The story of a Nightingale

Bravil... Oh, Bravil is the city of my youth, the city where the power of my mind grew immensely in an extraordinarily short time, as my eminent teacher, Elena, put it! I love Bravil and I really need to be in Bravil; I long to live there again and, who knows, maybe someday that will be possible!
The Holy City, Bravil, is the only place in the mortal world where, under the full light of Secunda, I can directly commune with our Mother in a way that feels almost physical, as though her essence flows through the Lucky Lady statue itself, embracing me in its dark and divine presence; ah, it is so good to lie prostrated at the feet of that magnificent statue and I want so much to pray and meditate there, in that place; I wish to absorb its wonderful teachings, to nourish myself with them! Or maybe to light black candles in our Mother not so holy temple which dominates the town and to hear its soft and so sweet voice saying the most nicest and true words from this world! Oh, the vigilantes would be very surprised to know what's happening in reality in the Temple of Mara from Bravil! But I rest assured, this would be the last discovery from their miserable life...
Bravil is the most fascinating and at the same time the most dangerous city I have wandered through in my life so far. It is built along the Larsius River, which served the ancient inhabitants of the settlement as a natural fortification against invaders but which nowadays is nothing more than a miserable and foul-smelling canal.
The houses are almost all made of wood, and in most parts of the city, they are stacked so tightly together that they resemble pieces of a precarious, overburdened domino set. In Bravil, more than in any other city I've lived, there is a severe shortage of land, and builders have resorted to incredible feats of inventiveness and daring to make do with what little space there is. Not to mention the tenants, who, on occasion, add a new room to the roof of their building—small at first, perhaps made only of cloth walls, but sometimes growing in ways no one would expect. Or the rickety bridges built between the roofs of towering buildings, which over time have been turned into shoddy, makeshift apartments, rented out for a handful of copper coins each month! The streets are so narrow and the buildings so close together that, in many cases, neighbors can easily toss household objects from one window to another!
The city seems very poor to visitors, and indeed, many extremely poor beings live here, but I can tell you with certainty that in Bravil are a lot of extremely wealthy individuals and organizations, wealthier than anywhere else in Cyrodiil! It is a true paradise for smugglers and dealers of exotic goods brought from the South, especially from Elsweyr, and as it is natural, around these fabulous fortunes, so numerous, a real industry of gambling and other such amusements has developed. Well, perhaps the owners of these establishments are actually the richest of all those who live in Bravil! 
The Order of Stendarr is not welcome here and rarely you can spot groups of heavily armed and armored vigilantes sneaking fearfully through the narrow, dark alleys of the city towards their businesses at the Temple of Mara. In fact, even the priests of Mara do not like them but they submit to the religious authority of the Order to some extent, never completely. I, who now know more about these matters than any other thinking being alive, can tell you that the greatest oddity of the city of Bravil comes from the subtle connection, if I can call it that, between Mara and Mephala. And the priests from the Temple of Mara in Bravil are all initiates to some extent in this mystery, and consequently their opinion on matters such as "good" or "evil" is quite different from that of their other brethren.
But let's get back to my tale... Rasha parted ways with us at the edge of the forest and I was extraordinarily surprised and saddened by this fact, especially since he told me at our parting that his place of residence is in Leyawiin and that he will come whenever he can to see me. I couldn't understand and accept the fact that I couldn't go with him any further, and then, Leyawiin... I asked where this city was, and Elena told me that it was somewhere very far in the South and that the road was long and extremely dangerous... But my tears and protests were not taken into consideration; they let me calm down at the edge of the forest, where I had sat on the ground and refused to go any further without my brother; meanwhile, he and Elena went out onto the road and studied the surroundings. Then they talked at length and, in the end, came back to me. Rasha was grinning from ear to ear and lifted me into his strong arms; he hugged me and kissed me several times, then told Elena that he personally feared leaving a "wildcat like Elsie" loose in the middle of a city as densely populated as Bravil. Elena, contrary to her usual behavior, laughed and assured him that she would make sure the "wildcat" would soon be safe in her new home and under the care of the Mother.
