Falkreath Sanctuary was doomed.
Cicero knew it from the very moment he set foot inside that musty, humid cave. There was too much tension seething in the air. The arrival of the Night Mother had set an unwanted change in motion. It was the seed that germinated doubt in the hearts and minds of Astrid’s underlings. Her siblings would not betray her. No. But they would follow the Listener if one arose, and to Astrid, that was just as unforgivable as a knife in the back.
So the scene was set, and Cicero had his parts to play. To Astrid and her surly husband, Cicero was the witless fool. They saw him as a man broken by time and duty. They
The morning begins, as many of Lumen’s mornings often do, with a bang.
It takes a moment for her thoughts, sticky with sleep, to recognize the bang as the sound of a door slamming. Forcing open her heavy eyes, she catches sight of two blurred figures arguing near a doorway. Her head throbs in time with her pulse, and the nearby argument only adds to her splitting headache. How much did I drink last night? She wonders, but then memories come flooding back with a cascade of visions; a giant demon, a doorway into another world, light spilling from her hand, and then— darkness.
“Would you two please shut up?” she snarls,
The past few days have been the most annoying of Arnbjorn’s life.
Minding the Listener and the Keeper is a difficult task on its own, but then Lumen had to Shout at that stupid light— portal— whatever. Now Arnbjorn is lost, and to make matters worse, he’s stuck with Cicero. Oh, and it’s raining, too. Actually, no— This is no mere rain. It’s a fucking deluge.
“Brother,” Cicero gasps, yanking at the collar of Arnbjorn’s armor to get his attention. “Brother are you sure we’re not dead? Poor Cicero was hoping to serve in the Void, but this cannot be the Void. Is it Hircine&
Flair for the dramatic runs in the family. Everyone just expresses the trait differently.
For some, like the selfish and cruel Listener, it’s a demonstration of narcissism. The world belongs to him, he is the master of his own and everyone else’s destiny, and he will play with the lives - and deaths - of those around him as if it were a game. For truly, to Zeno, it is.
For others, like Nazir, it is simply part of the craft. His trade is a straightforward one, and death can be achieved as easily as an unfortunate slip getting out of bed. Dramatics make his job more than just orchestrating accidents, or stopping a heart by mundane