Blackfeather Woods And yet when King Laugh come, he make them all dance to the tune he play.

@Atshen

The flowers of Redgrove were beginning to bloom as winter began to end. He was there, laying silently as he gazed upon the worn skull of his sister, Meldresi, kept pristine and protected by both the thorned flowers and the priests. There was a flower sprouting out of one of her eyesockets, though it's red flower had not blossomed just yet. Vines swarmed around its ivory structure, tethering it to the ground firmly. He could not pry it from the ground, even if he had wanted to. She was in the center of the grove, in the center of the bloody red heart of the Woods; the meaning behind it was not lost on him. 

He was only upset that he had not made it here sooner, to see her once more, living. He wondered how the years had treated her, how good of a mother she might have been to her three children. They had respect for her at the least, absolute reverence at the most. None had any scorn, not even it seemed, Nemesis. But the younger children had no knowledge of her, and he feared that her memory would fade soon into legend, no longer a mere mortal woman, but a spirit. He sighed, rising from her makeshift grave, determined to put his mind back to the present, as much as he wanted to linger in the happier past.

Winter was slowly, but surely, making way for Spring. The cold world was slowly melting around the young Silencer as it made way for new life to blossom. Much to his nature, Atshen did not stop to appreciate the small wonder. Instead, he often found himself even more irritable over the slush and how it made it difficult to travel around. Though, admittedly, he was quite fond of the warmer weather. He would never openly express such feeling, but, he sure felt them beneath his stoic facade. 

His wandering brought him to a part of the territory he didn't visit often. Though he hadn't realized exactly what he was doing, he soon felt himself following Miraak's scent trail. He made his way towards the heartlands of Redgrove. Upon seeing the Executioner, Atshen paused at a distance and looked to the direction in which the violet-eyed man was looking. It appeared as though the older wolf was looking to a skull and Atshen found himself all the more interested in staying. 

"Is that somebody you killed?" he called in his signature monotone, not taking in any of the natural beauty that the tribut held as he kept his distance.

He isn't left alone in peace for long. His ear cups back to the sound of footsteps approaching. His head does not move until he hears the voice: Atshen. He turns back to acknowledge the boy for a moment, before turning back, taking one last look at her skull. It's my sister, Meldresi, He murmured as he rose, his body turning to face Atshen. She founded Blackfeather Woods, He says, as if Atshen never knew about the woman. Damien, Cicero, and Potema's mother, Had he never been here before? Had he never seen the skull?

You get 200!

Atshen did not have an immediate response to what Miraak had to say. Instead, his eyes fell to the monument of the Executioner's sister, and he allowed a silence to settle between them. In an uncharacteristically cautious manner, Atshen stepped forward and drew his eyes to Miraak, his expression void as he sought the right words. 

He had never paid much mind to the skull as it had blended well in the background. As such, and the fact that the Silencer did not pay that much mind to his surroundings, he had honestly never seen it. 

"How did she die?" He asked, suddenly curious about the matriarch of the Dark Brotherhood.

Atshen's eyes lock onto his sister's skull, but Miraak's eyes trace Atshen's body. Atshen had matured quickly since they first had met, growing into his young adult body, his muscles filling out the rest of his frame, adding to the intimidating aura he produced. His amber, burning eyes attract Miraak's attention for a moment, but his eyes wander back to Meldresi's bones. Sickness, He says simply.

His interest faded as quickly as it had come. Looking from Miraak to Meldresi's remains, he fell silent again. Sickness did not capture the shadow's attention, nor did it make him feel anything in particular about the situation. Instead, he felt nothing and said nothing as a result. Waiting, Atshen watched the violet-eyed man, curious to see what actions would come of the man's nostalgia.

He decides to divert himself from both distractions, both of the living and the dead. He gives Atshen another lesson in their culture and religion, knowing that every one was absorbed. Regardless of how we die, we are sent to the Void, He begins, knowing that the manner of his sister's death did not interest Atshen much. All wolves killed by the Dark Brotherhood are trapped there, their souls collected by Sithis and the Night Mother. For them, the Void is frightening and unforgiving, but for the Dark Brotherhood, it is paradise, His paw gently caresses the skull, knowing that she was in such a paradise now, waiting for him.

Miraak's description of the void was not the most comforting, but, somehow, Atshen felt a yearning to learn more. His stoic expression brightened considerably to showcase his interest, and he took a bold step towards the man with lavender eyes. "What is paradise like?" he queried, his voice flat despite his sudden curiosity.

I wouldn't know, He sighed. He had often wondered what exactly Paradise would be for him, or for any of them. I have been told that it is eternal happiness, But happiness changed for so many people. Some were happy when alone. Others when they hunted. Others when they killed. Would all pleasures be fulfilled there? But there is only one way to find out, He looked to Meldresi's skull once more, wondering if she was truly happy now.

Something stirred within Atshen as Miraak admitted that he knew nothing of what paradise was like. A curious light shone in the boy's eyes as his eyes swept up to the older wolf. "I could help you," he said simply, his face lacking any emotion despite the heavy subject matter. His tail gave a gentle shake as he waited for the man's response and he licked his lips as he felt a sense of anticipation stir within him.

Atshen's words are spoken like that of a child assisting an elder with chores or some other mundane task, not like an executioner granting a mercy killing. Miraak turns to the Silencer, noting the look of anticipation lingering for a moment on his normally expressionless face. Miraak snorts, a soft dark laugh rumbling from his chest. As old as I may be, I am not ready yet, He says, shaking his head.

Not all too pleased by the violet-eyed man's response, Atshen draws himself a step closer, intrigued. Any sense of anticipation is gone by the time the Silencer replies to the rejection. "If you are not ready yet," he begins, his eyes lacking any indication of his emotions as he looked into the others, "then why are you moping about?" Atshen did not see the point in such sadness and, as usual, is insensitive to the topic at hand.