Then Rasha hugged me one again, and turned back into the forest, slipping through the bushes; the sparse trees seemed to close behind him like a curtain, and I felt as though the weald itself was swallowing him whole, taking him farther from me with every step...
And I, with tears still streaming from my eyes, began, in a childish outburst, to lose my trust in men: "They are such liars; didn't my brother promise me such a short time ago that we would never be apart again?" It seems, however, that I had spoken my thoughts aloud, because I saw Elena burst into laughter; she gently pulled me close to her, hugged me, and told me that I was wrong. In fact, Rasha loves me very much and is deeply saddened by our parting, but he is not allowed to enter the Holy City. "Not yet," she added as the smile faded from her lips. Then she ordered me to follow her, and I had no choice but to trudge after her through the mud of the Green Road.
And I did so hesitant but also eager to know more; though I had never seen Bravil, the way Elena spoke of it in our long conversations filled me with both dread and curiosity. "What kind of place could it be, where the Mother herself walked among mortals, even if only in the shadows of night?" I was thinking as we both walked into town shortly before Bravil's gates were closed for the night.
The city was already shrouded in the thick mists of evening, and I could barely make out anything around me or understand what was happening nearby; only the pale auras of the people still walking the streets told me that Bravil was a very crowded city. The smells I was picking up in abundance suggested poverty and filth above all else, but also the unsettling presence of a great throng of people stirring somewhere in the eastern part of the city. The effluvia wafting from that direction reminded me of the Waterfront District, and, very curious, I asked Elena if there was a port there. She curtly confirmed my assumption and then told me in a harsh voice that we had no time for pointless chatter. And then, my companion led me through the dark alleys to a heavy iron gate belonging to a tall stone wall. Here she knocked with the hammer attached to the gate and a small window opened. Elena whispered something, and the gate opened silently. We parted ways there and Elena embraced me while saying "We'll meet again, my dear."
An old crippled man carrying a lantern with a very dim light led me through the courtyard which, in the pitch-black tar-like night, seemed enormous to me, to the front of a richly carved door which he opened before me. He touched his forehead, bowed deeply, and then left. I was very surprised by this reception and also a little frightened, thinking perhaps Elena had brought me to the wrong place but when I entered the receiving hall my surprise turned into outright panic! Soft carpets, so thick that my feet sank into their texture, painted in pale colors but which were leaving an impression of opulence, intricately crafted brasswork pieces gleaming dimly in the room's diffuse light, the huge paintings adorning the walls paneled with dark wood, all gave the impression of fabulous, overwhelming wealth. At least for me who had never seen such things in my parents' house, and they were by no means poor!
A man dressed entirely in black leather emerged from the semidarkness, his movements so smooth and quiet that he seemed less like a man and more like a shadow given form. One moment, he was standing near the far wall; the next, he was close enough for me to feel the faint chill radiating from him. I hadn't even seen him move. Then I noticed that the lamplight failed to touch him properly, as though it shied away from the deep black of his armor. His shadow stretched long and thin across the floor, bending unnaturally toward me, as if it had a mind of its own.
When he gestured for me to follow, I had a moment of panic and wanted to flee back through the door, hoping to find Elena again. But the man gently took my hand, his grip firm but not forceful, and pulled me after him. I hesitated, a shiver running down my spine as the scent of jasmine—a scent I had smelled before, in the glade where Mara's statue in the Arboretum stood—drifted faintly in the air. But there was no other way, and so I followed him nervously through a narrow, long, and brightly lit corridor, so bright that it made my eyes protest painfully, tear up, and close involuntarily. I stopped, but the man tightened his grip just slightly and gently urged me forward.
All the while, I felt a strange pull toward him, like an invisible thread binding me to his presence. Yet with every step, the crawling unease at the back of my neck grew stronger, as if the very world protested his being here, in this realm...
