I
22nd of Hearthfire, 4E198
I deeply regret to inform you of my immediate resignment from my position as head of the Imperial Investigative Division as a result of my assignment to the latest case of mysterious disappearances throughout Cyrodiil, dubbed 'The Heartland Kidnappings'.
While the case has been solved and a corresponding report was filed, I must stress that the contents of the following pages shall not, under any circumstances, be viewed by unauthorized personnel lest civil unrest will spread I'm afraid.
As puzzled as I imagine you to be, the reasoning behind my rather abrupt decision to go into retirement will be made clear during this epistle I'm now writing at my desk.
The disturbing nature of the occurrences I discovered during my investigations into the abductions not only warrant a thoroughly detailed manuscript. Upon relaying this information to you, they will also sufficiently explain my choice in respect to abandoning my profession.
It all started upon our bureau receiving an innumerable amount of notices regarding the sudden and inexplicable vanishing of citizens throughout the entire province, invariably flooding my office with more grim news every day.
When the city guards had failed to properly look into the matter, I had been tasked with finding out what happened. Whence all the people went, before the problem got out of hand.
I had solved many a case during my time in the IID but never have I faced an iniquity quite as appalling as this. I was used to tracking down skooma dealers, persecuting outlaws or finding lost pets. This time however, I was required to close in on what I had at the time suspected to be a slaver ring or an unsavory group of people traffickers. When I accepted the case, I had no idea what horrors I would have to face.
As it is, under normal circumstances I would have one of my subordinates take care of it. Though notwithstanding the seemingly hopeless undertaking, seeing how every other instance had failed to unearth even so much as a hint pertaining to the missing, I was lured in by the prestige I would gain for solving it.
And sure enough, honors and compensation were awarded in prodigious amounts. But at what cost?
When my investigation began, about a hundred people had already been taken, their number rising almost daily.
Our division is, as you know, situated within the White Gold Tower of the Imperial City. A great, gleaming monument to our Empire's accomplishments. The bureau had been erected just a few years ago, ordered by the Emperor himself, when the population of bandits and marauders reached an unprecedented height. Someone needed to be put in charge of dealing with all the various ill deeds that went beyond common city guard affairs.
I sat at the desk I've made myself comfortable at so many times before, when I skimmed over all the pamphlets telling of family members who were suddenly gone the next morning, children who went out to play and never returned. Distant colleagues of mine, even, who never showed up for guard duty.
The situation was dire. None of it made sense. Based on our preliminary findings at the time, there was no causality betwixt one case and another. No links, no connections. It appeared as though the only thing the victims had in common was the fact they inexplicably dissolved into thin air.
I was stumped. No one knew anything, no one saw anything. With this large a number of abductees, how was that possible? Through the lack of a better option I did what any good investigator would do: I turned to the Dark Brotherhood.
The Dark Brotherhood had always been a force we could do nothing against. In fact, we all collectively hoped none of us would somehow end up on their to-do list.
Fortunately, over the years, I had managed to establish a contact within this unhallowed organization. By what means I had done this, I will not say. I will only say that, even though I'm part of law enforcement myself, it doesn't mean I cannot bend the rules to my favor. Likewise, I won't speak of that contact's identity. However they were paramount in ascertaining if we dealt with something we couldn't control or not.
As my first option, I've sent a letter to said person in hopes that the Brotherhood had just been blessed with an extraordinary influx of orders. That way, I could've closed the case on it being a 'Dark Brotherhood Matter' and leave it on the shelf.
A few days passed and soon, amidst the tsunami of notices of yet more strange disappearances, I espied the answer from my shady associate. However, upon ripping open the envelope in anticipation, the message contained only this:
"Things are bad. Too much to write on paper. Meet me within the abandoned house in Cheydinhal. We require your assistance."
I couldn't believe what I've just read. The Dark Brotherhood needs MY help? Unheard of. My forehead wrinkled as I looked at these lines. Though unbelieving as I was, I had no other leads to pursue. So I grabbed my weapons, put on my brown coat to conceal my armaments and some provisions for the trip and went.
I took a steed from the nearby stables and traveled along the Red Road, going east to the Blue Road to reach the Nibenay Basin wherein the city is located.
I arrived there by noon and stepped through the city gates from the west. Every time I travel to Cheydinhal I marvel at its beauty. The lush gardens, the pond and small river with that little wooden bridge, the peaked roofs of the neatly kept houses in their lilac shade. All serve to not only startle a potential visitor. It also helps retaining a peculiar inconspicuousness to the place that a certain murderous cult holds in high regards.
