The Dark Brotherhood: A Listener's Tale, The tale of what it takes to become the merciless Listener of the Dark Options

[allshallfade]

This is a fanfiction that I started over a year ago as of last month, and it is something that I am still working on today. It's basically the storyline of the Dark Brotherhood, told from the point of view of a cold-hearted woman who enjoys nothing more then to kill. I know that the plot is not original, but I feel that the character's thoughts and emotions, along with her interaction with other character's, sets it apart from the blandness of the plot. Anyways, I know it's long, but please, just bare with me!

If you read and review, I can't thank you enough- it really means the world to me. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: The Old Woman and the Cottage

I killed the old woman. I don’t know what made me do it; I still can’t understand it to this day. I suppose that this is where my tale starts; where my life gets interesting. Oh boy, does it get interesting. And I don’t generally mean that in a good way. You’ll see. I had been hunting down up North, by the Nordic-fashioned city of Bruma, when I felt a presence nearby. I guess you could call it a sixth sense. I crouched down, bow in hand, and slowly crept over a small hill. When I reached the top, I saw a little cottage nestled in the mountains, with a patch of flat land serving as a single person farm. An old woman was there, working in the farm, raking down new rows for what looked like fresh potato plants.

How could I know then that this house would be the location of so much pain and misery in my future? Looking back, I wished that I had simply turned around and never glanced back. However, my instinctual curiosity, useful in so many aspects of my life, was my downfall here. I sat to watch the woman, mystified, as I hadn’t seen a human, elf, or beast race for nearly a week. I had become a rather solitary being, making my living off of the land, sleeping where I felt it was safe enough, whether it be cave or slab of rock.

Squinting against the setting sun, I saw the woman’s graying hair and wrinkling face, her movements obviously displaying the aching and grinding of her old bones. After a moment of her work, she straightened, shielding her eyes from the sun with a callused hand. She must have decided that it was enough for the day, as she collected her supplies and headed toward her thatched-roof cottage in the slow, shuffling, achy pace of the elderly.

I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but I suddenly had the overwhelming desire to kill the woman, to drive my dagger into her flesh. I felt a sudden…rage at her, such inexplicable anger that I needed to act upon. I’m not sure if my fury was against her, or against the world. But at that moment, all the feeling I had in me was focused on her. I have had such urges before, to strike, to kill, but always in public, surrounded by many. My impulses had always been controlled by necessity. Now, however, I was in the middle of nowhere. I guess that’s the reason I couldn’t stop myself.

And before I knew what was happening, everything around me became silent. Time seemed to slow as my senses were heightened. Her breathing was a slow, rhythmic rasping in my ears, and an eternity seemed to take place in the dull thudding of two of her footsteps. I started to feel faint as I tried to control the desire to stop the noise of her footsteps, to eternally end the sound of her breath. I was fighting a loosing battle. After what seemed an eternity, but was in reality were seconds, I had put my bow on my back and was reaching for my dagger.

The sound of my dagger sliding out of its sheath was intoxicating; it made my lust for the kill even stronger. I started to creep toward her, my worn leather boots padded against the ground as I silently trod upon leaves and twigs. As I grew closer to the woman, my pace increased, until I was nearly sprinting at her on bent legs. My heartbeat was like a war drum, pounding out a fast steady beat, making my head felt like it was going to explode any second. It was overwhelming; I had to end it. When I was within yards of the old woman, I stood straight, getting into a full-out sprint at her.

She didn’t hear me until I plunged my dagger into her back. With a choking gasp, she spun about to face me, her eyes meeting mine. I saw them fill with a fleeting look of surprise, before quickly turning to one of intense pain and fear. However, her pain did not last long, as I leaned behind her and yanked my dagger out of her back, and slitting her throat in one smooth motion.

She crumbled to the floor on her very own doorstep, breathed her last gasping, gurgling breath, and became eternally still. I stood over the dead body for a moment, panting slightly. Once my heart rate had started to slow, and my senses seemed to return to normal, the reality of what I had just done crashed into me, physically staggering me.

