Skyrim Shattered Shield. Berserk is a fantasy strategy board game. The Dark Brotherhood is eternal

The hall of the Grand Tournament smelled of roses - Maril de Comte had just personally selected and sent thirty baskets of these truly royal flowers to his new passion, Feragunda, the Marquis de Briand, the middle daughter of the ruler of the vassal Bruenor.

The Duke of Livor was in excellent spirits. The playful and cutesy coquette Feragunda, having received roses, will finally lose her head and persuade her gloomy and blunt father to let her go to Livor for the annual Rose Petal holiday. There will be a reason, Maril de Comte had no doubt about it. Feragunda-type women are always overly proactive when it comes to relationships with rich and noble men. Actually, this is what destroys them - they take such people in marriage with reluctance. Guarantees that the coy ones, having tried on wedding ring, will not continue their research, striving to get into the field of view of even more weighty figures, there is none, and for a real livore there is no greater shame than wearing branchy horns on his head.

Unfortunately, the twelfth duke of Livor, Maril de Comte, liked just such women - cheerful, desperate, stupid and equally reckless to the alcove games and backstage intrigues that sometimes brought them to the throne, but much more often - to the chopping block.

Or into the garrotto, thought the duke, looking at the high vaults of the Grand Tournament hall, decorated with tapestries depicting scenes of hunting and battles. Below the tapestries were portraits of their ancestors - the Livorian dukes descended from the mountain tribes from the Sunset Ridges. Long ago, the long-haired leaders of the mountain clans, having gathered together their squads, struck at the hated inhabitants of the plains in the valley of the Livor River. What kind of people lived on the banks of this full-flowing river, whose hands cultivated fat fields on the fertile soils of Polivorye - no one will ever know. The clan chronicles kept in the palace library vaguely tell only about the echoes of some conflicts with the plains. Either the ancestors of de Comte quarreled with the fishermen in the marketplace, or the farmers offended and deceived the honest hunters from the ridges, who brought the skins of snow leopards to the auction ... However, is it really important now? In any case, everything ended the way it ended: the highlanders ravaged the villages, killed all men, boys, old men and women, and took women and girls into their families as second and third wives. So a whole people disappeared, and a few decades later, after the highlanders accepted the faith in Ogeor and Omeor and showed their teeth, having fought with the Hammath kingdom, the Livorian brand appeared first, and then the powerful sorcerer-king Hammata bestowed the reconciled ancestors Marila de Comte with the ducal title.

| Artist: Ekaterina Maksimovich

Where is Hammat now? Where are his arrogant kings along with their evil magic? In the place of the kingdom, an endless desert is spread, even ringed reptiles and arthropod scorpions do not live there. Only the wind rolls brown skulls over the sandy hills and mirages tremble above them.

De Comte's thoughts returned to Feragunda. He saw the girl only once, at the Main Winter Ball, but he remembered the white shoulders, full quick hands, a laughing mouth and burning, beckoning eyes. The imagination of a three-time widower, experienced in love affairs, completed the rest, and the duke smiled fiercely.

Feragunda herself would enter his bedroom — Marila de Comte had no doubts about that. But this time he will do without a crown, and the status of a favorite will be enough for the girl. The fourth marriage is too much even for such a respected and wealthy ruler as the Duke of Livorsky.

Maril de Comte took a golden bell from the table with two fingers, rang - right there, from inconspicuous niches in the walls of the Grand Tournament hall, well-trained servants appeared in shadows. They quickly set a small marble table and walked away just as quietly.

The Duke sat down in a soft armchair upholstered in dark red velvet, looked through the openwork window frame at the pink rocks hanging over the Livor Bay, and picked up a tall glass with exquisite Ainu wine, the only wine in Angheim, which has three flavors. The first sip of Ainu slightly burns the palate and stings the tongue, it is sweet, spicy and hoppy. The second sip is fizzy, cheerful and invigorating better than the icy mountain wind. The third gives peace, bliss and self-confidence. The recipe for the "Wine of the Lords", as the Ainu is also called, was created by the sea elves a thousand years ago. Then to the west of the Gulf of Ain there was a huge island with mountains and forests, which was inhabited by sea elves. The duke knew almost nothing about the wonders and amazing creatures of this unknown land - for some reason, even before the birth of the ancestor of all the Highlanders, the Great Hunter, the elven island went under the waters of the Great Sunset Ocean. A tiny piece of land has been preserved from it, a lonely rock, along the slopes of which grape whips crawled upwards. An elf lived on the island, probably the only sea elf in Angheim. He was over two thousand years old. He made amazing wine, only forty bottles a year. Many rulers of Livor tried to transplant the Ainu vine to the mainland, multiply it and increase the amount of wine produced, but all in vain. The old elf said that it was all about ancient magic living in stone. He also said that when the vine dries up, the free lands of Angheim will be captured and Evil will triumph over the world.

