#lawfulevil

As he travels throughout the nation, Miraidon upgrades his bike with the finest, most cutting-edge parts to make it sleek and swift.

Race: Dragonborn Class: Artificer Subclass: Vehicleist Alignment: Lawful Evil

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Ch. 1

O Dark Angel

The sanctum of the Night Mother was silent save for the crackling of braziers and Cicero was glad to be alone. The melancholic jester in all his motley crumpled atop the dias, exhaustion and the bone deep ache of middle age hit him all at once. Alone with Mother, knees crushing against offered nightshades in supplication, he could be Cicero the man and not the moonstruck Keeper. Mother didn't mind his morose frown and watering eyes after all, nor could she argue otherwise.

"It'll be my thirty-ninth summer in a few weeks," the Fool of Hearts mused aloud while rubbing his sagging eyes with his gloved palms. The Imperial blinked slowly, eyes canvasing the cold iron tomb of his mistress. Cicero took stock of his life for the umpteenth time, of the long years in solitude without the guidance of Mother's voice.

Listener Dupre's demise over a decade ago had left a hole in the sanctity of the Dark Brotherhood and, no matter what Astrid believed, they were all doomed unless some lucky soul received the gift of becoming the Night Mother's mortal mouth.

"Will you speak soon? Oh, what a sweet birthday gift that would be!" Cicero chuckled ruefully, his head lolling back against the sarcophagus with a dull thud. His voice lowered to a harsh whisper as he closed his tired eyes and Cicero had to actively fight the despair that had begun to eat away at his mind. "Please Mother. This place, these siblings are different, wrong… They've all discarded your laws."

So many had died, so many dark family, just so the last of their order could molder away in this foul cave, led by that fatheaded Pretender! It was if none cared at all for their fading save him, the antiquated and despised Keeper! So many miles traveled, so many silent nights... for what? Things always stayed the same. Even surrounded by people, Cicero the Fool of Hearts remained alone.

The Brotherhood's near annihilation by the Thalmor had left ugly and disastrous scars on his new Family, bending them to put their hopes in coin.

The consequence of time had mapped itself in flesh across the Brotherhood, but the Imperial was thankful for his duty, for becoming the Fool. Cicero knew without his faith and laughter that he would have found the Void long ago. A secret part of him envied that imaginary Cicero, his neck spurting crimson and beautiful, but it left a shameful bitterness in his throat. He would never abandon his Mother, not like the others. It had been a long time since he had last desired death and his hopeful heart had brought him and Mother to Skyrim instead. It was hard to swallow his disappointment in this Sanctuary though the Fool was thankful to have made a fast friend in the other dunmer assassin, Brara. Discovering that the polite and helpful vampire from the Loreius farm was in fact a dark Sister had been a welcome surprise.

She understood the loss, Cicero had come to realize. Brara was raised in Morrowind's capital city by members of the Blacklight Sanctuary and had fled its destruction amid its assault by Thalmor agents. Brara had been in Skyrim for over a decade now and was barely scraping by when she met Astrid. He remembered the dunmer had said finding the orphan Aventus in Windhelm had been "preordained by Sithis" and a "sign", the Fool agreed wholeheartedly. Brara's evident faith in their Dark Parents was a comfort he feared lost since coming to the Falkreath Sanctuary, and she was the only sibling who would visit the sanctum regularly to pay respects much to Astrid's growing chagrin. Sister Brara was also a vampire, much to Cicero's delight. The Night Mother needed strong children to enact her will and those with cursed blood were among her most deadly.

Even though he had finally found some kindred spirited sibling, Cicero still knew that this sputtering existence was in vain unless Mother spoke. He would Keep until death came for him regardless, but the complete eradication of the Dark Brotherhood threatened to hollow out what hopes he had left.

"Poor faithful Cicero worries, Mother. Always worried. What if you never find a worthy mouth? Why not your dutiful Cicero? It's been so, so long--"

"Forgive my intrusion, Keeper."

