» Fri Mar 25, 2011 1:10 am Chapter Six: Mother of Darkness
"So now the only question is what statue he was talking about." Lucien said, his face a mask beneath his pitch black hood.
"Yes, and I think the clue lies within the incantation he gave me." Louis replied, looking sternly at his apprentice over the table that separated them.
Lucien looked around the tavern, a pensive stare that did not entirely see his surroundings. He did not see the band of Nords that were singing boisterously from the bar, nor the group of Argonians huddled in the corner. The bearded barkeep went unnoticed in the young assassin's gaze, his rosy cheeks betraying the cold outside, despite the warmth of the tavern. The single candle melting on the table played shadow's across the Imperial's smooth features, both of the cloaked figures left alone in a dark corner of the tavern.
They had fled the ransacked sanctuary as soon as supplies were gathered and their friend's bodies cremated, given up to Sithis in the custom of the Brotherhood. Louis did not put much stock in their dread lord, but the practice was more emotional than spiritual for the pair. All their Brothers' bodies floated towards the sky, smoke, in the sleepy hours of the night. The invaders, the perpetrators, their corpses received no ritual, thrown in a pile haphazardly, through freshly tear stained eyes. The only body left where it lie was the shirtless Argonian, neither of the surviving assassins' could bring themselves to touch it. As they left they set fire to the old house that hid their sanctuary, blocking the entrance to the subterranean secret with rocks and debris, to keep out curious children and furtive thieves.
Louis had told his apprentice what had happened at the castle, how the armory and the bedchambers had been empty, their residents spread throughout the city hunting murderers. He told him of the Shadowscale's last words, how he had whispered the incantation to Louis with his dying breath. And Lucien in turn told Louis of his encounter with the surviving guards, how he had slain them in surprising focus, despite his rage and grief. Louis had done his best to explain, but the feeling of the kill is not something to be given words, and all he could say was that he was thankful Lucien had made it through the encounter.
"Mother of darkness, lady of Chaos, your children await. Speak your names, and the blade shall fall. Your servant, your child." Lucien whispered the words, each falling like a hammer blow, searching their words for meaning.
Louis too was lost in his thoughts, trying desperately to fulfill his friend's last request, "The first line is obviously speaking of the Night Mother, saying how the Brotherhood will do her bidding. The next has to refer to the targets she has received in the prayers, and how we carry out the contracts for them. And the last just talks about us. So what statue has something to do with us? I've never seen a statue devoted to the Night Mother, or Sithis."
"Mhm," Lucien nodded his assent, "And it would need to be close, the Listener had new contracts just about every week. But I've never seen him leave his room."
"Well there were no statues in his chambers, I made sure of that while we were leaving." Louis' eyes grew glassy, the memory of the Argonian's body still fresh in his mind, "But there was a secret passageway, leading to the surface. It came out into the sewers, so he could easily slip out without anyone noticing."
"Why didn't he escape then?" Lucien asked, his dark eyebrows furrowing with the question.
"I guess he was trying to save the sanctuary?" Louis trailed off, looking down at the dancing candle flame.
Lucien noted his dejection, and decided not to press the matter further. But they had to find this statue, and soon, "So it would probably be in or near the town. It doesn't have to have anything to do with us, but I'm guessing it would have some kind of symbols or some kind of clue."
Louis nodded his head, surprised at his apprentice's deductions, "The guild is full of symbols and secrets, most of which I hardly even know. We'd be better off looking for help than speaking to every statue that shares one."
"Yeah," Lucien trailed off, his mind working furiously. Then, as if the solution were whispered in his ear, his eyes lit up, "If the statue somehow communicated with the Night Mother, wouldn't it be full of her symbolism?"
"Yes, I suppose it would, and her most common aspect is that of a mother, surrounded by children, usually in a rather gloomy setting." Louis said, recalling a picture of her he had seen in one of the sanctuary's many books.
"So what statue near here is that of a woman with kids?" Lucien asked, his brow furrowing once more.
Louis sat in thought for a moment, one of his slender fingers pressed to his lips, the other hand toying with his mahogany hair. The pair sat in silence, their focus uninterrupted by the Nords' escalating carousing. Suddenly, both of the assassins' calculating eyes met, each lit by new discovery, shared as if by psychic bond. They smiled, and simultaneously cried out, "The Lucky Old Lady!"
Lucien ran ahead of his master, looking back with an air of accomplishment, the previous night's troubles forgotten in the new day's sun. Louis followed him with a purposeful step, his mind, wizened beyond its years, did not forget so easily. The Breton threw back the black hood that covered his pale features, swiftly swiping his russet hair back into its loose part. His thin eyebrows drew together, even more serious than before, as the blue globes beneath them beheld the city's most mysterious statue.
