A Brotherhood Reborn, Part One: The Master of Lucien Lachance Options

[Darkom]

Well, this is my current fan fiction from over at Bethsoft, A Brotherhood Reborn. It's gotten some good reviews, and some pretty good critique, but you can never have too much of that. It follows the journey of Lucien Lachance and his master across Tamriel as they try to rebuild their fallen guild, and take their revenge. This first part is fairly short compared to what the other sections will be, but I've had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope that you enjoy it as well. Without any further adu, here you are, A Brotherhood Reborn, Part One: The Master of Lucien Lachance.



The sun hung low in the sky over the Imperial city of Bravil. Waves lapped gently against the city’s banks, the air heavy with the surrounding salt water. Dancing points of light moved along the battlements- the torches of guards beginning their nightly patrol. Smoke curled up to meet the gray clouds, the denizens of the coastal city chilled in the Frostfall dusk, huddled up next to their meager fireplaces. But despite the great number of people in the city, all were oblivious to the lone man walking nonchalantly through the great gates.

The Breton’s hood was thrown back, his dark travelling cloak without taint of dirt or grime. His nimble feet found their way through the muddy streets without a sound. His sea blue eyes acknowledged citizens and guards alike with wary stares, keeping his hands subtly ready for unlikely combat- feeling the hidden knives through the folds of his rough brown shirt.

His air was one of concealed skill, a kind found only with those trying to hide it. A slight wind tousled his loose brown hair, bringing his mind back to the lonely house before him. No wandering eyes saw him walk to the house’s side, ignoring the rotting door and instead making way for likewise decrepit cellar entrance.

The Breton grasped the rusting iron handles, silently opening the doors on their oiled hinges. As he took his first step into the shadowed stairway, he readjusted his hair back into its perfectly even appearance, silently bemoaning the wind for causing him even a moment of untidiness. He closed the doors behind him with practiced ease.

The steep steps gave no difficulty to feet that had walked them countless times, the darkness welcoming the man in an embrace only someone in his profession could return. Not even the dull thump of his trained heart gave away his presence to his similarly silent observer. Knowing the boy would not give up his game until he acknowledged him, the Breton broke the absolute silence with his stern tenor voice, “Lucien, come down from there.”

A sudden gust of air was the only sign of the teenager’s descent from the stone ceiling, followed quickly by a voice not quite juvenile, “Hello Master,” the man could hear the grin in his tone, “The Listener said he wanted to see you about something.”

A soft sigh escaped into the gloom, followed by the Breton’s tired reply, “I suppose a comfortable bed would be too much to ask for after a three day journey. Very well, let us go see the old lizard.”

The assassin heard his apprentice turn and begin his descent towards the main sanctuary, his eager response echoing up the stone walls, “Let’s!”

The Breton shook his head, allowing himself a smile before his meeting, ‘Honestly, sometimes I wonder if that kid will make it like this. Sure, he’s talented enough for it, but skill alone doesn’t make an assassin.’

After the complete darkness of the passage, the dim light brought on by Lucien’s opening of the sanctuary’s doors shocked the man’s dilated pupils. He made his way down the remainder of the steps half squinting, adjusting his eyes to the sudden light.

The main hall of the Brotherhood’s home in Bravil had over the years lost its stark practicality in favor of the comforts even hardened assassins enjoyed. Bookshelves filled with leather bound knowledge lined several of the corners, accompanied by cozy armchairs and flickering lanterns. The fireplace at the end of the hall gave the room most of its light, illuminating everything from thick rugs to shining bowls of fruit on elaborately carved tables. If not for the rough stone walls and aura of death in the tepid room, one might mistake the robed figures for scholars or monks.

Each resident acknowledged the Breton with serious gazes, each eye giving the same message- the message Lucien had given him earlier on the staircase. He answered each with a stare of his own, replying with a stolid “I know.”

Lucien waited for him at one of the many doors leaving the atrium, all leading to different areas of the sanctuary: the dormitories through one hall, the training rooms another, and other such necessities as the kitchen and lavatory. This particular door led to one place and one place only- the entrance to the personal chambers of the Listener.

The young Imperial’s eyes shone with the giddy zeal of adolescence, his puppy dog attitude made it all the more difficult for the man to dismiss him, “Lucien, go to the training room and work on your breathing; I’ve known drunken orcs less noisy.”

All of Lucien’s previous glee dropped from his face like a melting wax, his retort silenced by a stern gaze from his teacher’s deep blue eyes. “Yes, Master…”

'I hate to exclude him like this, but whatever he wants is most likely for my ears only.'

