The story of a Nightingale

Certainly, Cicero was much less surprised than I was at that moment because he immediately smiled widely and said, "Rasha was sure that you were the one who entered the town last night! Illegal, I must say..." and grinned at me. Before I could regain my composure, he gently pushed me aside and entered our room. Then I saw the two burly sergeants dressed in full armor, armed as for war with spear, short sword and shield, accompanying him. They wanted to follow Cicero, but I firmly planted myself in the doorway and said, "They stay there. And perhaps you shouldn't have barged into our room either!"

"Ah, forgive me Elsie, you're right. Maccius, wait downstairs in the inn's hall!" He then closed the door and looked at me questioningly and even suspiciously. 

"Who is she?" Cicero asked, looking at Courtney, who in turn looked at him with sleepy eyes, displeased at being woken up.

"She's my dear sister!" I replied.

"Yes, it seems you have a special talent for collecting all sorts of relatives wherever you go in your life!" Cicero chuckled. "Who knows, maybe I'll become your brother in a short while..."

"In a way, you already are," I replied. 

"Is that so? I believe things are a bit more complicated than you think, Elsie! But now get dressed and follow me; Rasha is a busy man and the Duchess's private council which he must attend starts shortly! He wishes to see you before the meeting..."

"The Duchess's private council? What Duchess? And since when has Rasha been in league with the nobility?" I said, very surprised.

"I repeat, we don't have time, we'll talk on the way about everything you want, Elsie."

"Fine. Then get out of the room while we dress!"

"She's not coming with us," Cicero said.

"Oh, but Courtney is accompanying us! Otherwise, we'll both wait here for Rasha! After he finishes his important discussions with the Duchess and her sycophants, of course..." I grinned.

"Women..." Cicero sighed and then laughed. "As you wish. We'll wait for you downstairs."

"Oh, I almost forgot! Send your hounds away; I don't like the clattering of steel behind me, it makes me nervous, and who knows what might happen then..." I said softly.

Cicero scratched his head, sighed deeply, and hurriedly left the room. Courtney had fully woken up by then, so we hastily dressed in our best clothes and, after hiding the dagger under my skirt, we both left the room. Outside, a carriage with six magnificent horses awaited us, and Cicero, very politely and with a wide smile on his face, ceremoniously opened the lacquered door. But the recent events had already begun to displease me, so I said to him, "Here's the thing, friend! We are simple girls and we're not accustomed to using such magnificent things. We'll walk!"

"But you'll be late, I already told you, Rasha is in a hurry" Cicero objected.

"Oh, it's alright! Then we'll meet Rasha after he finishes 'advising' the 'Duchess'... As it's been years since we last saw each other, I think he can wait a few more hours for our reunion! In the meantime, we invite you to breakfast. You know, we're very hungry..."

Cicero sighed deeply and a deep crease formed between his eyebrows. "You're very stubborn, aren't you? I wonder if your sister, I forgot her name, is like you."

"Oh, no sir! I'm a very friendly girl, and you'll see that soon if you join us for a meal! My name is Courtney!" she laughed and extended her hand. Cicero then smiled and said, "As you wish, Elsie! I fear Rasha will punish me for the delay, but... I hope you'll tell him that you refused the escort and carriage."

"You can count on it!" I said, and then Courtney took his hand and pulled him back into the inn where we ordered a copious breakfast, rather a lunch!

During the meal, which was very pleasant thanks to my friend who outdid herself in sweetness towards Cicero, I learned many things that really surprised me. Though, maybe some of them were not so shocking after all... You see friends, during turbulent times like wars and revolutions, ah, the revolution, this romantic term makes me laugh, many peculiar changes may occur in the, let's say, natural order of things. As the saying goes, in great floods, the rubbish is always the first to rise to the surface... 

Deeply worried by the loss of Anvil and Leyawiin following their conquest by the elves, profoundly scared by the betrayal of the nobles of Bravil and the movements of rebels in the North threatening to engulf Bruma in their flames, the Emperor raised the county of Nibenay Basin to the rank of a duchy and bestowed the corresponding hereditary title of Duchess upon Nephatah Indarys, the former Countess of Cheydinhal. The Nibenay Basin and the Counts of Cheydinhal had never been very loyal to the Empire and the cultural influences brought by the elves who came here after the eruption of Red Mountain deepened the differences between the county and the Imperial throne; probably Titus Mede II believed that in this way he would strengthen his relations with this insecure region of the Empire in such difficult times...

