Chapter Text
The Listener wandered through the halls of the Dawnstar Sanctuary, invisible to all. This was time to observe and organize the Brotherhood while scoping out potential subjects for Planting. There were about two hundred assassins in the Brotherhood, though only about fifty were currently in the Sanctuary. The increase over the past forty or so years promised a newly born Brotherhood that could once again fan out over the continent and its islands.
For the Listener, it was a means to an end.
The Dark Brotherhood was a feasting ground for the Listener to choose zirs servants. The growing Brotherhood and increasingly dark reputation only helped zir in weaving zirs network. A full third of zirs Planted Moths that were still alive were from the Dark Brotherhood. There were established holds in nearly all the provinces of the Empire and the independent nations with the notable exception of the Summerset Isles. The assassins themselves were anything from a child of a farmer to lords in the Elder Council – and a good portion of those stationed abroad were Moths.
“Did you hear?” one of the assassins asked across the training room.
“What?” another answered.
“I heard from Jeerlax that the Listener is here.”
“Nah, they haven’t been back for six months. Probably some really long mission, I reckon.”
“No, I heard they were here from Kaylar, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
The Listener moved away, not interested in the idle conversation of the beginning assassins. Ze entered the smaller training hall, reserved for the higher assassins. An Argonian caught zirs attention. She was mixing something off to the side while speaking with a smaller Imperial. The Listener walked closer, strengthening zirs invisibility spell and looked carefully at the mixture. To the side was a small cluster of jarrin roots and Falmer ears. A poison, ze thought, and a potent one. Ze let zirs invisibility and drop. Everyone in the room jumped back in shock, weapons and spells at the ready. They only relaxed marginally at the sight of the distinctive armor and cape.
“What kind of poison are you making, Argonian?” ze asked, zirs eyes not straying from the mixture.
“A mental frenzy poison, Listener,” the Argonian breathed.
“Are you a Shadowscale?”
“Yes, Listener.”
The Listener turned her gaze to the Argonian. “What is your name?”
“Zeeriva,” she answered.
“Zeeriva,” the Listener said, testing the name on zirs tongue. “A proud name, one from the upper levels of the Archon society, correct?”
“Yes, Listener,” Zeeriva said, nodding slightly.
“Are you a high-born woman?”
“Yes, Listener. I am the daughter of Teikitl-Lord.”
“Ah, Teikitl.” The Listener turned back to the poison. “How potent is this poison? Will it work on an Argonian?”
“Yes, Listener, once I perfect it.”
“When will this batch be done?”
Zeeriva glanced down and said, “It will be done by the morning.”
The Listener nodded. “Good. Does it need to sit?”
“Yes, in a few minutes it will need to stew for about six hours or more.”
“When you set it aside to sit, gather those that prefer to use poisons in the main hall.”
With that, the Listener stood and reapplied zirs spells, disappearing before the assassins’ eyes. Ze left before ze heard anything else.
The Listener wandered around a bit more, noting a few promising magic users. I will be speaking with them in a few hours.
When ze entered the common room, ze found five others besides Zeeriva. There were two Imperials, a Nord, an Orc, and a Dunmer. From the armor, they were all near or at journeyman level.
Ze dispelled what ze had cast. All five were abruptly quiet. “Come with me. We are going to the Garden.” Ze turned to the right and headed through a newly added door under the overlook the Night Mother stood upon. Traveling down a long and wet hallway, the floor eventually became stairs up towards the surface. When ze opened the door at the top lading, the assassins filed out into the Garden.
The Listener looked around, poking for holes in the Illusion spells hiding the place from sight. Ze tested the Alteration spells around the specific sections of the Garden that created the ideal environment for each plant or other ingredient despite the withering cold of the Sea of Ghosts. In the corner were tables set out and ready to prepare and mix potions and poisons.
On zirs way to the tables, the Listener picked jarrin root, deathbells, giant lichen, and bleeding crown. Ze also grabbed chaurus eggs and dartwings from their respective enclosures. When they were set out, the Listener turned to the assassins. “I will be teaching you a poison called Breather.”
The moment the words came from zirs mouth, the assassins were visibly excited.