The assassin ignored his apprentice’s sagging shoulders and shuffling steps, his patience spent on days of travel and meager rations. The Breton opened the door, the stained wood gliding on its properly lubricated hinges. He felt a moment of contentment at the upkeep of the sanctuary, then set his mind back on the task at hand.

The door swung closed of its own accord behind him as he made his way down the narrow corridor, wrinkling his hooked nose at the terrible stench that always permeated this part of the sanctuary. ‘Why must he insist on such living conditions? I don’t care if it makes him feel more at home, the rest of us don’t care much for the smells of Argonia.’

The gray stone was blank along the empty hall, the only point of interest the black iron door at the end of the passage. He forced his way through the odor, grasped the iron handle firmly, noting how the cold metal felt under his palm. After a quick breath, he opened the door, revealing the pitch black interior.

He stepped into the blackness, addressing his unseen supervisor, “Lucien said you needed me for something?” He closed the door behind him, extinguishing the only remaining light.

After several moments of silent waiting, Louis ventured further into the humid room, careful not to trip over any of the multiple roots and vines that adorned the floor. ‘As If his room wasn’t bad enough; why must he also insist on silence?’

He sighed; pulling back the wooden chair he knew- even in the dark- was always there. Just as he was taking a seat, sudden illumination assaulted his eyes for the second time that day. The Listener sat across from him, a single candle casting his long scaled face in patches of shadow and light. His red reptilian eyes stared right at Louis, penetrating directly into the Breton’s deepest consciousness.

Louis raised a single brown eyebrow, tired of the Listener’s games. Finally, the Argonian placed a single leaflet of brown paper on the table, sliding it slowly over to Louis. As the assassin looked down at the message, a cryptic hiss broke the heavy air, “Louisss…”

The infamous Speaker of the Black Hand read the letter with growing apprehension, his brow knotting in frustration as its scrawled words’ meaning became clear to him,

‘Bruce, we have a situation on our hands. Our good Count suspects that the infamous assassin’s guild, the Dark Brotherhood, has infiltrated our fair city. Not only that, but he thinks they might even have a hideout here. You know as well as I do what we have to do; we cannot have this scum loose on my streets! I am holding you personally responsible for making sure that not a soul leaves here without me knowing who he is and where he’s going. The cost of failure is such that I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.


Miles Pledo
Captain of the Guard’


“How did they find out?” Louis spat, his hands trembling in fury.

After a moment of silent staring, the Listener replied, “They killed Sadon.”

“What… But- how!” The Breton stood, knocking his chair onto the slimy floor, shock mixing in and replacing the anger. ‘Sadon was one of our best! We used to do missions together; he would always crack the best jokes at the worst times… Damn them!’

The Argonian continued his broken hissing, “Accident, coincidence, I care not. Only importance is the safety of Brotherhood.”

Louis closed his eyes, shutting out the meager light of the candle, putting his emotions aside. He knew what the Listener wanted him to do.

“Your newest contract- make the suspicion off us, without any knowing you did it. Any but us.” The Argonian’s seldom used, broken Cyrodillic rang clearer than the truest poetry for Louis. He had a new mission, one where failure meant exile from Bravil. Or worse.

Louis nodded slowly, not caring that his hair was entirely out of place. The Listener leaned forward, blowing out the small candle with the slightest of breaths.

[Olen]

Good opening. You describe the people and setting nicely and effectivly set enough hooks that I'll be reading the next part.

My main criticism would be that there are a couple of clumsy phrases in it. An example which is representative of them all is 'wood gliding on its properly lubricated hinges.' If you wanted to avoid 'well oiled' you might, in my opinion at least, be better considering more imagery rather than working round the more commonly used term. I found it a bit distracting to be honest. There were another couple of terms which suffered similarly.

Saying that a lot of the imagery was very good, there were a couple of real eyeball kicks there. 'previous glee dropped from his face like a melting wax -- I liked that, though if I were being a grammar facist I'd point out that wax is uncountable so wouldn't need the 'a'.

This post has been edited by Olen: Nov 27 2009, 10:51 AM

[Darkom]

Thank you, Olen, I appreciate the feedback. I never did like that phrase either, and I'll see what I can do about that. Perhaps just saying it glided, implying that its hinges were in order. I just kind of wanted to give the idea that it was not run down, despite the appearance, to kind of foreshadow the well kept building below.

