McBadgere~ I think Traven is one of the easiest for me to do.. simply because I wind up meeting people who make me feel exactly like that! And for the most part, I'm sure they don't mean to, but I'm very paranoid... >.>
SubRosa~ I think the thing I like best about this one over Madness, is getting to add what I know about magic and insert it here to build it beyond mysticism used in the game
Grits~ The journal was inspired by
this song. The first time I heard it, I just stopped what I was doing, and proceeded to listen over and over. Its just too perfect! SO the journal will be an ongoing thing throughout
mALX~ Aww thanks mALX
As much as I love Madness (and promise that it hasn't been abandoned!) this truly feels better to write.
Lycanthropic Legend~ Aww thanks! Its always nice to have a new reader
I hope you continue to enjoy it!
~~~~~♥~~~~~
Chapter Seven: Rufio
Thirteen soul gems had been prepared in advance. Tara had one slipped in her skirt. She ran her finger down the facets as she walked down the path to the Inn of Ill Omen. What a name, she thought. It made her all the more nervous to set foot there for fear that something would go horribly wrong.
The inn was just down the street from another. In comparison, the Inn of Ill Omen had doomed itself, likely due to its name. The other inn was brightly lit and even from the distance, Tara could smell the savory food cooking inside. Her stomach complained loudly. Night had long since fallen and she hadn’t eaten since lunch.
She placed her hand on the door, but pulled away quickly. If there was only a handful of people there, or worse, just Rufio, then she would be instantly named as the killer. Though she would give a false name if needed, there was still the lack of an alibi. If she were named as a suspect and her house searched… She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath at the very thought of others discovering Clarissa. Her name would be ruined. All she worked for would be for nothing.
Tara walked around the inn, noticing windows at the ground. If it was similar to her own house, the windows would lead to a cellar. She knelt down. It was large enough for her to slide into. A dim light shone through the filthy glass. It was a chance, but a better one than storming the door.
She used the dagger given to her by the assassin to break it. She hoped that whoever was upstairs wouldn’t hear it. She crawled down on the ground, overwhelmed with the fertile smell of dirt. It only reminded her of digging up graves.
She slipped into what seemed to be a modest bedroom. She landed on a ratty bed with a tattered blanket on it. A worn dresser sat next to it. A leather bound book was a top it.
Tara sat on the bed for a moment, her stomach starting to twist at what she was about to do. She buried her face in her hands, trying to calm herself down. How was it that other people could kill without a thought, yet it rendered her sick? She never in a thousand years would have expected to wish for that apathy toward another person’s life, yet here she was.
A shuffling caught her attention. She stood up, straightening her skirt, as if she were expecting someone important. She held the dagger behind her back, biting the corner of her lip. The side of her stomach felt like a thousand spiders were nesting inside. Her hands started to feel numb. She wanted to cry.
A man opened the door, jumping a little when he saw Tara. He was considerably older than her. Definitely old enough to be her father, perhaps maybe her grandfather. He looked her up and down suspiciously. “Who in Oblivion are you?” He asked.
Tara couldn’t speak. She couldn’t find the words. Besides, what was she supposed to say? Hello, I’m Tara and I hope you’ve lived well because tonight’s your last!
She didn’t notice her hand drift out from behind her, the dagger gleaming in the candlelight. He did. "No,” he hissed. He must have known that someone would be coming for him, because he fell to his knees, gripping Tara’s skirt. “Please! I didn't mean to do it, you understand me? She struggled! I... I told her to just stay still, but she wouldn't listen! I had no choice!"
By time Tara realized what he just said, she felt like a thick grease glazed over the spiders in her gut. “By the gods…” She whispered, taking a step back. Suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so bad.
“I didn’t mean it,” he said again. “Do you understand me!” He got up, trembling violently. His eyes were bulging out of his head. “She made me do it! Dammit, you can’t punish me for that!” He took a step toward Tara, grabbing her shoulders. “It wasn’t my fault!” He screamed, spittle flying from his mouth.
“Let go of me,” she said.
“All you wenches are alike!” He said through clenched teeth. For an old man, he had a tight grip. His hands travelled down to her arms, holding her tightly. “And now you, you come into my room and you think you’re going to kill me? Huh?” He threw her to the ground. The dagger skittered across the floor, under his bed. “You stupid, little tramp!”
Tara turned and with a wave of her hand, he was bathed in the purple glow or a soul trap spell. She crawled toward the dagger, but he grabbed her ankle and drug her toward him. She wanted to scream, but she knew that if she did, it was all over. As long as he was touching her, she couldn’t cast a shock spell.
There was a bowl on the floor. She grabbed it and threw it at him. It hit him in the face, making him lose his grasp for a moment. Tara took the opportunity to dash under the bed and grab the dagger. She had to hurry before the soul trap wore off. She hated to waste magicka.
She stood up and the moment he lunged for her, she held the blade out. He ran right into it. He froze, clutching the gaping wound in his gut. Tara closed her eyes. She thought she would take pleasure in it after know what he did. Just a little. A smidgeon. But she didn’t. She felt the same filthy feeling as the last time she did it. She took the soul gem from her pocket. As his eyes dulled, the black gem glowed. She threw his body off of her. Just as she feared, she got his blood all over her clothes. She sighed, sitting on the bed. Even if she got home without running into a patrolling guard, it would take ages to get the stains out.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” Tara said to Rufio’s corpse. She could still feel his bony fingers in her arms. She was about to climb out of the window when a familiar chill swept over the room.
The assassin, Lucien Lachance, appeared in the doorway, smiling down at Rufio’s body. His smile was colder than the air around him. Tara couldn’t suppress a shiver.
“So, the deed is done,” he said. “You are now a part of the family.”
Tara folded her arms. She didn’t feel comforted. In fact, she felt even worse. “Now what?” She asked.
“Now, you accept your fate. The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio's blood, the ink.” He ran his finger in the puddle of blood that formed under Rufio. He dotted it on his lips, and then smeared it on Tara’s forehead. She flinched at his touch.
“As a Speaker of the Black Hand,” he continued. “I directly oversee a particular group of family members. Every Dark Brother and Sister is a child of Sithis. He whom we call Sithis has many other names. Chaos. Doom. Discord. Sithis is the Void. We of the Dark Brotherhood serve the Night Mother, who is the bride of Sithis. The Night Mother rules her children with a terrible Black Hand. The Black Hand is the ruling body of the Dark Brotherhood. It is made up of one Listener and Four Speakers. Four fingers and a thumb, if you will. As a member of the Dark Brotherhood, you must abide by the Five Tenets. They are the laws that guide and protect us. Welcome to the family.”
She said nothing.
“I still sense your hesitation.” He laughed a little. “No matter. In time, you will feel the embrace of your family. When you are ready to meet them, you will 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. 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.”
Just as he had before, he vanished. The air slowly returned to its normal temperature, this time accompanied by the coppery scent of blood. As silently as she had slipped in, Tara climbed out of the small window.
This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Aug 12 2012, 06:58 PM