What matters is that the fresh Duchess now ruled her domain with an iron hand, ruthlessly removing any opposition and harshly punishing deviations from the established official doctrine. To my relief, I then learned that one of Nephatah's first measures was to expel the members of the Order of Stendarr from her city. But the most surprising thing for me was to find out that, on the Duchess's orders, an imposing temple of Mephala had been built right in the city's central square, next to the old and well-known Cathedral of Arkay! Cicero couldn't give me details about the relations between the priests of the two cults, but I understood that after some minor disturbances, the Queen's cult had been accepted by the city's inhabitants with open arms. This was not surprising after all since so many Dunmer live here... 

And Rasha, the former thug from the Merchant Quarter, top assassin in the Dark Brotherhood and most likely the last Silencer of Alisanne, was now the Minister of the Internal Affairs in the Duchess's narrow government! I must admit that these news left me gaping... And, at the same time, I didn't like the last one at all because, you see friends, the cult of Sithis is based on a doctrine that disregards the authority of mortal beings, including elves regardless of their skin color! 

Sithis, for initiates, is the promoter of change and, apparently, of disorder. This last aspect is subtle and would require too much debate for the real purpose of this minor writing of mine, but the basic idea distilled from the delicate alembic of this cult creed is that He will always work to undermine order. My daddy uses a strange name for this unrelenting work of Sithis; he calls it entropy! But I won't go further with my considerations, I'll let you think about that... I was very curious and uneasy now about Rasha, so the three of us set off for his residence.

I won't describe now, neither his sumptuous villa nor the steward who was dressed like a cavalry general; I'll just say that when Rasha finally arrived in the evening, he made a striking impression on me. He was now a massive man, with long, graying sideburns, and his eyes seemed to shoot lightning. His forehead was deeply furrowed, and his determined stride revealed a strong self-confidence, typical for a master among masters. Cicero immediately stood up as Rasha entered the room, and Courtney, ah, that astonished me beyond words, followed suit immediately. He came toward us with equal steps and said sharply, "Cicero, leave us alone for a while, please." 

"I'll be in your office Rasha, if you need me," Cicero said and left the room. Rasha then turned his gaze to us, and I returned a searching and curious look. "Who is she?" he asked. "Oh, nobody really important, Rasha, she's just my beloved sister, Courtney." He glanced at me and suddenly burst into laughter. Then my dear brother hurried towards me and lifted me in his strong arms as if I were a mere feather; he kissed me passionately. "Perhaps she can stay then; we're family, aren't we?" he smiled, and his eyes softened for a moment. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Courtney; any soul which is loved by my dear and invaluable Elsie is a friend of mine." 

"Oh, I'm chuffed, guv'nor! I'm over the moon, I am!" Courtney stuttered, and then I burst into laughter. You see, whenever she's deeply disturbed, which happens very, very rarely, Courtney starts speaking again in her Bravil slang...

 "You've scared her, Rasha! Now I'll punish you for that, and as a chastisement, I'll invite you to join us for dinner!" I giggled happily. "Join you? Where's that?" "The 'Three Goats' Inn, first floor, second room on the left," I replied. He was a bit puzzled but quickly recovered and said, "Yes, after all, this is your evening, so we'll do whatever you want, Elsie!" 

But it wasn't quite like that because he didn't want to give up his escort and carriage when we returned together to our hostel. The evening was very pleasant, largely thanks to my dear friend who had recovered in the meantime and had become funny and even cheeky again. However, Rasha was haunted by thoughts and worries; despite he seemed to enjoy our company thoroughly, the furrows on his forehead deepened from time to time and his eyes sometimes became stern and pensive.

Late into the night, we parted with the promise that we would visit him the next day around noon. This was because I didn't accept his proposal to live together in his sumptuous villa. He insisted so much that I made evasive promises, but in fact I was determined not to make, at least for now, this move.

