The Elder Scrolls V: The Dark Brotherhood (IC)

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Undying Curiosity, Oct 24, 2014.

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  1. ~Dawnstar Sanctuary~

    His eyes fluttered open at the sound of commotion within the walls of the Dawnstar sanctuary, only to be greeted by a soft green light shining in his eyes through the stained glass window beside his bed. J'vaarr slept on a comfortable bed, one of few inside the sanctuary, other beds were usually made up of layers of skinned animals who's pelt were hand tanned. Being the leader of the Dark Brotherhood had it's perks, one being the aforementioned bed. From under the fluffy feather filled comforter, J'vaarr's furry legs peeked out into the cold, brisk air in his personal sleeping area.

    He forced himself up from his bed, assuming a slouched sitting position. J'vaarr's ears twitched slightly as he heard the faint voices of his fellows killers, clanging of tankards and silver ware, even the muffled sound of a blade sliding across one of the practice dummies.

    The previous night was much like this morning...Noisy. J'vaarr let out a deep sigh and accepted what was to come upon walking out of his room.

    J'vaarr went through his routine. A quick brush of his fur and suiting up in the Brotherhood's signature armour. He rose his two thin looking arms above his head and stretched his muscles, the hair on his back hackled ever so slightly with his stretch. J'vaarr's legs move sloppily in front of him, making his way to the wooden door that separated his private quarters from the noise.

    "You're all up so early..." J'vaarr mumbled shortly after pushing open the wooden door. "It wouldn't hurt to give the sun some time to rise." He added, wiping some gunk from the corner of his eyes.
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  2. "Maybe not for you..."

    Nysa was usually one of few words, but this was a tad early for her. the sun was due to shine it's unforgiving rays very soon. The sanctuary could only offer so much relief before she'd be forced back down below, the only real place were she could rest in peace...such was the life of the undead.

    The Bosmer Vampire sat by the end of the sharpening one of her daggers, with glass of 'mysterious' substance on the table. Dark crimson eyes lifted up from her task and offered a playful smile to her leader. It was a curiosity indeed to be lead by a Khajit, given what she came to understand about the merchants; they had always seemed so pacifistic....

    "I gave our speakers fresh batch of contracts, curtsey of our matron," she said, lithe legs swinging a little under the table. "I'll be up a little while longer for any more. Though she's suspiciously silent at this time..."
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  3. Somewhere in the main hall, where the most room was to be had, a loud rushing sound and a heavy wind gusted throughout the halls before falling back into the sounds of the normal rabble. Accompanying it was the loud and irritated voice with the ever present gravel of the resident Vvardenfell native, Divayth.

    "If I find the n'wah who asked for such a contract I'll be sure his entrails are scattered to the aether and his money is melted into a pillow for his widow!" It was so outlandish and ridiculous a threat that it had to be the aloof Mage who had just teleported into an open area, bringing a cold bite of some distant air with him that hide a hint of pine. The normally well kept crimson robes he wore were laden with scorch marks and tears, held up by a blue sash that was not his own. "Edgar! Where are you!?" As if to answer a shambling reanimated skeleton ambled casually towards the Dunmer with a fresh set of robes and a damp rag to clean up with.

    "Listener!?.. Where is that abominable tree jumper.." Another native dunmeri curse slipped his ashen lips as he wiped burnt tidbits of flesh off his youthful face. The skeleton, with strips of metal to reinforce pearl white bones, plucked a few bits of what appeared to be brain matter from the Mohawk upon his head. "Oh that is simply vile. Burnt up a whole gem to make sure he died. Take it to her. It's proof enough..."
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  4. The 'tree-jumper' in question held her tongue. Silently she rose from her spot at the table, the same unnerving grace she always had, and finished the last of her goblet. Tossing the now coppery smelling glass with the pile of dirty tankards, she recovered her mane of dark waves and took the offering given.

    "I'm sure the clink of gold from your client will make it easier," she said, not even bothering to mask the sarcasm in her voice. "Good day."

    Her pride intact, the un-lady ascended the stairs to the higher levels. Side stepping the window, already shinning some fresh sunlight, she approached the mother's coffin. It somehow seemed natural that the mother would choose her to relay her wishes, given the similarities between the two of them. They were both a corpse in some fashion, still functioning long after their time of death. It gave Nysa a feeling of solace, a bond she had felt missing for quite some time.

    So the deed has been done...

    The Listener nodded.

