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Fever. Illness. Ache. The icy hands of Sithis as they reached out to take Cicero’s burning soul, soothing over his mind and flesh like a salve, to claim what was rightfully theirs. Yes, he could feel it now; the void - closer than it had ever been before. Closer than life. Cicero (though he would hate to admit it outloud) was by nature a coward. He avoided death at all costs, constantly running from it. Always trying to trick it, deceive it. But it had caught up with him. Sithis was inescapable.
In truth, Cicero never thought an ailment would actually get the chance to kill him. He thought it would be a contract gone awry, or a slip of his mind, or a rage filled attack from dearest Brother Nazir. But he never thought this would happen. He had contracted Ataxia, apparently. The Unchild Babette had tried to cure him through her potions, but her specialisation was in poisons , and no attempts were even remotely successful. So here he was, on his death bed.
Now, Cicero wished for life again. The void owed him life , he had given so much of his to it. He had given so many days, so much blood, so many years in service to the Dread Lord, so much time waiting in silence… and now this? It had scarcely been ten years since the Listener was chosen! Since he had found his beloved Listener! Why did this have to happen now?
For many days now, Cicero’s eyes had been flooded with images that were far from reality. He has seen places, faces, maces, vases… laces . Now he saw what appeared to be the void. Cicero tried to reach a hand out into it, but found his muscles and joints far too painful to do so. What he saw was grey, with flecks of black. Far in the distance, there were a myriad of blue-ish figures. A little like the Sanctuary guardians. This was what Cicero’s subconscious imagined the void to be. A fictitious creation that merely attempted to depict what the human mind could never hope to visualise.
Looking into the picture of the void, Cicero’s ears rang with an incredible silence. It swung from ear to ear, and beat inside him violently - trying to escape, “so,” he laughed, though his voice was cracked and dry, “no singing ?”
“He’s dying,” - the voice sounded real, nearby. It was the Unchild, “Nazir! Come quickly…”
“Why should I care?” Nazir asked, “it’s not like I’ll miss him.”
“I feel bad, you know,” Babette sighed, her voice growing further away, “I think we could have done more to try and save him.”
“Hmf,” Nazir continued, “how old would he be now, around 45? That’s not a bad age to live to these days.”
“I’m over five times that old!” Babette’s voice had become distant, “...it’s not fair. He may have been annoying, but he didn’t deserve… this.” The voices now became a memory, and Cicero could no longer hear his own heartbeat within his ribs, nor could he feel his chest rise and fall at a steady rhythm. He also realised that he was no-longer lying down. But he wasn’t sitting or standing either, he was, rather, floating. Floating in inky black water that surrounded him as it filled the hollows of his eyes and stopped his breath.
Was he dead? Thought Cicero. This might be the void, only he had expected something… more . He tried to move his hand, and it did so easily - without any of the pain he had felt at the end of his life. Cicero gazed at it, turning it around to see his palm. It wasn’t transparent at all, but looked exactly like it had done when he was still an initiate to the Brotherhood. Young, unscarred, fresh . “Keeper,” an almost ethereal voice broke him out of his trance. The speaker was similar to a spectral assassin, only glowing purple rather than blue, and held a large, warm lantern in her right hand. She wore long, corseted robes with a fur-muff around her neck, and bug-like plates at her hips. The outfit looked like it came from Morrowind, though the woman herself was human, “I am Severa Magia - once known as Night Mother to the Vvardenfell Sanctuary, though I am not the Night Mother you know and have served. I once led the Brotherhood in life, and now I lead its fallen members to their new home.”
“But Cicero’s home is Cyrodiil,” he whispered, “he never even got to say goodbye to it.”
“You are a child of Sithis,” Severa said, gilding closer to him so Cicero could make out the details of her face as they were illuminated by the lantern, “the void is your only true home. Now, come with me. I must show you,” she linked her arm with Cicero, and pulled him forward in the darkness.
“...show Cicero what exactly,” he asked tiredly.
“There are two parts to the void,” Severa explained, “the good part, and the part designated for punishment and repentance. In the later part, you will find any heathenous Brothers or Sisters who betrayed the sanctity of Sithis, or broke one of the five Tenets.” Cicero’s eyes widened with alarm at the mention of such an existence.
“Cicero isn’t going there, is he?” the imperial asked, stuttering.
“You? Ha! As if,” Severa laughed, “you are possibly the most dedicated, loyal member we’ve seen in centuries,” they stopped, and she looked him in the eye, “Sithis wants to thank you personally, you know.” If he had blood in him at that time, Cicero would have blushed crimson, “but first,” she continued, “I must show you what you avoided.” Severa led him on, until they reached a pit that glowed orange with hellfire, and almost inhuman screams carried miles through the air.