The next day, Courtney and I went to the Temple of Mephala. Both of us were curious and impatient, but once there, we were deeply disappointed. Apart from the building, which was majestic and gleaming, overshadowing the nearby old cathedral of Arkay, the interior was dull and without any particular sign which might have shown religious fervor or divine grace; in that temple, the air was not filled with subtle perfumes, whispers and that deep, secret joy like from the Great Temple of Bravil! There were just many priests, mostly Dunmer, who diligently performed a ritual that was deeply strange to us... And Her statue, which sat majestically behind the grand marble altar, was deeply alien to us... So, both disillusioned, we left the temple and decided to wander around the city until the time of our meeting with Rasha.

Cheydinhal is a typical Imperial city, but it has the characteristic features of a city where an important foreign community lives. I'm talking about the Dunmer who settled here following the disaster that turned Vvardenfell into a desolate wasteland, covered in partially solidified lava and volcanic ash; the cataclysm that erased the great city of Vivec from the face of Nirn and consumed in its flames the great cultural riches from there... 

Cheydinhal was immaculate—almost unnaturally so! Wide, well-maintained streets stretched in perfect symmetry, flanked by colorful, imposing buildings. But something felt off... Nowhere did we see beggars, nor even a single street urchin darting between alleys. Even the commercial square, though well-stocked and orderly, lacked the usual hustle and chaos of a true trade hub. Guards dressed in full armor marched through every district, their watchful eyes missing nothing; they were fully equipped for war, disciplined, and their looks were cold and distant. And the city was calm. Too calm! There was no laughter, no bickering merchants, no idle gossip. It was nothing like Bravil... It was a city where life happened behind closed doors, out of sight! Somehow, all these impressed us in a strange way: the citizens, while content and busy, seemed to lack the joy of life; they were far too absorbed in their trade; even the merchants in the commercial areas didn't praise their wares or haggle. Oh, after the time spent in Her Holy City, that was really odd for us! And in the taverns, they didn't serve alcoholic beverages in the morning—only tea or sweet juices, along with very copious meals! All in all, the city felt strange and cold, and we hurried towards my brother's mansion.

We met Rasha at his villa, and the first thing he did was to hand me the bag of money I had given the sergeant who had snuck us into the city. When he saw my confusion, he chuckled lightly. "He won't need it anymore," he said. "He betrayed us during wartime."

Then, with a kind smile, he invited us to dine with him. After the meal, he sent Courtney and his maid for a walk in the villa's small park. Once we were alone in the salon, his expression shifted suddenly. His eyes softened, his shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he appeared smaller, more vulnerable. He was no longer the imposing figure I'd known—just a tired, troubled Khajiit, weighed down by secrets.

He took my hand, his voice quiet but urgent. "I need your help, Elsie. The Duchess's court and the city itself are dangerous places for me right now. You're the only one I can fully trust."

I asked him if Cicero was still his friend. He nodded sadly but added, "Cicero either can't or won't understand the scope of my plans."

Then he told me about his plan to revive the Morag Tong. With a lot of words, my brother tried to convey the grandeur of their endeavor; how he and the Duchess wished to resurrect the long-extinct organization that had once nearly destroyed the Dark Brotherhood centuries ago.

"But... they're the enemy, Rasha! Or at least they were. Why bring them back now?" I asked, my voice thick with disbelief.

Rasha's eyes darkened for a moment, as if the weight of what he was about to say was heavier than he had anticipated. He took a deep breath, then spoke with renewed determination, his words carrying a mixture of excitement and caution. 

"Because, Elsie, they were never the enemy. Not in the way you think. The Brotherhood and the Tong—they were born from the same roots. The Tong were the first, the true assassins, and the Brotherhood... they strayed, turned into something different. But there is a power in what they knew, a precision that we've lost over the centuries. The Duchess understands this. She'll back us. She'll bring Morag Tong back to life, and with it, our craft."

I took a step back, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the room. "You can't be serious, Rasha. You want to bring them back? The very organization that betrayed us, that helped bring about the fall of our Sanctuary?"

Rasha rose from his seat, his gaze unwavering. He walked over to me slowly, his presence filling the space between us. "We were betrayed, yes... but those who nearly destroyed our Brotherhood are long gone. The Morag Tong I'm talking about is not the one from the past. We can rebuild it, make it something more powerful, more unified. The old grudges... they can be put to rest."

