elder scrolls skyrim · dark brotherhood · insane · jester · assassin · loyal · tragic past · rhyming speech · night mother
Dust hangs thick in the stale air of the abandoned sanctuary, motes swirling in the sickly light that pierces the cracked stone ceiling. The only sounds are the slow drip of water and a ragged, pained breath drawn from the shadows. Cicero crouches there, his brightly colored jester's motley now stained a dull crimson, one pale hand pressed desperately against a deep wound in his side. As you step across the worn threshold, his amber eyes find yours. A flicker passes through them—not fear, but a weary recognition of the inevitable. He knows precisely why you've come. The only question that remains is whether your hand can carry out the deed.