* * *

Taking a sip, the duke grimaced sweetly and set the glass on the table. His thoughts flowed easily and freely: “Evil is just a figure of speech. A sign on a cloak, a coat of arms on a shield, belief in another ideal. And the ideal is what the ideal is for, in order to be some kind of abstraction, a fetish, and in fact - a mirage. Life is material, here it is - in a glass of this Ainu, in a silvery dwarven blade, in the smell of roses and lavender, in silk linen and hot lips of a mistress, in the barking of hunting dogs, in the ringing of gold coins ... And in the wheeze of tortured prisoners, in deflated eyes and purple swollen tongue of an unfaithful wife, strangled in the basement of the castle with an iron collar-garrot. Yes, this is also life! Furious, funny, cruel and voluptuous. A life in which everything works out ... "

Maril de Comte pushed himself resiliently out of his chair, drew a short sword-cord with a narrow triangular wedge, swung it several times, listening with delight as the breaking steel cut through the air.

“The dukes of Livor have been born under a lucky star from time immemorial,” de Comte continued to reflect. - Here is the hall called the Grand Tournament Hall. Here my ancestor, the tenth Duke of Livor, Edor de Shanya, entered into a duel with the leader of the Okhor goblins, who had arrived - an unprecedented business! - for the presentation of rights to the lands of the duchy ”.

The Duke stopped in front of a portrait of Edor de Chanya. This tall, long-nosed man with a black beard was Maril's uncle - he was the older brother of the father of the current ruler of Livor, and between Edor and Curtis de Comte, Maril's father, there was a colossal forty years difference. She explained simply - the ninth Duke of Livorsk married three times, the last time in seventy years. His chosen one was an eighteen-year-old orphan, the daughter of the Buklim baron, who died of smallpox. She gave birth to a younger heir to the old duke.

Edor de Shanya was forty-two when he ascended the throne. A year later, something happened that the chronicles reported exclusively in a superior style: "glorious victory", "unparalleled battle" and "feat of the duke."

The Goblin King did not come to Livor via the Northern Route. He arrived neither by water nor by air, although the last path for the inhabitants of the caves is generally impossible - the Great Sky will not withstand such sacrilege and will collapse.

No, everything was different: the goblin, along with his retinue, climbed into the ducal palace, like a rat, through an ancient passage, pierced by the first dukes and connected to a network of caves, in turn connected, as the Chronicle of the Duchy of Livor, with the Bottom itself.

A secret door leading to the underground passage was in the wall under the coat of arms of Livor. Edor de Chanya was just having a feast with his vassals after a successful hunt, when it opened and a goblin with bared fangs and a spiked club fell out, followed by a small but well-armed retinue.

The duke's knights grabbed their swords, the servants grabbed their crossbows, but the goblins did not come to die, but to make demands. According to their legends, in ancient times the green-skinned people lived in those places where the Duchy of Livor now stretches. Then the sorcerer-king from Hammath with the help of magic drove the goblins to the north, but in the caves of Ochora they did not forget about their abandoned homeland and now came to claim their own.

| Artist: Dmitry Khrapovitsky

The negotiations were short-lived - the courageous duke indignantly rejected all the impudent demands of the savage, and a great war smelled in the air. The goblins did not mind, but the wise Edor offered to solve everything without mass bloodshed, like a man.

The duel, called the Grand Tournament, lasted two days. During this time, seven swords and the same number of shields were broken, armor was broken, axes were split and spears were split, and the tournament participants themselves received many wounds. At stake was the life of Edora and the freedom of his subjects, for everyone knew the saying - "yield to the goblin once, and he will take the second one."

So who dares to reproach the duke that in the last duel he used a poisoned blade against the wild barbarian who bore the ugly name Kryag? Life must go on, no one and nothing has the right to interrupt its flow ... And therefore, if fate was merciful to you and put you in the womb of the wife of the Duke of Livor, from where you were born and took the throne in due time - take life by the bridle, like a restive horse, hug her like a passionate concubine, drink her and eat her, drive her and believe - you are doing everything right!

The Duke took a second sip and laughed as many tiny needles pierced his entire body. Laughter echoed through the great hall, and it seemed to de Comte that the ancient weapons and armor rang softly in response.

The greenskins, groaning in sorrow, dragged the mortally wounded goblin king away and made their own way. Then this very Kryag seemed to have survived, but Marilu had nothing to do with the savage, as well as with all other savages, whether they dwelt in the north or in the south of Angheim.

The secret door was blocked with stone blocks, poured with lead, and the cut shield of Eador de Shanya was approved over the plastered wall - as a sign that the duke had defended his possessions and his subjects.

* * *

The twelfth Duke of Livor was a worthy heir to his glorious ancestors. By the age of thirty-four, he managed not only to bury three wives, but also to make war with the inhabitants of the Gold Coast twice, having annexed several fiefs to the territory of the duchy, whose rulers were forced to take a vassal oath on pain of ruining the lands and exterminating their subjects.

When the breakthrough of the Bottom began and the legions of the Dark Lord set foot on the surface, Maril de Comte was in allied relations with all the major powers of Angheim. At the same time, the duke was not at all surprised when the embassy of Darkness arrived at his palace, which was headed by the Dark Rider himself, the extinguisher of lives, the Slayer and the Blade of Terror - by such nicknames Zul-Baal was known in the west of Angheim.

| Artist: Anna Ignatieva

The two rulers did not consult for long, and the result of this meeting turned out to be completely different than the result of the rendezvous of Eador de Shanya and the goblin king. Maril de Comte and Zul-Baal sealed an agreement of eternal friendship and mutual assistance with blood. The Duke easily went over to the side of Darkness, but demanded reciprocal services - the Dark Lord had to recognize the entire Gold Coast as the possession of the Livor dukes and help with the troops if the obstinate inhabitants of those fertile places refused to obey.