"See, she's surrounded by small children, this has to be it!" Lucien called back, stopping just a few paces from the statue's staring eyes.
"Yes, we'll find out soon." Louis answered solemnly, studying the sculpture intently.
The Breton stepped into place next to his apprentice, both looking up towards the woman's face; one's eyes bright, the other's cold as the deepest ocean.
Lucien was about to say something, but stopped when he heard his master taking in a deep breath. The Breton's azure eyes shut, the image of a fallen Argonian flashed before his closed lids, his shirtless torso stained with dark blood, some of the wounds bandaged in vain. Louis exhaled, shaking the image from his mind as he opened his eyes. The cold morning wind blew his dark hair back into a loose mess.
"Mother of darkness, lady of Chaos, your children await." Louis spoke in a heavy monotone, each word dropping from his lips like fresh blood, "Speak your names, and the blade shall fall." His strong Bretonic chin dropped onto his chest, his eyes cast downwards towards the cobblestone streets. He paused for a moment, his apprentice staring at him intently. Then, he continued in a whisper, barely audible, falling like glass, swallowed by the wind, "Your servant, your child."
The two assassins stood, the silence enveloping them despite the fresh gust of wind. The cold air seemed to part, and the air around them became still, heavy and foreboding, like that of a crypt. Lucien gave an involuntary shiver, his dark eyes looking up from his dark hood, towards the statue's face. Time seemed to freeze, like the dew upon the ground, as Lucien saw the Lucky Old Lady's lips curve into a sinister smile.
The sky overhead, previously lit in the gray light of dawn, grew dark with clouds. A heavy hiss broke the air, followed by a sound like crumbling stone, as the statue's base seemed to glide away from the two assassins. Both stood, dumbstruck, as the stone floated away, suspended by an ancient magic, revealing the damp soil beneath. The ground left empty by the statue's miraculous shift was broken only by a vacant circle, an opening into oblivion.
The pair stepped forward, onto the circle of earth. The dirt was devoid of any life, hard packed by the weight of the statue. Louis gazed into the void, the age old air clawing against his skin, his Imperial apprentice by his side. Suddenly, a dark whisper escaped the emptiness, carried by the dank breeze, "Listener? Enter? Alone?"
Louis could not help from gulping, his blue eyes widened with paranormal fear. He turned to his apprentice, finding a similar look in his eyes. He looked back towards the hole, half expecting the sinister whisper to continue. But the unnatural silence returned, the billowing overcast quieting even the wind. Lucien, too scared to speak, ushered his master towards the opening with a wave of his dexterous hands, pleading him to return quickly.
The Breton gave a curt nod, his eyes remaining fixed on the dark circle, searching for some kind of ladder or similar device to carry him down. Finding none, he took a hesitant step towards the hole, his face a mixture of caution and concealed fear. He leaned over the entryway, unsure of how to proceed, 'till he felt a weight suddenly drag on his chest. He fell headfirst into the blackness, the shock on his apprentice's face trumped only by his own. His look of surprise disappeared into the emptiness, his apprentice scrambling after him, kept from falling in himself only by an invisible force, pressing him away from the void. His shouts were muffled, silenced in the oppressing air. He broke away from the hole, scrambling away towards the safety of the cobblestone street.
As his feet left the cold, damp soil, the wind suddenly found him again, his cries carrying off, unheeded by the ignorant masses of Bravil.
Louis landed, or rather; he was caught, by a cold, unseen cushion. The darkness consumed him, a kind of black not known to mortal eyes, even those trained to pierce it. His shouts rivaled his apprentice's, but were equally muffled. The only sound seemed to resonate from deep within him, a harsh, motherly tone, as if talking to a misbehaving child, "Oh stop, you're not hurt. The last one never did this."
Louis sat up, his cushion replaced by an equally frigid stone floor, staring into the emptiness. He called out, hesitantly, into the darkness, "Wh-who are you?"
"You don't know?" The patronizing, feminine voice continued, as if mocking him, "You were the one that called upon me, after all."
"N?Night Mother?" He said, almost whispering.
"Yes!" The condescending voice escalated into a sarcastic shout, the blackness dissolving suddenly, as if a veil were lifted from Louis' eyes. He saw before him a vast chamber, with natural cave walls, stalagmites jutting up from the damp ground and stalactites dropping like spear tips from the ceiling, lost past the firelight that illuminated the cavern, dozens of candles melting puddles of wax onto the stone. Immediately in front of Louis stood a vast construction of bones, a throne of skulls, dominated the room, atop a silken crimson rug. The nightmarish seat, only a few steps from where Louis kneeled, was occupied by a shimmering Dunmer woman, clad in robes befitting a queen, her beauty superseding any seductress Tamriel had ever seen.
