It was well-known. Cartenian had no debate with the status of the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim; he knew the name no longer struck fear into the hearts of civilians, barbarians, mages... the list was endless. Chances were, children were no longer being told the tales of ruthless assassins who would slit their throat if they roamed the streets at night.
The Dark Brotherhood had flourished after the Dragonborn's arrival. She'd made the name something to truly cower before. If you were to dance with death, you'd better pray to Sithis your end wasn't being handed to you by a Dark Brotherhood assassin.
But their newfound success had collapsed as quickly as it had arrived. Astrid, the leader, the pretender, the harlot... she'd sold them out. Envying the Dragonborn, she ensured the dismal fate of the Brotherhood the moment she spoke to Commander Maro. Her actions had caused the downfall of Skyrim's most beloved, the Dragonborn, and wiped out the majority of the Brotherhood's assassins. Now, they were without a Listener. Nazir was hardly a leader, and used rumors to carry out contracts. And worst of all, the Brotherhood had lost what little notoriety they'd gained. What had Astrid expected, exactly? For Maro not to double cross a band of assassins?
Cartenian didn't know. All he knew was that he was going to try his damn best to regain their status–to make people look twice over their shoulder, to make sure they never walked alone.
But since Astrid had died from the very thing she thought would save the Brotherhood, she'd stuck the minimal amount of assassins left with doing every aspect of their dirty work. Cartenian enjoyed carrying out his contracts; what he didn't enjoy was being forced to talk to those who wanted the contracts set.
And yet, here he was, standing outside of a rickety little shack in Whiterun, twiddling his thumbs.
Nazir be damned.
Trying the door, it opened with no resistance and a satisfying click. While it was convenient the door was unlocked, Cartenian knew the client was already an idiot–who left their door unlocked? But that wasn't his issue, provided he could keep his patience in check.
Slipping inside, he slowly glanced around the crumbling interior. A few wooden chairs, a table on the verge of collapse, and a fireplace devoid of flame. The room was coldly empty, an omen of death clinging to the air.
Cartenian drew his ebony daggers as the thought of this being a trap immediately flooded his mind. But he kept his expectations low, for now. He doubted he'd get to have more fun tonight.
"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear..."
The song of death had been heard, and Cartenian now knew this wasn't a trap–only those truly devoted to bringing another's demise could utter the discordant words as confidently as this woman had.