Maril de Comte honestly fulfilled his obligations - he did not come to the aid of the Brotherhood, under a plausible pretext he refused to help the Green Throne and literally a week ago let a horde of goblins led by Queen Woodley through his lands. According to rumors, this strange woman, called the Great Mother of all goblins, was that same Quag's own daughter, but de Comte did not believe these tales - according to them, it turned out that Quag lived after a duel with Edor de Shanya for at least fifty years, being far from a young goblin.

Woodley sent ambassadors to de Comte and offered to meet to discuss joint actions against the elves and the Brotherhood, but the duke declined to meet, although his confidants reported that the greenskin queen was unexpectedly good-looking.

The Duke reasoned simply: “The agreement with the Darkness is a mutual affair between Dne and Livor. Nobody saw him and will not see him. Zul-Baal wins - I get the Gold Coast. The Brotherhood and the elves will win - Livor will not lose anything. This Woodley surely wants me to send my plate cavalry south to conquer the trading areas of Chinnakh and Nil Sorg. Of course, on the one hand, it is tempting to push the limits of Livor to Dead Ridge and Shin-du Bay, but on the other, it must be remembered that gluttony always leads to the grave, while moderation leads to a long and quiet life... You can't eat more than your stomach holds, that's not good, and what's not good for me is not good for Livor. The ruler should not lay claim to lands that he will not be able to retain later. And the lives of my men at arms will still come in handy when after the war there are some who want to check whether their blades are dull. And there are sure to be found ... "

The Duke did not have time to think of it - a powerful blow shook the hall of the Grand Tournament. Édor de Chanya's shield split in two, and its halves fell with a crash onto the polished marble floor.

Maril de Comte has seen everything in his life. He was fed up with it and was sure that no one and nothing could surprise him, but when the colored plaster of the wall cracked, then it completely collapsed, and the lead plate that opened to the eye burst and the ugly head of an old, like death, goblin with bared fangs appeared from the hole and with a spiked club in his hands, the duke's jaw dropped, like a country boy who first saw a bearded woman at a fair. Family traditions came to life literally in front of de Comte, and he was so amazed at this fact that he even forgot about the bell.

The goblin climbed out of the hole and paced the hall, scratching the floor with his gigantic club. He was two heads taller than Maril and, despite his age, looked intimidating. “How did Uncle Edor manage to cope with him with a simple sword, albeit a poisoned one?” A lonely thought flashed somewhere on the very edge of the Duke's consciousness.

Stopping in front of de Comte, the goblin straightened the golden crown on his knobby head, flashed his red eyes, and mumbled without any reverence:

Are you going to be Edor's son?

Maril de Comte frowned - he could not tolerate familiarity from anyone and even forced his wives to call himself by their full names - put his left foot forward, put his palm on the hilt of the sword and answered angrily:

Duke of Livor Maril de Comte. Who are you and by what right have you broken into my chambers?

Yours !? - croaked goblin, goggled eyes and laughed, immediately, however, broke into a cough.

Clearing his throat, he unceremoniously collapsed into his favorite duke's chair, which creaked pitifully under him, fixed a club between his bare, clawed legs and said weightily:

If it weren't for us goblins, you would have grazed the sheep on Sunset Uplah, you understand, Duke?

Maril de Comte was never a fool. Thoughtfully pinching his pomaded beard, he said or asked in his usual diplomatic manner:

I don’t know something ... But we will discuss this later. You, if I am not mistaken, King of the Kryags?

The former king… ”the goblin croaked. - Or the king at rest, if you like ... But it's time to shake off the old days! My daughter Woodley - you've heard of her - so here she is ...

One minute, Your Majesty, - Maril de Comte remembered the bell. - You, as I understand it, are tired from the road? Would you like to eat, drink and discuss all your ...

Our! the goblin barked.

Okay, our problems over a cup of good Livorsky? - finished the duke.

If you pour in Ainu, you won't get poorer, ”Kryag grumbled. - The darkness is with you, let's have a bite. I'll have a boar's leg, a dozen pheasants and two watermelons - the kidneys are naughty.

* * *

Two hours later, during which Maril de Comte learned a lot of interesting and disgusting about his ancestors, and gnawed bones remained from the boar and pheasants, the goblin king threw aside the last watermelon rind, belched full of food and leaned back in his chair.

Hey, duke, ”he said, panting and wiping his greasy fingers on the tablecloth,“ you already understood that you owe me. This is a blood, ancestral debt, it cannot be redeemed or transferred. I told you that your ancestors hired goblins to take over these lands and the pay was the return service. More than sixty years ago, I appeared to your ... who was he to you? Uncle? Well, to your uncle and demanded to provide one service as payment of a debt. He then persuaded me to accept gold and gems because he could not - or did not want - to help. The payment was given to me on the condition that your family owes the debt.

That is, there was no fight ... - again de Comte asked or specified, and thoughtfully pinched his beard. - Well, well, well ... Your story, dear Kryag, I confess, amused me, but without documentary confirmation ...