Cicero didn’t know that heat could exist in the void, but his skin was already being burnt at this distance. There were skeletons - dark guardians - in the pit, whipping hot chains at deformed figures - both human, beastfolk and Mer. Most of the victims had become mutilated beyond recognition, but there was one who wasn’t. A blond, Nordic woman with narrow shoulders. She looked much different with her skin burnt and armour removed and deep purple bruises down her side, But Cicero would recognise her anywhere, “the Harlot Astrid,” he said. Severa nodded grimly.
“As is the fate of the betrayer. Now come along, you have yet to be assigned your form.”
“My form?” Cicero blinked, looking down at his body, “but Cicero already has a form.” Severa shook her head.
“That form isn’t permanent,” she said, “you will be given one that best encapsulates who you were in life. Yours, I suppose, will have reference to your foolish persona, as well as to your role as keeper.”
“Who will give me my form?” Cicero asked.
“You will take it once we reach the pond of life, and you drink from it.” Severa said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Cicero was beginning to realise that he knew very little about the void .
“...um,” Cicero laughed, “what is the pond of life ?”
“The only thing in the void that isn’t dead,” she said, “it will take away your mortal body, absorbing it, and replace it with a ghostly one. Like mine.”
“Hm,” Cicero said.
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The waters of the pond of life were murky, dark like a black night sky. As Severa had instructed, Cicero formed his hands into a cup, and submerged them in the water. She had been right about this pond being ‘alive’ - many small creatures riggled around Cicero’s fingers while he held them in the water. It occurred to him that they might be the last living thing he ever saw .
Cicero pulled his hands out from the water, shuddering, and drank. The liquid burnt his throat, but he forced himself to swallow it all down. Once he did, Cicero found his form immediately shifting. First, the colour drained from him, and every inch of his body became the colour of dry bone, then a ripple of prismatic colour began to move up his body. “Most interesting!” Severa gasped, “I’ve never seen this happen before.”
The ripple passed over Cicero’s head, and he noticed that he was back in his old, comforting motley, but still kept the features of his youth. He also noticed his colour . The spectral assassins were blue, Severa was purple, but Cicero had been given the gracious colour of hot pink . He laughed - it was funny! Ridiculous! An assassin shouldn’t be dressed in hot pink!
“It suits you,” Severa nodded, “very colourful. Come now, I will show you the others.”
“Ah!” Cicero gasped, feeling full of new life. It was as if all his senses had been heightened, it was incredible. He danced on the spot, “oh yes Sister Severa - Cicero has longed to once again meet his fallen Brothers and Sisters for so long now! Oh he can scarcely wait!”
“Waiting becomes a lot easier,” Severa chuckled, “once you realise you have the rest of eternity to spend here. But if you are so desperate, we shan't waste any time.”
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“Oh hello hello it is a pleasure to meet you!” An orange coloured ghost enthused, shaking Cicero’s hand with vigour. She was a Breton, quite pretty, actually, with light hair that was cut into a bob, “my name’s Antoinetta. Antoinetta Marie. I must say that I love your colour, it’s so vibrant!”
“Thank you,” Cicero chuckled, holding onto the woman’s hand, “Cicero didn’t expect his Brothers and Sisters in the void to be quite so… colourful. Haha.”
“Oh yeah,” Antoinetta snorted, “we get that alot from the newly passed. Basically, when me and my siblings were killed in the purification, we asked the Night Mother for some more… chear in the void. Being killed by your own family makes you feel rather low , you know? So she made us like this! So we would have a little happiness.”
“You seem to be making friends,” Severa cleared her throat, “I will leave you here, and come back for you when the Dread Lord is ready to have you.” The ghost was gone in the blink of an eye.
“Cicero used to know this lady, hehe,” Cicero asked Antoinetta, rubbing the back of his neck, “he was wondering if you might know her here? Her name was Andronica…”
“Oh Andronica!” Antoinetta beamed from ear to ear, “Yeah, I know her; she talks about you a lot. She’s my girlfriend - well, I’m everyone's girlfriend, and so is she. We’re all in a big relationship here. It happened after the first 50 years - we got bored, you know?”
“ All of you? ” Cicero blinked. He had heard of three or four person relationships, but this seemed excessive!
“Not exactly,” she sighed, casting her eyes down, “there’s this new guy called ‘Arnbjorn’ is playing hard to get - he’s got a giant stick up his arse if you ask me, but everyone else is.”
“...that takes family to a new level,” Cicero said, he was still in shock, “so, does Antoinetta think the sweetest Andronica want to be with Cicero again?”
“My friend,” Antoinetta laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “she never shuts up about you . Come on, I’ll take you to the others.”