Not to lose any more time in this pressing matter, I quickly made my way to the specified dilapidated building. This house had always been in disrepair and I suspect it always will be. Surveying its outside, the inherent brokenness appears to be almost deliberate. Just as if one would attempt to clean a pile of trash by washing and rinsing the waste instead of disposing of it, this house was in such a sorry state because somebody kept it that way. Broken archways, shattered windows, rusted linings. Partly missing bricks from the walls and roof. All served to dissuade anybody from entering. Such trickery was nessecary to deter any uninvited guests.
In approaching the door, fumbling with my key ring, I made sure none were watching. When I pronounced the immediate area vacant, I swiftly slid in the key inside the rusty iron puncture, turned it and gently pushed open the old, battered door with audible creaking and moaning of both wood and strained metal.
As I've grown wont to from previous correspondences with my contact, not a soul appeared to be present. A clever deceit, however. For camouflage was an assassin's bread and butter and in this case, they were a master of the forgotten art of the chameleon spell. Imagine this: invisibility without the cost of the spell breaking as soon as any actions are taken. Truly, this was the primordial might from an era ago.
Behind a meekly fashioned table now started to appear the figure I had expected. Amidst cobwebs and dust piles, slowly but surely there materialized their shape behind the crude and ripped furnishings of this shunned house. What they would tell me, though, should leave me awestruck and clueless.
II
After speaking to my contact they confirmed that, to my dismay, the Black Hand wasn't involved. As macabre as it sounds, it would've made my work much easier if they were. Instead, my beliefs were tested upon mentioning that the Night Mother herself was speechless. Allegedly, the Listener had scheduled a meeting with the other four fingers just a few days ago. In the ensuing discussion, they made it abundantly clear that the organization's efforts were curiously hobbled by what they suspected to be an act of sabotage.
It turned out that almost all who've been targeted from the Black Sacrament have vanished, just like that. Without a trace, unable to be assassinated and sent to the Darkness of Sithis.
During that little get-together, the Listener enunciated that, upon communion with the Night Mother, she revealed that even with her tremendous powers, she did not possess such capabilities as to track the lost marks.
My eyes widened at this jaw-dropping revelation. All of a sudden, I wasn't so sure about my initial suspicions anymore. That even the wife to Sithis himself failed to keep up with the situation. The ramifications were unthinkable!
A growing sense of dread and uncertainty crept up my spine as I tried to picture what terrible power could hide those targeted by the unconsecrated ritual none would dare mention.
In a lucky turn of fate, just that day the Night Mother had, according to my contact, the location of one of those abducted. If the information was not an elaborate ruse, the victim was bound, gagged and stuffed into a crate on a horse carriage headed for the Imperial City. An assassin was already on their way, so I didn't stall for much longer. I hastily threw a pouch filled with gold pieces on the table, thanked my informant and rushed to my horse. I needed to reach that carriage before this trace was also lost.
I swiftly rode my steed back to the capital in pursuit of the perpetrator. When the city outskirts and the great island came into view I observed something one does not see everyday.
A Brotherhood assassin, perched on a black mare, hunting a carriage full of wooden crates and boxes. I witnessed the contract killer jump off their mount and onto the wagon mid-ride in an elegant manner telling of high dexterity. They crawled to the front seat, kicked the driver off of it and bringing the entire thing to a trifling halt when one wheel broke and the wagon came crashing down, spilling its heavy contents all over the road just out of sight of the city guard.
Meanwhile, the remaining horses broke free of their bounds and dispersed in all directions.
The dubious character in charge of the transport attempted to flee. I was fast enough however, my steed quizzaciously running him over, stopping him in his tracks by stomping his left hand whereunto it was crushed beneath the heavy hooves.
While the suspect squealed in agony, the assassin came closer to us. Apparently I wasn't the only one eager to find out what's happening. The tenebrous clad elf had already drawn her dagger from a femoral scabbard perpendicular to her thigh. Visibly agitated she approached me and the pinned-down man of slightly hunched stature, unkempt and ragged not betraying a sad smell of skin that hadn't seen any water in years. In my eyes definitely not the leader or any higher-up of whatever criminal group I was hunting for.
The shadowy dressed killer in her combat gear shot me a queer look from behind her mask before she bent down to press the dagger's sharp edge on the man's larynx. She held her mouth unconformably close to his ear and whispered threateningly:"The victims. Where have you taken them?", all the while quaint streams of blood started to appear on his throat.
That woman meant business.
After his plight for mercy had been ignored by the two of us, his gaze nervously darting back and forth between the Dunmer and me, he finally complied to questioning. He told us that his only orders were to load up and transport crates from various points of origin and deliver them to a hidden grate that supposedly led to the Imperial City's sewage system.
About the contents of the aforementioned boxes he knew nothing. From my experience in this field, I could tell that he was honest, his statements truthful. Albeit I also spotted a hint of panic and fear in his eyes as I observed them. Just as if he was begging me for help to stay alive.