    Another child has preyed to the mother...

    I don't doubt it, Nysa responded. Though there was no masking the slight sag to her shoulders. This was getting to be overwhelming....

    Seek the elven child of single sight in Markarth, accept the payment, eliminate the target. So begins a contract bound in blood. Hail Sithis...

    "Markarth?" she repeated aloud. "Hm...the city of cannibals..."
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  5. "Perhaps our sweet mother would be willing to warn us about such things as bodyguards next time!" It felt worse having your superior ignore you after having been through with the ordeal. A beam of sunlight making him stop with a raised brow. "Did we hire a decorator? Claim we need more time in the warmth of the sun?" There was mockery in his voice as the Mage left for his own quarters to change outfits and clean up.

    As always a basin of clear crisp water sat upon a nearby table, easily beating the cold salt water of the sea for bathing. While his face was washed his attending guardian missed with his hair, combing it back before brushing it up, owing to a unique hairstyle akin to his gray skinned family back home on the island continent.

    Upon his exit he declared himself hungry, plucking a half loaf from a murderers plate while he was briefly distracted by a shoulder tap that never truly happened. Much to the mer's dismay but to the raucous uproar of the others seated. "My brothers and sisters! What is the color of the night?"

    "Almost as dark as you!" Came a quick snap of someone's tongue.

    The spell that sent him flopping backwards to the floor as if made of rigid wood made the Dunmer smile. "It is sanguine! Like wine! Which it's never too early for!" Another pilfered glass and a pitcher from a distant cabinet with a soft woosh of air. Simple telekinesis. Morale booster, he likes to call himself this dark elf.
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  6. J'vaarr's feet guided him to an open seat among the many that littered the room he was in, relief came quickly what he felt the flat surface of the chair's seat beneath him. More shouting just made his head all the more fuzzy than it already was, the dunmer who insists it never to early for red wine was no exception. "Divayth! Tell us about this contract you finished." J'vaarr felt he had to raise his voice to be heard over the collective roar of the small crowed of assassins.

    J'vaarr's limb stretched out over the table, his fingers curling around the dull silvery jug that stood tall among the tankards and plates scattered across the wooden plain. "You're tales of murder are something I look forward to everyday." A genuine statement, yet, could be easily mistaken for sarcasm.

    It was only after he poured himself a cup of water that he realised he wouldn't mind some of the wine the dark skinned dunmer was mentioning. Although unsatisfied, J'vaarr drank the luke warm anyway, to lazy to switch it's contents.

    J'varr squinted his eyes when looking at the Divaythe, her figure made a silhouette that contrasted the light coming from the stained glass window. It was an easy decision to just not look at her, instead just stare blankly at the table and sip his water casually.
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  7. The dunmer spun around with a flourish of his robes, wine sloshing from the glass to fall to the stone floor where it seeped into the cracks. "Is that so, our dearest leader?" He spoke with an affluent nordic undertone to his otherwise heavy ashlander accent. "If only it were so easy to recant."

    A few boos and bahs came from the few gathered, even a muffin being tossed at the assassin. It was caught in his gray grip and not a moment after a bite was taken from it. "Shnowberry." Came his comment, brows raised momentarily as he washed down the sweet treat with a swig of his arbor red.

    Another swig or two, or perhaps it was three? Either way. Soon the dunmer went into exquisite detail of his previous mark in the southern province of Cyrodill. "I'll warn you now, new-bloods and murderers alike. Never underestimate a man who knows his death is coming. That's what I did. And it cost me dearly." It really didn't, he was referring to his eyebrows that seemed a trifle bit thinner than they were the week before. "Wards as far as I could see, if I hadn't been under time constraint to end him it would've been a welcome challenge to dismantle the intricacies of his spellcraft, but the n'wah didn't give me that fair luxury."

    Before long he sat at one of the long table's edges, leg's crossed at the knee and his cup balancing perfectly upon his knee. "Well, the man had also employed a few of his kinsmen for protection. Resistant to magick the lot of them. Burnt out my own protection spells within moments. The beauty of the kill came when I was about to simply return and make another attempt later on. I couldn't do that, Jafar would have my hide if he didn't have such a fine coat himself!" Some nervous chuckles and a few outright bursts of laughter came at the joke.

