Our first target – and the first contract to come from Morag Tong– was a political one. The man was the wealthiest furrier in the region and the head of the woolen guild, in a land known for its vast sheep flocks and rich forests teeming with precious fur-bearing game. A staunch supporter of the Empire, he was vocal and influential in the city, holding a significant position within Cheydinhal''s administration.
Rasha executed the contract himself, based on the target observation reports compiled by Cicero and me. It was nothing spectacular, not worthy of being remembered in the immortal chronicles of the Brotherhood—just an assassination, carried out with cold precision.
After completing the mission, my brother entered the ritual chamber, which we had set up beside Mother''s sarcophagus; in the presence of Cicero and myself, he dedicated this first sacrifice to our Lady. Garnag and Pontius, the other two long-standing members of the Brotherhood, were also present that night in the Sanctuary.
At the end of the small ceremony, we all went through the sacred formalities required to establish the Brotherhood''s ruling structure, the Black Hand, as it has always been known. All five of us became part of this conclave, and our first decision was to appoint a Keeper, a sacred guardian for Mother.
Everyone hoped this would create a path to communicate with our Lady, and Cicero claimed that this had been done in similar situations in the past. He was, indeed, an authority on these matters—at least to me; I trusted Cicero, for as far as I knew him, he was well-versed in the ancient traditions and a true follower of the Brotherhood. Cicero was far more spiritual than Rasha, and he genuinely aspired for the Brotherhood to fulfill its intended purpose: carrying out the orders given by a Listener in the name of our Mother. For my brother, none of this seemed to matter much, though I suspect that, at least in the beginning, he would have been relieved to take orders from Alisanne—or at least to receive her advice.
Given the circumstances, we chose Cicero to take on the role of Keeper. To our surprise, he was both proud and delighted, declaring that it was the greatest honor he had ever received in his life.
Thus, Cicero, along with Garnag and Pontius, moved into the Sanctuary''s underground sleeping quarter. Cicero''s responsibility was to maintain daily contact with Mother''s sarcophagus, while the others would assist as needed. All three of them continued to execute Morag Tong''s contracts during this period, although Cicero was only called upon for very special assignments.
In this way, the Sanctuary in Cheydinhal began to function just like any other from the past, or so Rasha, who had once been active in the Brotherhood Sanctuary in Leyawiin, reassured me. I carried out the few contracts entrusted to me by my brother—simply, efficiently, without hesitation or remorse. I should add that each time, I received the appropriate bonus for completing the mission in secret, without witnesses or complications.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about these contracts; maybe only the fact that my targets were mostly prominent figures in the duchy politics or administration—well-placed individuals who, after a short time, began to take extra precautions: hiring bodyguards and fortifying their homes. However, to me, all these measures meant little; I never considered that the difficulty of the contracts had increased over time.
Some of my brothers and sisters were not as fortunate as I was. I remember with sorrow the case of a young Breton girl—pretty and shy—who was brutally killed by an angry mob. They chased her through the city''s streets after she failed her mission...
At one point, Rasha began distributing rolled parchments to certain members of the Morag Tong. These documents, signed by him and the High Priest of Mephala, bore a grand title, adorned with intricate flourishes: The Honorable Writ of Execution. In essence, this parchment was a death sentence, pronounced on a citizen of the duchy by Rasha, Grand Master of our Order, and sanctioned by the High Priest of Mephala from Cheydinhal as the supreme religious authority.
According to the ancient Charter of Morag Tong, such sentences should only have been pronounced after the Grand Master reviewed petitions from the duchy''s citizens. But, as I had suspected from the start, here in the Duchy of Nibenay Basin, the Writs were issued at the direct command of the Duchess. That was a blasphemy and a sin; it was also a deviation from the ancient Morag Tong Charter and a stark departure from both the sacred practices of our forebears and the very tenets of the Dark Brotherhood itself, which we had sworn to uphold in the name of our Lady.
I disliked those Writs from the very beginning, from the first day I saw one and heard about their use. Rasha tried to explain that they were useful and made our activities safer. He quoted from the Morag Tong Charter; honestly, I don''t believe he even owned a genuine copy of this rare, nearly impossible-to-obtain tome. But according to Rasha''s version, the assassin was supposed to present the Writ publicly at the crime scene after carrying out the sentence. Under these circumstances, the "honorable murderer" was not to be arrested by the authorities or attacked by any witnesses. I use terms like "murderer" and "crime" because, deep down, I firmly believe that such acts are ordinary crimes—whether or not they are accompanied by an "honorable" piece of parchment.
