stalked the first target. He got bored after half the day had gone by and decided to look through the person’s house. Nothing was found that would say that the person was after the man who had hired him. But money talked, and this man was offering Azarien a lot of money to kill each person. The Bosmer, Glarthir, was very paranoid and very gullible. He wanted to hear that the people he thought were watching him really were as bad as he thought they were. Azarien obliged. For each person he said was spying on Glarthir, he was given 200 gold. When all three were killed, he was paid 1000 gold.
That night, he slept at the West Weald Inn. He awoke an hour later when an uneasy feeling set in. He didn’t open his eyes to an empty room. Rather, they opened to a man looming over him in black robes. Azarien shot up with his hand ready to pull the dagger from under his pillow until the man spoke.
“You sleep rather soundly for a murderer.”
“And you’re rather talkative for a thief.” The man laughed in response to Azarien’s quick response. He had to rub his eyes just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“I am no thief.” The man smiled at Azarien in a way that made his skin crawl. “I am the Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. My name is Lucien Lachance, and my voice is the will of the Night Mother. She’s been watching you. Observing as you kill, admiring as you end life without pity or remorse. The Night Mother is most pleased… That is why I stand here before you. I bear an offering. An opportunity… to join our rather unique family…”
Azarien wasn’t sure what to say. He remained silent as his mind continued to try to process what was happening. He had been watched by some entity known as the Night Mother, who told this stranger that she liked the way Azarien killed people and sent her Speaker to extend an offer to join the Dark Brotherhood. It was bizarre.
“I can see that this comes as quite a shock to you. Allow me to do the talking then. On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family.”
Once again, Azarien found his words failing him. He wasn’t sure what to make of the offer. Should he have felt honored? Of course, he knew of the Dark Brotherhood and what they did, but never could he have imagined being offered to join them. But there were questions he needed to ask and he wasn’t sure if he had the answers to any of them. Should he join the Dark Brotherhood? Could he refuse the offer and keep his life? Did he want to kill people for the rest of his life? What if he found that this was something he couldn’t do for the rest of his life after joining? What if he got bored? Bored of the people, bored of killing people, bored of Cyrodiil, or bored of the Dark Brotherhood? Was he really a killer?
“I’m not a murderer.” Azarien didn’t believe the words that left his mouth and it didn’t appear that Lucien did either. He couldn’t convince himself that he wasn’t a killer as he started to count all the people he had killed. There were those that left him no choice and ones he could have avoided altogether if he just ran. But each one met the same fate.
“No? The Night Mother seems to think otherwise. Allow me to grant you a gift, in case you reconsider. It is a virgin blade, and it thirsts for blood.” Lucien spoke with amusement in his otherwise deep voice as he pulled a dagger from his cloak and handed it to Azarien, who took the blade tentatively. “Now, I bid you farewell. I do hope we’ll meet again soon.”
“Wait.” Azarien turned his gaze from the blade he had admired while the strange man spoke to the cloaked figure that stopped moving at his blurted request. “I, um, I have… questions.”
“All right.” The Speaker still sounded amused as he turned once again to face the Dunmer. His arms still remained at his sides, but the air he gave off made it seem like they were crossed over his chest as he waited, almost like he was humoring the Dunmer’s request.
Azarien asked about the Dark Brotherhood. Lucien didn’t offer much besides what most people rumored them to be. He gave little information on the Night Mother and his role as the Speaker, but Azarien reminded himself that he needed to be kept at arm's length because he wasn’t a member and such information was important to an organization of assassins. The last thing he asked about was of the target, Rufio. Lucien was able to give him information he could work with if he decided to really kill this person.
Lucien left silently after their conversation was finished. The Dunmer locked the door behind the assassin and returned to sit on the bed. He looked over the dagger in his hands. Lucien had mentioned it was called the Blade of Woe. It wasn’t hard to understand why. The dagger was gorgeous and freshly sharpened. That night, Azarien didn’t get much sleep.
The sun wasn’t up when he left Skingrad. He made his way south towards Bravil. He walked the entire way to the inn. By the time he got there, the sun that should have shown brightly in the morning sky was blocked out by rain clouds that let loose heavy water droplets. When he entered the inn, his leather armor was soaked and his long hair stuck to his neck and face. He looked around and took note of the hatch by the entrance before he walked towards the counter. He paid for a room and asked the owner about the name of the inn before he retired. He cleaned up then went back downstairs to eat. It took time to look over the owner and the woman at the inn. Once they seemed engrossed in their conversation, he quietly moved to the hatch. He climbed down the ladder into a hallway with two doors. He snuck to the first door and picked the lock. The room was dark and covered in cobwebs.
The second door opened with ease and was lit by a single candle. In the bed was an old man, fast asleep. He looked around to check that this was indeed the man named Rufio before he moved to the side of the bed. Azarien pulled the dagger from his side and moved it in his hand until he had a comfortable grip. Without hesitation, he reached out his freehand to move Rufio’s shoulder back while he plunged the dagger into his heart. As he drove the dagger through the man’s chest, Azarien felt the resistance of the bone with what could only be described as feeling like a dull thud. The man grunted at the impact and his eyes opened wide to stare up at the Dunmer. He wondered if Rufio had been able to see him before he died.
He pulled the dagger from the corpse and used a clean shirt in the dresser nearby to clean the blade. He quickly made his way out of the hatch and out the door before anyone would notice him. He nearly sprinted towards Bravil. Once he was inside the town, he spent the day looking through the shops and avoiding the rain. When night came, he went to Silverhome on the Water and got a room. Azarien didn’t lock the door to the room after he blew out the candle. He sat on the bed and waited. Only a few hours passed before the door handle jiggled and opened. As the door closed, Azarien lit the candle on the bedside table with a small flame from his finger. The robed figure stopped and looked towards the source of light.