My eyes widened, and I slumped against the side of the cottage. I still held my dagger, glistening in the fading light. It was smeared with a line of blood, dripping noiselessly to the ground, joining the pool of red liquid forming steadily at my feet. Staring at her motionless body, I felt a strong mix of emotions. First, I felt disgust in myself, but I also felt an almost disturbing sense of pride, and…fulfillment. My desire for blood had been filled; the desire I had held back for so long. I had killed livestock and beast for food, but this was different. This was…murder. However, as quickly as it had come, the disgust started to ebb away, and a small smile formed on my face as I stood up straight again.

At that moment, I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck; a feeling that someone was watching me, that someone had seen what I had done. I whipped around, dagger at the ready, but saw nothing. The sun was nearly lost behind the mountains to the West, but there was still enough light for me to see the landscape around me in detail. I shuffled in full circle, but could pick out no one in the surrounding forest. Even so, I still could not loose the feeling of being watched, so I kept my dagger and bow at easy access.

Casting one last suspicious look into the immediate area, I turned back toward the body. As I looked at her corpse again, I felt another overwhelming feeling of disgust, but this time not at what I had done- now at the fact that I didn’t feel any remorse for my actions; no pity for the defenseless old woman. I wanted to- I genuinely wanted to feel bad, to feel guilty. But I didn’t. I…couldn’t. Sighing, pushing the unsettling thoughts out of my mind, I squatted down and started to search her for valuables.

I found about 4 gold, which was quite a sum to me at that time, and a letter to some gift-giving service listing the locations of all of her kids. I pocketed the list, not really sure why. I also found the key to her cottage. I looked back up at the sky, finding that the sun had almost disappeared, so I decided to spend the night in her house. I dragged her body into the tall grass surrounding the home before slipping the key into the lock and opening the cottage door.

Upon entering, I found that the old woman (Perennia Draconis, according to the letter) had a dog when it started barking incessantly, but it seemed as ancient as she had been. I tossed it some old boar meat from my pack, and he eagerly started gnawing at it, completely forgetting my presence. I quickly scanned the interior, looking for valuables, but not finding much. According to the sign over the mantle, the place was called “Applewatch”.

My stomach growled, so I looked into my pack and pulled out some venison and various vegetables I had stored for my trip. I cooked them in the fire place, petting the content dog while stoking the fire. Looking back, I didn’t even feel uneasy spending such a pleasant time in the home of the woman I had just mercilessly slain. My thoughts at the time were only of the food I was cooking. After my meal, I felt a wave of fatigue sweep over me, so I stripped out of my leather greaves, boots and cuirass and pulled on a long coarse shirt to sleep in. I slipped my dagger under my pillow, placed my quiver and bow on the bedside table, and slid into the warm recesses of the covers. It was extremely comfortable, compared to my recent sleeping arrangements, which had consisted of rock slabs and leaf piles. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I was woken not four hours later when my blood seemed to turn to ice, the air still and silent. In one fluid movement I had sat bolt upright and pulled my dagger out from under my pillow, holding it menacingly out into the dark room. I sat there, panting for second, trying to peer through the complete darkness, when a deep, sinister voice spoke to my right.

“You sleep rather soundly for murderer. That’s good. You’ll need a clear conscience for what I’m about to propose.”

I leapt to the left, pulling the covers off the bed as I swung my dagger wildly into midair, attempting to defend myself. I pressed my back against the wall, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Across the bed I saw a man, clothed and hooded in the darkest black. His deep brown eyes were studying, assessing every move I made, always calculating. He seemed to be almost…amused at my reaction. His lips were curled up ever so slightly at the corners, and his intense eyes were gleaming with laughter.

“Who-who are you?” I demanded, mentally assessing my options. Listen to him talk, charge and attack, or run. Talking seemed to be the most favorable of my options; he looked quite skilled with a blade, and his athletic form could be seen even through his robes and the way he moved; he could probably outrun me. Besides, I wanted to see what he had to say. He was…intriguing.

