Welcome home
3E 423, Cyrodiil
The floor was drenched in blood where the body had collapsed. It had splattered on her boots, sullied her fingers.
Lledana took a deep breath.
That had gone … out of hand very quickly. Ten minutes before, they had laughed together, had celebrated a successful mission. Now he was dead in a puddle of his own blood.
Lledana cast a glance over to the door. Still nothing. No steps, no voices drawing closer. She still had time. Good. If someone discovered her, covered in Valius’ blood … How was she supposed to explain what had happened?
No, she had to get rid of the corpse, and now. And, while she was at it, of her bloody clothes as well. She could leave no trace of what she had done. They would never forgive her.
Another deep breath, and grabbed the dead man’s hand, pulled him over the only window and threw it upon. No one would look behind the house, at least not too soon. It would give her enough time to get rid of the corpse for good. The blood on the floor was another matter. Lledana doubted that she could scrub it away in time.
But maybe she didn’t have to.
She stepped out of her boots and threw them out of the window, together with her bloodstained shirt. They landed atop of the dead man below, ready to be tended to once she was finished what had to be done.
A moment later, she had grapped the dark carpet on the other end of the room and rolled it across the blood stain, covering it neatly. It would take the others a while before they realised anything was different.
Enough time for her to get rid of the corpse and her bloody clothes for good and disappear. She could cover her involvement for a while but it was too dangerous to stay. Sooner or later, they would become suspicious.
Lledana climbed onto the windowsill and jumped down, her descent slowed by a hastily cast spell.
As soon as she had reached the ground, she sparked a flame from her fingertips. Both the corpse and the clothes burnt to ashes, with only blackened bones as a reminder of what had happened.
Now all that was left was to bury them …
Lledana awoke with a start. Underneath her pillow, her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger.
She was not alone. She could feel it; the chill creeping down her spine, as if she was being watched.
The room was dark, and seemed empty, but she knew better than to trust her senses. Her instinct had often enough warned her of danger.
Slowly, she rose from her bed, pushed the blanket aside. Her grip around the hilt tightened …
“Sharp instincts are undoubtedly an asset for a murderer.”
Lledana whirled around. Her eyes pierced through the darkness and yet couldn’t find the voice’s source. But she didn’t need to see him. When she spoke again, she would find him and end his life, before he could spread word of what she had done …
But darkness parted suddenly before her, gave way to the robed figure of a man. His face mostly remained shrouded in the shadow of his hood, but she spotted dark eyes and a slightly hooked nose.
“I would tell you not to be alarmed, murderer, were you not what you are.” His lips seemed to quirk into a dark smile. “I am Lucien Lachance, and I am here to offer you a place in our … rather unique family.”
Lledana didn’t answer.
“You prefer silence? Then listen … I am a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, and I’m here because your unique talents have not gone unnoticed. I can offer you a life and a place where they will be nortured and flourish.”
Lledana blinked. This man, this Speaker, had sought her out solely to offer her a place in the Dark Brotherhood? Of course she had heard of them. In Morrowind, they were almost non-present, for the Morag Tong had claimed their place there, but throughout the rest of Tamriel, wherever someone wished for the dead of someone else, they called for the Brotherhood.
Quietly, of course. Her people were the only ones who truly had a legal assassin’s guild at their disposal.
“Where’s the catch?”
“So you have found your voice. Ah, but there’s no catch. You have already proven that you have the heard and the nerve of a killer. What remains to be seen is if you can follow orders as well.”
Lledana gave a curt nod, but did not lower her dagger.
“Then listen, and listen will. On the road to Bravil there is the Inn of Ill Omen. There will you find a man by the name of 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.” His hand vanished in the folds of his black robes, only to appear again, holding a deadly looking dagger. “Take the blade of woe. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well, as does your silence. Now, I bid you farewell. I do hope we’ll meet again soon.”
And with those words, he vanished, his cloaked figure once again melting with the darkness as though he had never been here in the first place.
But the weight of the new blade in her hand told Lledana otherwise.
***
She had had a lot of time to think on her way to the Inn of Ill Omen. At night, she had sat at the campfire, staring at the blade of woe as she twisted it between her fingers and watched the light of the campfire reflected in its grind.
True, she had taken a life. She had taken it without a hint of remorse, had slit Valius’ throat before he could scream, as though she had been born to. It had felt strangely good when he bled to death at her feet, his insult to her family avenged.
But could she do it again? She was already a murderer, but could she be an assassin. Could she take a life in exchange for gold? Could she kill some random person just because she had been ordered to do it?
But still, instead of turning around and riding straight back to Imperial City, she followed the Green Road further.
There was only one way to determine whether or not she was an assassin, or just a common killer. If she looked into this man Rufio’s face and could not end his life, then she would know that her place was not with the Brotherhood. Only then.