Thanks, I really enjoy seeing what kind of effect some of those have on people. Over at Bethsoft people said the same thing, it was pretty hit and miss. Don't think I'm like that the whole time though, introductions are my most vivid scenes.

Well, a final thanks, and if you really want to read more the first section is almost finished on the original thread. I'm glad to see critiques still being given here, I wasn't sure about its activity.

PS If the really tough critique section was still around, this would go in it. Please tear it to pieces as much as possible

[ureniashtram]

Well, `tis a very good story indeed. Hope we get an update soon.

[Darkom]

Terribly sorry, I haven't written any updates recently, though I have a few months worth of updates already. If you are really eager you can go to Bethsoft though



Chapter Two: The Broken Seal

“Ready, Lucien?” Louis whispered, pulling his cloth mask down to speak. His breath turned to diamonds of ice in the air, both assassins oblivious to the cold that had the normal residents of Castle Bravil shivering under their heavy blankets.

Lucien’s only reply was a slow nod, his normally boyish brown eyes staring straight ahead with a deadly intensity. Louis pulled his mask back up with a smile, knowing he could trust his apprentice.

A flash of movement in the night, the two shadows leaped from the bare branches they had been resting on into the stone sill of one of the castle’s many towers. Their padded black shoes eliminated any noise as they landed on the hard stone floor. Both were instantly alert, double checking the small storage tower for any residents.

Louis brought his hands from the dark sash that held his single dagger into a series of signals. Lucien translated them instantly, reiterations of the plan, ‘Find Captain, split up. Tail Captain, I find Count. Rendezvous castle gates.’

Lucien nodded his understanding, his bare face its own mask of solemnity. Louis gave the final signal- time to move. Lucien waited motionless while his master cracked open the door, checked for passerby, and signaled the all clear. His mission garb a silhouette against the shadows of the corridor, Lucien moved in behind him.

From the maps they had reviewed earlier, Lucien knew the Captain’s quarters would be the fourth door on the left of this very hallway. With any luck, that’s where he would be.

Louis crept along silently, putting out the occasional torch as he went, casting the hall into ever increasing darkness. The deliberate pace made the normally short walk seem like hours to Lucien, and the alien surroundings made him wish he had been allowed a weapon. How did his master remain so calm in situations like these?

Finally, his master reached the wooden door. He signed for Lucien to stop, noticing the crack of light that emanated from the room- a sure sign the Captain was still awake. Louis put his covered ear to the door, pleading silently that the captain of the guard would not choose that moment to leave his room.

After a few moments of silence, the Breton assassin heard something: a faint scratching noise, repetitive in its tempo, the unmistakable sound of writing. ‘So, he is writing something? Another letter to his lieutenant concerning us? Regardless, Lucien cannot risk it; he’ll have to wait out here.’

After a quick examination of the surrounding hallway’s furnishings, Louis signed his discovery to Lucien- ‘Captain inside. Wait.’ He indicated an ornate table burdened with various reliefs and small sculptures on a cream table cloth. The table’s position left of the door, combined with the tablecloth that extended all the way to the stone floor, made it a perfect hiding place. Lucien understood immediately, yet did not look forward to potential hours of waiting.

The boy gave a small nod, creeping over to the oaken assembly while his master began his journey to the Count’s room. Lucien dropped to his hands and knees, pulling up the cloth, careful not to disturb any of the artwork above. He frowned at the mixture of cobwebs and dust bunnies underneath the table, but resigned himself to his fate and crawled in, to lie in wait for the perfect moment to search the Captain’s quarters.


Louis watched motionlessly as the guard walked towards him. He pressed against the wall as flat as he was able, his hand on the hilt of his single dagger. The statue he hid behind was just large enough to cover him- a romanticized likeness of the Count Regulus Terentius. The sculpture’s shadow hid Louis from wandering eyes, but if the guard took a closer inspection Louis had no chance.

He listened to the iron shod boots echo through the hall, coming closer and closer to him with every step. Just when Louis was confident he had escaped notice, the footsteps stopped. The night’s silence resumed, the Breton’s every sense waiting for any sign of discovery. A single bead of sweat trailed between the assassin’s eyes, going down the bridge of his hooked nose until it was absorbed by his cloth mask.

Louis held his breath as the footsteps resumed, the guard finally walking away from the assassin’s hiding place. He let out a sigh of relief, and moved out from behind the statue as the guard turned the corner. ‘How conceited,’ he thought, examining the artwork that had hid him.

