Send Your Child Unto Me, Part Three: Purification
Title: Send Your Child Unto Me
Rating: T
Characters: Lucien LaChance, Nelkir
Genre: Supernatural, Drama
Word Count: 6580
Summary: Fifteen years after the civil war, the Dark Brotherhood has been completely erradicated in Skyrim. Yet the will of the Night Mother lives in on. Lucien LaChance is given new life and purpose: the find this new Listener and to return the Dark Brotherhood to its terrifying glory.
Warnings: Depictions of violence, character death, spoilers for the Dark Brotherhood questline
Art by evian_fork
III: Purification
It was night in the Dawnstar hold, and a gusty snowstorm was starting to kick up. The stranger made his way through the snowy blackness, not needing sight to find his way. Soon he was upon the door, the familiar feeling of dread and terror sliding off it in serpentine tendrils.
Reaching out one pale hand, the stranger pushed at the door, staring into the gruesome skull's eye sockets. It gave to the pressure, recognizing who who was and letting him enter. The stranger heard the door close behind him on its own accord, and a whispering welcome licked his ear.
He walked down one long corridor matted with dirt and cobwebs. Mushrooms grew in forgotten corners while the wispy energy of ghosts long gone roamed the hall.
Soundlessly the stranger passed through many rooms: a torture chamber, an old alchemy lab, a practice area, a dining room. Everything was overtaken by dust, mold and invading nature.
He made his way through the old sanctuary, feeling almost a nostalgic tug in his chest. He remembered another sanctuary, in another time, and a Listener that came to be under his tutelage. When he had died, framed by a traitor, and returned to his Father's side.
It had all been quite fun.
Now he had a new purpose, and he knew that so far, he'd been successful. He left behind him a trail of blood and fear, just as any servant of the Night Mother should. He felt Sithis' approval in his soul.
He turned down another stone corridor, taking care to avoid a pressure plate on the floor. Though well-hidden, it was obviously new, and it stood out to his observant eye. The prey wasn't being careful enough.
There were several other traps, clever traps, which the stranger took care to avoid. He walked as death, silently, disturbing only that which had to be disturbed. He made his way to the very heart of the sanctuary, having passed through the hidden door into a darkened room. As he neared, he heard quiet muttering.
Following the voice, the stranger came upon the prey he sought: a man, curled into the fetal position on his side, sobbing and talking to himself in gibberish. He wore the black tatters of a costume, the form long forgotten.
This pathetic creature had once been the Keeper, in the twilight years of the Dark Brotherhood. Touched by the Night Mother, he had been a madman, but very effective at his job. He took delight in caring for Her body and could always laugh at a death. Really, standards every member should meet.
The empty and open coffin propped against the wall was an obvious indication that he had become redundant.
“Who-who is there?” the man called suddenly, jumping up to a crouching position with speed and agility impossible for most men in his condition. “Cicero hears you! Come out! Come out!”
The stranger approached the man, gazing down at this forgotten creature of death. Cicero returned his gaze with bloodshot eyes the color of snow. His face was that of a skeleton, cheeks hollow and baring the outline of teeth. He smelled of urine and humanity left to fester for far too long.
“I bring you an end,” the stranger said coolly, his low voice melding with the inky blackness.
“No!” Cicero shrieked, jumping upright now. “Cicero is not ready! Mother still needs me!”
“Know that She is well,” the stranger spoke, his voice taking on command now. “Sithis calls for you, child.”
Cicero's excited energy calmed at these words. He nodded solemnly, and the stranger turned to leave him. “Tch, typical parents,” he heard Cicero mutter. “Always playing favorites.”
The stranger returned to the dining hall he'd passed through. A longtable, now in dried and rotting ruins, sat in the center, covered in thick layers of choking dust. The stranger spoke words to the Dread Father under his breath, and cast a fireball spell at the pile. The wood ignited quickly, burning fast and bright. Then, fed by an unholy divine energy, the fire spread across the floor, to the walls and the ceiling, engulfing the room in mere moments.
The stranger fled quickly, pausing only once by a crumbling set of shelves. There was something there pulling him, and with the walls turning to cleansing fire around him, he kicked the smoldering boards away, revealing a lost treasure: The Five Tenents.
Tucking the book under his arm, holding it tight against his body, the stranger ran. The black door opened at his touch, shut behind him, and became consumed in flames.