Yes, choke on, fish blood! the goblin exclaimed irritably and tossed a sheet of old, yellow parchment onto the table.

The Duke quickly grabbed it, turned it around, ran his eyes along the lines. A minute later, he returned the document to Quack.

Well, that's right. My glorious ancestors planted a pretty pig on me. What do you deign to want, my dear?

The goblin king straightened his crown, looked around to see if anyone was listening? - leaned forward and said in a terrible whisper:

It is necessary to quarrel the gnomes and goblins in such a way that I will return to the throne again! ..

Public Beta Off

Select text color

Select background color

100% Select indentation size

100% Select font size

Torbjorn Shattered Shield was not arrested, but he felt like he was under interrogation. Captain Mjorn pressed, spoke loudly, apparently believing that Torbjorn was deaf or temporarily lost his memory due to intoxication. If he knew how much his interlocutor actually drank, he would long ago have waved his hand and let go to hell. But Torbjorn would not have gone home even for all the gold in the world - and it is useless to him now. - I'm sorry. Please accept my condolences. Tova's body had long been pulled out of the noose and taken to the Hall of the Dead, but Torbjorn knew that he would feel the spirit of death even if he burned his own house to the ground. The butcher again took the life of another woman - without approaching her. Following Nilsin, her mother voluntarily left the world. The captain worried about the last Nord of the Shattered Shield clan and tried in every possible way to keep him in sight, communicate more, and distract him. Torbjorn sat quietly and hardly spoke, and Mjorn's voice came to him as if from Oblivion. None of the guards wanted to know what was now in the victim's head - they stayed away from him, as if the death of loved ones could be infected. “My girls…” Torbjorn repeated to himself over and over again, swaying in a wobbly chair. "My girls are dead." His gaze aimlessly scanned the captain's modest office and did not at all distinguish strangers. Instead of Mjorn, he again saw the twisted face of Towa. When Torbjorn returned home, her body quietly swayed in a noose, which means that she died a few moments before he crossed the threshold. “I rented you a room in a tavern for a week,” the guard said, trying to somehow cheer up an old acquaintance. While Torbjorn poured grief in the Hearth and the Candle, the servants from the Jarl's palace cleaned up his house, and the captain of the guard drew up a report. The stranglehold isn't the most aesthetic way to get away, but Towa didn't seem to care much about appearance and as if she wanted to end everything as soon as possible. However, I tightened the loop incredibly professionally, as if I had tried it before. Or she trained after the death of her first daughter ... The captain understood that there was no point in dwelling on suicide, but he continued to patronize Torbjorn on the orders of the Jarl: during civil war the loss of one of the richest and most powerful people in Windhelm would be irreparable. The week at the Hearth and Candle tavern passed unnoticed. People approached the inconsolable widower, mumbling inexpressive words of consolation under their breaths, someone's hands clapping on the shoulder. He did not remember faces and only kept silent, not stopping to think: "One of them killed my girls." The thought drove him crazy. Having lived in Windhelm all his life, Torbjorn for the first time realized that he did not know his neighbors at all, and he never spoke heart to heart with business partners - how many of them could harbor evil and wish the clan death? No matter how he tried to be kind to everyone, he could not please everyone. And what has this kindness led to? He looked up at the innkeeper Elda and thought that he did not know at all the one who regularly served honey, even if Torbjorn did not have money with him. When the woman turned to the visitors, her face was distorted by a grimace of disgust, as it seemed to the man in alcoholic intoxication, for absolutely no apparent reason. With a quick movement, he set the mug aside, splashing half of the contents onto his hands. - Really decided to give up? Elda chuckled, shaking her head. - In time you are. - Shut up! - suddenly roared Torbjorn, and silence hung in the tavern. Even the second-floor Dunmer woman stopped playing the flute and listened. - You laugh at someone else's grief ?! The innkeeper met his gaze and was taken aback, as if she had really concealed some evil. Everyone knew how much she loved to water her guests with bile, and he was not surprised at Torbjorn's anger. Captain Lone Flurry, who was sitting not far from the table, was the only one to intervene in the skirmish: he went up to the widower, took him by the arm and silently led him out into the street. The cold air had a sobering effect on Torbjörn - he had been locked up for too long, sniffing sour ale. His head was spinning from the heat of the hearth, he was exhausted. He himself hadn't changed his clothes for a long time and must have gotten tired of the guests. Meanwhile, life in Windhelm continued to take its course, nothing has changed since death three women from the Shattered Shield clan. Belatedly, Torbjorn realized that he was standing, to put it mildly, not quite dressed. The captain, who had not been considered such for a long time, courteously handed him his cloak with a fur collar. - How did they tolerate me? - Thorbjorn grinned, hiding his eyes from shame. - Everything has been paid, so they did not disturb, - Lone Flurry frowned and shook his head reproachfully. - They empathize with your grief, that's the point. People feel something, - the former sailor looked around the street in front of the tavern with the same frown and shivered from the cold. - Feel evil, unknown darkness. Something terrible took the girls away. Not your enemies - they would call the Dark Brotherhood or destroy. The madman worked there. The Lone Flurry fell silent. It was hard for him to talk about the death of Frigga and Nilsin, when Tovu was just buried, but Torbjorn should have been shaken, and the man turned pale even more, again remembering in what state he found both daughters. The gods gave them twins with Tova - which was a rare blessing. From childhood, all sorts of miracles were carried out for the girls: once Frigga cut her cheek on a dry branch, playing in front of the house, and a few days later Nilsin showed up with exactly the same cut. In vain, only the nanny flew in - such oddities were repeated until they came of age. In the morning he came to the tirdas for Frigga - cut up beyond recognition, as if by some beast - and in the evening her sister did not come home to Fredas. After repeating the path to the Hall of the Dead a second time, Torbjorn had no doubt that