“I am Lucien Lachance, a speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, you are a killer. A taker of life. A harvester of souls. Your work, your deathcraft, pleases the Night Mother. And so, I come to you with an offer. An opportunity to join our rather…unique family.”

I had no idea what to say. How did he know I had murdered the woman? And how had he known so quickly? Could he have been the presence I sensed after her death? But how had he known I was going to kill her? And what- My internal bombarding of questions was cut off as he continued, looking at me in a way that seemed to convey that he knew exactly what my thoughts were.

“So, I have your rapt attention. Splendid. Now listen closely. On the Green Road to the North of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio. He is an old man, his body frail, and he sleeps his days away. You could kill him before he woke, if you so chose. In whatever way you choose, 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.”

I thought about his last statement, and some of the possible implications one could interpret from it, and was suddenly extremely aware of the shortness of my shirt, and how much my legs were showing. I colored slightly, embarrassed at my own thoughts, which were most likely completely unfounded. He continued on, seemingly undeterred by my silence.

“Please accept this token from the Dark Brotherhood. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well, as does your silence,” he said with his slight smile, handing me a gold-decorated dagger.

‘The Blade of Woe’ was inscribed on its gold and black hilt. I stood digesting this

for a moment, before I looked him in the eye and said questioningly:

“The Dark Brotherhood?”

“Have you not heard of the Dark Brotherhood? Of the remorseless guild of paid assassins and homicidal cutthroats? Join us, and you’ll find the Dark Brotherhood to be all that, and so much more. We are, more than anything, a union of like-minded individuals. We kill for profit, for enjoyment, and for the glory of the Dread Father Sithis. We are a family, with bonds forged in blood… and death.”

Deep in the recesses of my mind I found a distant memory; of my early teen years, working at the linen shop with my aunt. The daily routine involved scrubbing fabric clean in the back room, while gossiping with the fellow workers. I remember my aunt leaning conspiratively over her scrub board, eyes wide and her voice fearful:

“They say that when you murder someone, the Dark Brotherhood visits you in your sleep. It’s how they recruit new members.”

The understanding must have shown on my face, for he nodded briskly and said:

“Now, I bid you farewell. I do hope we’ll meet again soon.” And with one last lingering look, in which he took in my scantly dressed form with a slightly raised eyebrow and an amused gleam in his eye, Lucien Lachance vanished. Literally. The door to the cottage opened and closed, seemingly on its own accord, and a cold draft sweeping into the room. The sounds of night filled the room, embracing me.

I stood for a moment, perhaps more, rigid in astonishment. I realized now that I had often heard of the Dark Brotherhood, but these were always tales of evil and heartless murder. And I had just been asked to join them. To ‘join their family’, as Lachance had put it. Did that make me evil? Was I evil? I thought of the body lying cold outside in the tall grass, and still didn’t feel a pang of shame or guilt. I realized that I was just that; a cold, heartless murderer. Maybe not evil, but I was a cold-blooded murderer. I wasn’t ready to admit myself as evil. Not yet.

When Lachance had spoken of them, he made the Brotherhood sound like they were…close. A family. A loving family of cold-blooded assassins. The idea seemed so preposterous that I almost laughed out loud. My first inclination was to forget the whole prospect- to never even go near the Inn of Ill Omen. Best to disregard the whole thing. But as I lowered myself back onto the bed, picking up the comforter and pulling it over my body, I couldn’t stop replaying Lucien’s words in my thoughts.

For my whole life I had felt almost overpowering urges to kill, to murder. But I had always resisted, always controlled myself. At sometimes I had barely contained myself, but I had never given in. Until now. Since my desires did not seem to be shared by any I knew, I had always considered myself a freak of nature, a one of a kind outcast. I felt that my only option was to just conform to fit in with society. But now it seemed that there were others like me; those who embraced their gifts for murder. And these people wanted to accept me as one of their own.

