Chapter Forty-Seven Point Five - Sea of Ghosts - 19th of Hearthfire 4E 201 - Babette
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Chapter Forty-Seven Point Five - Sea of Ghosts - 19th of Hearthfire 4E 201 - Babette
Children's day.
The day the fangs had come down on her neck. The night everything had changed. Enslaved to a creature who was both her master and her hated slaver. Bound by powerful magic that reeked of a curse, reinforced by the unholy will of a dark patron who did not care for anything but power, and domination. It was a sad day for her. It was a bad day for her. It was a horrible, horrible day for the likes of her.
She detested Children's day.
She hated it with a passion.
The cold of the depths of the sea didn't bother her, and neither did the lack of air, or of the sun. She stood there, in the depths, letting the currents drag her like a heavy weight without purpose nor direction. She twirled lazily due to the water, and not because she actually cared about heading in a direction, or another. She truly didn't care about what happened. She remembered.
She hated remembering, but she did.
In the darkness of the depths, it was the only thing she could do. The pressure did not crush her, but neither did it help her.
You're Babette, aren't you? I'm so happy to see you fellow sister! Ah, yes, it's kind of complicated how I ended up like this but, if you want, I can tell you the passcode of the Cyrodiil's sanctuary. We'll speak more there. Though I've yet to present myself to them too, which is kind of a good thing that we met like this! If we hadn't, well, I guess we'd have met later?
He had smiled at her.
The way I see it, contact poisons are quite the best possible thing an assassin should use. I mean, you don't even need to be in the same room as the victim, and if you just smear enough stuff in his house, eventually he's going to croak and nobody will ever suspect a thing. You have a different opinion?
He had intrigued her.
Well, if you want to renounce your vampirism and grow a bit, there's this charming, though not really, lady who could cure you of it. There's someone else though who'd like the cure. We could use that to curb favors, but the way I see it...people to whom we act with kindness will return the favor multiple times, especially when it's in their best interests to do so.
He had shown her a side of the Dark Brotherhood she hadn't explored.
We're family. Sure, the Night Mother killed her children for Sithis, but was it to satisfy him, or to protect them? In the embrace of the Void, who'd dare strike at them? It's just a theory though, I'd ask the Night Mother, but I doubt she'd have time for little me. I mean, I haven't killed enough in her name yet I guess. Though killing a Dremora should count ten times a normal man. Seriously, those things are tough!
He had become her everything.
Listen Babette, I trust you. No, to be honest, I feel something more. However...however I have to do what I must do. It's my duty. The Dark Brotherhood comes first and foremost, but Sithis comes even before them. The Void hungers, Babette. Dagon cannot be allowed to claim with Oblivion what doesn't belong to him. All souls must go to Sithis, thus...thus I must go. But we'll meet again. I'm sure of it. When this is over, when everything's over...in Skyrim, near the throat of the World. A Dragonborn will come and if I'm lucky, I'll be there too. It's just the way things go, Babette. Perhaps try to gain a few years by then. Being a child won't help you face off dragons.
She had foolishly let him lead her by the nose.
The Dark Brotherhood exists as a split-off of the Morag Tong, or so some stories say. The problem with subjective stories is that there isn't a proper answer, but at the same time...what you believe in is the truth. Why? Well, I'd say that the image of the angel becomes the angel itself, but you wouldn't understand that. It's a matter of perspective. The Wheel is a Tower, and the Tower is a Wheel. But then, why can't the Tower be a pin? I mean, it's a line. It could just as well be a number One, right? And what if it's a wheel of cheese instead? It could be a plate too! Think about it, Babette. Nothing is as it seems, and yet, at the same time...if it quacks like a duck, walks like a duck, and is called a duck...then it becomes a duck.
He had made no sense most often than not, and yet she had listened, shook her head, refused to understand his words.
Now there she was.
Her back hit the muddy ground, and as her eyes fluttered towards the surface, she couldn't help but smile sadly.
Why am I going towards the giant four armed monster, Babette? It's not just for Sithis, you're right. It's not just for you either. I'm going, because someone has to. I'm going, because I can make a difference. I'm going, because true courage is being afraid, and yet rushing forward with a scream in our throats. And I'm going, because though I am a flea compared to him, a flea that spits one in the eye still makes the eye close. And I've got to stop Martin from doing something foolish. He and...
She closed her eyes.
...would make for a great...
Her eyes snapped open.
So promise me, Babette.
Her body began to lurch as she pushed herself off the muddy seabed, swimming towards the surface with powerful swipes of her arms.