Anyway, regardless of any edict of the Morag Tong Charter, all these were very bad and twisted; the Dark Brotherhood''s operations are not about safety or bound by the mortals'' laws... Moreover, in our Creed, there is nothing about writings; it speaks only of total obedience to Our Lady''s thoughts and desires, and, in particular, of the absolute secrecy that must surround both the deed and its executor—secrecy, not declarations of public approval or legal sanction from those who hold power in this world.
Oh, a new wave of bad feelings washed over me! In my mind, took shape the thought that we were nothing more than comedians, dancing to the Duchess''s tune and mocking our Lady, who is always watching and reflecting upon the deeds of her worshippers. Furthermore, we operated under the banner of the Morag Tong—yet the Tong had long since been dissolved by Mephala Herself, replaced by the Dark Brotherhood...
Aside from these sacred matters, more practical social issues began to emerge. Our operatives began to use the Writs freely, no longer trying to stay hidden. It was enough to follow the target until they were near a sergeant on duty, then strike, fulfilling the contract. Afterward, they would present that absurd piece of parchment to the guards and seek refuge under their protection, shielding themselves from any potential retaliation by witnesses. For me, this procedure felt embarrassing and blasphemous—utterly unlike the methods and rituals that had once defined our Brotherhood.
Soon, these deeds became widely known, and the citizens of Cheydinhal were quick to grasp the meaning behind the sudden surge of crime sweeping through the town. I still can''t comprehend how Rasha could have been so naive in this regard... As the Minister of Internal Affairs in a state with harsh laws, he was already feared by most of the city''s inhabitants, yet these new measures made him the most despised figure in Cheydinhal. True, among the Dunmer who lived here, some recognized the methods of an organization they had once respected; these swiftly extended their support and sympathy to those bearing an "Honorable Writ of Execution." But, as one might expect, this caused a deep rift between the two large communities, which had, until then, coexisted peacefully.
The limit of my patience was reached when Rasha handed me one such Writ and asked me to leave it by the target''s body once the contract was completed. I could no longer keep quiet. I threw the document to the floor and demanded the summoning of the Black Hand for that afternoon. To my surprise, Rasha was gentle, almost understanding. After picking up the document, he put his hands on my shoulders and said, "It will be as you wish, my dear."
But the outcome of that meeting was far from what I expected. Garnag, with his stupid Orc grin, and Pontius, with his equally foolish expression, supported adopting Morag Tong''s infamous and ridiculous method. Cicero, on the other hand, refrained from expressing his opinion. He seemed distant from us, and that did not surprise me too much; for some time, Cicero had begun to change—becoming closed off and suspicious of others. It all started when he was given the unfortunate contract to kill that stupid clown who had mocked the Duchess and her politics in every tavern and market of the town. But I won''t get into that story now, though it''s quite interesting and significant for what came next. Those scholars who are interested can find the tale in Cicero''s journal, which, I understand, has become relatively widely distributed in copies.
In any case, I did not protest or challenge the decision made by the acting Black Hand. Once we were alone, I silently invited Rasha to follow me. I took his hand and led him to our Mother''s sarcophagus. There, I drew my dagger and cut my palm. I pressed my bloody hand against the bronze casing that protected Mother''s body, and while holding his hand, I spoke with a low voice:
"With all my heart, I want to help you, Rasha. I''d give my life for you, if it would make a difference. But I swear, by the holy body of our Lady, that I will commit no more crimes... not like this. Because what we are doing now are ordinary crimes, serving a policy that will, without a doubt, grind us into its machinery once it has achieved its goals. Please forgive me, brother!"
Rasha studied me with a piercing gaze, then let out a long, resigned sigh. "Let it be as you wish, Elsie. You know that I love you more than anything else, and I wish you no harm. But you''re wrong; the Duchess will support our Brotherhood in exchange for the services we render in the name of an organization that, in reality, no longer exists. Take a break for now, and come see me whenever you feel ready." He patted me gently on the head, saluted me, and walked away.
I remained by the sarcophagus, reaching out for some omen, some guidance. I begged our Lady to speak, to show me the path we were meant to follow—but nothing came. I stayed there alone, until dawn''s first light finally dispelled the night''s shadows; and I felt the silence like a reproach. I thought of everything I had done in the last weeks; all in the name of an organization that no longer resembled our ancient, sacred Brotherhood which once served a divine purpose. Clearly, I was nothing more than a common criminal, no better than any cutthroat roaming the streets...