And what about this ‘Speaker’, this Lucien Lachance? The way he spoke of murder- he seemed to feel the same way that I had felt about killing the old woman. It was…intoxicating. I had not even accepted his offer, yet he was already treating me as family. No one had ever treated me like that, not since my aunt died when I was young. Part of me wanted to see this “Lucien Lachance” again…in the short time I had met him he had made an impression.

Maybe I would just go and check out the Inn, to see what was there. Just to see where the man lived, I thought to myself. The rest of the night continued in the same fashion, with internal arguments and self-objections. Finally, after a sleepless and thought filled night, I set out at dawn for the Inn, fill of determination and purpose. I was going to kill that man. I was going to join the Dark Brotherhood.

[allshallfade]

Chapter Six: Unpaid, Undead, and Unusual

The next few weeks at the Sanctuary flew by, full of contracts fulfilled, time spent with at the Sanctuary with the family, and training. I had several contracts, which included staging an accident in Bruma and killing an old friend from the Imperial City Prison. Both I carried out perfectly, earning the offered bonus. I was starting to gain status within the guild, and Vicente had taken to calling me ‘a dark gift from the Night Mother herself’.

The time I spent in the Sanctuary was regularly filled with talks with various members of the family about contracts and rumors- I became rather close with Teinaava, who was very open and friendly. Ocheeva was always very kind as well, but she was much more business-like. Gogron was also very warm, but he couldn’t get through a conversation without sharing a tale of his bloody massacres, or questioning the stealthy methods of the guild. Telaendril was away carrying out duties for Ocheeva most of time, and that left Antoinetta and Mraaj Dar. Mraaj Dar had made his distaste for me known, so I often tried to avoid contact with him. Antoinetta, however, never outright said she disliked me, but she was always very short with me, and often her comments seemed to have a rude or sarcastic feel to them. We just didn’t get along well, and I wasn’t really sure why at the time.

As for all my training; I had a natural talent for the art of assassination, yes, but it still ‘needed to be honed and tuned to maximize my potential’, or so said Teinaava one day when we were discussing advancement within the Brotherhood. So I spent hours and hours in the practice room, never receiving any ‘official’ training from my family members, but I would observe while they went about their separate specialized skills. They would know I was watching and make sure that their movements were clear and deliberate so I could learn from them; but they would never be obvious about it, as to keep me from the disgrace of pleading for help.

And so went life at the Sanctuary. It was a pleasant life, one that I often reflect on and miss dearly in my current state.

I was having a discussion with Teinaava about the organization of the Black Hand and the Brotherhood (which we actually knew very little about, as I was to find out later) when Vicente came into the room.

“Can you give Adrienne and I a moment, Teinaava?” he said, his silky voice showing that he meant no offense.

“Of course, dear brother,” Teinaava responded, bowing his head slightly to Vicente as he walked out of the room. Vicente turned back to me, his tone official.

“I have a special contract that needs fulfillment. In truth, I don't wish to offer it to any other family member. I've come to rely on your abilities. We're usually called upon to take a life, but not this time. This contract requires us to stage the assassination of a marked man. Are you ready?”

“Yes, I'm ready. I accept.”

“Excellent. You must go to the city of Chorrol and break into the house of Francois Motierre. Inside you will find Motierre waiting for you. Do not kill him!”

My eyebrows shot up at this statement- I had never heard the Brotherhood to be one for faked assassinations. We served Sithis, and he demanded souls. I was about to say this when Vicente shook his head, his look telling me to hear him out.

“You see, Francois Motierre is a marked man. He owes a considerable sum to the wrong kind of people. So, they have sent an enforcer to kill him. The enforcer’s name is Hides-His-Heart. Here-” He handed me a silver dagger “-you will use this specially poisoned knife to stage Motierre's death, in the enforcer's presence. Motierre himself will provide more details. This is an unusual contract. Motierre had to make a special arrangement with us before it was approved. I trust in your professionalism.”

“A special arrangement?” I inquired.
“The Dark Brotherhood is not in the business of staging deaths, no matter how much gold is offered. Sithis demands blood, and blood must be paid. In order to accept the contract, we demanded a life. Motierre offered his mother, and we accepted. Lucien has already taken care of that... detail.”