Her feline body, lithe under the silken fabrics, bespoke an authority unquestioned, a power unmatched. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, her smooth gray green calves exposed beneath her dress, her feet dangling bare over the milky white remains. Her robes fell around her sinuous form, different fabrics folding into one another like waves in the ocean. Her fingers gripped the armrests with an easy strength, the pearly skulls staring with vacant eyes at Louis. Despite her relaxed, almost friendly posture, she maintained an air of royalty, and Louis could not help but kneel before her brilliance, his body once more dragged by an invisible force.
He drew his head up, the magic paralyzing his limbs leaving him his sight, to take in the young woman all at once. His blue eyes met hers, the normal Dunmer fire seaming to flicker playfully. She drew one finger up to grace her cheek, the rest of her hand resting on her scarlet lips. Her elven ears tapered to a point, disappearing in her moonlight hair, falling around her face and down her shoulders like an unstoppable waterfall, ending on the red fabric covering her chest. She smiled at him, mischievously, like a child with a secret.
Her voice commanded just as much respect as her figure, carrying with it none of the ghostly whispers or sarcasm Louis had heard before, "So, Louis Endret, you have become the new Listener. Though under rather unfortunate circumstances, I should say."
Louis could say nothing, though the spell left his lips free, his mind was too overrun by thoughts to form a coherent statement.
"I understand, this must come as somewhat of a shock to you. It is one of the best kept secrets of the Brotherhood, trusted only to the Listeners. An elite group you, my dear child, have recently joined." She stared at him with the same playful, flickering eyes, her body shifting under her robes. She rose from the throne as if suspended by wires, her feet seeming not to touch the satin draqed ground.
"M-my lady." Louis stammered out, his eyes returning to the ground, trying to gather his senses once more.
"Please, address me by name; we are far beyond formalities here. You, Louis, may call me Medila. Now, I understand that you and your brethren have had some trouble recently." Her grin widened, her stark white teeth curving into fine points, daggers hidden in her smile.
"Y-yes," Louis choked out, "They've killed us all." His eyes shut tight, the memory still painful within him.
"And what did you think to do now?" Her voice echoed off the chamber walls, each resonation filled with laughter like the chiming of bells.
"I do not know, my lady, after meeting you all I could think was revenge." Louis tried to sound formal, respectful, feeling like he was balancing on a blade's edge.
"I told you to call me Medila," she chided, "So you were going to fulfill Mwhyll's wishes, then kill all those responsible. A sound plan, and one I do not doubt you and your boy could accomplish, but consider this: you were left alive, unknowingly of course, but still here to grieve, and suffer. Would you not want he who made you so to experience a similar fate, if not worse?"
Louis felt overcome again; each time the woman spoke washing over him like a wave, robbing him of his senses. He looked up at her, his eyes more innocent than they had been in years, "Most certainly my- ah, Medila, but what could be worse than death?"
The Night Mother lifted up her head, exposing her smooth neck, and gave a high pitched laugh, as if the statement were a joke only she could comprehend, "My dear Louis, you ask this and yet call yourself an assassin? Pain goes beyond the body, my son, beyond even torture." Her flickering eyes narrowed, "Fear and grief shall break a man faster than the sword, they say. Take away what he loves; show him the deepest sufferings of his loved ones, the traitorous thoughts of his closest friends, let him watch as all he knows is burnt to the ground. This he has already done to you, is it not just to return the favor?"
Louis suddenly felt a deep fear of the woman, and would have jumped back at her gaze had he not been fixed in place. But he could not hide the terror in his eyes, and Medila picked up on it immediately, cutting off any response from him, "But to act now, when his mind is still on the business of assassins, would be a fool's errand. He would surely suspect, within the depths of his mind, that one survived. He knows that one is enough to kill him, and his guard would now be at its strongest. If you had gone to his castle this night, as I have already seen, you along with your little apprentice would be dead."
Louis swallowed hard, all his plans torn to shreds before him, and looked down, shamefaced. He felt her eyes upon him, and looked up once more, his blue eyes entreating her, "What do I do?"
"That is the question, now isn't it?" She folded her thin arms across her chest, the snow white fabric of her sleeves falling around her like billowing clouds. She closed her fiery eyes, her long lashes attracting Louis' full attention, "Leave the city, regroup. You are the Brotherhood's leader now, and this was not its only sanctuary. My children still prowl the lands, and when the contracts Mwhyll had been sending out cease, they will notice, and the remaining three Speakers will seek their Listener. They shall seek you." As she spoke, she unfolded her arms, opening her eyes, and with the last word she pointed one long finger at Louis, carrying with it all the authority of fate itself.