he would find Nilsin wounded in the same way. They merged with the gods as a single whole, for one could not live without the other. - You can't give up, do you hear? Lone Flurry shook Torbjorn by the shoulders, feeling his attention slipping again. - It is impossible, - he mumbled, nodding his head, - revenge for the girls has not yet overtaken. Like any moderately law-abiding citizen, accustomed to relying on his country and giving it literally everything, Torbjorn sat and waited for justice. The days outside his window gave way to nights, and the Butcher was still not caught. Without new victims, the killer's trail was lost in the snow that fell. Even Captain Mjorn stopped following the leader of the Shattered Shields. Once again alone, Torbjorn drank as before. The memory of the brutal murders faded from the heads of the inhabitants of Windhelm, turning into an unfounded sticky fear that was waiting on the street in the dark. Grief captured the mind of Torbjorn, absorbed the will and any desires. Time has stood still. Without Tova, the house fell into decay: spiders settled in the corners and even in furniture, the spines of books, expensive plates and cast-iron bowlers were covered with dust, street dirt brought on boots with thawed snow spread through the rooms. “Now I’ll start cleaning, otherwise Tova will scold,” thought Torbjorn, forgetting that he was a widow. And as he remembered, he drank or fell asleep. The house was filled strange sounds and rustles. Either in the darkness the Butcher fancied him - horned and hairy, a terrible mug, like a Daedroth, - now it seemed that someone was picking at the door lock with a pick. Unable to bear one day, Torbjorn grabbed the family sword and rushed to the door, with a wild cry and tears broke the furniture and fell asleep on the threshold, thank Gods, without injuring himself. He woke up before dawn, got up somehow, creaked his bones and limped into the bedroom to warm up; went up to the second floor and stopped rooted to the spot at the stairs, noticing a figure in a familiar dress in the next room. The tova stood with her back to him, carefully examining the shelves where the dishes presented by her parents for the wedding were waiting in the wings, tilting her head as if her neck could barely hold it. But the drunkard was more frightened by the sudden stench of empty intestines, as on the day when he found his wife in the noose. The tova moved absurdly, as if she was trying to turn to her husband, but her neck finally could not stand it, and her head fell limply on her chest. With a loud cry, Torbjorn flew out of the house, leaving front door wide open. One thing pleased: he did not see her face - at least he retained the remnants of her mind. In a few minutes he was already at the guard's fortress. Pushing aside the gaping passers-by, one of the richest Nords of Windhelm yelled all over the street that he urgently wanted to see Captain Mjorn. - Torbjorn, you don't have a face on! - he gasped, meeting an old acquaintance on the threshold of the office. - Faster, let's go! There Tova walks around the house! Torbjorn's eyes were spinning wildly, his clothes stank of weekly sweat and alcohol. There were several chuckles from the guards, and Mjorn turned purple. Having dispersed the idlers from their posts, he left the fortress and went to the home of the now small clan of the Shattered Shield. “Oh, gods,” the captain said quietly, closing the door behind him. Frankly, he was not ready for what was waiting inside. As if not noticing the devastation and desolation around, Torbjorn described circles around Nilsin's bedroom, shouting: - Here she stood, looking at her damned dishes! How alive! But dead! The captain remembered freeing Tova from the noose while the Izmar guard held her legs. Even Mjorn, accustomed to death, shuddered at the expression on her face - full of pain and, at the same time, long-awaited deliverance. The rope left a deep groove on his neck, leaving no doubt about the suicide theory. Her girls left, but with their death everything was not so simple: body parts were stolen - probably for a dark ritual or something worse. It is not surprising that the soul of a grief-tormented mother could not find rest. The captain had to address the Shattered Shield several times, raising his voice to revive him. “Look at what you’ve turned the house into, look at yourself,” he said. - The whole stink, like a tramp! You will rot here alone and you will not wait for the moment when the Butcher is executed. It's too early for you to follow Tova, - added already softer. The drunkard's eyes shone with tears. - So you believe me? “Of course,” the captain admitted reluctantly. - What I have never seen during the service. Get Arkey's amulet and bring Tove, let him calm down. Wait a little longer! After this incident, Torbjorn grabbed his head, stopped drinking in a smoke, washed, dressed decently and began to walk around Windhelm. He did business carelessly, as if to distract attention. He himself looked around and listened to what people were talking about. “The Brothers of the Storm don't give a damn about trouble - just give them gold! Guards - ugh and grind! - they won't even find a fly on the nose. If you want to achieve justice in this world, take the initiative into your own hands, "- a simple thought firmly rooted in Torbjorn's head, giving life a goal: he himself will find the Butcher. However, in order to achieve this goal, he needed some kind of system that would lead to the killer. Even his connections in criminal circles did not give any clue. All that remained was to spin on the street and watch the lonely women - that is, to catch the Butcher with live bait. As a fighter, Torbjorn was confident in himself. However, it will not make it worse. For two nights he walked around Windhelm, paying particular attention to the street connecting the square in front of the gate with the quarter where he lived. Several times a night he walked through the cemetery where Frigga was found, unable to overcome the glamor - this place seemed to beckon to itself, charged with anger and confidence. You can't stop! If only this dog does not leave the city, thought Torbjorn, violently shaking his fists. - He is mine!" In the dim light of the torches, Viola Giordano appeared - she, too, was investigating murders and seemed to be playing along with Torbjorn's venture. At night, Windhelm was freezing cold, but the man, fueled by the excitement of the hunt, continued on his way a few feet from Viola. For a moment, a tall, slightly stooped figure flashed behind her, and Torbjorn hurried to help. Long arms, seeming black in the darkness, reached out to the woman. - Behind! The old soldier, like a furious bear, rushed at Viola, shaking with a two-handed sword, but only cut the air behind the back of a stupefied woman. He couldn’t believe his eyes: had the enacted