» Tue Jul 09, 2013 6:26 pm I've Made a Mistake
A Two-Part Short Story
I
DURING a particularly dreary day -one dominated by the thick misting that was so common in the foothills of the Valus mountains during the late summer -the graying walls of Cheydinhal appeared over the horizon as a black leviathan hiding in the mist. The cloud I found myself travelling through granted me little ability to determine what lies upon the road I travelled in my one-horse carraige and because of it I, in fact, did not know that the shadow that loomed on the horizon was actually the city of Cheydinhal. I halted my steed in my sheer confusion at the massive black shadow and thought to myself that I certainly could not have, already, arrived at my destination. A queer frame of mind took hold as I pressed on reluctantly; it was as if Akatosh was poking fun at me from his heaven in the sky. I approached the looming shadow and figured more and more that, indeed, I had travelled through some rift in time to arrive in Cheydinhal so quickly. I attempted to push it out of mind as the actual dread that accomponied the task that would meet me at the gates of Cheydinhal began to root itself within me. Curled and knarled trees appeared suddenly to flank the road, already shedding their leaves in anticipation that cold was to come. In all my times travelling to Cheydinhal, they never seemed so unnatural as they did now. Gray moss dripped from their baring limbs and made horrifying shapes in the mist. I pressed on.
The sun hid itself from me, I began to think, through the darkening of the mist. I could not find it in the sky, and it was becoming difficult to determine how long I had been on the road. I had left from my estate, with no word as to my reason, in the Nibenay Basin early this morning. The refreshing morning had greeted me with a spectacular view of the sunrise through the hot steams of the jungle and spread the growing light across brilliant beads of mist. But now, the sun that was so eager to greet me with beauty, had disappeared. I didn't realize it at the time but an icy hand gripped my heart: anxiety, terror, fear. One that numbed the senses and could only be realized through nightmares. The shadow grew and its details began to stand out: turrets standing as silent sentinels in the sky, banners flapping like a dead crow in the weak winds, the chimneys and roofs of houses that bore such alien resemblence to Dunmeri architecture. Without the help of the sun, the colours were dead in the day. They looked lifeless and undead in nature, resurrected by a ghost of grayness that seemed to take hold of all the features that outlined the growing city. The gnarled trees that had begun to appear upon the road back a ways now dotted the landscape: any glances to the left or right would be greeted with a forest of them. They were bathed in the shadow of Cheydinhal and reached up through the dark ground like black fingers of a dead giant attempting to claw his way out of an earthy tomb. I turned my attention to an opened gate, flanked by two guards that gave me nothing more than a bare stare, that gave way to a cobblestone street that was eerily silent. Within the cities was usually a level of noise that never died but today the noise was buried and everyone mourned in silence. I crossed into the city without a word to the guards. And there, as was expected, was a hooded figure ready to greet me.
"Ah, Lord Teisar, you arrived right on time." said the hooded figure. His voice reminded me of a snake: although the words he spoke to me were plain I immediately thought they were lies. The fantastical delusions that granted me were quickly dismissed though, I immediately thought them ridiculous. But, throughout the conversations I would carry with this man, in the back of my mind I could swear that he was beguiling me with lies. I was terrified and shook visibly because of it. Tremors shook through my body as if summoned by the man himself through some sort of curse or charm; my fingers and hands convulsed with fear and I tightly gripped the reigns to hide them from doing so any further.
"Sentillius," I said, taking a breath and wetting my lips that seemed infinetely dry, "I admit that I thought our business was through." I told him hesitatantly. It sounded crass when the words left my mouth and I immediately regretted them. Fear struck me further as if the man was going to strike me down for assuming such a thing. To my sudden surprise -and in the back of my mind it crafted even more terror -he laughed. The sick sound had an eerie ring to it; it sounded nearly hollow. I exhaled shakily. It was at this point when I knew that I was terrified. I could feel my legs numbing in that sick way that they did, as if ice-blood ran through my veins. I could feel my heart in my throat, throbbing sickly at a pace that made me nervous for my health. My chest was clutched and flexed, and the breaths I took didn't seem to cure my sudden windedness. Whether Sentillius could tell or not I wasn't sure. I looked into that dark hood and it looked unto me; within the shadow, two red eyes glowed dangerously but, almost, warmingly.
"Such is Bretic custom, Augustus; No, we invite our brothers to partake in ritual." The speed at which my thoughts began to fleet astounded and shocked me. What frightened me the most of his words was the way he smiled when he said "ritual". I could not see his face but the glint of white teeth was unmistakable. Mind racing, the darkest fantasies began to come to mind when he told me there was "ritual" in this process. When I had first prompted our business, I thought it was to be quick and clean. Apparently, however, that was, what did he call it, Bretic.