“You were waiting.” A hint of a smile could be caught under the hood Lucien wore as he spoke.
“I don’t enjoy being woken up in the middle of the night by strangers wearing all black,” Azarien retorted and earned a chuckle from Lucien.
“So, the deed is done. How do I know this? You will find that the Dark Brotherhood knows a great many things. For you are now part of the family. Now you embrace your fate. For the slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio’s blood, the ink.” Azarien raised his eyebrows at Lucien’s words.
“Is everyone so morbid in the Dark Brotherhood or is it all just for fun?” He expected to be reprimanded in some way, but instead, the Speaker only chuckled again.
“It’s a role we all take on in our own ways. For some, it represents who they are and for others, it is an act they put on for enjoyment, especially while they kill their target.”
“And where do you fall?” Azarien shifted to the edge of the bed, his head slightly tilted as he waited for a response. There were only a few seconds of silence as the Speaker looked at the lit candle.
“I won’t say, but know that at some point it becomes hard to find the line between them.” Lucien looked back at Azarien as he spoke, a smirk on his lips somewhere between murderous and scheming. “As the Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join that group and fulfill any contract given. You must now go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement, and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly: “Sanguine, my Brother.” You will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. Once inside, speak with Ocheeva.”
Azarien almost reached for his pack on the floor to retrieve his journal to write down the information, but he stopped himself as he went to lean forward. This was information he needed to commit to memory. He may not have known anyone aside from Lucien Lachance as a member of this organization, but he couldn’t put anyone at risk by writing down important information in a journal that could easily be stolen or lost. When he looked back to Lucien, the man gave an approving nod.
“We must now take our leave from each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I’ll be following… your progress. Welcome to the family.” Again Lucien went to turn to the door, and again he was stopped.
“So soon? I was just getting used to you encroaching on my sleep.” Azarien smiled as the man looked back at him. There was a small hint of amusement in the man’s dark eyes. “I do have questions if you will indulge me.” Lucien turned to face the Dunmer once again. He asked of the covenant, Sithis, and the Black Hand. Azarien’s favorite explanation of the night came when he asked of the Five Tenets. After Lucien listed the first two, it was easy to catch on to how each one ended. For the third, fourth, and fifth tenents, Azarien spoke the last line of each tenent with Lucien.
“To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.”
He swore he nearly invoked the Wrath of Lucien Lachance as he mocked the repetition of the tenents. The Imperial let it go. As long as Azarien was able to commit the Five Tenents to memory, he could put up with the sass the Dunmer gave him.
“Are you finished?” The words were biting as they referenced both the rude mockery and the asking of questions. When Azarien nodded, Lucien smiled. “Good. You are now one with the Dark Brotherhood. Visit Ocheeva at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary and your new life will begin.” With his parting words, Lucien casted a chameleon spell with the twitch of a finger and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.
It took two days for Azarien to arrive at Cheydinhal. He repeated the information in his head that Lucien had told him until he swore he could recite it in his sleep. When he arrived in the city it was dark. The street was lit by the fires of street lamps and torches of the occasional patrolling guard. He didn’t shy away from the light as he walked the streets. He took the time to admire the city as he walked over the small bridges and passed the houses. When he spotted a rundown looking house, he made sure no one was around as he approached the front door. The house looked quite nice despite the boarded windows and door. The stone fence at the front of the house was worn down and the metal gate laid in the grass instead of set on its hinges.
When he stood in front of the door, Azarien noticed that the boards of wood weren’t over the door. The boards were nailed to the door instead of to the frame of the door to prevent people from entering. He had to pick the lock in order to enter the house. The inside of the house was a mess. Broken crates and barrels sat amidst layers of dust and cobwebs. Any furniture in the house was either toppled over, broken, or rotted from neglect. The basement door was not locked, much to Azarien’s relief. Unlike the main levels of the house, the basement was lit by candles mounted along the wall. He left the small entry area to enter the larger basement lit by two mounted candles. They barely cast enough light to see the barren room, but the hole in the brick was very visible. As he approached the hole in the wall, he noticed a dim red glow around the corner of the tunnel beyond the brick. As he turned the corner, the red glow became brighter as he moved further in until he came to a door.
He moved around the debris in front of the door and up the broken steps. The dark stain of the top step didn’t stop him, but the sounds beyond it did. The door pulsed like a dulled heartbeat in his ear while a strange sound faded in and out, one that he couldn’t explain. It sent a shiver down his spine as he looked over the door. It looked heavy and old, made out of metal with two depictions on it. The first was at the bottom of the door. A woman stood tall over four smaller figures that looked naked, all four with their arms raised in fear. The woman was clothed in a dark garment and her hair was black. She held something in each hand that Azarien couldn’t quite make out before he looked at the skull at the top of the door. It had defined teeth, a hole where the nose would have been, and eye sockets. Above the eyes, on the forehead was an impressed circle that seemed to be where the bright glow originated from. Inside the red circle was a white, slanted handprint.
Azarien reached out for the door handle and tried to open it, but the door would not budge. He looked towards the handle and found no lock to be picked. When he was about to try to push the door open again, a voice came from it that shook him to his very core and made him freeze.
“What is the color of night?” The door asked in a raspy whisper.
“Sanguine, my Brother,” he answered without realizing it. It was as if his body took over and his mind took a backseat, or maybe a part of his mind was awoken by the voice. There was no response as the door moved to open itself a crack. Azarien moved forward and pushed the door that hadn’t even made a sound to unlock itself. When he looked at the now open door, there was no locking mechanism to be found. He stepped into the small tunnel after the door, which slowly closed itself behind him.
“Welcome home.” The words filled him with a warmth he didn’t yet understand.