imagination really let down, mistaking the shadows for a man? - Help, they are killing! - yelled Viola at the top of her throat. From different ends of the cemetery, the guards responded, an unimaginable commotion arose, as if on a market day. Torbjorn no longer waved his sword, but rushed to the side like a hunted hare, painfully colliding with his shoulder with a man running past. A guard ran out to intercept and pointed a sword at Torbjorn. - Stand! he yelled. “You’d better catch the Butcher so quickly,” Shattered Shield muttered and threw the weapon at his feet. Again he returned to the captain's office of the city guard. It began to seem that for Torbjorn these dark casemates had become a second home. Only this time he was detained as a suspect. - You scared him off! - shouted the captain. - Preparation - scamp down the tail! The butcher was almost in our hands! The thought that he had touched the daughter's killer made Torbjorn vomit. In a moment, the contents of his stomach spread at Mjorn's feet. “I didn't notice. As for Nilsin did not notice, ”- closing his eyes, the man grabbed his head and quietly wept. It was not anger at himself, not despair or powerlessness that clouded his eyes with tears, but a bitter sense of guilt: after the death of Frigga, he drank and did not notice, he lost his second daughter, when he was supposed to take care of, not give a pass! Let her hate, stay at home, but - alive! It cost Tove to take the old fool with him. In vain, he only believed in a ghostly hope - and completely ruined everything. When Torbjorn calmed down, the captain handed him a jug of water and continued to press: - Viola accused you of attacking that night - and this is already serious, - Captain Mjorn announced, looking into Torbjorn's frightened eyes. Of course, he could not believe that this man had killed his daughters and shredded them to pieces. - But this is not true, you know! I… I haven't drunk for several weeks - for some reason this information seemed very important to him. - I wanted to help. I ... - What do you do all day? the captain interrupted sharply. Torbjorn was silent. - You dart around the city. No excuses, - added Mjorn, when the interlocutor finally opened his mouth, - my guys often saw you at the crime scenes. The fact that Torbjorn was spinning where his daughters had died put the captain on guard. It was even frightening. The grief-stricken father (and now also the widower) has nothing more to lose - he cannot avoid trouble with such a person. “You don’t believe I did it, do you?” - the old man's voice faltered, and the captain shook his head. - I do not believe. Viola has brains like a chicken. She quickly agreed to act as bait for the Butcher. It can be seen that everything is in vain, - the captain sighed wearily and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He did not sleep for several nights, planned ambushes, interrogated a crowd of witnesses, and the Butcher seemed to mock him, played and seemed to be waiting for something. - You say you ran into him? What did he look like? How tall? Don't you remember? Torbjorn, the more you remember, the sooner we can catch this bastard. - It seems an imperial. It seems to be my height, - as if a ghost muttered Torbjorn, not looking at the captain. - It's all. - Not much. Silence reigned again. An elderly servant entered the office, holding a mop and a full bucket of water in his hands, and with a grunt he began to wipe the floor. In the presence of an outsider, the captain calmed down again. “Look at you,” he said as if he had lost all hope of returning the old Torbjorn. - Go home, you're free. And get enough sleep already, for the sake of all gods! The guard who accompanied the Nord from the scene of the crime with a victorious face turned sour. “But the captain, he's a witness…” “I've already learned everything,” Mjorn sternly besieged him. “He’s not the one we are looking for, but if he gets caught again,” he shook his finger at Torbjorn, “he will immediately go to jail. The Shattered Shield clan chief didn't have to repeat it twice. Mjorn was trying to catch the killer - and that was undoubtedly pleasing. What can a lonely, almost insane old man offer him? He started drinking again. Remembering what he had last seen at home, Torbjorn decided to go to Kjerim. The key turned with difficulty in the lock. Pushing the door with his shoulder, the Nord burst in, covering the opened bottle of honey with his body; another rested in his pocket. Stagnant dust hit my nose. Torbjorn sneezed and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his expensive jacket. They bought this house for the future, when one of the girls gets married. Frigga had the idea of ​​moving in early and planned out the furnishings, ordered furniture from Cyrodiil, but Torbjorn had to cancel this purchase. Furniture in an unnecessary house did not interest him at all. The windows were boarded up to prevent anyone from entering, and an ominous darkness reigned in Hjerim. Footsteps echoed in the empty house, and the emptiness played a cruel joke with the intoxicated imagination. Once upon a time, Torbjorn wanted these halls to be flooded with bright light and sonorous children's laughter. The tova would secretly carry sweets, spoil the grandchildren, and Torbjorn himself would teach them how to handle the sword. Now this dream is not destined to come true. The eyes gradually got used to the darkness. He took a sip from the bottle and sighed: there is no chair around, no candle - not to drink culturally! Hoping to bump into some seedy furniture in the dark, Torbjorn trudged off, holding on to the wall until a wardrobe rose in front of him. Apparently Frigga bought it, thought the Nord, feeling the corners and the patterns carved on the doors. Just think, just a few weeks ago my daughter went here ... she probably managed to put something in the closet. Torbjorn did not understand why he had climbed to look for Frigga's personal belongings - maybe he wanted to leave something as a keepsake, or simply hoped to feel her residual presence. In any case, the closet turned out to be empty - no things, not even shelves. “Damn you,” the Nord muttered, taking another sip from the bottle. Not finding a suitable support in time, he collapsed right into the closet, broke the back wall with his head ... and fell somewhere further. He breathed with such a vile stench that Torbjorn instantly sobered up. The remnants of food and half a bottle of honey swirled in his stomach, but this time the man controlled them by sucking in air through his sleeve. He thought that Towa had returned again, but from the secret room he clearly smelled fresh blood and horror. Thorbjorn squeezed Talos' amulet in his fist and ran out of Hjerim - out of harm's way. There was no way for him to get to Captain Mjorn - again, in the end, he would either be disgraced or he would be a