My heart skipped a beat involuntarily at the sound of the Lucien’s name- I had not forgotten him, and still had hopes to see him again soon. I shivered, imagining Lucien fulfilling a contract- I knew by the way he spoke of killing that he enjoyed it immensely. He was rather frightening even when he was being quite kind to you; I could only imagine the fear he could generate in anger. He had a very powerful presence. It would be scary as hell to have him and his intense dark eyes the last thing you would ever see (at the time I did not know how close I would come to experiencing just that)…and I found myself wondering if the victims of my contracts were terrified of me in their last living moments. Probably, I said to myself, and smiled lightly at this pleasing thought.

Vicente cleared his throat, drawing me out of my reverie.
“Anyways, the knife I gave you has been coated with a rare poison called Languorwine. You need only cut Motierre once, and he will appear to die. One drop in a normal human bloodstream will mimic the effects of death immediately. I have provided you with a vial of antidote, which will be used to revive Francois Motierre after you successfully stage his death. You should also know that there's only enough Languorwine on the blade for this one contract. After Motierre is sliced, the knife will be useless. Good luck, dearest sister.”

Vicente gave me a nod, his fangs slipping out of his lips slightly, and he strode from the room. He wasn’t one for small talk, and I soon found out from the others that he wasn’t meaning to be rude when he leaves to abruptly; he was just used to his solitude after all his years as a vampire with no one around him that he had forgotten most of the social habits of normal beings, and saying good bye before ending a conversation was one of them.

I was finishing my meal when Teinaava came back in.

“So, what was all that about? Or can you tell me?” he added with a smile, showing he didn’t mean it in a negative way. I explained my contract to him, and he looked impressed.

“I have never heard of the Dark Brotherhood staging death…but there was a soul claimed for Our Dread Father, so I suppose it isn’t too strange,” he said thoughtfully.

“I was thinking the same thing,” I said, chewing a on my final piece of bread.

“I just hope I don’t accidentally kill Motierre or something- or kill the enforcer…”

“Remember, timing is everything. You need to slash Motierre with the blade in Hides-His-Heart's presence, and then flee before the enforcer can react,” Teinaava said.

I smiled my thanks to him, then drained my goblet and wiped my mouth.

“And Adrienne-” he said as I rose to leave “-this is quite an honor to be chosen for.” His face was earnest and genuine, and I smiled gratefully at him.

We then exchanged the customary farewell of blessings of the Night Mother. I was going to the training room to practice my accuracy for my new contract. When I entered Gogron was in there, whacking away at a dummy with his favorite axe. He seemed to be enjoying himself, so I let him be, heading towards the opposite corner and pulling out my bow. After a couple minutes of firing arrows the racket Gogron had been creating suddenly stopped, and I glanced over at him. He was watching me, shaking his head.

“Why waste your time with that-” he pointed at my bow “-when you could use this-” he held up his axe, which was about the size of my upper torso “- and walk right up to your target and bash their heads in!”

“Gogron…” I groaned, having had this conversation several times. Before he could get wound up, I intervened. “Wait until you hear about my new contract- you’ll absolutely despise it.” He grew silent with curiosity, so I explained the details.

“What? Fake a death? And you can't even kill the enforcer!” he looked at me in horror, his eyes wide, as I nodded. “I don't envy you, friend. But a contract's a contract. Just do what you've got to do.”

I nodded halfheartedly, over-exaggerating a sigh as he clapped me on the back and left the room. As soon as he was gone I smiled, giving a little laugh. Gogron was always interesting to talk to.

In a much elated mood, I returned to my training, mind working in overdrive about my new contract. It was a disappointment that I wouldn’t get to kill, but it was still a contract nonetheless- and according to Teinaava, I should be proud to have been chosen for it. Vicente had specifically said he didn’t want to give it to anyone else…

After an hour of vigorous training, I walked back to the living quarters to gather my supplies for the trip to Chorrol. I traveled light, wearing basic clothes for the journey and walk around town, while carrying my shrouded armor in my pack. I brought my trusty dagger and bow, with my quiver full of (now all matching) arrows.

