Sicarian House One

[Major Trip]

Sicarian House One​

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Writer’s Notes​

· The year is 4E 202. The Dragon Crisis has been averted and the world is no longer in danger of complete annihilation, but the struggle for peace is far from over. The Dark Brotherhood, the civil war, and the Aldmeri Dominion are growing progressively more problematic for the people of Skyrim. Follow the Sicarii, an elite faction of “righteous” assassins, as they rise from centuries of anonymity to fight injustice throughout Skyrim and the world over.

· Sicarii – plural of the Latin “sicarius” (dagger-man) which is derived from “secare” (to cut/to kill). A term for an assassin. My Sicarii are in no way related to these fellows àSicarii.

· I plan to write numerous chapters, possibly twenty or more (here’s hoping). There will definitely be questline spoilers, primarily for the Dark Brotherhood and the civil war (Stormcloaks). I will occasionally take the liberty of “modding” game mechanics/tweaking events to complement the story.

· I hope you are as fond of my tale as I am. I update as often as I can. I would ask that you please, please, please provide feedback. This screenwriter wants to know how he’s done in a format that’s completely foreign to him.



Disclaimer(s): I do not own, nor do I claim the intellectual property rights to, the world of Skyrim or to any portion of the Elder Scrolls franchise at all (this includes literally every element from NPC’s to locations to factions). Those rights go to Bethesda and/or ZeniMax. Any violation of said rights is not intentional. Do not read if you are in any way offended by blood, gore, alcohol, drugs, or foul language. If you are a supporter of the Empire, please note that this is a pro-Stormcloak story.
All original factions and characters introduced within (the Sicarii, the Overlords, and my central character Vesper for instance) are entirely my own creation. Please do not feature them anywhere else without my approval. If, in the future, characters that do not belong to me are featured, they are featured with their own specific writer’s express written consent.


Table of Contents

Chapter I: A Prayer Gone Wrong

 

[Major Trip]

Chapter one: A Prayer Gone Wrong​

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14th day of Hearthfire, 4E 200​

After Midnight​

Solitude​

A vicious storm was raging in Solitude. An endless barrage of bitter, stinging rain, courtesy of the Sea of Ghosts, attacked the exposed skin of anyone unfortunate enough to have ventured onto the streets in the wee hours of the night. Gusts of fierce wind relentlessly beat at the windows and doors of the city’s beautiful stone houses, attempting to enter in and produce additional destruction. Menacing dark clouds spread out for miles; it seemed that all of Haafingar was at the mercy of the deluge. Lightning frequently flashed in the distance followed by booming rolls of thunder. Even the city guard, so dedicated to preserving the peace, sought shelter from the continuous onslaught.

In one of the city’s impressive manors, Laurus Andronicus knelt on his knees, his elven dagger gripped firmly in both hands. He was exhausted, famished, ill, and livid. So long he had waited, so long he had performed the book’s instructions word for word, and with no results. He coughed loudly and drew a long, shuddering breath. He put a shaky hand to his forehead and found it hot with fever. He shivered and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to warm himself. The illness did not matter. The only thing that did matter was that his voice be heard.

Acantha Basilius had been a thorn in his side for much too long. Merchandise disappearing, shops burned down, multiple robberies; all of this was her doing. She steadily grew wealthier while his usually robust fortune declined. The people of Solitude, even that boy Torygg, told him he was just being paranoid, but he knew she was guilty. And now she would pay.

He looked at the crudely made effigy lying on the dusty basement floor. It disgusted him, not that he was doing what he was doing, but that his home now contained such vile elements. It had been a bother seeking to procure these items, items that no sane person would even think to sell. He had been reported to the authorities in the Reach after being witnessed purchasing human flesh from some disgraceful cannibal, and wasted a thousand septims bribing the guards. But in the end, it would all be worthwhile. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and clearing his throat of phlegm, he prepared to begin the ritual anew.

“Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.”

He stabbed the effigy and repeated the chant. He had to squint, the only light in his basement being the weak candles surrounding the makeshift skeleton. He sneezed violently, nearly stabbing himself in the thigh. Thunder crashed again, shaking the sturdy manor. Stab. Chant. Stab. Chant. Nothing.

With a cry of pure rage, Laurus rose from his kneeling position and hurled his dagger against the wall, striking it and leaving a small crack in the stone. He stormed out of his basement and marched up the stairs to his bedroom. It was well after midnight, so he would just have to continue the Black Sacrament the next day. But if, when, the Dark Brotherhood finally arrived, they would be scolded for being so dawdling.

He savagely threw back the luxurious blankets of his bed, the storm persistent in its assault. He tried his best to fall asleep, but to no avail. The unreliability of the Dark Brotherhood vexed him to no end. How they functioned when they couldn’t answer the simple prayers their Night Mother was supposed to relay to her subjects was a mystery to him. Maybe this Night Mother was as incompetent as her children.

He lit a candle on his nightstand, thinking he could doze off if he read a book. He picked up his favorite, a large tome on business practices in Cyrodiil, and turned to the page he had marked the previous night. He read one chapter, then two, then three, but he could not go to sleep. Even angrier than he had formerly been, he tossed the book out of his room, causing a resounding crash as it collided with the stone floor.

Laurus shot up rapidly and strained his ears as the sound continued. It couldn’t have been the book that had made such a racket. The storm must have blown open his front door. He got out of bed and cautiously moved downstairs. His front door was open wide, pounding against a wooden bookcase. The wind eagerly blasted indoors, pushing chairs and blowing papers all around. He sighed and struggled to shove the door closed, locking it securely. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark living area.

