Skyrim Page 3 - "Either you're naked, or I'm drunk. Maybe both."

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Beyond the Ice and the Fire (Spectral Assassin/F!Dunmer) - 8/?

[(Anonymous)]

The staircase curved, not quite spiraling, but enough to obscure what lay ahead, and so the transition from its close walls into open space was an abrupt one. Her footsteps, silent by habit, did not echo in the vaulted chamber, but the architecture was such that any sound here was sure to be heard… if there had been sound at all. Only the slight pressure changes in the drafty air, more felt than heard, informed her that she had not gone deaf.

A good place for one who does not care to be surprised.

The walls were carved reliefs of the sort she had seen in a dozen Skyrim tombs, their images brushed with dim, red light and limned in shadow. She walked past scenes clearly from the Brotherhood’s history – the Night Mother with her five children; the statue at her old resting place in Bravil with a single, robed figure kneeling before it – and many others from times she did not immediately recognize. Slowly, a theme emerged from the images: gathering strength and exalted power, then death and downfall and slow rebuilding. Again and again, the Brotherhood burned and arose from the ashes, over the march of centuries.

He stood like carved stone himself at the center of the far end of the chamber, face shadowed by his hood and waiting as she took in the images. Riva stifled the urge to rush to meet him. In these worlds he painted, many details simply served to make them feel whole, or to set a specific mood, but this… timeline… was meant to be followed, taken in, remembered.

As she drew closer, her eyes fell upon a richly-detailed depiction of the Black Hand, and one of them spurred a quiet shock of recognition – though his features were masked by robes and hood, his posture exactly matched that of the man who waited ahead. Riva paused, eyes closing for a moment before she opened them again to move on. She knew how this turn of the cycle ended.

There was a Sanctuary strewn with corpses as a woman knelt in their midst, holding a knife and doubled over as if weeping. Then one by one, Speakers and Listener fell, until the only two left of the original five were Lucien and a tall mer… the latter of whom gathered new Speakers around her and set upon Lucien in pursuit. And then he stood waiting, as the woman who must have been his Silencer raced on a shadow-spun steed to his side and the rest of the Black Hand closed in upon him.

The erstwhile Silencer stood at the last before one strung-up corpse and the crumpled ones of three nameless Speakers as well as the cowering mer, her face harder even than the stone that depicted it as the Night Mother looked on with grim approval.