I shook my head, still struggling to understand. "But we're not just talking about history, Rasha. Right now, we are trying to undo something our Mother sealed off!"

Rasha's voice softened, the intensity replaced with a quiet plea. "Our Mother is silent right now, Elsie; maybe she expects from us a bold move, one that could move mountains through faith and deeds. I trust this future, Elsie. I trust in what we can build together. This is bigger than us and bigger than our Brotherhood. If we don't take this chance... we'll be left behind and soon vanish. The Duchess will ensure that we can operate openly, without fear. We can have our place in the world again."

I could see the weight of his words in his eyes, and for a moment, my doubts seemed to fade into the background. His voice, steady and unwavering, held a kind of certainty that was hard to ignore. Still, I wasn't sure if I was ready to embrace this new path... but the pull of his belief in what he could accomplish was undeniable. His words were compelling, and though doubt still gnawed at me, the part of me that had always trusted Rasha—the part that still believed in him—was tempted. "I don't know, Rasha..."

But before I could say more, he lifted me in his strong arms and kissed me. "Have patience and trust me, Elsie! I beg you," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "Please! I need you greatly in these difficult times for me!"

The warmth of his embrace, the intensity of his gaze, and the weight of his words pulled at me with an almost irresistible force. And then, under the overwhelming power of the love I had always borne for him, I found myself nodding, despite every warning in my chest. I accepted...

The weight of his request pressed down on me, and though every instinct screamed that this was a dangerous path, my heart couldn't deny the pull of his need. I nodded slowly, my voice barely a whisper as I said, "I'll trust you, my love..."

Rasha smiled, the glint of determination returning to his eyes. "Thank you, Elsie. You won't regret this."

He then stood, strapping on his sword and donning his richly adorned cloak. Together, we left for what had been the Sanctuary of the Brotherhood in Cheydinhal for centuries—now to be the place of Morag Tong's resurrection.

The house was grand but worn, with an upper floor and balcony that overlooked a weed-choked courtyard, crowded with overgrown trees and bushes. A few workers moved about, busy with repairs both inside and out. My brother and I descended into the basement, to the very place where, for generations, our Brotherhood had lived and thrived—where Lucien Lachance had once spent his childhood and youth, learning and dreaming. Rasha locked the door behind us, and then, raising the torch above his head, led me into a small, cylindrical room. There, standing upright, was the Mother's sarcophagus.

I approached it slowly, my fingers grazing its surface, and whispered, "The Godfather spoke to me about the day you left Bravil with Her."

"The Godfather?" Rasha chuckled, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ah, you mean the ever-resourceful Vito, who always demanded a steep price for his services. But I must admit, it was always worth it. How did you meet him, Elsie?"

"Life brought me to him," I murmured, my voice thick with memories. "But now he's dead, like many of my friends from Bravil."

"Interesting... How did it happen?" Rasha's curiosity piqued, his tone shifting.

"It's a long story," I sighed, "and I'll tell you sometime... But tell me, Rasha—when you fled Bravil, did you ever think of me?" I fixed him with a steady gaze.

Rasha placed the torch into a niche in the wall and gently took my shoulders in his hands. His voice softened, a tinge of regret in his eyes. "No, Elsie. Not at all. That day, a series of events unfolded, and I confess that, as I remember it now, I had completely forgotten about your existence. As though you hadn't existed at all... It's hard to believe, I know, but it's the truth."

I let out a small, bitter laugh. "Yes, I believe you, Rasha. It was indeed a strange, dangerous day..." I whispered, the memories of that day swirling around me.

"We'll talk about it more later, Elsie," he said, his voice firming up. "But right now, I want to show you something important." He pressed a hidden spot on the wall behind the sarcophagus, and a door slowly creaked open, revealing the darkness beyond.

Behind it was a narrow, dark corridor. We stepped inside and walked for a short while, the air growing heavier with each step. At the end of the passage, Rasha operated a hidden lever in the wall, and with a low groan, a gate swung open, revealing a deep, narrow valley. We stepped out into the cool air, surrounded by thick, tall bushes that seemed to swallow up the sound of our footsteps; behind us, the ivy-covered walls of Cheydinhal loomed in the distance, very tall and menacing.