"Shall I show you to the Underhouse? Follow me, if you will, milord." he said. Fear had begun to subside, as it always does, after the initial words. Such as the body does when submerging into cold water; at first it shakes and objects, but then it succombs to the cold and does not worry about it any longer. I found my initial shakes to have relinquished control of my motor skills back to me. I had to be thankful for the little things while I could. The city stable took my carraige and horse (the stable-boy was a pale and thin thing who's bulging eyes peered at me in the most fearsome manner) and I took up the rest of my journey on foot, following the man who was dressed in a robe deeper than black. The mist seemed to hang even heavier in the city and I could feel it begin to seep into my clothes. They were becoming cool and heavy; but even so, I did not wish to enter the Underhouse.
The Underhouse was a shack with a black door. I had seen it before. When passing it on the street, pedestrians would steer away from it. They would cross to the opposite side of the street almost subconciously so as to not walk to close to it. As if some ghoul would burst from the black door and drag any soul back into the house and feast. The black door inspired terror, but to it we walked. To Sentillius, who had, to me, appeared to be Dunmeri, the door was nothing but a portal through which the ouside world was connected to his home and his altar. To me, it was as if I was travelling into the Void itself. We entered the portal, but no Void greeted me, only a stone staircase.
There were no torches, fires, or stones of meteor-glass to light the way, but a violet light bloomed within that Underhouse. I followed him down the stairs, my hard-soled boots echoing upon the worn stone. The violet was nauseating and, in it, the walls seemed to roll like the ocean. The black cloak on Sentillius stood out like a beacon-fire in the light; it dominated the stairwell. We proceeded downwards. The stairs finally ended: I found myself in an antechamber.
"I am allowed to enter?" I asked quietly and hesitantly. Other colleges and priesthoods did not allow just any man into their chambers: only recognized members were allowed access. To any Niben this was tradition and sanctimonious, but the Mer turned to me as if insulted.
"Of course, Augustus! We are a fraternal order, and as a patron, you are as much a brother as I! Now, please, follow me, your friend awaits you eagerly." I followed.
Upon the moss-infested walls of stone were huge tapestries of black and red and white. A white hand woven into a black abyss, a hollow white circle on a black canvass, a black dagger on a red banner. Tapestries like these, and others that paralleled these, dotted the walls and matched the red-and-black carpets that covered a decaying stone foundation. Red candles filled the room with a magnificant strawberry-rasberry scent that almost made me forget that I was in the presence of Dark Brothers. Men and women, beasts and mer, all greeted me. Wrapped in tight-fitting black shrouds, hoods, and cloaks, the assassins, in an eerie contradictions to the keepers-of-peace above us, made me feel at home. I was offered bread and wine, a cigarette, tea, and coffee. I accepted, rather graciously, and with some shock, a cup of tea to which a blue-scaled Lizardman nodded with a smile and disappeared into the shadows.
"Greetings, brother patron."
"Hail, friend of Sithis."
"May the Night Mother guide you."
"Tidings, friend and brother."
The words that greeted me shocked me, and mixed with a flood of fear and anxiety, I felt, somewhat, at ease. Sentillius turned and looked at me. It was then I could finally see his face. His face was pale for a Dunmeri, too pale, and his eyes were as red as a boar's. His face had an eerie smoothness that seemed ageless and his expression was that of a killer and a friend. A large tattoo dominated his face: a hollow circle made of the blackest black. It circled his entire face. My eyes were drawn to it like a vulture to a corpse. I did not know what to feel: fear, relief? It all tugged at me.
"Ready to begin the ritual? The man you ordered will be sleeping in his suite." he said warmingly.
"H-His suite?" I conifrmed, confused and curious.
"Hope sweetens the soul." he said, a vicious grin spreading across his face. My eyes widened at the revelation, and I followed him reluctantly but doggedly. Hope sweetens the soul. For some reasons, as if a key to a door, those words opened my eyes. I was amongst not just assassins but priests, friars, and monks. These men were cultists of Sithis; like logicians to Julianos and lovers to Mara, these assassins were devout followers of a God: a dark entity that wielded nothingness like a keen blade or a terrific spell. I looked into the hoods of these cultists as I walked past them; like myself, they bore tattoos upon their faces of varying colors and shapes to signify their loyalties and their idealisms. These were not soulless killers, these were true believers. I walked in Sentillius' footsteps as he led through the antechamber. Doors and hallways were hidden in the gaps of tapestries -to where they led I do not know -but other dark "suites" probably held likewise prisoners that were held, waiting for their contracter to come and watch the ritual.
I was led into a vast, cavern-like room. Before me was a pool of dark, viscous liquid. At first it appeared to be blood but the room smelled sweet and inviting. Three large seats, made of black stone and lined with dark, maroon satin, faced the pool. Surrounding it were a thousand candles and, on the opposite side, a dark-black obelisk of which the purpose, to this day, eludes me. Sentillius directed me to the middle seat ("Reserved for the brother of honor.") and he sat to my right. My seat was slightly higher than his and to my left was an empty seat that mirrored Sentillius'.
