The Jarl of Falkreath was not impressed by Tarthas’ appeal for a murder investigation. On the contrary, he was accusing Tarthas of starting a ruse to cause panic in his hold that was so close to the border so that it was weakened and the Imperials could retake Skyrim.
Tarthas stood his ground heatedly and soon guards were shifting their weapons. An ashen skinned figure clad in ebony slipped out of a side room. Keri stayed quiet throughout most of the ordeal. She had been quiet since she had seen the ashes. She leaned against Tarthas' right shoulder in silence, like a small child holding on to her father. She barely flinched at the court's shouting, dazed.
“DREM!" the word rolled through the longhouse with an ancient and soothing undertone. Keri lost her daze and everyone lost their anger. The Dunmeri Dragonborn walked calmly with pride. “Honestly my Jarl, as your Thane let me share some of my wisdom. These children have lived in Falkreath hold for most of their lives, their mother was highly respected throughout all holds" a sly grin crossed his scarred face. "If I remember well she helped you with your foot fungus within three days while the healers couldn't solve it. And you would dismiss her children as mad men, plotting to overthrow your power? The boy is barely of age. I'll take the risk of taking these" sarcasm started to seep in his voice "provincial threats under my care."
"Go ahead Dragonborn, take them out of my city and keep an eye on them." the grey bearded jarl dismissed them with a wave of his hand and purple robed guards pushing the two with halberds out of the building.
The Dragonborn's home in Helgen was insignificant against the other grey stone houses in Helgen. It attached to the northwest wall and from one window had a breath taking view that spread from Bleak Falls Barrow to the north all the way to Ilinalta lake and the mountains in the reach to the west, below were the forests of Falkreath and midst them was Falkreath City. It lay in the part of town that was once the fortress of Helgen, a stronghold of the empire that was knocked down for firewood and stone to rebuild Helgen.
"Glistel, my love!" Zaknolu called into the kitchen, "Could you get the guest room ready, we have some friends of mine to take care of for the next couple of weeks. Make yourselves at home, the guest bedroom is upstairs, the door to the right." The Dragonborn went into the kitchen and embraced his Dunmeri wife, she had liquorice black hair and looked younger than the old Dragonborn, her eyes were a softer red than the typical fierce red of most dunmer, she wore a white blouse like dress covered by a moss green corset-vest, the sleeves of the dress draped loosely at the wrists.
Tarthas took the moment to explore the house and went downstairs, to the basement instead of the bedroom where Keri had slumped off to. From the left wall hung two crimson red banners which were embroidered with a golden sun that had a red teardrop in the centre. In between the two banners was a mannequin with a silver suit of armour he had never seen the likes of before, it was ornately decorated and was made out of very fine silver chain mail covered by plates of the same silver metal in the places the need most protection and least manoeuvrability. Beside the mannequin was a rosewood quiver filled with arrows and an ash longbow gilded with silver and emerald glass crystals.
On opposite wall were two similar banners although instead of a sun on them, they had a black hand, the symbol of the thusly named elite of the Assassin's guild known as the dark brotherhood: the black hand. In between those was a wrought iron statue of a delicate lady dressed in a cowl-ed dress with a draped neckline, crows adorned her out stretched arms and she had a cold and uninterested stare. It was a statue of the daedric prince Nocturnal, the Mistress of Shadows, god of the Thieves' Guild.
A hand rested on Tarthas' shoulder that made him jump. He turned around to see the Dragonborn in merely a pair of grey trousers, a huge scar cut across his chest. In his other hand he had a leather bundle that probably contained his armour. Zaknolu pointed to the left, "The order of the Virtuous Blood, a small faction of vampire slayers which I was a part of, mostly a group of old men that had a distaste for vampires and needed someone to do their dirty work, I also had a distaste for them so I became that man they needed and gained more slayers in the ranks. That's mithril, a metal that has gone out of production, light as linen but as strong as dragon scales, or so they say. That is how they used to make glass bows, two hundred years back, not with moonstone and decoratively smithed, but with real intent of use. Her name is Shardstring, beautiful bow; she could drain the life of a vampire in seconds. It took me three shots of that girl to slay the greatest champion of the arena Cyrodiil has ever seen: the grey prince. Tough old Orc that was."
Tarthas looked to the right and Zaknolu looked with him "I was one with the shadows back in the day and had a large thrill in everything to do with it, from an arrow that nobody knew where it came from, to lock picking and the greatest relics disappearing from their display cases under the highest watch. So when I was young I joined the Thieves' Guild and the Dark Brotherhood. Never truly enjoyed the Assassin's life especially not with the patron being a vampire. So is the current listener I've heard, killed the Emperor and goes by the name of Karsa." The boy's eyes lit up at the mention of that name, "It's late son. We will have dinner soon and then I think rest will do you and your girl some good."