He knew that Atshen was lacking on the emotional level of things, but he did not think it was to this extent of listlessness. He stared at the younger man unblinking for a moment. Because I miss my sister, He said simply. I did not come soon enough to see her before she died, and I regret that, He sighed, looking at the gleaming skull engraved in foreign runes. Sadness does not mean a person is suicidal,

At this point in Atshen's upbringing, he has found no connection to the ones that were brought into the world alongside him. After having to chase one sibling away, and feeling distant from the other two, Atshen felt as though there was nothing that could be done to them to cause him to mourn. 

Finding that the two would go around with the conversation, Atshen dropped it with a halfhearted shrug of his shoulders, not wanting to go in circles with the subject matter. In the brief interaction, he was finding it more annoying by the minute. 

Not knowing what to do now that he had dismissed the subject matter, the Silencer sat, looking at the older man with his characteristic lack of emotion.

He is unable to convince the boy any further of any emotion. It was then that he wondered if Atshen was capable of any empathy in the slightest. He was grateful that the child had chosen the path of assassin rather than that of spy or courtesan or priest. He would fail in any other field except that of killing. 

Miraak knew of one thing that would interest Atshen and he moved the conversation to the art of war. Have you considered becoming a tacitican, Atshen? Or merely an independent soldier?

The silence between the two gave way to the Executioner's question, as he was spoken to, Atshen lifted his eyes to the older man. "No, just a soldier" he replied thoughtlessly, as he had never considered anything but maiming and killing to be his true aspirations in life. There as nothing more to his dreams; he only thrived to end the lives of those who crossed him. 

But, regardless of his reply, Miraak's question got him thinking. "You've trained as a Warrior for a long time, yes?" Molten like eyes trailed the toned body of the seasoned fighter, but, eventually, he settled on the other's face.

He was just a soldier, which he was not surprised by. He was the wolf to take orders, or to make orders for himself. And that was fine; they were no army after all. He simply wanted to know how their training should progress from here. Atshen had so much field experience already, but nothing compared to his own. Ever since I was a child,

Atshen was a fool, but even he knew that Miraak had much to offer him. Even with his confidence and practice, he had done in solitude; there was still so much more that he could learn and Miraak was a vessel of experience that could benefit the Silencer tremendously. With this in mind, he nodded, his expression thoughtful-- a rarity for the growing man. 

"Teach me," comanded Atshen suddenly, indicating no emotional attachment in both his expression or his voice. Instead, keeping to his natural mannerisms, the Silencer looked upon the old wolf dispassionatley. The course of this interaction was in the paws of Miraak, and if he disagreed to a lesson, Atshen knew that he could rile up some mischief elsewhere. Truthfully, he did not want this to happen, but it was an option he could explore if needed.

He takes one last look at Meldresi's skull, moving forward and gently kissing the forehead of the ivory skull. He looks at Atshen then gestures, away from the sacred bone, not willing to sully her memory with blood and bruises, nor does he risk the chance of crushing it. He ventures deeper into the Redgrove, thorns snagging on his thick pelt without a thought, leading Atshen to a safer battleground.

Miraak accepts Atshen's proposal, and for this, Atshen is thankful. Though he would never express this, he feels a rush through his being as though he is preparing himself for combat there and then. To his surprise, the Executioner moves forward, and he follows, glancing once more to the fallen matriarch of the woods. Not seeing how she is related to him, nor seeing any reason to respect her memory, he turns suddenly, not sparing her another glance.

Atshen is lead to the field of crimson, and he follows blindly, keeping his attention on Miraak as he attempts to maneuver through the thorned field.

He does not make this a fair fight. As soon as he feels that Atshen is out of his range, he darts to the side, quickly melting into the thorns and blood red leaves , no longer pushing a clear path for Atshen. He circles the young man as soon as he can, bursting from the bushes. He leaves Atshen no time to recover from his sudden disappearance, pouncing as soon as he is able.

Atshen would perhaps never learn that Miraak's attacks came announced, as he found himself dumbfounded by the other's approach. Despite his oversight, Atshen quickly stiffens, preparing himself for the brawl that is to come, his fire-like eyes dancing as he watched the other make his way around the Silencer.  Attempting to keep his eyes on his target, Atshen watched with little success, soon finding himself blind sighted as Miraak suddenly collided with him. Atshen is knocked onto his side as the other crashes upon him. The air in his lungs escapes as he crashed to the ground, leaving him momentarily stunned and vulnerable for the other to attack.

Atshen was no man of stealth. Even through a life in the Blackfeather Woods, he lacked the stealth and cunning the others had. And yet he was a man of darkness. But sometimes darkness was oppressive and brooding and heavy rather than light and cloying and stealthy. Atshen was darkness of the former kind, rather than the latter.

This was true in the way that Atshen was unprepared for him, of a lighter, more ingenious kind of darkness and shadows. Atshen fell before him, and Miraak was quick to clamber over him and grasp the man's throat in his teeth, not biting down but holding him there.

It all happened before he could act. One minute, Atshen was bracing himself for impact, the next, he found himself pinned amongst the scarlet carpeting with Miraak's fangs lightly grazing the tender flesh of his throat. Unlike their previous brawl, Atshen had learned, and as such he submitted to the other, knowing that they'd get nowhere if the Silencer were to revolt.

@Atshen fade here?

He lingers over Atshen, watching the young man submit. It is a breath of fresh air, that. Compared to when he was younger and more foolish, when Atshen would throw himself at him and be constantly beaten down. He snorted with approval, pulling himself off and away from the man's form, nodding. Good. Again.