"The ancient Counts of Cheydinhal built this tunnel and hideout," Rasha said, his voice low and reverent. "Before it became a Sanctuary for our Brotherhood, this was the last haven of the Morag Tong."

I glanced at him, pondering what he'd just said. "Does the Duchess know about the tunnel?" I asked, frowning slightly.

"No," Rasha replied, shaking his head. "I don't think she does. In fact, during her grandfather's time, another escape tunnel was built, leading directly to the palace basement."

"How do you know about it, Rasha?" I asked, trying to catch his eyes with my own. I managed to establish a brief, satisfactory contact and felt my mind beginning to reach toward him, attempting to slip inside his thoughts. But immediately, he averted his gaze and started to smile coldly.

"Ah, don't you try to use your tricks on me, Elsie," he whispered, in a voice filled with restrained anger. "You see, that would hurt me deeply and upset me beyond measure! I'm not some fool or plaything for you, little sister... I intend to trust you fully—but only if you renounce these dirty games." His voice dropped even further: "I would appreciate it if you didn't try to pry into my thoughts," he added, finally looking at me again with a cold and resolute gaze.

I felt a pang of guilt—guilt mingled with frustration. For a moment, I wondered if I had crossed a line... I lowered my gaze, my eyes focusing on the ground; but in my mind, lingered the thought that people who love each other shouldn't have secrets or hidden agendas... Yet, he was my big brother, and I had always been very submissive to his anger and wishes.

"You know I would never do that to you, Rasha," I whispered, though the lie made my words sound hollow.

Rasha's gaze softened slightly. "Good! Keep it that way, then," he said, his tone gentler now, though still tinged with anger. "Alisanne revealed the secrets of this Sanctuary to me," he continued, his voice calm but resolute. "See, she, our esteemed Listener, trusted me and sent me to Cheydinhal with a mission. And now, I'm fulfilling my duty as best as I can. She ordered me to keep our Brotherhood alive—and that's what I'm doing. With or without your permission..." He began to grin, but suddenly his smile faltered. "Alisanne also told me I should kill you, Elsie, whenever I meet you. But she was already... well, let's just say, a very ill woman by that point. So, you see, you're still alive..." He paused, the grin returning for a moment. "And I offered you the high and respectable position of my lieutenant—though that's only valid if you stop acting like a cheesy little creature with me."

A tidal wave of thoughts and emotions flooded my mind as I listened to his words! Especially the last ones... So, Rasha had lied to me when he said he'd forgotten about me when he left Bravil in such a rush, taking our Mother with him; so, Alisanne, my beloved and respected mother, was a coward in the end—she didn't even have the nerve to plunge herself the dagger into my chest! I was filled with astonishment, anger, fear, and disgust all at once! I wanted to leap at my brother and rip his eyes out with my claws! I wanted to scream, to weep, to run far away and hide deep in the earth's burrows! But I did nothing at all. I just nodded slowly and asked, „And the Sanctuary's Speaker? Where is he? Could I speak with him?"

„But you're speaking with him right now, Elsie!" Rasha laughed, a playful edge to his voice. „And to save you from asking more questions, let me tell you this: aside from Cicero, the Sanctuary is home to two other members of our Brotherhood who currently reside in my villa; they're the guardians of my mansion. You'll meet them soon enough, but I'll warn you—they're not exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. Just your typical cutthroats. Anyway, let's go back now. We'll talk more in the coming days."

We made our way back, and as we walked, Rasha taught me the locations of all the hidden buttons that activated the tunnel's mechanisms. At one point, we passed a chilling cell, its purpose unspoken but understood, and I quickly chose not to ask.

We finally arrived at Rasha's villa, where we parted ways. I went to gather my friend, and we returned to our hostel, where we would stay until the repairs to the Sanctuary were completed. Once the work was finished, we would move into the place where we would live for the remainder of our time in Cheydinhal.

I met Nephatah Indarys during an official reception. Rasha introduced me simply, saying, "My sister, Elsie," and the Duchess offered a polite, official smile—one that, for all its grace, never quite reached her eyes. It didn't take long for me to realize that the Duchess either couldn't—or perhaps simply refused—to smile. She was, in her own way, a remarkable woman: formidable, driven by an unyielding will, and wielding a quiet authority that made her stand out from everyone else.