Marcurio walked with a black dagger in hand to his sleeping wife and stabbed her repeatedly, she merely sighed as the dagger cut into her ribcage. The murderer left the room and exited the house, dropping flames as he walked; when he was outside he set the house on fire. The whole forest glowed from the flames and the flames from the door started swirling like a whirlpool, volcanic rock formed from the ground and arched into a gateway in to the form of the daedric letter O, in the gate was a paradise and Marcurio entered. Tarthas found he could move and ran after him. A deep malicious, laugh echoed, one of a woman. As Tarthas neared the gate a huge flaming dragon appeared from the flames and stopped his path, dawn was rising behind the house. Something urged Tarthas to mount the flaming dragon. The fire didn't hurt him, and the beast flew south, the laughing followed him words started forming. "Dawn is rising! And with it Fire shall come. This time you won't stop it." a roaring, monstrous, laugh mingled in with the woman's laughing.
Tarthas woke up with a start. Not wanting to fall asleep again he left the Dragonborn’s house and set off for a walk through Helgen, no one was out and nothing appealed. An hour went by and Tarthas thought of nothing. He looked up at the Aurora that spread across Skyrim's night sky, it was a dazzling green and blue this night, the moon was full and the stars were brighter than normal. How could such dreams plague his mind when the night was so peaceful? The inn door quietly opened and shut, a young woman in a blacksmith's apron stumbled out. It was Dorthe, Riverwoods Blacksmith. She spotted him and sat beside him.
"Never knew you to be the one to make midnight strolls," she grinned at Tarthas, "You slept like a hibernating bear when you came round. Woke up like one too if I tried to wake you."
"Ah, but if I remember, you enjoyed those rough moments. And it always turned into a kiss at the end."
"Yes, all the way till Gerdur called us for breakfast an hour later." the two laughed, "Oh, Tarthas. The stars are beautiful tonight and the lady and the apprentice are out. Our signs, I think it is fate we met this eve." she leaned in and kissed him. Tarthas pushed away, "I am in love with someone else, Dorthe, we are no more." Dorthe giggled.
"Oh, Tarthas you were always so high and noble, come on, just a little fun under the moonlight." she loosened her corset and bit his ear. She grabbed his hand and moved it forcefully up her thigh, a grin on her face, her cheeks were flushed. "Just one night, I need someone Tarthas. I'm lonely."
"Dorthe, you're drunk, and whatever there was between us is gone." Tarthas stood up and walked away. Dorthe started crying. It wasn't fair on Dorthe what Tarthas had done, but this was not the right time.
At noon the next day Tarthas pulled the Dragonborn away from his work and brought him to basement. "I need to contact the Dark Brotherhood,” he said confidently.
The dunmer eyed him curiously. "And why would that be? Not to kill your father no?"
He hesitated, "No, I don't want to kill anyone. I want to contact the listener, Karsa."
"Your business is your own, but to contact the dark brotherhood, the black sacrament is a must. I will help you set up the altar, but you will need to find a dead body. There is a watchtower, west of here, where lives a young vampire, I was going to set off to slay it today, but if you are willing to then go ahead, I will bring it to town for you. Just leave it at the foot of the tower."
Keri was looking out of the window with the tremendous view in the sitting room, she still hadn’t said anything to Tarthas or anyone else and Tarthas decided to leave her be.
The tower was fairly open, his mother had said that when she first came to Falkreath that this was the tower where she had seen her first necromancer and she had actually killed it. Now a Vampire more of the undead, haunted the tower. He climbed the steps cautiously and at the top floor of the tower was a pale robed figure reading a book. “It must be here somewhere, this page… no! It’s not! Molag damn you!” It slammed alembics to the walls in frustration and slammed the book shut, it stood up muttering and cursing under its breath, as it turned around and gleamed at Tarthas with its glowing yellow eyes and grinned a toothy grin. “Seems like a fly has stumbled across a web and now the spider shall drink.”
Tarthas didn’t hesitate in the slightest, as the vampire charged, in one swift movement, he unsheathed and decapitated the vampire. Making short work of it. He carried the body down the steps and did as Zaknolu asked.
The same dream haunted Tarthas again. When he woke up the dragonborn was watching him, he was only visible because of the gleam of the moon reflecting off his armour. He beckoned Tarthas to follow him, they went down the steps to the basement and the body lay in a pentagram with a dagger beside it and red candles and nightshade petals surrounding it.
“The words are ‘Sweet mother, sweet mother. Send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.’ Repeat them continuously while stabbing the body and soon the Night Mother will hear your wishes and tell the Listener to send out a contract. They are always there within a day. Only do this at night. And so Tarthas kneeled down and stabbed the body, chanting that verse. As Zaknolu had predicted nothing had happened by dawn. The next night he was at it again, chanting and stabbing. A red leather boot stepped in his field of vision, he looked up to see a hooded man in an expensive looking red leather plated vest, and a black hood; yellow eyes glowed from the hood.
“The night mother heard your summons.”
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I hope you enjoyed, comments would be appreciated.
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