Finally, he led me into a small, dimly lit room, where a tall woman (ah, but all women are tall to me, yet this one was so slim that she seemed to have an unreal height) dressed all in silk stood, petting a huge leopard cuddled up tightly against her body.
Once again, I was seized with fear and stood rooted to the spot, but the woman smiled at me and said, "Leave us now, First among the Faithful." The man left without a word. She pushed the animal away with a commanding sweep of her hand and approached me. Reaching out her hand, which I shook shyly, she said, "I am Alisanne Dupre, and with your permission, I will be your mother for a while. Although I would rather be your older sister, you see, our Mother decided otherwise." She smiled warmly and embraced me.
Instantly, a wave of love swept over me, and deeply moved by Alisanne's attitude, I hugged her as tightly as I could and began to cry uncontrollably, like a little child. You see, my friends, I am very fragile at heart, and people had generally treated me with coldness and even cruelty until that moment. Well, maybe not all of them, but the majority persecuted and mocked me—deservedly or not, that remains for you to decide—and a simple gesture of kindness, of tenderness, made me, as it does even nowadays, deeply moved.
"Ah, we will be good friends for the time that fate has granted us, I feel it," Alisanne sighed deeply and hugged me for a long time. Then she leaned back slightly, her hands resting on my shoulders, and looked me over. "Oh, Elsie, but your hair is so dirty and tangled... And on top of that, you smell absolutely dreadful. You do realize that, don't you?" She chuckled lightly, her laughter like soft chimes. "Come," she said, holding my hand tenderly.
After I was thoroughly cleaned over several days, fed, and allowed to rest, frail and broken like a wounded animal, Alisanne's attitude towards me shifted and, from a loving and tender sister, she became a strict and severe mother. It is true that there were many evenings filled with warmth—when we played like carefree girls, kissing and caressing each other and wonderful nights when he told me beautiful or strange stories that have immersed my life in a mystical, fairy-tale atmosphere! But outside those precious moments, she was unrelenting. Her punishments were as harsh as they were swift, and she never hesitated to push her discipline to the brink of cruelty. Every mistake, every lapse in judgment, was met with a severity that left no room for mercy. Her relentless approach left scars—both physical and emotional—but it also shaped the woman I was destined to become.
And so began the life I led alongside my beloved mother, Alisanne, in the headquarters of the Dark Brotherhood in Tamriel. Lady Dupre was the last Listener in a long, unbroken line spanning millennia. At the same time, she was an extraordinarily powerful and intelligent woman; in addition to these qualities, her erudition was matched only by the piety with which she embraced the cult of Sithis.
I do not think I have encountered anyone since who was so deeply imbued with the sacredness of a religion; and I assure you that, during my endless wanderings through the mortal world, I met countless devout individuals, some of whom carried their faith beyond the furthest boundaries of fanaticism. But the High Priestess Alisanne, in the time when I had the honor and fortune to know her, lived solely to preach the principles of the ancient cult of the Void. Of course, only those teachings which are part of the universally accepted doctrine in Black Marsh, where the priests of Sithis serve in their temples—temples that seem so strange and alien to men and mer alike and are widespread across the entire territory of that fascinating people.
Unfortunately, however, this extraordinarily gifted and devout woman lived and acted in a nefarious time, both for the Dark Brotherhood and the cult of Sithis. The ancient organization, whose origins are lost somewhere far back in the mists of the many centuries since the first Listener had the privilege of hearing the divine voice of Mephala, was in its final days of existence. Tragically, the fate of this brotherhood had been tightly bound to the Empire's fate by the disastrous structure known as the Black Hand—a kind of governing council for the organization that had never truly earned the favor of the Queen of Oblivion; and with the disintegration of that great state, the Dark Brotherhood lost all its heavens, save for those in Leyawiin and Cheydinhal. I will not mention here the pale imitation constituted by the small family Astrid maintained so actively in Skyrim for decades; this peculiar tribe was never in contact with the Listener confirmed by the Mother and represented only the embodiment of the will of a fearsome woman... But the disaster was brought upon the Dark Brotherhood by the Black Hand when they attempted—and partially succeeded—to transform the structure into a secular organization, its goals driven more by profit than by divine purpose...