A few weeks of uneasy quiet followed that day... In the meantime, I took it upon myself to teach Courtney how to read. To my surprise and delight, my friend was an exceptional student! I couldn''t help but remember the tremendous struggles I faced in my early days as a learner in my mother Alisanne''s mansion during those long-gone years; the connection between the spoken and written word seemed so elusive to me! Though I had mastered the alphabet, it took countless hours of hard work from my tutors to help me grasp this art! But Courtney, after no more than ten days of study, could easily comprehend and spell relatively complicated texts. Not long after, she began asking for more books...
We went together to the Mephala temple searching for writings, but the priests looked at us with surprise, explaining that their tradition was strictly oral. The written word, they said, only served to tarnish the relationship with the divinity. I was taken aback, but since they were Dunmer, I assumed this must have been part of their ancient cultural practices. Now, however, I know I was wrong—terribly wrong; later, I would uncover treasures of holy texts from their cultural heritage that had been carefully hidden away.
We then tried Arkay''s temple, where the priests directed us to an old man who was in charge of the temple''s huge library. Ah, there we discovered a cultural treasure—made available to the general public without any obligation or payment! Anyone who wished could peruse any book from the countless shelves filling the library, all in the comfort of a spacious room dotted with dozens of desks. That chamber was almost always empty, and Courtney soon became a frequent visitor, eagerly devouring a vast array of writings, spending her days in the quiet solitude of the study room...
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Meanwhile, during this time, I resumed my meditative walks through Cheydinhal, hoping to find some peace and serenity in its once-beautiful parks. But the town had changed; it was no longer the same place we had walked through that spring night. People had become uneasy, their once solicitous and serious expressions now replaced with suspicion; their eyes, once open and welcoming, now flashed with fear or hatred. The news of the Imperial City''s fall to the elves struck Cheydinhal''s people like a thunderbolt, leaving a deep, oppressive silence in its wake. While the court celebrated the victory of the allies, the town''s inhabitants were gripped by horror and anger, repulsed by the reports of atrocities committed by the Altmeri in the newly conquered town. Multiple versions circulated, but most claimed that the elves had not left many of the inhabitants of the martyred city alive. Some hopeful souls whispered that the Emperor had escaped, and that His Imperial Majesty would rally the northern legions to punish the elves for their crimes...
In those unsettling days, I also had my first experience of walking into a tavern and witnessing, as if on cue, all patrons rise and leave in unison. The innkeeper, excessively polite and overly benevolent, greeted me, but in his eyes and soul I saw and felt only fear and contempt. In the marketplace, too, it was impossible to escape the whispers... Words like "murderous whore", "elves'' servant" or "butcher''s bitch" hissed behind my back. I never attempted to confront the perpetrators, nor did I feel hatred toward them; I simply interrupted my walks, retreated to the Sanctuary, and, to feel closer to our Mother, changed my place of rest.
I was now living with my three brothers in the old dormitory in the basement of our mansion, and, naively, I hoped that being so close to her sarcophagus would somehow encourage our Lady to speak to me and show me the right way. It was a grim place to stay, to be honest: two of the other inhabitants, Garnag and Pontius, spent their days endlessly playing dice and trying to drain the barrels of beer that filled our shared bedroom. And Cicero... oh, Cicero!—he lived and slept beside Mother''s sarcophagus, lying on the cold, unforgiving stone floor. It was a struggle to get any rest in such a narrow, cold space, but our Keeper seemed utterly unbothered by all these discomforts. He devoted himself entirely to tending to the sarcophagus and Mother''s body during the day, and spent his nights dreaming beside them. Cicero appeared to take great satisfaction in his duties, but when I tried to approach him, seeking advice or even just a talk, he grew increasingly hostile, as though my words were an insult to our Unholy Mother''s will... His eyes would narrow, his hands started to tremble and, above all, he became more distant with each passing day, as if he had seen or heard something that none of us could...
At first, I thought it was merely devotion—an obsession born from his boundless loyalty to our Lady. But soon, I realized that something was whispering to him in the dark! His lips would move soundlessly when he thought himself alone, and at times, I caught him laughing under his breath, like someone savoring a private joke only he could hear. Whenever I tried to listen, he would stop abruptly, his gaze flickering toward me with veiled suspicion. Yet, he never banished me from his little sanctuary; on the contrary, he insisted that I visit more often, though he refused to answer any of my questions...