As for me, I was still young and naïve, inexperienced in dealing with nobles or their privileged circles—that kind of special servants who believed they were above the common folk. Throughout our early encounters, Nephatah remained an enigma to me; I was never able to anticipate her wishes or her true motivations. She always seemed a step ahead, her intentions hidden beneath layers of calculated indifference. As time passed, I came to believe that her deeds, both public and secret, were guided by forces familiar to me—greed, ambition, betrayal, and manipulation. Simple, perhaps, but far-reaching in their consequences!

But as I reflect now, I realize how wrong I was. Perhaps my understanding of her was naive, even childish. That remarkable, cunning woman still rules her small kingdom today, as I write these very words. Her power is built on nothing but the pursuit of her own interests—her allegiances are for sale, as are the lives of her subjects; Nephatah is ever open to negotiations with anyone, everyone, and she is willing to part with anything she possesses, so long as the price is right; provisions, promises, her own integrity—should she even have any left—, the small but highly trained army of the Duchy of Niben, and her loyalty, if it suits her. Nothing is off the table.

Her singular drive is power itself. And she is so provincial in her ambition—it's not that she lacks the intelligence to expand beyond the borders of her duchy; rather, she knows well enough that any attempt at territorial growth would be her undoing. The lands surrounding her are full of more powerful neighbors, any one of whom could easily turn her little kingdom into a heap of ashes. No, Nephatah is too wise for that! She doesn't seek to spread her rule—she seeks to control what she already has, to maintain her dominion over her little corner of the world, where she can pull the strings without ever having to risk too much. The Duchess simply wants to rule over her little state, a patch of land where men and mer alike are her pawns; she is a ruler in the truest sense, but her rule is one of quiet tyranny, built on deals made in shadows, where no one is safe from her machinations.

Anyway, at that time, Nephatah seized on the chaos of the Empire's crumbling state, indifferent to the trust the Emperor had placed in her. Rather than supporting him, she began carving out her own little kingdom, filled with wealth and power. When the outcome of the war started to become clear to those who paid attention, the Duchess sent emissaries to the Elven High Command in Cyrodiil, halting the flow of taxes and supplies meant for the Empire. The elves welcomed her overtures for a truce, and in return, their armies bypassed the Duchess's lands. From that point on, things became... simpler. While the loyal Imperial territories were ravaged by the Dominion's marauding troops, the Duchess's lands flourished, untouched by war, and her goods became the subject of very lucrative trade with the invading army.

However, not all the nobles in the duchy—or the influential figures in Cheydinhal—were so easily swayed. Some openly opposed Nephatah's actions. Certain barons refused to recognize her authority and led armed bands that harassed the Dominion's rear guard and supply convoys. These internal conflicts within the duchy put tremendous pressure on Nephatah's relations with the Dominion's High Command, who urged her to act decisively and resolve the matter swiftly.

Perhaps now you begin to understand the role Nephatah envisioned for Rasha and the reestablished Morag Tong. This should come as no surprise, for the Tong has long been a solution to the political tensions between powerful houses, especially those of Morrowind. After all, when politics and crime overlap, it was only natural for the influential Dunmer to turn to an organization that worshiped Mephala—a guild both ancient and wise, one whose cunning and bitterness were poured into its Creed and Chart. In its prime, the Morag Tong was a remarkable force, tempered by the machinations of a civilization that prided itself on its subtlety.

Yet Mephala is not a logical patron. In all her ambiguity, she grew bored over time—or perhaps she simply wished to renew the Vows and Creed... Her pawns too. The Queen turned against her worshipers, and over time, her followers broke their sacred oaths, betrayed and killed each other, until internal conflict and suspicion consumed the very body of this once mighty organization.

But for a time, things worked as planned. Disagreements between rivals were solved with civil precision, avoiding bloodbaths and open warfare. In my opinion, this is far preferable to the brutal wars that often ravage the lands of those who disagree on a political level. It's far less damaging to the land—and certainly less costly—to eliminate a baron and his family than to send armies to besiege his stronghold. It's also much cheaper, with far fewer casualties.

