Siblings Bound in Blood, The tale the murderer, Silver-Tongue Options

[Arcry]

Note: I have been wanting to get the story of Assassin Silver-Tongue out in the open for some time now and, with the knowledge of the fate the Brotherhood is dealt prior to Skyrim, I think I can tell it now. I also hope that this will allow me to branch off into the stories of my other Oblivion characters (As I had always seen the five of them running about Cyrodill at the same time, aiding or hindering the overall plot.

Anyway, I really hope that you guys enjoy this! Critiques welcome!

Edit: Grr... The tale of the murderer, Silver-Tongue
Ran through this thing after I had some more rest, fixed what errors I saw. Let me if I missed any!



Prologue




A cool chill clung to the air, biting at the uncovered face of a lone figure. The figure pulled their tattered and travel weary cloak tighter, trying to capture the little heat that fled from his form, and continued cautiously walking down the darkened hall.



“A torch is far too much of a risk, he says. Buy a Night Eye elixir, he says!" muttered the figure, “Why, I would not be in this infernal crypt if I had the coin to throw at potions!”


The sound of his muffled voice echoed around him, his mind began to wander; visualizing the so called “loot” that Breton merchant had promised littered the main hall of this subterranean hell and of the profits the two of them would make from this venture. His foot catches on brunt of a disturbed stone, lurched him from his thoughts and his feet. He fell face first into the roughly hewn stone wall yelped, staggered back from the wall and, clutching his nose, falls onto his rear. The man pulled his hand from his throbbing nose and rubbed the warm and wet fluid between his fingers.

“Great, bleeding now too, by the Nine, this had best be worth it!” He pulled himself upright and continued forward with one hand on the wall, the other wrapped around his sore nose.



“Minutes or hours, how long have I been down here? Time has a funny way of distorting when you can’t see that damned sky!” he thought to himself as the once dull and distant ache in his feet, now shot fire up into his legs and is fanned with every step, sending the flames higher.


Exhausted, he reserved to take a short respite and sits with his back against the wall and, with started realization, slapped his right palm onto it. A loud clap reverberated throughout the hall as he frantically rubbed his hand over the slick surface. It’s smooth, the wall is smooth! As his mind began trying to wrap around what this might foretell, an all too familiar “click” of a latch sliding into place sounded not but a few paces away from him. The man desperately tried to scramble to his feet as heavy metal door scraped against stone. Relief washed over him as he stared towards the blackness that was the now open door way, whoever opened that door wouldn’t be able to see him. A lantern freshly lit lashed out with its bright glow and dispelled the shadows that hid his fear frozen form, dashing his hopes of an unseen escape.


Seconds pass and he is left, eyes squeezed shut and crouching, unharmed. Seconds more and still nothing, he opened his eyes and hesitantly gazed pass the entryway. A lantern sat upon a small desk of well-worn and chipped wood, its warmth almost welcoming. He cautiously straitened, and then timidly approached the desk. Darkness continued to engulf the corridor ahead. The cloaked figure reached for the lantern, but stops midway as something beneath the lantern caught his eye. He pulled a yellowed and stained slip of folded parchment from underneath the lantern, unfolded it, and looked over the faded shapes. A map, it was a map detailing nearby Leyawiin and a route through the Blackwood forest to an X near the eastern coast.

“What in the name of Julianos is this rubbish?” he muttered. Turning the paper over, he found there is also an equally faded note penned on the back.




“I have watched you from afar and feel it is time to make myself known. I am Greywyn, the last of the Crimson Scars. Once a powerful force rivaling the Dark Brotherhood itself, the Scars were the true followers of Sithis and the masters of deception. I will be departing this world soon, as the cold embrace of the Night Lord calls to me. All I have I leave as a legacy to you. My home, Deepscorn Hollow, will be your new haven. Use the map on the reverse of this note to find it. All that lay within is yours to do with as you please. I have but one request in return... further the ways of shadow and honor Sithis with the darkest of deeds. Make the virtuous pay for their blasphemy with their lifeblood staining your blade. May Sithis guide you.
Greywyn”




Fear, cold and hard, seized the man’s heart. Where ever he was, the Dark Brotherhood was involved and, no matter the extent of the trove supposedly ahead, none of it would be worth crossing paths with the infamous assassin guild. He spun round ready to flee this unholy place just in time to hear the banded iron door screech across the floor and watched it slam shut, locking internally into the frame. He spun back around to face the corridor then, seeing no blade poised to end him, snatched up the lantern and held it out before him, banishing the darkness ahead for a few paces. He staggered forward, fighting back more of the darkness, expecting to reveal the crouching form of a fabled Brotherhood assassin but instead found not but another door. Unlike its nearby cousin, this door was cut from black wood, likely from the nearby forests, and engraved with the image of a finely dressed woman who seemed to be holding an infant, while threateningly pointing a small blade, a stiletto, at four other children. A skull marked with a hand print upon its forehead overlooked the frighteningly suggestive scene.


With an unsteady hand, the cloaked man grasped the cold iron door knob, turned it, and thrusts the door open, again brandishing the light before him like a fiery blade, but nothing could have prepared him for what lay beyond that door way.

Illuminated before him laid a glorious trove of items collected from all corners of Tamriel, small braziers clung to the walls, cradling plumes of blue magefire that washed the room in an eerie azure light. Upon the walls hung ancient tapestries of reds and blues, all accented by gold embroidery with images of snakes embattled with Khajiit-like creatures. Bolted beside each silken textile neatly hung sturdy wooden wracks filled with weapons of all kinds, no of every kind. They shimmered with enchantments unknown, but none of the grandeur about him drew his sight like what sat in the center of the room. Amidst the four aged stone columns, rested another construct of blackened wood, a long table complete with matching chairs, upon its face were gilded dishes of brass and copper, Dwemer artifacts, absent of food or drink, save for a crystal glass that sat brimming with red liquid at the head of the table. By the glass sat the true focus of this unfortunate plunderer, an Argonian, a horrific manipulation of an Argonian, his thin form draped in the black finery of a forgotten age, cuffed and embroidered in white, his white scales glowed eerily against his ill lit surroundings and, in some patches, it appeared that they have lost color entirely, resembiling fogged over glass rather than scales. His face, serpentine with his lack of horns, reviled what the Lizardfolk might pass as a smile as he gestured towards the stunned adventurer, then to an empty seat.


“Please sit it has been so long since I have had company, and I so love having company for dinner.”


The monster’s voice snaked its way into the man’s mind, ensnaring him. He felt weary and his legs were so very tired, in fact, this entire trip has been so taxing! He allowed the compulsion to move his feet forward into the seat. He can see them but they do not register, as nothing will ever again, those pale pointed rows of sharp teeth, far too sharp, and those two obvious fangs were a clear sign as to what this creature really was, but the poor destitute adventure couldn’t care less as to what the Argonian was, or even where the two of them were. All that matters is that he rested. Yes rested.


This post has been edited by Arcry: Jul 30 2012, 12:45 PM