“FUS RO DAH!” The wolf went flying and Elisif sprang after it, weapons raised. Arrows flew at the beast, and Delphine was by her side, katana slicing into the beast, but Elisif was barely aware of anything other than her axe and Dawnbreaker carving into the werewolf's body and blood spurting out. Strike after strike after strike before it could recover and fight back... and finally it died. Elisif staggered back, exhausted, just finding the strength to clean her blades off before sitting down in the middle of the road, staring at it. Werewolf, she'd just killed a werewolf, after it had been chasing poor Cicero.
Said poor Cicero had crept out of his hiding place, scurrying over and crouching hesitantly next to her. He'd tilted his head, face pale, eyes wide and a nervous little smile on his face.
“Maia!” Cicero squeaked, cheeks flushing pink. “You saved me!” Without warning, he launched himself on to her, flinging his arms around her as he cuddled her tight, head resting on her shoulder. Which was all very lovely but didn't explain why he was here
“Cicero!” Elisif gasped, patting him awkwardly on the back. “Are you all right? What are you doing out here, did you bury your mother? Why was that werewolf chasing you?”
Cicero hesitated, letting her go and sitting back on his heels.
“Cicero brought his mother to her new crypt, yes,” he said softly, turning oddly serious. “Cicero has... laid her to rest. But Cicero didn't know what to do next so he waited, hoping for a sign. But no sign ever came.” He sighed, expression halfway between a pout and a scowl. “No sign from the gods for poor Cicero, no Words to comfort him in his hour of need, no. Is it any wonder Cicero became angry? That he lost his temper? That he became enraged after some filthy pretender mocked and slandered his poor deceased mother?” His eyes slid to the werewolf's cooling form, Aela and Delphine currently examining it, and Elisif could guess that maybe he'd got in a fight with someone who he'd not realised was a werewolf.
“Who was he?” Elisif asked. “Aela, you said you knew him.”
“That's right,” Aela nodded. “He was a Companion once. We used to hunt together... until his methods got out of hand and we asked him to leave. That was ten, twelve years ago? I didn't know what had happened to him and didn't care to... well, I guess I do now. Odd, I didn't think he lived in Falkreath. I know most of the townsfolk there, and he wasn't one. His name's Arnbjorn.”
Elisif had never heard of him – it was a common enough Nordic name after all. But Brynjolf apparently had, because he'd gone very pale.
“Arnbjorn??” he breathed, horrified. “Sweet Dibella's tits, we just killed Arnbjorn? By the Eight, we need to get out of here. Did anyone see us?”
Delphine looked up sharply. “You know him?” she asked, frowning. Brynjolf nodded, eyes not leaving the dead werewolf.
“Aye – well, not personally. Not very well, and I didn't know he was a werewolf. But if my guess is right... Delphine, he's not an ordinary thief or bandit. He's married to Astrid, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood.”
The Dark Brotherhood... Elisif couldn't help but cry out. They'd already tried to kill her once, and now she'd just killed their leader's husband? Things couldn't get any worse. Slowly, she turned to look at Cicero, wondering if he'd known this, and while he looked pale and nervous, he didn't look surprised. He'd known his pursuer was Dark Brotherhood, or at least suspected it.
“They've got a contract out on you as well, haven't they?” Elisif whispered, suppressing a wave of fury at the way they could just go out there killing people, bringing innocent lives to an end without a care for the harm they caused, the damage they did. First she'd had to run for her life, and now poor Cicero, who didn't have any of the resources she did, was being hunted too. He didn't even have armour, just his tattered jester outfit and a dagger. A very nice dagger, to be sure, but just a knife when all was said and done.
Cicero nodded, still looking nervous.
“Cicero offended the wrong people,” Cicero whispered. “Now Astrid wants to kill me! Murder poor, innocent Cicero!”
Re: The Wolf Queen Awakens 10.6
Said poor Cicero had crept out of his hiding place, scurrying over and crouching hesitantly next to her. He'd tilted his head, face pale, eyes wide and a nervous little smile on his face.
“Maia!” Cicero squeaked, cheeks flushing pink. “You saved me!” Without warning, he launched himself on to her, flinging his arms around her as he cuddled her tight, head resting on her shoulder. Which was all very lovely but didn't explain why he was here
“Cicero!” Elisif gasped, patting him awkwardly on the back. “Are you all right? What are you doing out here, did you bury your mother? Why was that werewolf chasing you?”
Cicero hesitated, letting her go and sitting back on his heels.
“Cicero brought his mother to her new crypt, yes,” he said softly, turning oddly serious. “Cicero has... laid her to rest. But Cicero didn't know what to do next so he waited, hoping for a sign. But no sign ever came.” He sighed, expression halfway between a pout and a scowl. “No sign from the gods for poor Cicero, no Words to comfort him in his hour of need, no. Is it any wonder Cicero became angry? That he lost his temper? That he became enraged after some filthy pretender mocked and slandered his poor deceased mother?” His eyes slid to the werewolf's cooling form, Aela and Delphine currently examining it, and Elisif could guess that maybe he'd got in a fight with someone who he'd not realised was a werewolf.
“Who was he?” Elisif asked. “Aela, you said you knew him.”
“That's right,” Aela nodded. “He was a Companion once. We used to hunt together... until his methods got out of hand and we asked him to leave. That was ten, twelve years ago? I didn't know what had happened to him and didn't care to... well, I guess I do now. Odd, I didn't think he lived in Falkreath. I know most of the townsfolk there, and he wasn't one. His name's Arnbjorn.”
Elisif had never heard of him – it was a common enough Nordic name after all. But Brynjolf apparently had, because he'd gone very pale.
“Arnbjorn??” he breathed, horrified. “Sweet Dibella's tits, we just killed Arnbjorn? By the Eight, we need to get out of here. Did anyone see us?”
Delphine looked up sharply. “You know him?” she asked, frowning. Brynjolf nodded, eyes not leaving the dead werewolf.
“Aye – well, not personally. Not very well, and I didn't know he was a werewolf. But if my guess is right... Delphine, he's not an ordinary thief or bandit. He's married to Astrid, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood.”
The Dark Brotherhood... Elisif couldn't help but cry out. They'd already tried to kill her once, and now she'd just killed their leader's husband? Things couldn't get any worse. Slowly, she turned to look at Cicero, wondering if he'd known this, and while he looked pale and nervous, he didn't look surprised. He'd known his pursuer was Dark Brotherhood, or at least suspected it.
“They've got a contract out on you as well, haven't they?” Elisif whispered, suppressing a wave of fury at the way they could just go out there killing people, bringing innocent lives to an end without a care for the harm they caused, the damage they did. First she'd had to run for her life, and now poor Cicero, who didn't have any of the resources she did, was being hunted too. He didn't even have armour, just his tattered jester outfit and a dagger. A very nice dagger, to be sure, but just a knife when all was said and done.
Cicero nodded, still looking nervous.
“Cicero offended the wrong people,” Cicero whispered. “Now Astrid wants to kill me! Murder poor, innocent Cicero!”