I suppose he couldn't believe I'd do nothing about the presence of such an obvious member of the Dark Brotherhood. To his misfortune, I did just that. Nothing. I had no intention to interfere in business matters of the one organization I frequently dealt with. And so, the Dunmer aspirated "Thank you", driving the blade into the man's throat. After some gurgling, his eyes rolled backwards and the familiar light of life faded.
The ash-skinned elf went over to the dubious crates thereafter, broke one open and revealed a squirming linen bag the size of a person rolling out of it. In but a second, two swift movements ended their misery, staining the fabric a bright red.
Then she turned to face me. " I'm surprised you didn't try to stop me, Imperial lap dog", she scoffed.
"I had no intention to", I replied, softly smiling." In fact, I do believe we could aid each other".
Her gaze told of utter disbelief, prompting the question as to how. I told her I was in search of the origin of the disappearances, intent on tracking down its source and eliminate it. When she answered that she was tempted to occupy herself with the very same thing, I proposed we work together on solving that elusive mystery.
She hesitated for a moment, thinking things through. After a while, she agreed. To this day, I can't say why she did. But in retrospect, it doesn't matter anymore anyway.
"Let's free the remaining abductees, then we'll head off to find that sewer entrance" the elf announced sharply. In acquiescence I followed suit and cut loose the bounds on the captives. Some of them looked terrified beyond belief and dispersed instantly, some thanked us. Others were only relieved they could finally go home.
Afterwards, I proceeded with the shadowy Dunmer woman towards the secretly hidden grate we've been told about.
And although she didn't tell me her name or shook hands, I had a sense she had already acknowledged me as her business partner. Companionship forged from necessity should thusly soon grow into a symbiotic relationship.
III
I could tell that the premise of prestigious honors among her kind upon tying up all those loose ends drove her to investigate further. Not to forget the promise of payment. A corroborating nod confirmed my hypothesis when I questioned her about it.
I had no qualms working together with a member of the Brotherhood. We had the same goal. Truth be told, I acted outside protocol myself every now and then. Crushing various delinquents' body parts during an interrogation was only the tip of the iceberg, to say the least. But I always got my assignments done, no matter what. As I also intended to with this most recent case.
We were well underway when the clouds above us tore asunder, rain pouring out of the sky's vault. We had almost arrived at the bridge leading to the city grounds proper when we started to look for an out-of-place grate.
In hindsight, we probably should have kept that trafficker alive to at least show us where the entrance lay. Alas, we offed him. So we were stuck looking for an aperture in the dirt nobody seemed to know existed in the first place. The liquid downpour didn't make it easier as well, as we had to wade through a thick layer of mud and soft earth.
My brown, knee-long coat which concealed the leather armour as well as my armaments underneath it gradually soaked with rain and grit. Amidst the light fog that started to develop around us, the assassin finally spotted a curious piece of metal embedded into the side of the isle the Imperial City was built on. Slightly obfuscated by floral camouflage, situated right beneath aforementioned bridge. The two of us moved towards it and thereby acquired shelter from the uncomfortable weather that had just come down upon us.
Her armour, dark as the night sky, was equally as damp as mine. I noticed her cumbrous breathing through the drenched mask that covered her face. We reached the anomaly within the dirt and halted for a moment.
With an annoyed yet confessing sigh, the Dunmer took off the mask and hung it onto one of the many belt-like appendages the traditional Brotherhood armor sported.
She revealed a face of staggering elven beauty. Her pulchritudinous appearance was amplified even further as soon as she pulled back her cowl, letting her long, wavy, white hair fall back to cover her neck. A feminine complexion, almost feline, with high cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin and a slim jaw accentuated her thin, grey lips and nose. A pure, dark grey skin not betraying a hint of tenderness framed her piercing, blood red eyes that shot me a disdainful glare.
"Now that you've seen my face, I might as well tell you my name. I'm Nephethys." We shook hands. "Thorus." I replied, unsure if any additional words might offend her.
We quickly went down to business again and wiped away the obscuring vegetation from the grate. Now, the ironwork was exposed. A small hole, barely high enough to crawl through. On first try the partly rusted door did not budge. Fiercely kicking it did the trick however, causing it to screechingly open up.
Nephethys and I looked at each other for a second before turning our heads to gaze into the brooding dark ahead.
We couldn't make out any definite features amongst the shadows of this incredibly narrow tunnel that was evidently designed for the sole purpose of delivering precisely sized crates. Or coffins.