Rating: T
Characters: Lucien LaChance, Nelkir
Genre: Supernatural, Drama
Word Count: 6580
Summary: Fifteen years after the civil war, the Dark Brotherhood has been completely erradicated in Skyrim. Yet the will of the Night Mother lives in on. Lucien LaChance is given new life and purpose: the find this new Listener and to return the Dark Brotherhood to its terrifying glory.
Warnings: Depictions of violence, character death, spoilers for the Dark Brotherhood questline
Art by evian_fork
III: Purification
It was night in the Dawnstar hold, and a gusty snowstorm was starting to kick up. The stranger made his way through the snowy blackness, not needing sight to find his way. Soon he was upon the door, the familiar feeling of dread and terror sliding off it in serpentine tendrils.
Reaching out one pale hand, the stranger pushed at the door, staring into the gruesome skull's eye sockets. It gave to the pressure, recognizing who who was and letting him enter. The stranger heard the door close behind him on its own accord, and a whispering welcome licked his ear.
He walked down one long corridor matted with dirt and cobwebs. Mushrooms grew in forgotten corners while the wispy energy of ghosts long gone roamed the hall.
Soundlessly the stranger passed through many rooms: a torture chamber, an old alchemy lab, a practice area, a dining room. Everything was overtaken by dust, mold and invading nature.
He made his way through the old sanctuary, feeling almost a nostalgic tug in his chest. He remembered another sanctuary, in another time, and a Listener that came to be under his tutelage. When he had died, framed by a traitor, and returned to his Father's side.
It had all been quite fun.
Now he had a new purpose, and he knew that so far, he'd been successful. He left behind him a trail of blood and fear, just as any servant of the Night Mother should. He felt Sithis' approval in his soul.
He turned down another stone corridor, taking care to avoid a pressure plate on the floor. Though well-hidden, it was obviously new, and it stood out to his observant eye. The prey wasn't being careful enough.
There were several other traps, clever traps, which the stranger took care to avoid. He walked as death, silently, disturbing only that which had to be disturbed. He made his way to the very heart of the sanctuary, having passed through the hidden door into a darkened room. As he neared, he heard quiet muttering.
Following the voice, the stranger came upon the prey he sought: a man, curled into the fetal position on his side, sobbing and talking to himself in gibberish. He wore the black tatters of a costume, the form long forgotten.
This pathetic creature had once been the Keeper, in the twilight years of the Dark Brotherhood. Touched by the Night Mother, he had been a madman, but very effective at his job. He took delight in caring for Her body and could always laugh at a death. Really, standards every member should meet.
The empty and open coffin propped against the wall was an obvious indication that he had become redundant.
“Who-who is there?” the man called suddenly, jumping up to a crouching position with speed and agility impossible for most men in his condition. “Cicero hears you! Come out! Come out!”
The stranger approached the man, gazing down at this forgotten creature of death. Cicero returned his gaze with bloodshot eyes the color of snow. His face was that of a skeleton, cheeks hollow and baring the outline of teeth. He smelled of urine and humanity left to fester for far too long.
“I bring you an end,” the stranger said coolly, his low voice melding with the inky blackness.
“No!” Cicero shrieked, jumping upright now. “Cicero is not ready! Mother still needs me!”
“Know that She is well,” the stranger spoke, his voice taking on command now. “Sithis calls for you, child.”
Cicero's excited energy calmed at these words. He nodded solemnly, and the stranger turned to leave him. “Tch, typical parents,” he heard Cicero mutter. “Always playing favorites.”
The stranger returned to the dining hall he'd passed through. A longtable, now in dried and rotting ruins, sat in the center, covered in thick layers of choking dust. The stranger spoke words to the Dread Father under his breath, and cast a fireball spell at the pile. The wood ignited quickly, burning fast and bright. Then, fed by an unholy divine energy, the fire spread across the floor, to the walls and the ceiling, engulfing the room in mere moments.
The stranger fled quickly, pausing only once by a crumbling set of shelves. There was something there pulling him, and with the walls turning to cleansing fire around him, he kicked the smoldering boards away, revealing a lost treasure: The Five Tenents.
Tucking the book under his arm, holding it tight against his body, the stranger ran. The black door opened at his touch, shut behind him, and became consumed in flames.