I arrived in Chorrol after a day of travel, as I was delayed by several bandits. They were becoming more and more plentiful along the roads, and really were a nuisance. I was in a foul mood when I arrived, and as soon as I entered the city it just got fouler. The city was richer and happier than Cheydinhal had been- everyone strutted around in their fine clothes, smiles plastered to their faces.

I stalked around the town, scowling at any who passed, on the lookout for Motierre’s home. As I entered the center plaza where the Great Oak was, I saw an old smiley woman chatting amiably with an also exceptionally smiley town guard (guards are not supposed to be smiley, it’s just wrong!), and all I wanted to do was cleave their smiley heads from their bodies. The whole atmosphere of the town put me in such a murderous mood with no effort whatsoever. Finally I spotted Motierre’s home.

Just in time, I thought to myself-I don’t know how much longer I would have been to keep from killing someone out here. I opened the door to his house and found the man himself standing with his back to me, muttering. He hadn’t heard me yet, so I closed the door silently and crept up behind him. Motierre sighed and turned so quickly that his nose hit mine before he realized I was there. I jumped back as he staggered in astonishment, gasping.

“Oh! Well... um, hello,” he said, holding his chest as he tried to catch his breath. He’s a jumpy one, I thought. But it was understandable in his situation, I suppose.

- - -
Francois Motierre looked at the assassin with interest- he had to make sure she was the one. He recalled what Lucien Lachance had said of her: ‘Black hair, icy blue eyes… one may call her a pretty girl’ he had said, keeping his tone light. Yes, Francois decided; it was her.

- - -

“You must be the one Lucien Lachance told me about. I've been expecting you” he continued. At the sound of Lucien’s name my head shot up. So, what exactly had he told Motierre about me?

“I borrowed quite a bit of gold from some underworld types. I... I missed a payment. Now they don't even want the money. They say I insulted them!” he gave a shaky laugh. “They've sent an enforcer to kill me! His name is Hides-His-Heart, and he's on his way here now! That's why I hired you! So you can fake my death!”

“Go on, Motierre. I'm listening.” I said, hiding my impatience as I looked around the house.

“Well, when Hides-His-Heart gets here, I'll put on a little act. You'll cut me with your poison knife, and that vile enforcer will think I'm dead. You must then flee from Chorrol, and Hides-His-Heart must not be killed! That way he can go back and tell his employers I'm dead.”

I nodded, and he continued, his voice gaining a bit of confidence.

“If you wait a day my ‘body’ will be put on display in the Chorrol Chapel Undercroft. You can come to me then and administer the antidote. Got all that?” I nodded once again.

“Good! Hides-His-Heart will be here any moment. Get ready!” I turned toward the door with him, hearing him mutter “Oh, I do hope this works...”

We both stood facing the door, expectant and ready. However, a minute passed by and nothing happened…then another minute, and another. He started to fidget restlessly, making short tapping noises with his foot, clicking his tongue. I probably would have been annoyed out of my mind by him, had my mind not been somewhere else. I was thinking of how Motierre had said Lucien had told him about me- and how Motierre had known it was I who was the one who was supposed to assist him, without question. I found myself wondering what Lucien had said about my appearance.

“Motierre, what exactly did Lucien Lachance say-”

Just then there was banging on the door, and the voice of an Argonian passed dully through the thick door, posing threats. Motierre’s face turned ashen white, and he gave a little barely concealed squeal of fear. I looked at him with disgust at his cowardice as the door opened and Hides-His-Heart barged in.

“Motierre! I am here to exact payment, in blood! You will... eh? Who is this? The Dark Brotherhood?” he said, sighting me. He smiled wickedly and said “Oh, you have been a naughty boy, Motierre, haven't you?”

