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Everyone in Cheydinhal knew about the abandoned house, sitting up against the eastern wall of the city. It hadn't been lived in, not for years. It was generally avoided, that house. Both physically, and as a conversation piece. However, a stranger approached the house tonight. The dark streets were empty, save for a guard on patrol who didn't even look at the man as he passed. The stranger was robed in black, and carried a satchel belted to his waist, which the stranger touched lightly, as if protecting its contents. He was a courier, and he had a delivery to make at the abandoned house. He approached the old, boarded up door, and silently went inside.

It had been sprinkling during his ride to Cheydinhal, and his robes were now quite damp. But the house was as cold on the inside as it was outside, only the air inside was dense and spoke of foreboding. It did little to comfort the stranger's cold bones. He shivered, then made his way down to the basement. Cracked stone walls and splintering supports, lined with dusty cobwebs surrounded him on all sides, but he paid little attention to them. His goal was the dark hole in the far wall of the basement, just big enough for a person to slip past, small enough to be disregarded by the common eye as natural damage from age.

Slip past it he did. The corridor beyond was shoveled out of the dirt, and at its end was a Black Door. Looming over him, adorned with all manner of vile imagery, Black Doors were the ultimate safeguard against anyone wishing to sneak in. For Black Doors were doors that did not open. They had no locks, no keys, no handles. They had no windows or bars, and were hewn from stone, carved, and a strong magic was placed upon them. Black Doors only opened for certain people, and under certain circumstances. It was through this door he entered, into the sanctuary beyond. Immediately, the stranger felt himself at home, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed visibly. He was approached by an argonian woman, who had evidently been waiting for his arrival.

"So, what do you have for us, Courier?" She asked.

From his satchel, he produced a parchment. "A letter from the Listener, mistress. One of our informants has just been killed. The Night Mother demands his blood be repaid."
The argonian sighed as she opened and scanned the parchment.

"Has our Speaker been made aware of this?"
"Yes. He is making preparations to resolve this issue as we speak."
"Very well, then. Thank you, Courier. Will you stay and rest for a bit, or must you run off again?"
"I thank you for the offer, mistress, but I'm afraid I still have several other errands to run tonight."
"Very well, then. Walk in the shadow of Sithis, Brother."

And so, it was out into the cold for the courier once again, the tension returning as he left the abandoned house.

A mile or so away from the city, a rider in black, sitting astride a dark horse, was racing through a forest, just off the main road to avoid being seen. He was riding south.

"Quickly, Shadowmere. We must reach Leyawiin before midnight."
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As the black rider drew ever nearer to his destination, and to the coast, the light drizzle became a steady rain, but it was not a cool rain. It was becoming increasingly more humid, and the rider was once again reminded of how much he disliked the bay area of Leyawiin. The fabric of his robes did little to protect him against the warm wetness seeping through. He had half a mind to simply slit his quarry's throat as she slept and be done with it. But he wouldn't. That would be irresponsible of him. The woman he was hunting would either be dangerous to the Brotherhood, especially if she knew who the Brotherhood's informants were, in which case, he would kill her anyway--or simply ignorant of her incredible blunder, which, while irritating, would make it unacceptable for him to kill her outright. In such a case, well...There were other means of repayment.

The rider was distracted from his thoughts as his dark horse snorted and shook the rain from her coat for an umpteenth time, only to realize that she was standing still, in front of the very city gate that currently protected his elvish prey from him. He wore a scowl under his now-dripping hood, and dismounted.

"Stay here. And by Sithis, don't go looking for trouble."

He left his horse standing there, whose red eyes bored into her master's back as he walked away, mud and gravel crunching under his boots. As he entered, the two guards standing there stopped him, suspicion growing on their faces.

"Hold, stranger. What's your business here?"

The rider looked up to grace the impeding guards with his scowl.
"My business is to find a hot meal and a roof to get out of this rain."
"Really...then why carry a dagger with you?" The guard gestured to the weapon belted at the man's waist.
"Roads are dangerous, especially at night. Isn't that what you men are saying these days?"

The guard looked irritated.

"Bah. Get on then."