“Chop the plants into small pieces and pick the wings from the dartwings. Leave the chaurus eggs for now.” With that, ze stepped aside for the assassins.
It was only ten minutes later that they were done. They looked to the Listener expectantly.
“This poison attacks the lungs. It causes them to swell to the point where breathing is impossible as the air sacks no longer have space for the air. There is no anecdote but a spell.”
One of the assassins – one with a great amount of courage – stepped forward. “Listener,” he said, “there are those of us that use poison because we don’t have large magicka reserves.”
“That doesn’t matter in this spell. This spell takes relatively no magicka, certainly no more than a simple healing spell. There is no name for it and does not exist outside of the Dark Brotherhood.”
The assassins heard the threat for what it was: any person not of the Brotherhood found using or knowing the spell would be killed along with their teacher.
“The spell makes your lungs obsolete, altering your body to absorb the air directly through your skin. Hence, while your lungs are not able to breathe, your body is still able to survive. However, this means that you cannot submerge any part of your body. It will be the same as drowning even if you take a Potion of Waterbreathing, as those only affect the lungs. The effect will last for about twenty-four hours. This spell will only work if cast before the effects of the poison begin. Otherwise it is too late. Remember this because the poison needs only to make contact with skin. Once it does, the target is poisoned.”
The assassins all nodded. The Listener turned to the table and motioned. “To make Breather, begin by boiling the jarrin roots and deathbells together in water. There should be one jarrin root and three deathbell blooms for every pot of water. While doing that, crack open the chaurus eggs and separate the yoke from the albumen. Do this until you have half a tankard of yokes for every pot of water, jarrin roots, and deathbells. Then peel the giant lichen – it is the skin that is needed – until there is enough to cover the top of the water like algae. Then open three dartwing bodies and throw the carcasses into the water. After five minutes, add the lichen flesh and the chaurus yokes. Boil this for ten minutes then add a pinch of powdered bleeding crowns. Leave it for five minutes then bottle it.
“When you’ve finished, tell me. The first batch you will be making together. I will be your first test subject.”
The same assassin – the orc – asked, “How will you know if it worked if you cast the spell?”
“I know the feeling of the poison due to my own experimentation. Begin.”
The assassins jumped into action at the order.
About twenty minutes later, the orc approached the Listener with a vial of clear liquid. The correct color. Ze opened the vial and sniffed. Good, no smell. Ze threw it back, swallowing the entire bottle. Ze handed the vial back to the stunned orc.
“When using the poison, about a quarter of the bottle is sufficient to kill a healthy human man. About a third for an elf or Khajiit, and half a bottle for an Argonian due to their natural resistance to almost all poisons. The best way to apply it is by pouring it on clothing if you can't find a way for the target to ingest it. The poison is dangerous for about six hours before it creates a rash on the target. Once poisoned, the target will be dead in an hour.”
With clinical expressions, the assassins nodded.
“Now, all of you come closer. I will be directly transferring the knowledge of the spell to counter the poison into your minds as there are no spellbooks for it.”
None of them questioned the Listener’s method of teaching the spell. The orc came first. The Listener placed two fingers on his forehead and pushed the knowledge into him. Flashes of his life raced in zirs mind’s eye as ze attached the strands of the copied knowledge into his memory. When ze finished, the Listener carefully reworked his mind and healed any accidental tears ze had made.
The orc let out a panting breath and bowed. Zeeriva stepped forward next. Then the others. The Listener knew which would be Planted.
“Now, summon the spell and cast it, and remember to not submerge any part of your body.” The dull blue-white light of the spell surrounded the hands of the assassins, then their entire bodies. A few visibly jumped when the new sensation of breathing through their skin took over. It was almost amusing as they struggled to breathe through their heavy clothing. Only Zeeriva was relatively unaffected, though her mouth did open in automatic reaction to no longer using her lungs. Her gills were also open along her neck.
“Good. Now practice this spell until there is no longer any light to give it away.”
They nodded and began practicing. The Listener watched them for the next hour or so, correcting their forms and technique. Ze felt the poison begin as zirs chest tightened. Ze sat down and waited it out. To zirs pleasant surprise, the poison worked as it was meant to.
“Congratulations. The poison worked.”
The assassins looked at her.
“We didn’t even know it was affecting you,” the orc said.