"You said he was here? Does he still pose a threat?" I said quietly, staring into the dark depths of the pool. Petals of nightshade floated atop the surface, unmoving. Sentillius looked at me.
"He dons the cloak of the Night Mother. Your Battlemage friend is silenced. Might I ask, Augustus -purely out of interest and in no means wishing to be intrusive -why the Mage Lord of House Romunas was chosen to be sacrificed? Is he a personal enemy or a political one?" he asked. Curiousity dripped like venom in his voice. If I had my way, I would have kept my reasons to myself. But their attempts to make me feel welcome made me feel even more alienated and confused: I felt like I had no right to refuse his curiousity in his own house. All the while, I had begun to shake again. This was, no doubt, the room of the Ritual. How many men have been killed here?
"I was told he planned on murdering my sister. She was married to his cousin, and when he suddenly fell ill-" I said, stopping suddenly. The thought of my sister being executed -burned alive at the Court of Romunas -shook me more than thought of being in an Underhouse.
"It is grave that politics breed such behavior." he said empathetically. I did not reply to his statement but watched the nightshade petals atop the pool. Soon two men in black appeared, dragging a struggling man between him. His angry objections and cries for mercy began to fill the echoing room. They reached my ears as a plea of a maddeningly frightened man.
"No, please. Please don't do this. I don't want to die this way. Please, PLEASE!" The stoic faces of the brothers of Sithis as the dragged him into the pool were maddening to me. It was at this time that the Mage Lord looked at the stone thrones and saw me. His eyes met mine while around him the pool began to ripple. The petals of nightshade began to bob up and down.
"Augustus? No..but, no. NO. Augustus, please help me. I'm sorry, I'm SORRY. PLEASE AUGUSTUS, NO." he cried. Fear flooded his voice. It was maddening. They say the fear of death is the greatest but the words were numbing to my ears. I've never heard the cries of a man to die but they were the most frightening things I've ever heard.
"Do you have any final words for him, milord?" asked the Mer next to me. He wrinkled his face a way that made his tattoo seem warped and evil. I looked into the eyes of the man I ordered killed and saw not a man but a child: a child who was greeting his greatest fear. And within them I contracted the greatest terror I have ever faced. The fear of losing my sister had clouded my vision and with my poor judgement I turned to something I did not understand. A cult of dark demons that were going to send this man to the most terrible place that existed: and there he would spend eternity. But instead of saying that I had made a mistake, fear sealed my lips. My eyes said "I'm sorry" but my mouth said nothing. And to the damned man my decision was conveyed and he knew his fate was sealed. A man, no longer a man, began to cry.
"I want my mom. I want to go home." he sobbed. A child. The words terrified me. Sentillius stood.
"You have been sentenced to the Void. You will repay your sins not in this life but the next, for eternity, under Sithis. I pledge to him your soul for all eternity." The Great Mage Lord's tears continued to run down his cheeks as a blade was thrust through his heart. He understood the pain for a split-second, then his soul left this mortal coil. I noticed that a tear was running down my cheek. I'm so sorry.
"Are you alright, Augustus?" asked Sentilius.
"No." I whispered. I was helped to my feet and back up out of the Underhouse. I would never enter that room again. I was helped to my carraige and through the gates. I never returned to Cheydinhal. The mist was still there, but it was night. Being a minor noble I was advised not to travel in the dark, but bandits were butterflies eclipsed by what I had just witnessed. The whole ride back I sobbed until my soul ran out of tears to lend me. Never would I again be a patron of Sithis.
I returned to my estate and locked myself in my room. In a dusty mirror I looked at myself. "Who are you." I asked shakily at my reflection. I took my travelling cloak off and then my tunic. Horror greeted me. There upon my chest, an eternal reminder of my deeds, was a hollow circle. A tattoo, of the darkest ink, upon my chest. I was forever a patron of Sithis.
II
Essence of rose and petal of night
obelisk of black and wielder of blight
with unholy prose and metal of fright
I send your soul to the black until unravelling of time
Soulless body dripping, emerge from the pool
Dragged, bleeding, lifeless, into your tomb
Ancestor Moths with your corpse as a loom
weave robes of the Void, worn by bringers of doom
Hope sweetens the soul, as Sithis doth say
And in our respite to him do we pray
We are Kings of the Void and during your stay
You will see me again as a hunter of prey
Terror so terrible a tyrant possessed
your body you once thought so nobily blessed
Sundered from sanity, through which I digress
You'll know the madness of the VOID from which
YOU'LL NEVER KNOW REST
