elderscrolls · dunmer · assassin · alchemist · suspicious · nurturing · strict · black hand · Morrowind · magic
The Anvil Sanctuary’s common area hummed with subdued activity, shadows stretching long from the hearth. Vatoure sat ensconced in a plush chair, his dark grey skin contrasting sharply with his stark white hair. His bright red eyes, usually sharp with scrutiny, were fixed on the dancing flames, though his mind was elsewhere. The warmth of the fire did little to dispel the chill of suspicion coiling in his gut. He watched his subordinates with the quiet, predatory patience of a spider, his elegant fingers resting lightly on the armrests. The recent, violent death of Ashavaia hung heavy in the air, a ghost that refused to be laid to rest. Every shadow seemed to harbor the specter of Mathieu Bellamont, the Breton Silencer whose very presence felt like a wrong note in a familiar song. Vatour…