The room remained lit. Laurus whipped around and scanned the house. His eyes met the dancing flames of an elegant candelabrum by the dining table. He was certain it was extinguished a moment ago. He fearfully tiptoed into the kitchen, and blew out each candle, which all immediately reignited.

A man’s deep voice echoed from somewhere in the area. “I hear you’re attempting to summon the Dark Brotherhood, Mr. Andronicus.”

A chill ran through Laurus’ body as if he were injected with ice wraith essence. His heart skipped a beat when he heard the voice, but his fear quickly turned to excitement. The Dark Brotherhood. At long last, he was going to have vengeance on the woman who had made his life a living hell. The Brotherhood had come through for him. His excitement was short lived, as it gave way to more fury when he remembered what he had gone through to call upon the organization of assassins.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you obtuse bastards?!” he hoarsely fumed at the darkness. “It’s been almost a week! A week of constantly stabbing a horrid effigy with a dagger! A week of little food or rest!” He waited for the assassin to respond, but he kept quiet. “So you’re all business now? Good then. Good.”

Laurus strode to his small safe hidden behind the bookcase by the front door and opened it, making sure to block the combination from the assassin’s view. He wasn’t a thief, but Laurus couldn’t be too trusting. Not anymore. He took a large coin purse from the safe and jingled it at all areas of darkness, not sure he was actually looking at the assassin. “This is your payment,” he said slowly, making sure the man could follow his words. “You will get this after you complete your task. And that task is to kill Acantha Basilius. I want the bitch’s head mounted on my living room wall!”

The assassin maintained his silence, frightening Laurus once more. Trying not to panic, he sat in a small imported chair, waiting for the man to acknowledge his mission, to give some response. After several tense, silence-filled minutes, he spoke. “Do you honestly want to do this, Mr. Andronicus? ‘Tis a dark path you wander.”

Laurus gawked at the shadows by the stairway the voice had come from, shocked at the assassin’s words. Of course he wanted this done. He knew murder was no cheerful road, but it was necessary for his wellbeing. For the man he employed to question his commitment was infuriating to the highest degree.

“You are a Dark Brotherhood assassin,” he grumbled through his congestion. “Dark Brotherhood assassins kill without question. Dark Brotherhood assassins do what they are ordered to do. And I am ordering you to carry out my request, damn it! Now go!” He fell into a burning fit of coughs. He gripped his chest, wheezing for air.

“But that is where you are wrong, Mr. Andronicus,” the man said. “I am not here to carry out your request. I am here to prevent it.”

He stepped downstairs into the light and Laurus gasped. He was dressed in striking silver robes trimmed with brilliant gold, almost metallic in appearance. A small emblem, an owl in flight, decorated his left breast. His boots were silver like his robes, with three golden buckles. A sword of ebony hung from a large golden belt at his hip beside a similar dagger. His hood was pulled low over his face, leaving only his thin, crooked nose and frowning mouth visible. Laurus could not be sure of his race, though he was definitely neither elf nor beast. The man stopped by a small table in the living area, surveying the room, then gazing at Laurus, who flinched at the intimidating figure in front of him.

“You’re not with the Brotherhood?” he whimpered. “Well… who-”

“My family frowns on the Brotherhood, and people like you,” the man said, cutting Laurus off. As terrified as he was, he was still incensed at being interrupted.

“If you’re not an assassin-”

“I never said that.”

He slowly walked into the kitchen and motioned for Laurus to sit at the table. When he did, the assassin grabbed an apple from the wicker basket on the dining table and tossed it to him. Laurus looked at the red fruit, then to the assassin. It seemed he expected him to eat, so he took a large bite. The non-Brotherhood assassin sighed, stroking the insignia on his chest. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, prepared to speak, and then closed it. He sighed again. “Can I persuade you to abandon your requested murder of an innocent?”

Innocent? Acantha Basilius was hardly innocent. She was a despicable, unpleasant, insufferable woman, and someone who deserved to die. He could not turn back, even if this mysterious man was standing in his path. He was resolute in his desire to regain his livelihood. His plan had to proceed.

“No,” he said in his most defiant voice, as defiant as he could be with a mouth full of apple. “I am insistent on having this job done. So,” he gestured to the front door, “I suggest you leave this place before I summon the city guard!”

“Such a heartless disregard for the life of your fellow man,” the assassin said miserably, not intimidated by the threat. “How shameful.”

The assassin sighed once again and approached Laurus, his steps deliberate. He stopped just a foot from him and drew back his hood. He was a Nord, with long blonde hair and blue eyes, both compassionate and doleful; not the look of a merciless assassin. He tugged Laurus to his feet and pulled him close, a baffling act.

“I am sorry,” he said, truly appearing apologetic. “But if you are this determined…”

Thunder crashed louder than ever, emphasizing the sharp pain Laurus felt in his stomach. The assassin released him and pulled on his hood. Laurus put a hand to his bleeding abdomen, his liver pierced. He attempted to speak, but his words were defeated by the blood that had begun to trickle from his open mouth. The assassin shook his head in disappointment, made an odd gesture over his heart, and muttered something in an unidentifiable language. Before he breathed his last, Laurus glimpsed the assassin wave his hand at the candelabrum, terminating the flames in an instant, and plunging the room into total darkness.

And the darkness remained.

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[Major Trip]

Reserved.

 

[Major Trip]

Reserved.

 

[Major Trip]

Reserved.

 

[Major Trip]

Reserved.

 

[Major Trip]

Reserved.