But of course, such an organization does not exist and act without consequences; it breeds corruption. It breeds ambition; and it breeds revenge. Those who rise within its ranks inevitably seek to twist its power to their own ends, and soon, the line between loyalty and treachery fades. What begins as a tool of control can, in time, become the hand that seizes the throne. A secret army, elusive and highly skilled, may start as the enforcer of a ruler's will, but it can just as easily unseat him—replacing him with a puppet. Or worse, with its own Grand Master!

A wise leader must therefore keep a watchful eye on the Grand Master and his closest circle. He must have his own agents, spies planted within spies, and those too must be shifted, removed, replaced, before their allegiance drifts. But the Grand Master is no fool—he, too, will weave his own web of informants, his safeguards, his silent assassins to counter the ruler's moves. And so, the cycle feeds itself. A dance of shadows, a game where trust is an illusion and power is the only constant.

In the end, such collaborations cannot last. Sooner or later, the balance shifts. The only exception is the rare and terrifying case where the ruler and the Grand Master are truly one, bound not just by mutual interest, but by something far deeper—an understanding so absolute that neither fears betrayal. Only then, in that rigid yet secure world of their own making, can such a system endure for a lifetime. But even then... only for a lifetime.

In any case, I didn't understand any of these subtle and dangerous aspects during the time I spent in Cheydinhal as Grand Master's sister... and lover... At the time, all I knew with certainty was that we were making a mistake, a grave and dangerous one, and there was no good end in sight. But I didn't have a choice; just like our mother Shaira before me, I couldn't refuse Rasha. His smile, his pleading look, or even just his authoritative demeanor—it was enough to sway me. In the end, we walked hand in hand down a road that led him to disaster. And me? Well, I became what I am today: a restless, sorrowful creature who forever searches for her lost loved ones in places where they can no longer be!

But back then, in accordance with my total surrender to Rasha's will, we began to build a hybrid and utterly incomplete organization. Cicero and the other two members of the Brotherhood, Garnag and Pontius, came to live with me and Courtney in the Sanctuary building, and soon after, Rasha sent us a handful of recruits who needed to be trained—physically, mentally, and, of course, spiritually. It was then when my brother asked me to initiate the secret cult of Mephala in the basement of our dwelling, and I looked at him in astonishment and told him that not only I was unaware of any secret cult of Hers, but I wasn't even initiated into the official cult of the Oblivion's Queen. He didn't want to believe me, simply refusing to understand that Alisanne venerated Sithis and preached in His name. From my perspective, Rasha was very confused about this matter; he strongly asserted that Alisanne had always practiced the secret cult of Mephala both in her residence in Bravil and at the Mausoleum of Mother. And he spoke about Alisanne's lion! Oh, how I shuddered when I heard that; in my mother's mansion, there was a single guarding animal, a leopard, gracious and dangerous.

But I was starting to understand something wasn't right when Rasha called our mother Shiara! Shiara! But I knew— I knew—her name had always been Shaira... Then he said a lot of things about my many fulfilled contracts, calling me a veteran assassin of our Brotherhood; except I didn't remember any killing done by me except the one I did in repayment for our debts to Ser Gregorius Clegius... And more; my brother spoke of some common memories from our childhood; or, I entered his family at a time when he didn't was a child anymore. Rasha saw often the disbelief and astonishment from my eyes and quite always tried to convince me, to make me remember: "But Elsie, we've always known it this way, haven't we?"; his voice was pleading, but there was something desperate in it... Almost as though he, too, was searching for answers... but in the wrong places. I often thought that the man before me was not the brother I remembered; although, on the other hand, there were a lot of aspects saying that Rasha was the same, only a bit changed by life... 

I still don't have answers to this strange matter, not even now. I can't help but think of that day in Bravil... the day when my mother Alisanne, and I bled on the blade of the Lucky Dagger, and everything trembled, when Mephala Herself seemed to slip and falter in her divine judgement. Perhaps it was then that our world fractured, and Rasha and I became... something else. Changed. And now, we were trapped in this distorted reality, where memories no longer matched, and the truth became as elusive as shadows...

Anyway, my inability to initiate the secret cult of Mephala dealt a heavy blow to Rasha and his feelings towards me. From that moment onward, I sensed a cold barrier slowly growing between us, a distance in our relationship that had once been so simple, so profound...