    "Ever since the levitation act you all know it's highly illegal. Which makes it seldom seen! Now when you seek to make a man's lower jaw levitate away from the upper one it get's messy. Far more if you miss-cast it under the duress of battle and get his skull instead. Needless to say he doesn't do much hard thinking now! If at all!"
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  8. The laughter caught Nysa attention, inclining her paled head to the ground below. Strip away the talk of murder, blood and dead bodies, and somehow there wasn't much difference between them and the other guilds. They drank, they feasted, and laughed amongst themselves like any family is miscreants, like one giant family. Despite the knowledge that it would do her no good, the Bosmer couldn't help the pang that came from her long-dead heart. Wouldn't it have been nice if she could have joined them, among kith and adopted kin...

    You have been chosen for higher purpose, child. Pay no heed...

    The matron's words sunk into her skull like a well-placed blade, smoothly cleaving away what hope came. She winced and looked away, instantly shrinking back to the only solace she had: that contract. It'd make a well-placed distraction from these thoughts.

    "I'll keep this one for myself," she finally mused, and made her way back don the stairs. Deep, garnet red eyes eyed the table momentarily, attempting to breathe some life back into that hope. But, she pulled her hood up instead, and moved to go back down to the dungeon.
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  9. Get in, get out. It was supposed to be as simple as that. Of course, it wasn't - when was the last time something planned had ever gone his way? Maybe once. Alright, twice, but that did not change the fact that Dar'jzi was now stuck in the rafters above the doorway in a little girl's bedroom in Solitude. She was staring right at him.

    Go back to sleep, little ma, he thought, returning her stare. It was quite dark in the room, and Dar'jzi was certain that she could not see his figure up there - only his bright, yellow eyes, he imagined, reflecting what little light there was from the window above her bed.

    The girl whimpered, drawing her covers up to her chin. Dar'jzi put a clawed finger to his mouth and, remembering her terrible human eyesight, decided to put something verbal behind the action. "Shh... I will not hurt you," he whispered to her. Human ears were also something rather inferior compared to a Khajiit, but he was sure he'd said it just loud enough for her to hear, as right then she fell quiet.

    Dar'jzi began to organize his thoughts, trying to figure out another plan. He was not above killing a man, a woman, or even one of his own race, but killing a child did not come easy to him. Not since Elsweyr. If it came down to it, he would take the girl's life for his own safety, but still the thought did not sit well with him.

    A scream erupted from somewhere inside the house. Dar'jzi felt a chill run through him as his fur stood on end. He had to act now or risk breaching the specific instructions of the contract; kill only the wife, and make sure it looks like an accident. The little girl could only see his eyes in the dark, which could be translated as a bad dream or her imagination to the guardians.

    This one is making excuses, he realized. But if he killed the girl, others would know the wife's death was not an accident. He shifted slightly in his spot above the doorway, struggling to think of something, anything, that could get him out of this situation safely without messing up the contract. He glanced at the window behind the girl. The sun would be rising soon. His window of opportunity was closing fast.
  10. In Markarth, the weather was... Well, it was cold. Dreekius could have guessed that it would be this way. It was much like Solstheim. Sometimes he yearned for home solely for the hot, humid conditions that reigned if full dominance there, but as far as he'd seen, no other land in Tamriel could claim the victory against Skyrim in terms of innate beauty. He could die here, and all would be well. Part of him wanted to be at home when he drew his final breath. Where is my home? That must be wherever I am. He sniffed the air loudly while clenching and unclenching his fists, to get the circulation flowing again.

    "Oh, I need a drink tonight." He said to no one in particular. Dreekius had simply been sitting on the walkway that twisted its way up through Markarth, his back up against an old Dwemer wall. A guard loitered a short distance away, keeping careful watch on Dreekius, and not on much else. The Nords of this land seemed to be a great deal more wary of outlanders than even the Dunmer of Morrowind, in some areas. He called out to the guard, saying "You - you look tasty, why don't you come have a drink with me tonight?" He said as he stood in the dark of the pathway, brushing bits of earth and dust from his behind.

    The guard didn't waste a beat, and instantly said "I'm not fond of pond scum, even if it's free," she said in a thick accent, drawing herself up to her full height, "but I have been looking for some new boots. Does lizard skin still shimmer and shine after a few years of use?" She gave a small chuckle at her pathetic joke, and Dreekius paid it little mind. He'd heard such insults before, and his skin still adorned his body delightfully.