Cicero no longer allowed anyone, except me, to enter the small sacred room, whose door he always locked when necessity forced him to leave it. In the beginning I thought it was only to protect Mother''s body; later, I began to suspect that he was also guarding something else—a secret shared only between him and our unseen Mistress. One night, I awoke to find him standing by the sarcophagus, whispering in a voice that was nothing like his own. It was low, slithering, full of venom and delight; oh, it sounded eerily like my own voice in the Grand Temple at Bravil, on that unforgettable day when time and space shattered for a moment! Then, suddenly, his head jerked toward me.
"Did you know, my dear sister," he murmured, his voice honeyed with mockery, "that some things refuse to die even when they are slain? But our Mother sees all, and She does not forget... nor does She forgive!"
I ran; his laughter echoed in the chamber long after I had fled back to my bed, its echo seeping into my bones. That night, for the first time, I realized with absolute certainty—Cicero was no longer just our Keeper. He had become something else. Something far more dangerous; a divine and sanctified tool!
In one of those confusing days for me, Pontius returned from his wanderings through the city and brought us the news that the war was finally over. The martial law that had oppressed the city for so long was lifted, and the city gates stood wide open to the outside world once more.
And Courtney took full advantage of that; in those days when I exiled myself in the Sanctuary, she often went out on her own to hunt—or rather, to wander through the dense forests around Cheydinhal. From what she later told me, I learned that during this time, she had honed her innate ability to communicate with wild animals and often slept in the woods, where Courtney seemed to have found a new, comfortable home for herself. While I sought redemption in the stillness of Mother''s sarcophagus, my dear friend found peace in the rustling leaves and the cries of distant animals. I envied her, in a way; she found answers in the weald, where I could only see beasts, damp soil, and ancient trees... Or fallen leaves and glistening streams...
It was during this time that a Dominion embassy was established in the city, and soon after, Imperial agents, spies and hired assassins began to infiltrate the streets and taverns, igniting riots and systematically eliminating the most notorious members of our Morag Tong. One day, an enraged mob stormed the elvish embassy, and it was only a matter of time before the ambassador was dragged from his office and lynched by the furious crowd. But the city guards swiftly intervened, quelling the riot in a brutal bloodbath; in the aftermath, countless arrests were made, and many were sentenced to death or thrown into the city''s prison.
I was also told that violent clashes often flared between the two dominant communities that made up the city''s population, with the guards invariably siding with the elves, a division that seemed to deepen with every passing day. This, at least, seemed strange and even incomprehensible to me, for Dunmer and Altmeri had never been true friends, nor even sincere allies; they had always been, at best, uneasy neighbors—until now. It seemed the Imperial population had finally reached the breaking point of their forbearance! Or perhaps... this was never truly about the elves and the Imperials; not just about Altmer and Dunmer. In times like these, no one is truly innocent—no, not one! We, those of us who kill for a living, no matter the form or the justification, are all guilty! And as black as sin itself...
Not long after these events, the first assassination attempt on my brother, Rasha, took place. His group was ambushed in broad daylight on a street that had been deliberately blocked just before his passage. My brother narrowly escaped—almost by miracle—as the crowd bustling through the streets took the side of the assassins, who struck with chilling professionalism. But, fortunately, a small detachment of heavy cavalry was nearby, thwarting their meticulously laid plans. None of the assassins could be taken alive, and another bloodbath followed!
Rasha, however, was seriously wounded in the attack. When I found out, I could no longer bear the separation from my brother, a dissociation I had forced upon myself until then. The weight of my guilt and worry became unbearable, and I left the Sanctuary at once, clad head to toe in Morag Tong armor, the Lucky Dagger strapped to my side for all to see, and the crossbow in hand. With fierce determination, I carved my way through the hostile mob, parting them like a blade, until I reached my brother''s villa.
Relieved, I found the mansion''s gates guarded by a platoon of soldiers, and a small detachment of mounted lancers stationed in the courtyard.
I stormed into his bedroom to find Rasha lying in bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses. I ordered them all to leave, and when the room was finally empty, I threw myself onto his bed, crying and sobbing into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and, gently stroking my hair, whispered, "It''s not that bad, Elsie. Just a few scratches..."
"From now on, I will always be by your side, Rasha! I''ll be your shadow, your slave, and I''ll protect you from everyone. I''ll do anything you ask of me..." I promised, my words choked by tears.
