Rikke swung down off the bay mare, her eyes narrowing at the building before her. According to the courier that had skidded through the snowbanks outside Solitude to find her at the Temple of Meridia, the Dragonborn lay within. Drawing her blade, she nodded to the soldiers she had taken with her. She’d left the bulk of her force in the snow and ridden for speed with just a few soldiers. Even if the Dragonborn lay within, it was still Rikke’s responsibility to find out what had happened to Lydia and the Dragonborn and, more importantly, make them pay.
“Do you think she’s within?” asked one of the soldiers, his Cyrodillic accent thick. If she recalled correctly, he’d been one of the Legionairres that the Dragonborn had rescued from a Stormcloak fort before the final battle.
Rikke stepped up to the front door and tested the door. Locked. Stepping back, she slammed the sole of her boot against the door, splintering it from the frame and forcing it to swing wide open. “We’ll soon find out,” she replied, stepping through the broken door to start her search. The house was what she would expect of Solitude—lots of stairs and small rooms filled with expensive things. Nothing to give away the identity of any person who stayed or owned the house. “Fan out. We search every room. If she’s here, we find her now.” Rikke watched the men scatter to search the rooms and continued on down the hallway. There was a room at the end, its door cracked slightly enough to allow only a sliver of light to escape. Steeling herself, she pushed open the door and stepped in. “Talos preserve us.”
##00##00##
Nazir stared at the courier, the young man before him clearly unnerved by the Redguard assassin. “What do you mean, you have a message for me?” It was sheer insanity—who would send a letter to the Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood? Taking the folded parchment, he cracked the seal and scanned the contents. Then reread them. Looking up, he met the gaze of the courier with fierce black eyes. “You were never here. If I ever hear tell of you speaking of this or what you have seen, I will ensure that you never see another sunrise.”
The courier nodded, all but skidding out of the Sanctuary and past a slender man in a jester’s costume. Cicero turned curious eyes on the departing courier and then glanced back at Nazir. “Mother misses the Listener. Is that from the Listener?” he asked, hope glistening on each word as he danced from one foot to the other.
He hadn’t liked Cicero—not when he’d first brought the Night Mother to their Sanctuary nor when he’d learned the Listener had spared the Keeper. But the maddened jester had, over the years, grown on the Redguard. He figured it must have had something to do with Cicero’s journals being “accidentally” left by the Listener for Nazir to read. Or the fact that the Listener treated the mad jester like a long-lost homicidal little brother. But no matter—Cicero would understand what Nazir was feeling. Nazir ground his teeth for a moment. He had not felt this kind of rage since the Penitus Oculatus had attacked their motley family. It was a clean kind of rage—one that burned white hot and wouldn’t be extinguished until it was spent on the bodies of those who hurt his own. “No, Cicero. Someone has hurt the Listener.”
“WHAT!” roared Cicero, bounding meters in the span of time it took to take a breath, fingers gripping the Speaker’s tunic as he growled at his fellow Dark Brotherhood member. The madman snarled, dark hazel eyes wild before they calmed, his expression smoothing dangerously. “Who would dare hurt our Listener?” he purred, undercurrents of rage and jealousy swirling beneath his words. If anyone was going to be hurting the Listener, it should after all be one of her own. Strangers had no right to the Listener.
Nazir grinned at the smaller man, his own expression feral. “Cicero, I want you to sharpen your blades. We have an embassy to cleanse.”
Re: Any - Avenging the Dragonborn/etc. "Mostly Dead" (2b/?) F!DB/Others
“Do you think she’s within?” asked one of the soldiers, his Cyrodillic accent thick. If she recalled correctly, he’d been one of the Legionairres that the Dragonborn had rescued from a Stormcloak fort before the final battle.
Rikke stepped up to the front door and tested the door. Locked. Stepping back, she slammed the sole of her boot against the door, splintering it from the frame and forcing it to swing wide open. “We’ll soon find out,” she replied, stepping through the broken door to start her search. The house was what she would expect of Solitude—lots of stairs and small rooms filled with expensive things. Nothing to give away the identity of any person who stayed or owned the house. “Fan out. We search every room. If she’s here, we find her now.” Rikke watched the men scatter to search the rooms and continued on down the hallway. There was a room at the end, its door cracked slightly enough to allow only a sliver of light to escape. Steeling herself, she pushed open the door and stepped in. “Talos preserve us.”
##00##00##
Nazir stared at the courier, the young man before him clearly unnerved by the Redguard assassin. “What do you mean, you have a message for me?” It was sheer insanity—who would send a letter to the Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood? Taking the folded parchment, he cracked the seal and scanned the contents. Then reread them. Looking up, he met the gaze of the courier with fierce black eyes. “You were never here. If I ever hear tell of you speaking of this or what you have seen, I will ensure that you never see another sunrise.”
The courier nodded, all but skidding out of the Sanctuary and past a slender man in a jester’s costume. Cicero turned curious eyes on the departing courier and then glanced back at Nazir. “Mother misses the Listener. Is that from the Listener?” he asked, hope glistening on each word as he danced from one foot to the other.
He hadn’t liked Cicero—not when he’d first brought the Night Mother to their Sanctuary nor when he’d learned the Listener had spared the Keeper. But the maddened jester had, over the years, grown on the Redguard. He figured it must have had something to do with Cicero’s journals being “accidentally” left by the Listener for Nazir to read. Or the fact that the Listener treated the mad jester like a long-lost homicidal little brother. But no matter—Cicero would understand what Nazir was feeling. Nazir ground his teeth for a moment. He had not felt this kind of rage since the Penitus Oculatus had attacked their motley family. It was a clean kind of rage—one that burned white hot and wouldn’t be extinguished until it was spent on the bodies of those who hurt his own. “No, Cicero. Someone has hurt the Listener.”
“WHAT!” roared Cicero, bounding meters in the span of time it took to take a breath, fingers gripping the Speaker’s tunic as he growled at his fellow Dark Brotherhood member. The madman snarled, dark hazel eyes wild before they calmed, his expression smoothing dangerously. “Who would dare hurt our Listener?” he purred, undercurrents of rage and jealousy swirling beneath his words. If anyone was going to be hurting the Listener, it should after all be one of her own. Strangers had no right to the Listener.
Nazir grinned at the smaller man, his own expression feral. “Cicero, I want you to sharpen your blades. We have an embassy to cleanse.”