The Listener ignored him. “I am impressed with the effectiveness of the poison. If any of you wish it, you could become Journeymen Alchemists within five years, four more likely if you decided to train under Babette.”
All the assassins smiled proudly. “Speak to Babette and she may accept you. For now, continue practicing. Test the potion on the rats and other animals. If the animal is not dead within ten minutes when you use a few drops for the size of a rat, the poison was not created correctly.”
They all nodded, and the Listener left the Garden, casting a counterspell to the one she already had on her. Instantly, she sucked in a huge breath as her lungs began working again.
When the Listener entered the Sanctuary Proper, ze found Babette speaking with the new Keeper. The little Imperial girl, Juliantia, looked up at her, a mental bow given through the Plant. The Listener returned an acknowledgement.
“Listener,” Juliantia greeted aloud. Babette nodded. With the rise in her station, Juliantia was relearning everything. Only the Listener was above her now. Not even Babette could outright order her around – even if the girl did rely on the vampire for advice.
“There will be five assassins coming to you for instruction in alchemy,” the Listener informed Babette. The little vampire scowled but said nothing else. The Listener turned to the Keeper. “I trust you are learning your duties?”
“Yes, Listener,” she said.
“Good. The Keeper before Babette was excellent. There will never be another like him, but you may be close if you work towards it.”
“I hope there’s never another one,” Babette said.
The Listener raised a brow at the vampire. “He was a fine Keeper, loyal to the Night Mother and the Five Tenets.”
“He was also raving mad,” the vampire said. “You liked him because he followed your every order.”
“I liked him because he was true to the Dark Brotherhood and the Night Mother,” the Listener corrected. “He respected me but was never fully loyal to me. I respect those that will question me without fear.”
Babette scoffed. “Yeah, whatever. You just liked him because he never bothered you about that stupid mask.”
“He was also very knowledgeable if you took the time to speak with him.”
“He was touched by Sheogorath. Nothing out of his mouth was completely true.”
The Listener stayed silent. Before ze could say anything more, though, the Night Mother spoke: “Yet another child has prayed to their mother. Speak with the depressed bard at the Winking Skeever in Solitude. Accept the gold then kill the target. So begins a contract bound in blood.”
The Listener turned to the Night mother above them in the overlook.
“She has spoken to you?” the Keeper said quietly.
“Yes, though there will be another in a few seconds.” And there was. After thirty minutes, there were over a hundred new contracts.
“Get me parchment and quill.” Babette left to gather the materials.
“Does she only speak to you here?” the Keeper asked.
“No, but most are given here. That is why she gives so many. I will take a few of them and the others will be passed out to the rest of the Brotherhood.” The Listener looked up from zirs seat at one of the common tables to see Babette entering the room with parchment and quill. Quickly, the Listener wrote out each contact with the location and difficulty level. Most were level twos or threes though there were two level fours and a single level five.
“I will take the level five. Give the others out as you see fit.”
Babette nodded. “I and Khoja will take the level fours. I’ll put one of the mentor assassins in charge while I’m gone. The others I’ll give to the journeymen.”
“Have them take the lower-level assassins with them. It would be good practice for the novices and for the apprentices.”
Babette nodded. “I’ll get started right away.”
“Also, have the more advanced magic users gather in the room off the bridge over the Circle.”
Babette nodded. The Listener let the vampire go and turned back to the Keeper. “Have you tended to the Night Mother today?” ze asked while putting the list of contracts to flame with one of the candles nearby.
“Yes, Listener,” Juliantia said.
“Good. Leave me with her.” The Keeper bowed and left. The Listener climbed the stairs and approached the corpse. Ze stared at the Night Mother, zirs face cold.
“Such a fine thing, you were,” The Listener said. “There are times when I think I remember you, but that can’t be possible, can it? Yet, you can speak to me and use my magic.”
Fear and anxiety filled the air around the coffin.
“This link is useful for more than communication, Magia. Though, that’s just this body’s name, isn’t it.” It was a statement. The fear strengthened. “Remember who you speak to, Almalexia. You are a fallen god trapped in a human corpse. You are no threat to me.”
The coffin of the Night Mother began to shake. The Listener smiled. “It has been so long since you felt, hasn’t it? Perhaps I could further the experience.”