I then ordered the servants to bring an additional bed into Rasha''s room and to gather in the courtyard. I called the doctors one by one, carefully observing their responses and movements. I dismissed the ones who seemed unsure and selected two to remain, then sent all the nurses away. After ensuring no one could enter or leave Rasha''s room without my permission, I moved to the courtyard, where I examined the gathered servants. I kept only the cook, the housemaid, and a groom, then turned my thoughts to Courtney, wondering where she was now. I needed her more than ever...
And, strange as it was, my friend rushed through the gate of Rasha''s villa late that evening! Her hair was tangled with leaves and dry herbs, her clothes were crumpled and filthy, but her eyes sparkled with life, and a huge smile lit up her face as she threw herself into my arms. And then, as we sat embraced in the garden, both of us cried like two proper girls should...
We took turns tending to Rasha, always one of us staying awake and watching over him. His condition worsened rapidly, and a terrible fever took hold of his already weakened body, drained by blood loss. Worse still, one day, I caught the cook trying to poison the soup I had ordered to be prepared for him! I couldn''t allow this to go on any longer and I made the desperate decision to move him to our Brotherhood''s Sanctuary, convinced it would be the only place where he would be safe.
The doctors protested vehemently, but I disregarded their objections. That very day, I ordered Rasha to be moved to his carriage, which Courtney and I loaded with pillows and covered the windows with wooden boards torn from the villa''s interior walls. With a heavy heart, we began the slow journey to the Sanctuary, surrounded by the cavalry detachment stationed at Rasha''s villa.
Our journey was fraught with danger; the city''s once peaceful streets had transformed into a chaotic, unsafe place. It felt as though I wasn''t even in Cheydinhal anymore—the quiet, clean city I had known had become a seething mass of anger and unrest. Crowds of furious citizens roamed the streets, showing open contempt and hatred.
Now, I realize that the Imperial population had many reasons for their anger, but, in my opinion, the Emperor made an unforgivable mistake when he sent his secret service to operate in Cheydinhal. To counteract the threat, the Duchess had invited the Dominion''s secret police, the so-called Thalmor, to establish a presence here. Its agents were cruel, arrogant, and ruthless; their methods of investigation alienated the already restless populace. Mass arrests were common, and the interrogations were brutal—unlike anything any citizen of the Empire could have imagined. Those who were lucky enough to be released from the Thalmor Prison returned home battered and broken, further fueling the people''s hatred for the Duchess and her supporters. Strangely, the Imperial spies and saboteurs, who were once seen as villains, had suddenly become heroes in the eyes of the common folk, who began to protect and assist them. But this only worsened the situation, intensifying the Duchess''s repressive measures...
All along our journey, we were met with jeers, insults, and even objects thrown from windows at our carriage and its escort. I feared another ambush, like the one that had nearly claimed my brother''s life and, despite the danger to Rasha''s health, I ordered the crew to increase speed. After what felt like an eternity of fear and anxiety, we finally arrived at the Sanctuary and carefully transported Rasha to the brightest room in the building. I breathed a sigh of relief and immediately began organizing the Sanctuary''s activities to care for and protect my brother. I ordered all contracts that had not yet begun to be postponed and set up a permanent guard by Rasha''s bed. I chose Garnag and Pontius as permanent guardians of my ill brother; and they were to answer with their lives for any threat to Rasha''s life. The following days passed in uneasy calm, though my brother''s condition did not improve.
A few members of our Brotherhood, who had been on missions, returned to the Sanctuary one by one. Having trustworthy people around us gave me a slight sense of relief; but the respite was short-lived. Nephatah summoned me to the palace to report on the situation. She greeted me coldly and immediately voiced her displeasure with the state of peace and order in the capital. She also accused my brother of gross negligence regarding the presence and actions of the Imperial agents in the city; I couldn''t defend him. I merely informed her that I was only a member of the organization Rasha led, not involved in the operations of the ministry he headed. I also told her about his deteriorating health, stating that my brother was in critical condition.
Nephatah looked at me with sharp eyes and, after a long silence, told me that from now on, she would take full control of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. She ordered me to coordinate the Morag Tong''s activities and fulfill my brother''s duties until his recovery.
But she didn''t stop there. The Duchess entrusted me with a special task—one she claimed was critical for the peace of her lands. A rogue southern baron, a border warlord who had recently declared his independence from the duchy, had to be eliminated; he was deeply connected to the Dominion, so special precautions would need to be taken.