And in the end, driven by wrath, in a dramatic climax that evoked a blood-red, darkened by the dark clouds of the coming storm, sunset, Mephala, both Mother and Sovereign, punished all the members of the Dark Brotherhood, without distinction and regardless of the innocence of some or the true faith of others... Well, not quite all of them... According to the cunning and extreme perversity that defines Her, She forgave and protected two of the members of the organization...
Anyway, the time I spent together with my third mother was one of the strangest and most fascinating periods of my life. Alisanne preferred to treat me during that time as if I were a little girl; she dressed me in adorable and charming outfits: short skirts and flowery blouses, dainty little boots, and long, colored socks. And, of course, every morning she would fasten silk ribbons of various colors in my hair, after brushing it for a long time until it became diaphanous and silky again. I gladly indulged in this peculiar situation, which might have seemed ridiculous to some who had known me as 'The Laughing Ghost,' the shadowy leader of a significant part of the Imperial Capital's underworld. l also endured the severe punishments Alisanne would administer to me in various situations; she would lash me with the same whip she sometimes used on herself in front of the small statue of the Mother she kept in her austere room. I would cry and wail exactly as I knew she wanted me to, though, strangely enough, in a short time, I began to perceive pain in a much more faint way than an ordinary human being would. Yet the scars on my back remain visible even to this day...
Ah, my new mother even temporarily cured me of the need to immediately claim any shiny object that did not belong to me. The treatment she applied was both wise and humorous. For instance, on the morning she discovered her plain gold ring—the only piece of jewelry adorning her stunning body—was missing, she came to me smiling and gifted me a little box filled with priceless jewels: rubies and emeralds of immeasurable value, their soft glimmer set in gold or platinum works so fine they seemed like masterful webs spun by the Queen's spiders. At the same time, she asked if she might have her ring back! "A very dangerous ring, by the way," she added as the smile faded from her face... Oh, my mother Alisanne possessed the extraordinary ability to perfectly understand the weaknesses of those around her and to correct them in the most surprising and effective ways, ranging from gentleness and good cheer to cruelty and mercilessness!
I had more than I could have ever wished for there, in Alisanne's house. Above all, I had the best teachers my new mother could provide, and they taught me how to read and write. Besides, Alisanne's mansion housed a huge library filled with a vast array of books from which I learned many interesting and surprising things. I also learned to sing both vocally and on the lute and flute, to dance, to draw and paint. And much more! Some days were spent entirely on physical training and gymnastics in the residence's courtyard, where, quite often, my good friend Leo joyfully joined me! Alisanne's enormous leopard quickly became very attached to me, and sometimes, at night, with the characteristic grace of felines, it would slip from Alisanne's narrow and firm bed into my fluffy, soft one. Now that I think about it, maybe Leo loved only my bed, not necessarily me; perhaps it simply tolerated me as felines, big or small, tend to do with individuals who can bring them some benefit! The First among the Faithful trained me daily in knife fighting and with a dagger or two. Here, I mastered the art of fighting with two blades, able to wield both of my hands with equal dexterity and power. The crossbow became my inseparable companion in training throughout this period, and Alisanne procured and gifted me a master crossbow—one made in long-forgotten times by the People of the Deep. It must have cost a fortune!
I also learned from my mother about Sithis and the religion that venerates Him. Alisanne often spoke to me about Him, the One God as she called it, or Sithis as you probably know Him, my friends. But this name means nothing—it is merely a term we use to describe the Unknown, the Void. Ah, the Void, it may well be the generating Matrix, the Creator and the Destroyer of worlds, a force beyond comprehension. And, superficially and erroneously, it has come to symbolize the death of all living beings—those on Nirn, in the strange and wondrous realms of Oblivion, or in the dull domain of Aetherius.