The Fool's eyes shot open and he angrily snapped his head toward the interloper, inappreciative of being disturbed especially in his current melancholic and vulnerable state. These faithless fools didn't deserve his gaiety and much less the dropped veil of his madness. The Imperial's irritation cooled however when he saw his stoic dunmer sister standing just outside the threshold, back bent in a low sweeping bow. Oh how respectful, always respectful! This was a sibling who remembered the hierarchy; Cicero had been the faithful Keeper for too long to be treated like some common clown!

The Fool cleared his throat and lept from the dais with poise, clasping his hands before him with his usual grin, mask falling neatly back into place. Even though fond of Brara, he wouldn't allow her to see anything but the sweet, kindly, dutiful Fool of Hearts.

"Oh! Oh, oh Brara, yes, so good to see you," he gushed and immediately set himself to dusting a pew with his gloved hands for her to sit. "Cicero was just chatting with Mother but, well, sweet Brara knows Mother doesn't talk much. Have you come to meditate upon the Unmaker again?"

The vampire nodded softly and stepped into the room, closing the old sanctum doors behind her with reverence. Though they were of similar height the way Brara carried herself seemed to make her seem so much taller and austere. Cicero knew she wore a mask of her own that kept her separate from the world, from the common mortal rabble. Even now months of conversation still hadn't gleaned much from her, and while he understood the distance intimately Cicero still found it uncomfortable. His ability to read a person like one would a favored book, even strangers, had been his greatest asset since boyhood but Brara's deliberate opacity set his teeth on edge. It also piqued his interest incessantly. What kind of thoughts crashed behind those eerie crimson eyes?

Brara lifted her tattooed arms, their gnarled looping serpents rippling across her dark forearms, while she smoothed back her coiled coal-dark hair. The mer checked the security of her large greased bun, tweaked a hairpin and tugged the few wrinkles from her simple black dress. The vampire made a point of appearing prim and proper when she came to this unholy place and he found it absolutely adorable. Cicero was a traditionalist after all.

"Indeed Keeper, as old tradition demands. If you require my presence at a later time I am happy to abide."

"So formal, so formal, dread sister! Why Brara has already shut the door, Cicero wouldn't dare send her off now," the Fool cackled, unable to keep from teasing the severe woman. He swept out his motley arm toward the freshly dusted pew with flourish. "He'll fetch our fiend a cup of wine."

"That would be kind of you, Cicero."

He could hear the smile in her voice even though her mouth remained unchanged. He danced across the stone while she took her seat, and gathered up two old stoneware mugs and a jug of Alto. He missed the graceful vineyards and vintages of Cyrodiil but Alto would do, he brooded inwardly.

When he returned to her side the vampire was already deep within her ministrations with her hands clasped to her chin, dark lips silent and full of reverence as she prayed.

It... was stunningly beautiful. The woman reminded Cicero of the carved reliefs of aedra in Cheydinhal's old cathedral from his youth, back during the Great War. He had always found some peace in their penitent gray faces, so much like hers, though he remained envious of their serenity in the face of the horrors of war. He couldn't be that then, that peaceful zealot, and he struggled still religious though he was. The Fool supposed that's what happened growing up in a Sanctuary like she did; make angels of death carved from holier stone than he.

How could Cicero be like that? He was an accomplished assassin and honored Keeper, surely that meant something.

He had desired the title of Listener for so long now; the Fool followed through with his keeping duties faithfully but oh, how better he could protect and keep his family if only Mother would speak to him!

If Cicero couldn't be Listener then he would pick this reverent dunmer to take his place, but sadly that decision wasn't his to make.

The Fool sighed softly as he poured the wine while chiding himself for his insecurities. After placing the stoneware cups beside himself on the pew, the Fool sat and turned toward the stained glass form of Sithis and joined Brara in supplication to their unholy deities.

It was quite a while before either one spoke again.

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Dogtax, enjoy 😉

A bit weird but playing an evil pc can be fun.

Violantia Marcellus

Unknown Class - Pathfinder

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