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‘The others’ were gathered in a strange part of the void - it was dressed like a simple tavern, with a fire crackling by one wall while food and drink was laid out on a long table, “this doesn’t seem like it should be in the void…” Cicero whispered.
“In the void,” Antoinetta whispered back, “as much as nothing exists, everything also exists! It’s an amazing paradox,” she raised her voice and addressed the room, “everyone! Brothers! Sisters! This is Cicero, the newest member of the final sanctuary! ”
There was a mixed reaction to his name being called - most people cheered, but a select few from the Falkreath sanctuary (including Arnbjorn and Veezara, of course) made a dreadful groaning sound. Cicero didn’t mind - he was just happy to be here, and not be being tortured in that horrible, fiery pit. “Cicero!” a green ghostly woman ran up, flinging her arms around his neck - they both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs, “darling, it’s me! Andronica! I’ve been watching you, oh I have been waiting for you my love, my only true love you are here!”
“Andronica,” Cicero giggled while she peppered kisses across his face and neck, “please, haha! Wait, that tickles! Why does it tickle so much more here?” Cicero had noticed that all sensations seemed to be much more potent in the void - it was incredible. He was living more in death than he had in life .
“You have no idea,” Andronica nearly wept from joy, “how much I have missed you, but now that I have you, and we’re all here together… oh sweet Sithis in a sweetroll! I have never felt happier.”
“Cicero is going to meet Sithis,” he said, stroking through her pale green hair.
“I wish I had been so lucky,” Andronica smiled, “he only lets his favourite children see him. You must be special.”
“...special?” Cicero asked.
“Of course. You’re a champion of Sithis.”
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Cicero stood in the black void with Severa. They were alone. “Are you ready?” she asked, the glow of her purple skin pulsating through the dark.
“Cicero will never be ready,” he said, “but that doesn't matter. …where is Sithis?”
“Sithis,” Severa explained, “is all around us. Only, you can’t see him. What I am going to do is let you see him - are you sure you’re ready? Not everyone ca handle it.” Cicero nodded so hard it felt like his head might fall off, “alright, here we go…”
The flame of Severa’s lantern extinguished itself in a cold wind, and for only a second, Cicero was plunged into an eerie darkness - and a pregnant pause hung in the air. The calm before the storm, which threatened to break at any second. This was the true void , the other one only existed for the silly pleasure and leisure of fallen Siblings. Cicero was face to face with the essence of Sithis - but not the deity himself .
Then, the void around him sprung up like a macabre painting, splitting into millions - no, billions of skulls - some human, some animal, some beastfolk, some that Cicero didn’t even recognise - all in varying stages of decay. He was being presented with death .Sithis in his purest form. He was being shown every creature that had died in the history of Nirn . It was a truly gut-wrenching sight - but also awe inspiring!
Sithis was all powerful. He was all consuming. He may entertain his followers with drink, candy coloured ghosts, and polyamory - but he was still the most magnificent being in existence. Cicero knew in that moment that he would never be the same. He knew that he had worked to upkeep something that was incredibly great, incredibly large!
“Oh most wonderful Father of the Night!” Cicero cried, falling to his knees, “Cicero pleads for you to keep him here, he pleads it! He has long to be one with you and oh, oh it is magnificent! Oh sweet Sithis, oh cruel Sithis - I-”
“...Cicero?” a docile, poisonous voice cut through the silence. He looked up. It was a Dunmer woman, not a ghost, dressed in a revealing, crimson dress, “I am glad to see you have arrived safely.” He blinked, rubbed his eyes, then gasped. Cicero would recognise that face anywhere, those delicate shoulders - the collar bones that protruded ever so slightly…
“Night Mother!” the fool sprang to his feet, brimming with a sudden joy, and bounded up to the deity.
“Yes, my loyal keeper,” she remained incredibly calm, “I am glad for you to finally hear my voice.” Cicero reached out towards her tentatively, but withdrew. “Oh, you can touch me,” she laughed, “you did perform my rituals in life - and those were… intimate, to say the least,.”
“Ah,” Cicero drew in a breath, feeling the flesh of the Night Mother’s shoulders, “this is so very strange Mother… all of this. The void is nothing like Cicero thought it would be.”
“...everything exists in the void,” the Night Mother smiled, “love especially. I have a feeling that the Fool of Hearts will have fun with his new family . You’ll be happy. And that’s what I want, really,” she closed her eyes, “I love all my children, and so many of them suffer in life,” she placed a tender hand on Cicero’s cheek, “so I take the liberty of letting them enjoy their death. It’s the least I could do, my poor, sweet, loyal, broken, humble Cicero. ”