And with that, the robed man headed off down the street, towards the Five Claws. It wasn't difficult to find--inns never were--but he didn't enter just yet. He casually leaned against the wet plaster of the wall, as though waiting. He was waiting, in fact, for a patrolling guard to pass by. When the guard's back was turned to him, he whispered a spell, and he appeared to vanish.
He then slipped silently into the inn.
By this time, the proprietor was most certainly asleep, and the invisible man was neither seen nor heard by anyone--not until he entered Venasa's room, and his invisibility spell wore off. She was small, for a dunmer, but that was a quality much admired in the Brotherhood, for small people made for excellent assassins.
That was what the robed man was. An assassin. He took note of Venasa's hand hidden underneath her pillow.
Smart. But telling.
The robed assassin leaned in the far corner of the room, and waited.
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The robed assassin made his way back through the city more carefully than he had entered, for it wasn't likely that the gate guard he'd encountered had ended his shift yet, and would probably recognize him if he attempted to pass through that gate. Fortunately, as with most cities, there were other gates for him to choose from. He left by the eastward gate instead, and when his dark horse appeared from behind a nearby tree to greet him, he frowned at her.
"I told you to stay put."
The animal snorted, showing no sign of concern or that she even cared what her master thought about it.
"Yes, yes all right. Let's get home quickly--I despise Leyawiin's weather..." He mounted, and the two of them rode off.

Back in Cheydinhal, the argonian woman, whose name was Ocheeva, was rounding everyone up for dinner. Some assassins had their own homes to live in, but for many, the Sanctuary was the home. It provided a safe place to sleep and recover, a place to get work, and a place to eat. Some larger Sanctuaries even had their own libraries for the avid reader. But in most cases, Sanctuaries were small places, providing the most basic comforts of living. Because the Sanctuary was so small, the group that lived in them became somewhat like a family--and was often called such--and there were never any secrets. If there were, well, it wasn't one for long. Of course, as the Sanctuary's mistress, Ocheeva did of course have her favorites among the assassins, though would hardly be kind or appropriate of her to say as such. One of these assassins she rather liked was Laandrin--a redguard fellow whom she found to be rather amusing. She approached this man.
"Brother, I'm calling the family in to dinner. Are you joining us?"
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Ocheeva shook her head slightly.
"No, brother. But from... What I know about situations like these, however, I suspect Lucien has been given instructions on how to deal with the problem. I'm sure we'll know more when he gets back. More than likely, though, Lucien will kill the the offender." Ocheeva walked with Laandrin to the living quarters--she knew Vicente would not be joining them, and she often wondered if Loses-Her-Tail cared at all, or even understood common speech. She had to feel a little bad about mocking one of her own kind, but there were very few Argonians that acted as primitive as Loses seemed to be... How the woman had even been recruited, she knew not.
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Ocheeva's expression slowly turned into a frown as she caught the connection Laandrin was making.
"I hope not, brother. For all our sakes. If he--or she--has finally begun making moves against the Brotherhood, much damage could be done before we actually find out who it is."

Since everyone else who was likely to join the dinner table was present, Ocheeva sat and bade everyone to begin. She herself was feeling now too uneasy to eat more than a few bites due to the idea that Laandrin proposed, and she resolved to ask Lucien about it the next time she saw him. She hoped that he might be able to alleviate that suspicion.
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Lucien was tired, hungry, and irritable by the time he and Shadowmere returned to Cheydinhal. Slinking along the eastern wall, he didn't stop until the well was in sight, then slipped inside after a street patrol had passed.
The moment he was inside, he shrugged off the robe which was not yet dry from the rain he'd suffered through, dumped it in a nearby chair, then wordlessly made his way to the dining hall where he knew supper would still be out at this hour, thanks to Ocheeva, who always seemed to be prepared whenever he should chance to show up. He had quite a bit to thank her and Vicente for.
He was not unaware of the sudden silence that fell over the remaining dinner party as he entered the room, but he paid them no heed. As of this moment, his main focus was food. He sat down and immediately dug into the food on his plate.
It was after a few minutes that Ocheeva finally rose from her seat and sat again in a chair near the Speaker. She spoke to him quietly.
"What news, Lucien?"
"The offender is coming here."
"Coming--"
"I was told to give her the choice to live."
And that seemed to be the end of that. Ocheeva paused a moment longer, contemplating the new turn of events.
"How long until she gets here?"
"Unless she steals one, she's coming on foot. She's not rich enough to buy a horse, that's for certain. Can't even afford decent room and board..." he snorted. He tapped one finger. "Keep an eye on her, Ocheeva. There was something in her eyes..."
When he was done eating, he pushed away his plate and left the room as suddenly as he'd entered it, but not without giving Ocheeva's shoulder an almost familiar touch. He went down, to the dark hallway that was always unlit for lack of traffic. There was only one person who stayed down here, and most of the others avoided it. He knocked on the heavy door at the end of the hall, then entered. The room was lit by one candle, which meant that Vicente was probably reading.
"Good evening, Lucien." Came the voice of the reclusive man.
"Evening, Vicente." Lucien shut the door behind him, then slumped in the chair opposite his mentor and friend.
The two of them talked quietly for some time, until it was quite late and Lucien could hardly keep his eyes open. He excused himself then, and retired to a bed in the living quarters.
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With the grating of stone against dirt and stone, the heavy portal slowly swung inward to admit Venasa. There were grooves in the stone floor to mark the age and wear and the many times this door had been used in the past. It revealed to Venasa an oddly spacious hall, comfortably furnished with large rugs on the floor and tapestries lining the walls to keep in as much warmth as possible. There was an area for reading in one corner, lit with several candles to ease strain on the eyes, and in the center of the room was a wide, circular firepit which was raised slightly off the ground and kept neat by a wall of brick enclosing it, the fire was a low crackle, so it might send heat and wan light to all corners of the room but without making the entire hall too warm. In the far corner of the room, natural light seeped in from what appeared to be some kind of shaft, and a rope ladder could be seen just hanging in the interior. From this one large room, three hallways branched away from it, two of which were lit by sconces on the walls, and the third remained dark. There were scarce few people present in the room, one of whom was reading a book, and two others, one of whom was an argonian, but the other figure was shrouded in darkness. Whoever he was, he seemed to emanate a darkness more intense than Lucien, perhaps one even tainted by evil. This figure stood so still, he might have been a statue. Despite the fact that he seemed preoccupied, he seemed to be casting his shadowed gaze on Venasa.