Though, in terms of training the recruits, nothing truly changed. The physical conditioning, the mental exercises—they all followed their course. At the end of their instruction, they were sent to meditate for a few days in the Temple of Mephala. Afterward, I completed their initiation by the Mother's sarcophagus in the basement of our residence; yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that none of them were anything more than ordinary cutthroats in the end because a few prayers and rites couldn't transform a killer into a true disciple of Mephala—not without something deeper, something more meaningful. Not without a bit of faith... And none of them were believers, they were only highly trained assassins without a creed, without soul!

Still, the ritual continued—by Rasha's command, and my own quiet compliance. But I could not forget the doubt gnawing at the back of my mind. Was I really doing what was right? Or had we both already lost something beyond recovery?

Also during this time, out of sheer boredom, Courtney enjoyed training with the recruits in the use of various types of weapons and, on this occasion, to my surprise, although she had never used such a thing before, we both realized that she was a master in using the bow, especially the short bow, that crafty weapon which is frequently used by children and young people in Valenwood!

Cicero proved to be a perfect mentor for our new collaborators and also a very good companion for me and Courtney. We often spent our free evenings in the wonderful but cool parks in Cheydinhal; oh, Courtney and I will always long for the tropical warmth of Bravil! Or in the quiet and clean taverns of this extraordinary, clean and fair city... I must confess that Courtney and I often longed for the bustling life from Her City but, nevertheless, the discreet and so soothing charm of a peaceful life became very pleasant for us in a short time! At least for me, because Courtney is born for battle... And for arguments ending in scandals, I might add! But our life in Cheydinhal flowed peacefully and without problems for a while and I remember now with melancholy those days when we were still together and so happy regardless of some small matters which appeared sometimes...

But at some point, the time came for our work to begin... I couldn't and I didn't want to understand how our Brotherhood could function without the existence of a Listener and Maria's words, spoken in the Great Temple from Bravil, echoed constantly in my mind at those moments. 

"You should know that the Brotherhood no longer exists; Our Lady has dissolved the old oaths, and there is no Listener in this world anymore," Maria said then, with a determined voice and a certainty that left no room for doubt. 

But to my brother's obvious relief, Cicero brought one evening an old parchment marked with the symbol of the Black Hand and on which among other things was written "In times when Our Lady does not wish to speak to us, we must hear the pleas of the desperate and vengeful. And it is absolutely necessary for the people to know that their prayers to Our Lady do not go unanswered." I must say that I had suspicions about the authenticity of that document because everything written there flagrantly contravened our doctrine. And the words I quoted earlier are a blasphemy because it is not within our power to decide which of the prayers addressed to Our Lady are worthy of receiving an answer! But I will never know the truth because the poor Cicero's mind is lost now, and although I can easily probe into everyone else's minds, his is forever closed to me! Or, who knows, perhaps one day Mephala will decide that we are unworthy, like our predecessors, and will open the doors of darkness again; this time for me and him...

But I didn't express my doubts then because I didn't want Rasha to believe that I opposed his dream and the next day, early in the morning when the dawn had not even risen, we were both received in audience by the Duchess. My brother announced to her that we were ready to begin the activities of the Morag Tong, and then I shuddered again, knowing that what we were doing was forbidden and blasphemous, and I conjured Nocturnal to advise me. But the Daedra only answered with some giggles that I found both insulting and insane at the same time, and the Duchess delightedly accepted my brother's request for the approval of the organization. She appointed Rasha as the Grand Master of the Morag Tong and gave him a ducal patent in this regard, and she also handed me a decree pardoning my death sentence, valid throughout her duchy. With all the despair felt by me in those moments when my brother disregarded the most holy precepts of our doctrine, I could barely contain my laughter when I witnessed the solemnity with which Nephatah invested Rasha as Grand Master. She, a simple earthly being, a descendant of those cursed by Azura, to pretend to play the role of the most perverted and skilled in plots and schemes Daedra from our world! I burst out laughing only after I left the Duchess's bedroom and Rasha stopped and looked at me in amazement... I then turned to him and, standing up on my tiptoes as much as I could, I hugged him with love. Still surprised, Rasha picked me up in his strong arms and kissed me for a long time. And then, looking straight into my eyes, he asked me why I'm so happy... 

"Oh, my love, let's live our lives as best as we can, as long as we are still together!" I whispered between smiles and tears...