suspect. No, Khyerim is still his property, which means that you need to figure it out on your own. Torbjorn knocked decisively on Captain Lone Flurry's door, hardly expecting to find him at home, but the Nord opened the door rather quickly, as if waiting for guests. “Don’t be angry, captain,” he said from old memory, “your help is needed. By briefly describing his latest misadventures, beginning with Tova's visit, Torbjorn relieved his heart. Lone Flurry listened in silence, did not interrupt, but how it dawned on the secret room in Hjerim - frowned. “Let's go and check,” he finally said, grabbing at the sword. - And pray to the gods that you dreamed everything. Lone Flurry was the first to step into the secret room and instantly flew back, clutching his nose with his hand. After catching their breath and drinking honey for courage, the Nords decided to slowly explore the necromancer's lair - and it could not be otherwise. Gradually they got used to the awful smell, but not to the sight of buckets full of blood and meat, as if the shopkeeper had been exposed. “Somewhere here are my girls,” thought Torbjorn, shaking with anger and tears of impotence. - And you said that the killer does not hold any grudge against me! I built an altar in my daughter's house! “I don’t know what’s going on,” Lone Flurry admitted honestly. - But I say for sure: he will return here, and in a cramped room he will not go anywhere from us. Torbjorn quickly agreed. According to the diary entries, the Butcher was preparing to complete his work. And that means - and to the next murder. "It will fall down, the creature, it will go away," thought the Nord, shaking his head, "there is no chance to lose." The blame for someone else's death fell heavily on his shoulders. “You don’t have to help me,” he said at last, when the sun was almost over the horizon. - As it will be revealed that we could have prevented the murder and started arbitrariness, they will surely go to jail. To explain to the girl's parents, to put up with conscience - why do you need this? Live yourself in peace. Lone Flurry only smiled sadly. - Jarl Ulfric himself once offered me the position of captain of the city guard, but I felt that I was not fit for this business. For me, there is no worse fate than tied hands - especially with formalities. As if I was tied to the mast by my own team! - he was silent for a long time, trying to collect feelings with feelings, and quietly continued: - Maybe I do it more for myself, since there was no chance to avenge my wife? Who knows. Your deed is right, no matter how that fool Mjorn speaks there. The words of the former captain made my soul feel better. Torbjorn did not take another drop in his mouth, he sharpened his two-handed sword and waited for steps outside the door. His gut tightened and seemed to burn, to a pain in his chest. The whole body was shaking. But he himself did not understand what he was more afraid of: another failure, or flinching, looking into the eyes of the Butcher. The scent of flesh sticks to clothing, skin and hair. Torbjorn tried not to touch the remains, which was very problematic. Somewhere here lay his flesh and blood. My father's heart ached again, as if someone was tearing him to pieces. Barely heard something scratching in the castle. Lone Flurry put his index finger to his lips and closed the door. It became impossible to breathe in the secret room without an influx of fresh air, and the Butcher hesitated suspiciously, as if he felt an ambush. A floorboard creaked nearby - the man behind the door creaked, listening to the sounds of the house, like a wild animal. Lone Flurry was surprisingly calm, and Torbjorn was ashamed of the trembling in his hands, and the Butcher must have heard the beat of his heart - so he hesitates. When the secret door opened, time seemed to have stopped. Both Nords took a deep breath, no longer paying attention to the smell, and gripped the hilts of their swords, preparing to strike. The butcher pulled the blood-soaked sack from his shoulder and threw it forward across the threshold. Torbjorn's nerves immediately surrendered: noticing the movement, he chopped for good luck, ripping open the bag. Human entrails fell to the floor. The butcher immediately jumped back and protected himself with a spell. Then Lone Flurry ran into the empty hall, intending to corner the killer. Against the blade, the magician had no chance - he only had to spin and torment the warrior with misses. Torbjorn arrived in time to complicate the fight, and the Butcher stabbed him with paralysis, instantly knocking out the former sailor. Roaring, the Shattered Shield slammed downward, with all its accumulated fury. Exactly twenty years ago, he was again a mighty warrior, a furious berserker. The blade of the two-handed sword bounced off the "stone skin", the hand moved, but the magician was also open. He stepped back, lifted his head and stared at Torbjorn with the glowing eyes of a predator. With a gasp, the Nord recognized Calixto. Deep down, he believed that he would find the answers, understand the reasons, but everything became even more confusing. - You killed my daughters! For what?! - shouted Torbjorn, splashing saliva. He held the sword over his shoulder, ready to slay the magician with one blow. “As far as I remember, Frigga gave me everything voluntarily,” the Butcher replied quite calmly. - You're lying, scum! Calixto laughed coldly and took another step back, effortlessly avoiding the blow of the massive blade. The old nord did not have time to straighten up. His opponent snatched a bloody dagger from his sleeve, which he used to cut the bodies, dived, leaving Torbjorn under the unprotected left side, and thrust the blade under the rib. A sharp pain accompanied the breath. Nord fell to the floor at the feet of the triumphant Butcher and wheezed. Darkened in his eyes. The sword tugged at his hand, uselessly scratching the wooden floor, but the fur-gloved hand continued to grip the hilt tightly. The butcher laughed again. With a wave of his hand, he smoothed his hair back, staining it with the blood of another victim, and approached Torbjorn. - Your sword. Take it. Yes, yes ... Do you also remember which side to hold it, drunk? A filthy animal ... she died because of the likes of you! Nord made an awkward dash and tasted a coppery taste on his tongue. Blood spurted out through clenched teeth in red foam, like a horse driven to death. But he continued to climb to the incoherent murmur of Calixto. The Imperial did not wait for him - too many things were planned - and brought the dagger to Torbjorn's swollen neck. - Goodbye, dad. Behind the Butcher, Lone Flurry stirred, throwing off the fetters of paralysis. Without rising from the floor, he slashed the Imperial in the legs - below the knees, and Torbjorn cut off the head of the necromancer who was bent over in pain with one stroke.