In our mansion in Bravil, there was a spacious room that resembled a temple nave on a smaller scale, where Alisanne would preach the teachings of this One God to a large number of people. On those preaching days, our house would be partially invaded by silent, humble crowds. I was always by her side, carrying her ritual objects, her books, and her sacred garments. I helped her dress in the sacred vestments, and later, undress to return to her ordinary clothes. And Alisanne—she was so beautiful, with a body that made me feel strange and embarrassed. Ah, the smile she gave me when she saw me blush...
Oh, Alisanne was utterly feverish in her devotion during the rituals she performed, her eyes often growing empty as if touched by something beyond the mortal realm. Her passion was palpable, a fervor that bordered on madness, especially in the presence of the faithful and those who, disillusioned and sorrowful, sought to understand this God who, unlike the others, promised nothing—and did not threaten either. It was as if the very connection she maintained with the Unholy Mother herself amplified her devotion to an almost unbearable intensity.
In her sermons, Alisanne often spoke of how those who believe in Sithis have no right to stand idly by, to merely observe and contemplate the existing order. They must shatter illusions and reveal the lies of rulers; they must destroy—or aid those who do—anything that has grown too old in the realm of politics. She always added that the world is not governed by harmony, but by conflict and evolution. The ultimate truth is not found in stability, but in accepting disintegration as a path to rebirth. She also preached that death should not be met with fear, but with acceptance. In the end, death is the proof that Sithis' work moves forward, ensuring that the world is in a state of perpetual change.
Sithis is the God of the desperate and the brave, as Alisanne said. He is the enemy of order—more precisely, of that kind of order that leads to stagnation. He does not give, nor does He take; He has no interest in individuals, for even nations are structures far too small for His work. He pays no heed to the prayers, whims, sorrows, or joys of mortals. Yet, at times, He takes notice of great social movements—wars, vast migrations, great rebellions. He never interferes directly in such events, but once they have ended, we may wonder if He has moved pieces upon the vast chessboard that is our Universe.
And each of Alisanne's sermons ended with the ritual words: "We serve not for reward, but for Truth."
The First Among the Faithful—like a shadow—was always present, silent and watchful, during these times. We both knew he was there, in the altar room, his presence both eerie and reassuring. And Leo, oh poor Leo, was always confined to our bedroom on those days. I cannot forget the sad, reproachful looks it would throw at us as we went about our rituals. Once Alisanne finally released it, it would dart out like an arrow, its joy spilling over as it tumbled into the grass of the garden, rolling and frolicking for hours...
And the seasons passed, one after another; after what felt like an eternity of comfort and contentment for me, Elena came on a hot summer day to our house in Bravil. I ran joyfully into the courtyard, wanting to embrace her, but I froze in front of her. She barely resembled the woman I once knew in the forests along the Niben; the old lady looked younger now, though her stature, her ornate hood, and the sharpness of her cold gaze whispered of the familiarity of an old acquaintance. Elena's voice too: " What happened to Alisanne, has she gone mad? And what about your silly garments?," she said , glaring at me. "But..." I whispered, frightened, to which Elena replied, looking me straight in the eyes, "But you look even more foolish now than when I left you here. I see that quite clearly... What does our esteemed Alisanne occupy herself with? Does she just preach and play with Lucien or with that wretched cat of hers?" "Lucien? Who is Lucien? And Leo is faithful and graceful, sensitive and affectionate," I responded somewhat annoyed. Elena simply shook her head and, while entering the house, she said "Leo is just a primitive killer and Lucien a cultured one" and walked into the reception room where Alisanne awaited, lost in thoughts. They both retired then to the cult chamber and, after a while, Elena left without casting a glance at me, without saying a word... I watched her leave, feeling both annoyed and unsettled, before turning back to my daily tasks; and starting from the next day, Elena visited us often and took me on long walks through Bravil.