The Listener quickly altered the space around zir, changing it until all but the most sensitive of Master Alterers could ever hope to feel what ze was doing. The Listener felt a layer peel back in zirs core, something abysmal and infinite rushing through zirs body. Pleasure and pain enveloped zir in equal parts. The Listener reveled in it, pulled and stretched the power like a stiff limb. It sank into zir and zirs smile grew.
The Listener refocused on the corpse. Ze could see the soul of Almalexia tied in chains to the cadaver. The Chimeri woman pulled at the chains as she screamed silently; the Listener took her voice away.
“Oh, do you not understand this feeling?” the Listener asked. Zirs power suffocated the bound soul. Ze pulled on the strings of Almalexia’s mind, the black barbs of the Listener’s magic ripping everything within reach. Zirs play shredded her mind and ze watched as Almalexia gave another silent scream.
“Ah, yes. This is something you have forgotten in death. Sithis has been far too lenient with you, my dear girl.” The Listener jerked the strings, unraveling them into long strands that floated through the air like light. “Betrayal is a difficult thing to repent for, I’m afraid.” With that the Listener touched the soul’s forehead and all the unraveled mind snapped back, whiplashing against Almalexia. The soul trembled in shock as it faded back into the corpse. The Listener replaced the first layer of magic over zirs power, cutting it off from the world. Ze released the spell over the space. Zirs smile was gone.
The corpse was nothing but a corpse again. There was no hint of the ancient saint trapped in the body. The Listener turned on zirs heel and headed down the corridor to the small bridge suspended over the largest training area. There were few people there, mostly working on forms. Ze crossed the bridge and stood in the large doorway to the training room.
When the first assassin noticed zir, he stopped, resulting in him being to be thrown to the ground by his partner. Only when he did not fight back did his partner stop and look up. Soon the entire room was still.
“Which of you are magic users?” They were all newer members of the Brotherhood with low ranks, ze could tell by more than their fighting forms.
Three of the dozen or so assassins stepped forward.
“Step back if you can’t perform an adept spell in any of the Schools.”
Only one remained. He was a younger Altmer. The Listener immediately took interest in him. “Come with me. The rest of you, I will be back to show you a technique with a concealed dagger.” Ze walked back up the steps to the bridge, hearing the Altmer follow.
Reaching the top, zie continued straight into a small room rather than going over the bridge. Inside the small room, ze found the other magic using assassins. They stopped talking when the two entered. The Listener allowed the Altmer to pass zir in the doorway. The elf walked nerciously into the room, looking back at zir with each step.
“I am told you can all cast an adept spell of at least one of the Schools,” The Listener said. They all nodded.
“Good. Those of you that specialize in either Alteration or Illusion will fare better but those who don’t, you will be able to do this spell, too.”
The assassins shuffled. The Listener looked at the Altmer. “Your name, elf.”
“Hindathnirtil, Listener.”
“Come here, Hindathnirtil.” The young Altmer anxiously stepped forward. The Listener placed two fingers on his forehead and forced the knowledge of a spell into his mind, once again making sure to heal any tears ze made in the process.
The Altmer gasped when ze ceased contact and looked at zir with wide eyes. Ze nodded and he stepped back.
“I have given Hindathnirtil the knowledge of a spell known only to the Dark Brotherhood. You here are the only ones able to cast it due to your relatively large magicka reserves. There are some here who already know the spell. Those that know Deathly Goal step to one side of the room. Hindathnirtil, go stay by the door.”
About half of the assassins were on either side of the room. The Listener looked the two groups over.
“Good. This spell will be the jewel of your magical killing options. Once cast, the target will be overcome with the realization that death is the only way to achieve anything in life. They will then do whatever it takes to kill themselves or go mad. The spell takes effect after ten minutes, allowing the caster time to escape. The trick with this spell is to be able to cast it without its light showing.”
Some of those on the side of the room that did not know the spell looked at each other.
“Hiding the light of a spell is simple: with more practice, the less light there will be. The light in spells is actually wasted magicka escaping. The more proficient the mage is at a spell, the less light there will be because he knows just the right amount to use.”
