Mephala's Maiden: Black Rose Clan Options

[Black Hand]

Hey guys, this isnt a divergence from the main story I have, but rather, I have been trying out a new type of character on my X-Box, a custom class 'Geisha' after seeing the movie 'Memoirs of a Geisha' Recently, and I gotta tell ya, its a lot of fun. Something different to be sure. It inspired this. Enjoy. (I hope.)


“Who was that lady, Sera?” asked Sayuri, looking at Edryno Arethi, her current matron in House Hlaalu.

“No one, get back too your duties, Retainer.” Edrnyo replied, twirling the Black Rose in her hand, a deathly pale in her face, she had been delivered the death message and was in no mood to speak.

Sayuri, the young Bosmer girl had been adopted by House Hlaalu after her parents had been murdered by a Telvanni Mage whilst in Sadrith Mora, and one of the Merchants traveling in his own ship to trade, took pity on the little crying girl, dropping her off in Balmora, and told Nileno Dorvayn of her plight.

She remembered the tsking of Nileno, and the warmth of her palm as she rubbed her cheek affectionately. She was given clothes and a bed, and place to sleep, and she was put to work, alternately being trained in House Hlaalu’s favored skills, for three years she served mostly as a serving girls, performing menial tasks, and occasionally as a thief, or a decoy. She loved it, as it seemed to coincide naturally with her gods-given talents.

Bratheru Oran, Edryno’s lover took the rose from her hand, and threw it on the ground, smashing it underneath his leather boots. His expression showed that of rage and helplessness. Sayuri would not bring it up again for three weeks, but one day, when Edryno gave her a key to her house, and told her that she would be gone for several weeks, she finally explained, as she had never held anything back from her adopted daughter for long.

“Do you remember that Rose, Sayuri? The black one?” she asked, as Sayuri nodded her head, remembering the vivacious Altmer that had delivered it, dressed in exquisite clothing and wearing Telvanni Bug Musk.

“You’ve been chosen, and are being taken from me, under the pain of death, I cannot refuse. The Black Rose Clan is taking you, and you will serve them. I…I am leaving to speak to them, and perhaps negotiate an alternative. But seldom will they refute a selection.”

“Black Rose Clan? Matron, I don’t understand!” Sayuri said nearly on the brink of tears.

“You know of the Morag Tong? They worship the Great Daedra Mephala, the Dark Matron of Murder, Sex, and Secrets. They are a small faction within the Tong, dedicated to the second part of that. Whereas most assassins are dark, aloof, and grim in nature, a Black Rose, or a Dark Petal, also Thorns or Mephala’s Maidens, rely more on Personality and Agility. As every rose have five petals, so does the Clan. When one ‘wilts’ away as they call it, either killed, or grows to old too become pleasing to men, another must be chosen to take their place. You, because you are born under the Sign of ‘The Lover’ which gives you more agility, and the power to freeze people, will become the newest petal in the Black Rose.”

Sayuri’s eyes tried to no avail to hold back the tears of confusion and frustration. For the second time in her life, she was to lose her family. Edyrno ran her hand through the childs raven dark hair, and embraced her, attempting to comfort the shaking Bosmer.

“I know, I promise everything will be all right…”

[Black Hand]

The Ritual of the Mother began, and dark robes were adorned. Like beings of light cloaking themselves with garbs of shadows, Sayuri saw herself and the others disappear into the low lighting of the shrine. She and Errisa held torches aloft, whilst Dralsie of Anssi began playing a slow beat on a drum and a small bell. Errisa and the other three began a slow chant the reverberated off the walls even in the low tones they used.

Genevieve took to the altar, kneeling before the effigy of Mephala. Her arms seemed to follow the motions of the statue, arms being outstretched, and then closed. She could not see her face, but Sayuri wondered if she were sticking her tongue out as well.

Uncertain of the time this would take, Sayuri used her musical training to learn the chant, able to keep up masterfully with the cadence and rhythm. Eventually, she was taken to a place between worlds. She still felt the weight of this world, but the mist, the lighting and the constant repetitive chanting seemed to take her to a place outside her body. She felt the cavernous enormity of the forgotten shrine. Than the ash-grey of the rock above it.

“The night sky is Oblivion, Sayuri. When you look out into the stars, you are seeing Aetherius poking through like a ragged blanket trying to hide the sun.”said Bratheru Oran, one night when she was still very small, on a ledge in Vivec.

“So it’s like we are between the gods and the daedra?”

“Something like that. But Gods, Daedra, Tribunal, Saints. Whatever. The only thing that is real, Sayuri. Is right here, right now. This place, this moment in time. The past is gone, the future merely a concept. Mages work with concepts, but they take raw energy, channel it through an idea, and make it real.”

“So when I made the fishing rod, I was a mage?”

Bratheru smiled. “Yes, little one. You were a mage. You can do anything you set your mind too. Don’t ever forget that.”

Her mind returned to the present. The chanting was still going on, and in a corner of the ceiling, Sayuri saw for the first time the silver sliver reflection of webs, they seemed to be moving. The shrines guardian had her own home it seemed, and it looked to be massive. The shifting of the daedras massive weight had caused the gossamer threads to dance in the low lighting of the shrine.

When Sayuri looked down, she saw what was causing the daedras excitement. Her creator was here.The mortal form of her at least.

Where Genevieve once knelt, a monstrosity now stood. Grey eyes with no pupils stared directly at her. A long black tongue hung from the sinister open grin, fingers that had once been tan and lithe were elongated with talons, and were the color of ebony. Sayuri screamed with the terror that can come only from ones soul. But this time she did so silently.

One by one, the cultists approached the Mother. Making offerings of respect as they bowed to one knee, and placed their foreheads on her hand. Sayuri did as they did, feeling none of the reverence the others seemed to show. The creature seemed to sense this as it chuckled, and ran a finger through her hair. The thick robe seemed to hide the shudder that ran through her.