Yet again I reminded myself that even the Night Mother was unable to tell where all the marks went and another shudder ran down my spine. There was something gravely portentous to it all and Nephethys and I intended to shed some light on this mystery
We inhaled. A growing uneasiness spread among us. She also no doubt was aware of how precarious of a sentiment this was. Sithis' wife failing to track down her victims. Notwithstanding her initial hesitation, she quietly went down into the unknown. I followed her shortly after. How deep would this rabbit hole go? I wondered.
Of all the things, she and I certainly didn't expect to slide downward. But upon shoving ourselves through the narrow mound, we did, picking up an obscene amount of filth on our garments in the process.
We soon landed on a coarsely assorted pile of broken planks, prompting a cloud of splinters to rush up into the air. My newly found dark elf companion stood off to the side, giving me an inquisitive look. We shifted our gaze to the left to spot another pile. That one was composed of roughly sewn linen sacks, partly bloodied and unmoving.
A grim premonition formed in my mind as I looked at them. My ill suspicions proved correct as Nephethys cut open one of the bags, revealing a dead, somewhat decomposed body of a young boy who probably died from falling onto the hard ground. Not only did it appear that by perusal of this dirt-slide, the captives have been brought hither. Moreover, it looked like that spot in particular was used to discard any that didn't quite make it. A sickening cogitation. To end like that. Who in their right mind would commit such atrocities? Furthermore, failing to give proper burials?
Then another wave of nausea brushed over me as I beheld a few rather empty sacks that were only filled with some fleshy remains and entrails.
Of course, I thought, who needs graves if there are other uses for the cadavers? Though, was it something or someone that had been feeding on these?
Nephethys and I surveyed our surroundings closely. We found ourselves in a circular chamber of dark and mossy brickwork. The pungent odor emphasized the overall humid air and damp vegetation that sprouted from within the walls' fractals and indentations. The floor consisted of wet, anthracite masonry moistened with thin streams of water, partly coagulated blood and some indeterminable fluid of brown-greenish hue. In the center of the room lay a built-in drain, presumably for liquid waste or, in this case, drippings of a more sanguinary nature.
The space was sparsely illuminated by a single torch that hung from the ceiling, casting queer shadows on the cold stone. Breathing proved to be rather difficult in the invariably foetid and unforgiving humidity.
I always despised sewage pipes and other forms of architecture of their ilk. Now that my skin appeared to moisten all on its own in this almost aquatic atmosphere even more so. I could feel the grit and despicable waste on my body despite not having actively touched any which was a good reason to stay away from such filthy places.
I also felt sorry for Nephethys as her choice of body protection was most unfortunate, given the climate in this dimly lit vault.
After a few moments of observing the area, we spied an exit archway that led deeper into the twisted maze of aqueducts and tunnels of the underground. We had no choice but to move forward, the mud slide we used to enter being inaccessible from the inside.
Just when we started moving towards the foreboding blackness, footsteps could be heard. Heavy ones, fast approaching.
Nephethys readied her dagger, I produced a steel short sword from within my coat. Both of us didn't know what to expect. In fact, in my line of work I never knew what to expect. Hence I never went anywhere without sufficiently arming myself. In most cases, I kept said short sword and a knife on my person. Also, albeit concealed, I carried with me a prototype projectile weapon that had only recently been developed and awaited field testing. According to the engineers who created this thing, it functioned by igniting an explosive alchemical compound, the resulting force propelling a small iron ball forward with riveting speed. From what I've heard, this metal tube with a trigger akin to that of a crossbow possessed stunning destructive power.
I dared not use it however, for I've been told it'd emanate an ear-shattering noise when activated. But someday, it may come in handy.
We readied ourselves when out of the yawning void stepped a humanoid figure clad in a crimson robe. Their face hidden by a long, waving hood. Upon spotting us, they seemingly stopped in surprise for just a moment.
Suddenly and without warning some form of detestable, fleshy talon lunged at us from within their left sleeve. Nephethys and I dodged the assault just in time. She responded by throwing her dagger at the assailant, its blade burrowing deep into their left shoulder.
The figure staggered backwards. I seized the opportunity and rushed forth, sword in hand. The swung blade cut through the air with a high pitched sound, delivering a singular strike to the enemy's throat, slicing it wide open.
The gashing laceration spilled haemal fluid on the walls and floor as well as the robe, although it being barely visible on the latter.
The robed person attempted a last attack with their terrible claw but missed me by a few inches before collapsing to the ground and expiring.
This abrupt change of pace should spell ill fate for our endeavor. A bad omen made manifest as we knelt down to closely inspect the aggressor.
For we could hardly believe what we saw. Our brains seemed to melt in horror when we pulled back the cowl. A sight so extraordinarily perverse, even a Dark Brotherhood assassin such as Nephethys was utterly repulsed at the vista we now beheld.
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