Promise me you'll remember the truth, and tell it to me when the time comes.
Children's day.
The day the fangs had come down on her neck. The night everything had changed. Enslaved to a creature who was both her master and her hated slaver. Bound by powerful magic that reeked of a curse, reinforced by the unholy will of a dark patron who did not care for anything but power, and domination. It was a sad day for her. It was a bad day for her. It was a horrible, horrible day for the likes of her.
She detested Children's day.
She hated it with a passion.
The cold of the depths of the sea didn't bother her, and neither did the lack of air, or of the sun. She stood there, in the depths, letting the currents drag her like a heavy weight without purpose nor direction. She twirled lazily due to the water, and not because she actually cared about heading in a direction, or another. She truly didn't care about what happened. She remembered.
She hated remembering, but she did.
In the darkness of the depths, it was the only thing she could do. The pressure did not crush her, but neither did it help her.
You're Babette, aren't you? I'm so happy to see you fellow sister! Ah, yes, it's kind of complicated how I ended up like this but, if you want, I can tell you the passcode of the Cyrodiil's sanctuary. We'll speak more there. Though I've yet to present myself to them too, which is kind of a good thing that we met like this! If we hadn't, well, I guess we'd have met later?
He had smiled at her.
The way I see it, contact poisons are quite the best possible thing an assassin should use. I mean, you don't even need to be in the same room as the victim, and if you just smear enough stuff in his house, eventually he's going to croak and nobody will ever suspect a thing. You have a different opinion?
He had intrigued her.
Well, if you want to renounce your vampirism and grow a bit, there's this charming, though not really, lady who could cure you of it. There's someone else though who'd like the cure. We could use that to curb favors, but the way I see it...people to whom we act with kindness will return the favor multiple times, especially when it's in their best interests to do so.
He had shown her a side of the Dark Brotherhood she hadn't explored.
We're family. Sure, the Night Mother killed her children for Sithis, but was it to satisfy him, or to protect them? In the embrace of the Void, who'd dare strike at them? It's just a theory though, I'd ask the Night Mother, but I doubt she'd have time for little me. I mean, I haven't killed enough in her name yet I guess. Though killing a Dremora should count ten times a normal man. Seriously, those things are tough!
He had become her everything.
Listen Babette, I trust you. No, to be honest, I feel something more. However...however I have to do what I must do. It's my duty. The Dark Brotherhood comes first and foremost, but Sithis comes even before them. The Void hungers, Babette. Dagon cannot be allowed to claim with Oblivion what doesn't belong to him. All souls must go to Sithis, thus...thus I must go. But we'll meet again. I'm sure of it. When this is over, when everything's over...in Skyrim, near the throat of the World. A Dragonborn will come and if I'm lucky, I'll be there too. It's just the way things go, Babette. Perhaps try to gain a few years by then. Being a child won't help you face off dragons.
She had foolishly let him lead her by the nose.
The Dark Brotherhood exists as a split-off of the Morag Tong, or so some stories say. The problem with subjective stories is that there isn't a proper answer, but at the same time...what you believe in is the truth. Why? Well, I'd say that the image of the angel becomes the angel itself, but you wouldn't understand that. It's a matter of perspective. The Wheel is a Tower, and the Tower is a Wheel. But then, why can't the Tower be a pin? I mean, it's a line. It could just as well be a number One, right? And what if it's a wheel of cheese instead? It could be a plate too! Think about it, Babette. Nothing is as it seems, and yet, at the same time...if it quacks like a duck, walks like a duck, and is called a duck...then it becomes a duck.
He had made no sense most often than not, and yet she had listened, shook her head, refused to understand his words.
Now there she was.
Her back hit the muddy ground, and as her eyes fluttered towards the surface, she couldn't help but smile sadly.
Why am I going towards the giant four armed monster, Babette? It's not just for Sithis, you're right. It's not just for you either. I'm going, because someone has to. I'm going, because I can make a difference. I'm going, because true courage is being afraid, and yet rushing forward with a scream in our throats. And I'm going, because though I am a flea compared to him, a flea that spits one in the eye still makes the eye close. And I've got to stop Martin from doing something foolish. He and...
She closed her eyes.
...would make for a great...
Her eyes snapped open.
So promise me, Babette.
Her body began to lurch as she pushed herself off the muddy seabed, swimming towards the surface with powerful swipes of her arms.
Promise me you'll remember the truth, and tell it to me when the time comes.