    "Oh, no, the pond scum comes from a terrible place that's hard to reach from here, but I have no interest in cracking open that ugly skull of yours to get it." Dreekius retorted. He didn't wait for a response, and only turned to slowly walk away. "You did look tasty, though..." He said an instant later, under his breath.

    Dreekius stalked idly down the winding path, and soon found himself enjoying the warmth of the Silver-Blood Inn. He casually walked past a table full of drunk laggards, picked up a full mug of Mead, and found himself a place by the fire. None had noticed the Mead theft, or if they did, they had not spoken. Dreekius cared little, and drank deeply, wishing he had some Skooma.
    #10 Riddiskel, Oct 25, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Oct 26, 2014
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  11. A raspy chuckle escaped the lips of the Khajiit. "Classic..."J'vaarr managed to say through his soft, airy laugh. He brought the tankard up to his grinning lips, slowly finishing the last of his water. The last drop seemed to take forever to fall off the rim of the cup, but once it had, it was nothing less than satisfying. J'vaarr reclined in his wooden chair and let out a relaxing sigh, as much fun as his mornings were J'vaarr knew he couldn't bask in this moment all day. He would pick up a contract and do something today, Sithis knows he needs the exercise.

    "J'vaarr must be getting on his way now, there is contacts to be completed my brothers." The cat stated with a light-hearted tone. J'vaarr's legs ached slightly when he pushed himself up to a stand, quickly he followed up with a stretch to relieve the awkward tension in his legs.

    J'vaarr looked around the ground of killers, everyone one of them slowly getting more and more restless, J'vaarr could tell they were getting bored of the day and wanted to do more. Just like J'vaarr himself. He had remembered the contract he'd picked up just yesterday, a nord in Windhelm. The client being one of the many mistreated dark elves in that hold. Probably just another revenge kill. No doubt it be something mundane. J'vaarr thought as he made it to retrieve some things to bring on this job. His shrouded hood, a movement speed potions, and his emergencemergency dagger, all the things he needs for this job was all set. J'vaarr proceeded out of the sanctuary, giving a farewell to the people he passed on his way out. J'vaarr made it out into the city of dawnstar, the brisk, refreshing wind nipping at his fur. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle, in fact it was something he liked. This contract was going to be a good one.
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  12. Dar'jzi held his breath and looked down as a figure came running through the doorway beneath him. She was an older woman - a Bosmer, he realized as she came to the little girl's bed and scooped her up in a tight embrace, sobbing hysterically. How in Sithis' name was he going to get out of this?

    It took a moment for the Bosmer woman to calm herself enough to speak. "Your step-mother," she began, taking a shaky breath, "she fell. She's...she's passed on."

    The girl looked up at her, blinking, but said nothing.

    "You are forbidden to leave your room. Do you understand?" the woman said, cupping the girl's face in her long, slender hands. "The city guards will be here soon to investigate. You are not to leave your room, girl. Not until they leave. Do you understand?" she asked again.

    "Yes," the little girl said softly.

    Dar'jzi tensed from his position in the rafters. If the guards were on their way, he would need to get out quickly; either that, or take up hiding in the cellar for a day until things began to settle down. He weighed his options as the Bosmer spoke again.

    "I am sending word to your father. He should be back in just a few days." The woman smoothed down the girl's long, brunette hair and smiled sadly. "I am so sorry. I know you don't understand what's going on. Just know that I will always be here for you." She brought the girl close to her for another hug before standing and wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I will bring you up something to eat in a little while."

    Dar'jzi closed his eyes as the Bosmer turned toward the doorway to leave. Once she shut the door behind her and her footsteps became but a whisper, the Khajiit opened his eyes. The little girl was looking for him up in the rafters, and her eyes settled on his when he opened them. She crawled to the head of her bed and opened the window, then sat back down with her legs folded beneath her and stared at him again.

    She is...letting me escape, he realized. Dar'jzi was quick to act upon the opportunity he'd been given. He dropped down from the rafters, landing as softly as a leaf from a tree, and hurried over to the window. He placed his hand on the sill to climb out, but stopped when he glanced down at the girl. She almost seemed sad to see him go.

    "Thank you," Dar'jzi said, keeping his tone soft and quiet.

    "You saved me," the girl whispered, a smile growing. "You saved my life." She moved to the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around the Khajiit's midsection. "Thank you."

    Dar'jzi was caught off guard by the action, but accepted it and put his hand to rest on her shoulder. Bruises were visible on her upper arms where the sleeves of her nightgown bunched up to reveal them. "This one must go," he said, moving his hand to her head. The girl looked up and nodded, then released him.