The thick door swung shut behind Venasa with a whisper.
"Welcome home."
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The shadowed man lowered his eyes as a faint smile touched his lips, as if Venasa's arrival was a joke of some peculiar kind. It didn't help much to warm his otherwise cold appearance. His face was thin and his skin pale--too pale. His long hair of a dark brown shade was tinged with silver streaks at his temples and was pulled back into a neat ponytail. With his eyes now lowered, it was still difficult to determine their color. Another shade of brown, perhaps. He had the appearance of someone who was both wise and clever, and when he spoke, his voice was smooth and low. "The day that someone apart from the Brotherhood should enter this hall will be a dangerous day indeed."

It was then that his partner turned to get a look at Venasa. She was an argonian, and though she regarded Venasa with a neutral calm, it was clear by her reptilian eyes that she was not fond of the idea of letting someone who'd just killed a Brotherhood informant work for her. "Yes, Venasa, your name is known to us. I am Ocheeva, the mistress here while Lucien is away. Which is... often..." She shook herself. "But, never mind. The circumstances of your presence here are strange--and I'm afraid you may find a difficult time settling in, but if you do well for us, you will be always welcome here as a Sister. You seem to have good timing, however. Vicente here trains all the newest members and provides them work. When he thinks you are ready, he will send you to me." She paused for a moment.

"Right then. Training rooms are down the right hall, and all the living quarters are on the left. You'll also find a bath and the dining hall there. We don't really assign rooms. Just find one that looks uninhabited, and it's yours. When you are ready to begin your training, you can usually find Vicente in a training room if he chooses to wait for you there, or he'll be down there." She gestured towards the dark hallway. "He prefers not to mingle with the rest of us, ordinarily." Another pause, and then she turned to her companion. "Why did you want to speak to me, anyway?"

The man's smirk hadn't dissolved. "It isn't important now, Ocheeva. Excuse me." He turned and glided away from the other two, towards the training hall, as Ocheeva has suggested.
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Vicente was reading, of course, through what appeared to be a short stack of papers--suspiciously very much like letters. By the time Venasa walked into the training room, he'd finished reading about half of the letters. He didn't look up until she was nearby. When he did, the glint of amusement was again in his eye.
"If you've come here for training, Venasa, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you." He paused, as though to see her reaction. He continued.
"But not to worry. I cannot train you because you don't need it. Already you have the lithe qualities fit for a stalker; your body betrays you. What I have here are some contracts that fulfilling. I'm deciding now which to test you on."
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Vicente seemed to disregard her previous comment. "A marksman indeed," he replied, with another of those smiles that seemed to be laughing at her. "Then you should have no problem whatsoever, with this contract. An easy target with an easy goal. You may kill him in any manner you see fit. You can read the details for yourself." He nimbly plucked a sheet of paper from the short stack and handed it to her.
"You're going after a street vendor. Long story short, other street vendors nearby are complaining about the volume of his voice. One of them decided to ask us to deal with the problem. Granted, it's a little benign, but it shouldn't be terribly difficult, I think."
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