“What's this? Oh, Dark Brotherhood assassin, please don't cut me with that wicked blade! It looks like this is the end of poor Francois!” Motierre had to be the worst actor I had ever seen, but Hides-His-Heart wasn’t one to notice such petty things. He leapt forward, trying to push me aside.

“Stand aside, assassin! Motierre is mine! My employers demand it! We'll see who gets to cut you, Motierre! Let me show you how a real killer operates, you Dark Brotherhood mongrel! Defend yourself!”
I darted in front of Hides-His-Heart and, with one deft movement, sliced across Francois’ stomach with the Langourwine Blade, wishing I could have done more. His eyes met mine, and I could see real pain there, before he fell to the floor. I turned to have Hides-His-Heart’s livid face up in mine.

“How dare you-“

I was out the door in a flash, sprinting across the courtyard and out of the city gates, trying to restrain my intense desire to kill someone. Hides-His-Heart gave pursuit, but I lost him in the forest. Exhausted from the effort, I lay down on a high rock and took a much need nap.

When I awoke night had fallen and the stars were out. I was hungry, so I hunted down some deer and resigned myself to the wait. Time passed agonizingly slow as I waited for 24 hours to pass, replaying the day’s events out in my head. I thought of Francois- by Sithis, I hope I hadn’t cut him too deeply! The poison on the blade would fake his death, but if I had cut him too deeply it wouldn’t have to do that… I pushed the thought from my mind as another filled its place.

Francois had said that Lucien had told him about me- he had considered me for a moment, as though recalling a physical description. He was certainly in a situation where he would take every precaution to make sure I was the right person. I found myself wishing fiercely that Hides-His-Heart had not chosen that moment to appear, when I was asking Francois what Lucien’s description of me was. I kicked a branch in frustration. So many people spoke of things they had heard about me, presumably from Lucien, but every time I was close to figuring out what he had said something happened to prevent me from doing so.

I sulked and slept until the next day; I walked back through the town gates in the late afternoon, hearing people speaking of Francois’ death the moment I stepped in.

“Have you heard? Francois Motierre has been murdered by the Dark Brotherhood! I saw the body myself!”

Smiling to myself, pleased that I had helped cause the disruption in the perfect order of the town, I entered the chapel and slipped into the Undercroft unnoticed. It was dark, dank, and muggy, with the smell of the dead filling the air. I found Motierre’s body to the right of the stairs, dressed in a brown robe and shoeless. I leaned over him and carefully poured the antidote that Vicente had given me into Motierre’s slightly open mouth, making sure not to spill a drop.

After a moment he still hadn’t moved, and I was starting to get worried. What if I had sliced him too deep and he been killed from that instead? I thought of his look of pain after I had cut him, and I felt slightly queasy. I was never really sure how deep I could cut him without the knife hurting him... another moment passed, and I was quite alarmed- I hadn’t failed a contract yet, and I certainly didn’t want to start now.

In exasperation I poked him hard in the shoulder, and to my intense but pleasant surprise, his eyes shot open and he muttered “Ow!” indignantly. I gave an inaudible sigh of relief as he sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. His eyes darted around the Undercroft for a moment before resting on me.
“Ah, the Chapel Undercroft” he said. “Now you must take me to the Grey Mare and this nightmare will over.”

I nodded, but he still looked hesitant to move. I raised my eyebrows, gesturing to the door, but he spoke first, hesitantly.

“Ehemm, well, there was something I forgot to mention. All of my family members are buried here, and my removal from it will be seen as a…desecration of their tomb. My ancestors will react most violently to that. Oh look- here they come now! We must hurry!”

I turned and saw a zombie staggering towards us, each step making a horrible squelching sound.

“Oh, Aunt Margaret, you are looking worse for the wear!” he exclaimed, as my arrow found a home between her eyes.

The zombie fell and did not get up again. As we were heading up the stairs to the door, another zombie came at us, but I decapitated it easily with a casual flick of my wrist. The downside of this was that the bloody guts and nerves came spilling out onto me, covering my armor with the rather smelly stuff. Great- I would have to wash my armor again, I thought. I was really starting to hate leather.