The way the sign above the old wooden down creaked in the wind, the tavern really seemed to deserve its name. There was not another human or mer being or settlement in miles, and when she pushed the door open, the only person she saw was a tall Nord behind the counter, whose face visibly lit up when his eyes fell upon her.
“Welcome to the Inn of Ill Omen! You want a room? We got plenty of rooms if you want one. Ain't nobody here 'cept old Rufio.”
“I glady take one.” Lledana delved her hand into her pockets, procuring a handful of septims. “Rufio?” She feigned ignorance.
If she was to kill him, she better received as much information as she could about him.
“He's an old codger. Been living here for a couple of weeks now. If you ask me, he's hiding from something. But what do I care? He pays his tab. His room is downstairs, in what I like to call the Private Quarters. Use that hatch in the floor over there. But don't expect a warm reception.”
Lledana nodded, and fished the room key from the counter. It might be the best if she waited for nightfall before she headed downstairs. She still didn’t know if she could be an assassin, but either way, leaving witnesses was never a good idea. She rather avoided being arrested - or outright executed.
She waited upstairs in her room until she heard the soaring snores of what could only be the innkeeper before she snuck downstairs and over to the hatch that would bring her to the private quarters. A last glance above her shoulder assured her that the innkeeper was still fast asleep - as though his snoring hadn’t already done it - before she pried open the hatch and descended down the stairs.
Rufio’s room was easy to be found, and the door not even locked.
The old man sleeping on his bed did not even wake as she drew the blade of woe and treaded closer to his bed. He moaned in his sleep as she lowered herself to sit on the edge of his lair, unconsciously reacting to her presence but remained fast asleep.
It was so easy. A single cut across his throat, and he slept forever. It flew from her fingers as though she had done nothing else in all her life. The moment the blade was drawn, there was no turning back.
He had not suspected a thing. Had not put up a fight. Had not struggled at all. One moment, he had slept for the next morning to come. Now he would never see the light of the next day.
Lledana wiped the blade clean on the sheets and rose, sheathing the dagger once more. She’d be long gone before the Innkeeper realised Rufio was no more.
The guards at the gates had barely spared a second glance. Word of Rufio’s death must not have reached them already, or they simply didn’t care about the murder of an old man deep in the woods. Whatever it was, it relieved her.
She had left the Inn of Ill Omen soon after Rufio’s throat was cut, and while the innkeeper had still been asleep. In no hurry she had ridden for Bruma. The past nights, she had awaited Lucien’s return, but the wilderness obviously wasn’t a place he deemed secure, for she had slept through all of them.
She did not believe he had simply forgotten about her. Her first murder had not gone unnoticed by the Brotherhood, however that was possible, and Rufio’s death certainly been noticed as well.
Lledana closed the door behind her and dropped her backpack next to her bed before she returned to the guest room to eat and drink a bit. It was too early still to head for bed, but she had never been more eager to lay down to sleep. The time seemed to stretch by until she finally could head back to her chamber without avoiding suspicion.
She had believed she would not be able to fall asleep fast, but as soon as her head hit the pillow, darkness engulfed her. The next moment, the bed creaked next to her and she bolted upright, fingers wrapped around the dagger.
Right next to her, on the bed’s edge, sat a dark robed figure. Lucien Lachance.
“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 heed these words. The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio’s blood, the ink.”
“What is now expected of me?”
“As Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join this group, and fulfill any contracts given. You must go to the City of Kvatch, and open a hidden hatch in the ground that you will find behind the Inn The Eight Blessings. There you will find a black door. Attempt to open it, answering thusly: Fear, my brother. You will then gain entrance.”
Lledana inclined her head, signaling that she had understood.
“Once inside, speak to Ravish-dar. He will see to it that you receive your first official contract.” Lucien Lachance rose from her bed. “We must now take our leave of each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I’ll be following … your progress. Welcome to the family.”
And with those words, he vanished once more.
For all the time Lledana had spend in Cyrodiil, she had not once set a food inside of the city of Kvatch. Lucky for her, the locals proved helpful enough, and pointed her to the Inn without further ado.
She made sure no one was looking before she slipped behind the tavern, where several other buildings rose to shield her from the looks of nosy passersby. And true enough, as she knelt down, she discovered that a patch of grass looked slightly different from the rest. With nimble fingers she searched for a way to open it, and found a hidden ring hidden among the grass.
A moment later, she had slipped down into complete darkness, feeling her way forward until she was greeted by a bloody red glow ahead. It was emanated by a black door, adorned with a scene picturing a human sacrifice in mesmerising detail.
For a moment, she stood there, unsure of what to do, her hand slowly extending to the door. As soon her fingertips touched its surface, the red engravings that run along it began pulsating, and a whispering low voice seemed to rumble and run through her.
“What is the flavour of doom?”
“Fear, my brother.”
The door cracked ajar in the middle, both its wing moving aside to vanish within the wall around.
“Welcome home, sister.”