Louis contemplated her words for a moment before speaking, once again astonished that she knew the Listener's true name. As he thought, he quickly encountered problems, "Yes, Medila, but where do we go? And who are these other Speakers?"
The Night Mother smiled again, as if she had set up her statement for these exact questions to come up, "You shall head west, towards Chorrol and eventually Daggerfall. At the first you shall meet an old friend of yours, a Brother no longer thought with us, and at the other you shall find one of these Speakers. The sanctuary in Daggerfall has rather, ah, declined in the past years, its Speaker and his apprentice the only ones left. One of the others lives in Morrowind, and the last you shall find upon your return here." Her words carried all the power of the gods, each like a star within the firmament. Louis followed her teachings like a devoted student, committing each to memory as she spoke them.
He bowed his head once more, this time not from shame, but respect, "Yes, Mother."
She gave a small chuckle, her razor teeth flashing him with a brilliant sparkle, "That title I shall accept, my son. Now, before you go to collect my children, I could not send you away without a gift."
Louis said nothing, watching with a contained eagerness as Medila drew a small amulet from her neck, previously hidden by the many folds of her robes.
"This is my token, a necklace bearing none other than my personal crest. It shall grant you power and insight beyond mortal means, and if you ever find yourself at a loss for what to do, you may rely upon it to see you through." She floated over to him, the silver chain shifting within her hands like a ghostly snake, the large ruby in its center shining darkly within its pendant.
She bestowed it upon his downward facing head, sliding it down onto his neck with silken hands. He shivered at her touch, like the petals of a rose upon his skin. She stepped back, looking down at him with a surprisingly warm smile.
"And for your young prot?g?, I have this," She produced, also from the folds of her dress, a flashing dagger, curved and menacing, "This served me well in my mortal days, a true assassin's blade. Its edge shall never dull, and carries within it my most potent of poisons. May it keep him safe during your perilous mission, Louis Endret." She sheathed the blade; the scabbard made of simple unadorned leather, and pressed the dagger into his upraised palm. He stared at his hand for a moment, as he had not felt his arm move, but it had not been so before.
He dismissed the fact, it was not the strangest thing that had happened to him that day, "Thank you, Mother, we shall cherish them always."
"I know, my child, they were not mere fancies to remember me by. I do not dispense these gifts lightly, they come with a promise." The smile fell from her face, and her look became deadly serious.
She waited, and Louis acknowledged her with a nod, "Anything, Mother."
"You must not fail. The Tong played just as much a part in this as Count Terentius, and they already hunt my children in Morrowind, the land of my birth. You shall unite the Brotherhood once more, and subdue or growing enemies. The people shall fear our name; they shall speak of us only in hushed whispers, knowing that we are everywhere, a shadow. A blow like we received last night shall never repeat itself again. This I trust to you, and to the Imperial above us. You must not fail." If her past words were serious, these carried a new dimension of power, laced with the fruits of success, and the repercussions of failure.
Louis took the promise with a sincere, somber expression that told how well he understood the situation. "Yes. I shall not fail in this, I ensure you."
"I know?" She spoke softly, a whisper, almost lost to the cavern around them. Her expression grew grave, almost sad, and she sank back onto her throne of skulls, and Louis thought for a moment she looked tired. The countless years that she must have seen hit Louis for the first time, and her youthful expression softened, her beauty melting into the wrinkles of age. The new Listener of the Brotherhood looked at her for a moment, feeling a mixture of concern and curiosity, but his vision soon grew dark. The candles placed around the chamber seemed to dim, the light growing softer, until Louis was once again submerged in an endless night.
"I know?" The Night Mother's voice echoed around the room, holding in the air longer than it naturally should, and Louis felt the spell that had restrained him slowly relinquish its grip, his entire frame shivering in the now icy cavern. The cold numbed his fingertips, crawling up his limbs, circling his heart, and shadowing his thoughts. His body gave out, and he fell. He felt, as if through a dream, his face distantly hit the stone floor. His thoughts were sluggish; the only thing he could feel was the rough leather of the dagger sheath in his hand, and the silver chain round his neck. He closed his eyes, the blackness of his lids no less than what surrounded him, and faded off into a peaceful sleep.
PS I am aware of all the Night Mother lore, but even if she were really Mephala, she has been decieving the Brotherhood up to now, why stop here?
Well then, I really only have one qualm left, and it concerns Chapter Five more than this one: Due to Shades' pointing out of the flaws within my assassin's logic, do you think I should rewrite it? He pointed out how they would most likely leave sooner, and that there would be more guards about, even though they believe everyone to be dead. That, combined with the multitude of other things he mentioned, have nearly persuaded me to re-write it entirely. I cannot seem to decide, so I am asking you all: what do you think? Thank you. 