    Later, as Dar'jzi stalked through the sewers deep below the city toward the exit, he wondered if it had been the girl to perform the Black Sacrament to have her stepmother killed. The tip of his tail flicked back and forth as he turned the entire contract over and over in his mind.
  13. Dreekius brooded in his mug of Mead. The stuff was alright enough, but his cravings were beginning to override his ability to enjoy a good drink. He put his feet up along the length of the bench before him, a traditionally fashioned log, and studied the inn's tavern's inhabitants. Particularly, he paid the most attention to those becoming the most drunk. He couldn't decide which of them deserved to die tonight, if they did at all. Dreekius rarely killed indiscriminately; he did find a certain thrill in killing, especially if a good fight was put forth, but it was always specific. As far as he knew, he had never killed anyone on accident... But it was possible.

    Dreekius looked down - his mug was empty, yet his thirst persisted. Casually he got to his feet and tossed the mug high into the air towards the group of drunkards. It didn't actually hit any of them, rather it fell harmlessly behind the only woman in the group, but his purpose was fulfilled anyway. An accusation was thrown, an insult was returned, and then the brawl began. There were only four of them, but they were all Nord - a small bottle-fueled army. They caused such a commotion that Dreekius was able to move away unseen, unnoticed, by anyone.

    He crept through the inn until he found the boarding rooms. Only one of them was locked, so it was there he decided to go. Dreekius drew a thin knife and a basic pick from a pocket, and in just a moment, was through the door. There was one occupant. He looked like an imperial when Dreekius crouched near the bed, so close to the man's - well, the boy's, really - face, the Dreekius could feel the exhalation the young adult gave away into the night. The kid shivered steadily underneath the thin blanket.

    "I won't kill you, not tonight." Dreekius breathed. "Maybe one day, if you ever seek vengeance for what I'm going to take from you." Dreekius drew his dagger, and used the last of a Paralysis Potion to give a thin coat to the tip. Using the dagger to flip a section of blanket away, Dreekius slid the point of his dagger underneath the sleeper's tunic sleeve... And felt the dagger hit the rings of hard, protective chainmail.

    The sleeper's other hand closed around Dreekius' neck, and squeezed. Dreekius made a noise as he pulled back, but that was no use - the 'kid' was far more powerful than Dreekius would have thought, and he thought quite a lot as he was lifted into the air and thrown bodily to the floor. He tucked his tail and rolled to his feet, then sprang back with ferocity and excitement in his step. His opponent already had a blade in his hand and was leveling it to block Dreekius' speedy advance, but Dreekius feinted at the last second, then spun away to the right and slammed his dagger into the man's neck. The effect took him immediately; he slumped over and fell, letting his short blade clatter to the ground. Dreekius wasted no time and pulled the dagger out to let the man bleed to death. By the time the paralysis wore off, only a few seconds later, it may as well have already been over.
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  14. Truth be told, Shadowmere wasn't exactly a subtle way to travel...but he was quick. There was no horse in skyrim that was faster. His dark hooves carried her from Dawnstar to Markarth from dusk to midnight. It was beyond late, the stars had long since been out, and everyone in the city of stone had settled in one uncomfortable bed after the other for a deserved rest.

    All but one. The Bosmer could hear one Nord's blood still pumping, along with the wreak of the dead. He'd just eaten, the poor slob, and stepped just outside the Hall of the Dead. Fair-haired and dark-skinned, he let his eyes shift left and right. He wiped what he thought was incriminating off his lips, and dropped the stolen key in a jar nearby. Praise Namira, all was well...

    But the only Daedric instrument tonight was the one in Nysa's hand, the one that easily pierced his exposed neck. Her slender hand grabbed his mouth, and her teeth found a nice, fat vein. Maybe he had been taking of the dead, a poison to be sure, but it never stopped the sweet relief....


    But drinking the dead had reprocussions, one's that would have brought on a release she wans't ready for. Feeling it begin to take her in, she dropped him on the ground with a thunk, battle axe-noisily clanging to the side. The guard would surely hear that...

    She drew her mask back up and slithered back into the shadows. Truth be told, she was still hungry...maybe the city wouldn't miss just one minute man? This would be written off as a random Vampire attack, right? They'd purge things, increase the marching....but just one more... Her crimson eyes shinned brightly at the prospect.
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