The Listener turned to Hindathnirtil. “Hindathnirtil will demonstrate the spell on me.” It was almost comical how wide his eyes were and the shocked look on his face.
“Listener—”
“Do it, Hindathnirtil.”
The Altmer looked around the room, looking for anything resembling aid. When he saw the assassins that knew the spell nod, he turned back to the Listener and swallowed thickly.
In one hand, the bright red and blue light sprang to life. He charged it and threw the spell at the Listener.
Clarity flooded zirs mind. Yes, this is how— Zirs heart thudded against zirs ribcage, threatening to burst from within. Long fingers wrapped in vines around the stuttering heart and into the mind, between the layers and through the memories neither remembered nor forgotten. Cold, they ran streaks of ice in their wake, flames as harsh as salt in wounds grew in the tracks. Pain flairs in zirs left side, raging through and stabbing at all within reach. Stop, stop, it must stop—
Red streaked across zirs vision as ze faintly registered zirs fall to the stone floor. The fingers continued to dive deeper, deeper until ze knew to whom the fingers belonged. Sithis, ze said, take me. The fingers continue, deaf to zirs pleas until they were too deep, too cold, too enflamed. They wrapped around the thorned mind and pulled, stretched. They would not be uprooted. The thorned grew, twisting into the fingers, digging through flesh and blood, leaving it drip into the wounds around the scene carnage. Movement from the periphery belied the dangers that the fingers knew not. Strands with mouthed ends and barbed bodies struck, severing the fingers were they held the threats of zirs mind. The hands retracted.
No, ze thought as ze felt Sithis retreat, no.
The Listener returned to the real world.
Ze was kneeling on the cold stone, zirs heart still racing but no longer attacking zirs chest. Ze took a deep breath and stood. The room was deathly silent. Ze knew the assassins were watching zir, some in awe, some in fear. When ze looked up, ze saw Hindathnirtil’s horrified face.
“Well done.” The Listener said to him. His face was white. “Your spell worked, and you managed to stay conscious. Congratulations. From now on, work the spell until there is no trace of light when used on rodents or other animals.” Ze turned to the others. “Form a line. This spell is not in any spellbook. I will implant it directly into your minds.”
Those without the spell lined up. The Listener quickly pushed the spell into their minds, seeing their lives in the process. Yes, ze had made zirs choice on zirs final Plant.
“Practice this spell on animals. They will have a vastly different reaction than I did, more akin to how your targets will react. It could take a while before they die but watch them. Do not attempt this spell on intelligent life until you have killed enough animals that there is no trace of the light and the animal becomes desperate enough to do anything to kill itself. People have far more ways of killing themselves than animals; it will be much easier for them to finish the deed.”
All the assassins in the room nodded.
“Hindathnirtil, follow me.” The Altmer quickly did so. The Listener led him down to the private rooms and knocked on Zeeriva’s. The Argonian answered a moment later.
“Come with me.” The Argonian scrabbled and fell in line with the Altmer. The Listener led them to a quiet and deserted room.
“One of you there and the other over there,” ze ordered, pointing at the two chairs. Ze approached Zeeriva and threw up a silencing ward and placed a muffling spell over both of them. Then, the Listener proceeded to question Zeeriva.
When ze was done and content with the Argonian’s answers, the Listener moved on to Hindathnirtil. Ze did the same with him. Finally, ze let down the wards and canceled the spells.
“Stand in front of me,” ze said. The two young assassins quickly followed zirs instructions. The Listener placed two fingers on their foreheads and Planted them. They gasped and fell to the ground.
“Can you hear me?” the Listener asked through the Plant.
Both responses were weak, but the Listener grabbed the connections and strengthened them, writhing and binding and weaving more strands of zirs mind into theirs.
“Can you hear me?” ze repeated.
“Yes, Listener,” they both replied, their eyes wide while looking at the Listener.
“Good. When using this kind of communication, I am not your Listener. Only in the company of other Dark Brotherhood assassins am I your Listener. You will address me as Þrékyor.”
“Of course,” the two replied. Then the Argonian spoke up through the link.
“Would you explain what your title means, Thrékyor?”
The Listener smiled behind zirs ever-present mask. “It has many meanings. For you, it means ‘master’. That is all you need to know.”