He moved along the hall carefully, alert for any more patrolling guardsmen, getting closer to his goal with every step. As he turned the corner, he could finally see it- the Count’s door! The chair beside it lay empty against the wall, its previous inhabitant two halls down.

The Breton picked the Count’s door with practiced ease, finding its owner asleep inside his lavishly furnished accommodations. Stepping carefully past the snoring Count and similarly incapacitated wife, Louis found the governor’s elegant desk, laden with opened letters and scribbled on scraps of paper. The assassin wasted no time going through the various doodles of the authority of Bravil, instead searching each small drawer quickly and efficiently. His blue eyes raced, the only thing visible under the cloth black mask, frantically looking for anything involving his guild.

At last, when Louis began to fear he would return to the sanctuary empty handed, he found a curious looking letter in the bottom drawer. As he held it up to the flickering candlelight, he discovered the parchment was made of nothing he has ever seen before. A greenish gray envelope, its purple wax seal broken and scratched out. He carefully stored the evidence inside his multi pocketed mission shirt, did a quick once over on the desk, and then stalked silently over to the Count’s bedside.

Louis’ eyes narrowed as he approached the sleeping Count, ‘honoured user, you have no idea how much I want to bury this dagger into you.’

Ever so slowly, he turned his eyes away from his enemy, the man that killed one of his best friends, and to the small night stand in front of him. All that cluttered the oaken surface was the Count’s ring, an extinguished candlestick, and a copy of the “Pocket Guide to the Empire: Second Edition”.

Louis glanced around the remainder of the room, finding only a dresser and bookshelf he left untouched. Ignoring these furnishings, the Breton assassin slipped quietly out of the room, mysterious envelope secure in his breast pocket.


Lucien’s eyes were watering, and it took all of his control to stop a particularly violent sneeze from overtaking him. He covered his nose with both hands, praying to Sithis nothing would happen.

Suddenly, just as Lucien thought he could contain himself no longer, he heard the distinct sound of a door opening. His nostrils forgotten, he watched in silence as the silhouette moved against his tablecloth, the guard captain’s footsteps echoing down the hallway. ‘Finally!’

When he was sure the man had turned the corner, Lucien slowly crawled out from under the table. He rose into a crouch, brushing several lumps of dust and silken strands off of his night black suit. He stole a quick glance at the direction the Captain had left, and then quickly slinked into the man’s room.

After so long in the dark, the flickering candlelight caught Lucien by surprise, forcing him to waste precious seconds to let his eyes adjust. After a few blinks, the Imperial boy made his way over to the nearby desk. Louis had been right in his caution, the desk was situated between the door and a shuttered window; he would have without a doubt been caught had he tried to enter the room earlier.

Lucien found the desk without drawers- a single piece of parchment was all it held. The teenager quickly scanned over the untidy scrawl,

‘Dear Minette,

I cannot hold it in any longer. I must see you again. Our love is stronger than those that try to keep us apart, and I cannot live another moment without you in my arms. I promise that this time my soon to be ex-wife will not-’

Lucien left the paper with a look of disgust, ‘Just a pointless love letter! Then this whole thing has been for nothing!’

Suddenly, Lucien’s mental rant was interrupted by heavy footfalls in the hallway behind him- the Captain was coming back! The room’s only exit was that door and- the window! Lucien made a mad dive for the open space, forgetting the room’s position on the second floor in his panic. As he fell towards the dark ground, he heard the alarmed calls of the guard captain entering his room. He gave another silent prayer.


Louis was beginning to get impatient- he had been waiting by the gates for almost twenty minutes. ‘What if he was caught? How would I know? Surely someone would make a noise…’

The Breton leaned against the stone wall and sighed. He felt the envelope, checking once more to be certain it was safe. ‘I wonder if I have time to read-’ Louis’ thoughts were interrupted by a deep shout. The assassin was up and moving before the echo had time to reach him, his slim legs carrying them as fast as they were able towards the source of the noise.

He looked up; finding the shadow of a large man outlined against one of the castle’s many windows. ‘Lucien!’

Suddenly, a rustle in the bushes beneath the window caught Louis’ attention, tearing his eyes away from the silhouette to find none other than his apprentice crawling out from under the thick hedge. Louis ran over to the boy, putting his arms around him and uttering a muffled “Are you okay?”

He turned the boy’s body over, looked into his eyes for a sign of life. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the pained frown, “Sorry, master.”

Louis’ expression remained stoic under his mask, though inside he was awash with relief. “Let’s go, before anyone else hears him.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucien whispered, getting to his feet with help from his master.

The two ran from the courtyard, leaping down the stone steps that led to the deserted bridge connecting the castle to the city. They stopped, breathing heavily, in the middle of the city, under the shadow of Lucky Old Lady.

“Are you okay?” Louis asked, tearing the black mask off his thin face.

“Yes sir, I’m sorry.” Lucien replied, embarrassed over his failure.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Be more careful next time.” Louis could guess what had happened, and wanted to drop the subject as much as his apprentice did, “More importantly, I found something in the Count’s desk.”

Lucien studied the gray envelope that his master held, the broken seal shining in the soft moonlight. “What does it say?” He asked.

“I’m not sure, but the material is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The seal is scratched out, but it has definitely been opened.”

“Can we read it?” Lucien asked, his adolescent curiosity piqued by the mysterious letter.

The Speaker turned the question over in his mind before answering, thinking of the possible repercussions reading the letter would have. He told Lucien his decision in a whisper, “I don’t see why not, but don’t breathe a word to anyone else about this.”

“Yes sir.” The boy whispered back, grinning over the prospect.

Louis carefully opened the envelope, his gloved hands steady. The parchment inside was of the same material as the envelope, the thin paper felt delicate in the Breton’s hands. He unfolded the gray letter solemnly, anxious to see the fruit of his labor.

“Well?” Lucien whispered.

Louis studied the text for a long moment before answering, “It’s in code. I don’t understand a single symbol.” He shook his head in frustration, turning the letter over so his apprentice could see.

The blood red ink contrasted sharply with the gray paper, the strange symbols seemed like scribbles to Lucien. He ran his eyes over it once more, hoping to find one of the many types of code he had studied under his master. His disappointment was evident in his soft voice, “Oh well, perhaps Galdin can decipher it.

“Let’s hope so.” Louis said, carefully folding the parchment and returning it to its place within the envelope. “C’mon, we can’t waste any more time here.”

Lucien gave a silent nod, following his master back through the streets to his subterranean home, fighting the feeling of failure his mistake gave him.



“You say this was in Count’s desk? You are sure?” The Listener hissed, his scaly features haloed by the candlelight.

“Yes, sir; it was already opened in his bottom drawer. As you can see, the seal has been scratched out, but the parchment is like nothing I have ever seen.” Louis reported on his mission’s findings with professional stiffness, his hands impatiently shifting in his lap, rising up occasionally to adjust Louis’ dark hair. ‘This could be the key to our dilemma. This could tell us who is responsible for Sadon.’

“The writing is still a secret to you, yes?” The Shadowscale’s face never betrayed its owner’s thoughts. Many would dismiss it as an Argonian trait, but Louis knew that even if this man had been born smooth skinned he wouldn’t show emotion.

“Yes sir.” The Breton lied abruptly.

The Argonian nodded in response, “Then let us reveals it.”

Louis watched nervously as the Argonian gradually lifted the gray letter from its matching envelope. ‘There’s no way for him to know, don’t worry about it.’

The Argonian put the envelope back on the decrepit table, holding the parchment in front of him with both of his scaly hands. His eyes betrayed no worry at the strange parchment, the crimson ink, or the carefully coded message. Louis tried to remain calm, taking a deep breath he hoped the Argonian wouldn’t recognize for what it was.

After a long moment, he put the paper face down on the table, “I regret. The message is in code.”

“I see.” Louis said, trying to hide the fact he already knew this, “Is there anything we can get from it?” He asked, genuinely interested.

“We may hope. Galdin should tell us more; I shall give this to him soon.” The Argonian said, referencing the sanctuary’s Bosmer cryptologist.

The Speaker nodded his response, his eyes locked on the letter in front of him.

“Is it wrong? You would look for yourself?” The Argonian said slyly.

Louis couldn’t tell whether or not it was a trick, but he had to say something, “No thank you, sir. If you can’t figure out the code, then I know I can’t.”

“I see. Then I advise you rest now, another contract awaits the next light.”

“Yes sir, I will be ready.” Louis said, relieved that he had gotten through without incident. He waited for the Argonian’s nod to dismiss him, and then stood to take his leave.

He grasped the cold iron handle of the exit, revealing the torchlight in the hallway beyond as he pressed the black door open. As he was shutting the door behind him, he heard the Listener’s voice, a hiss so soft he barely heard it, “One should not lie to one’s Listener, as the Listener hears all.”

[Fiach]

I really like this story, its very discriptive and you play the characters very well ^^

I can't wait for more updates