The Shattered Shield lay under the supervision of Jarl healers while Lone Flurry endured Captain Mjorn's verbal attacks. It was worth now to call him the Inaccessible Rock, however, the former captain of the guards of Windhelm did not deprive him of a rude reply - who, if not they, tragically pushed Viola to death? The evidence collected at the Calixto Museum was enough to recognize him as the Butcher. The guards unusually quickly destroyed the traces of necromancy in Hjerim, the diaries, all the records and the strange medallion with the skull, found on the altar, disappeared. Soon, no one in Windhelm will remember the Butcher. Only sticky fear will haunt casual passers-by on dark streets, eating into thoughts with inexplicable anxiety. Torbjorn didn't care about the consequences. All his thoughts returned to the words of Calixto. - Do you think he told the truth? About Frigga? “I wouldn’t believe a single word of this madman,” Lone Flurry responded, and his voice was unusually firm. - He wanted to break you. Kill. And he was not in a hurry to tell the truth. The wind mercilessly whipped the sailors with sleet, but the preparation of the ship was in full swing. The dark-haired Nord watched his new team with pride, hands on his hips. “It's a pity you decided to leave,” Torbjorn sighed. - But I understand perfectly. - I'm not leaving Windhelm forever - where are you all without me? I'll clear my head and be back for planting season. The Shattered Shield stood at the dock until the light merchant ship left its home harbor. He also wanted to swim away - away from memories, caustic dark thoughts and emptiness. How much longer can a lonely old man, who seemed to have lost the meaning of existence, last? Shaking wet snow from his cloak, Torbjorn began his ascent into the city. He should have gone to the Hearth and the Candle for a long time, apologized for the harshness from Elda and, at the same time, drink a mug of foam to warm up. - Buy flowers, please! - A pitying child's voice called out to the Nord, and he looked down at the girl, dressed in a light dress. - Oh, gods, - Torbjorn started, - you will get sick! Without thinking twice, he took off his cloak with a fur collar and threw it over the girl's shoulders, covering her from head to toe. - I chose a bad time for trading. I would go home. She suddenly drooped and looked down - Torbjorn understood too well what that meant. - And the family? The girl shook her head negatively; tears came to my eyes. - What is your name? he asked softly. - Sophie. The orphan looked with interest at Torbjorn from the depths of the heavy cloak, and the Nord smiled kindly. Despite the chill and coldness, he suddenly felt warmth spreading somewhere in his chest. It has been a long time since he felt himself alive. “Well, Sophie, my daughters have grown up a long time ago, and their room is empty. I even have their children's things, toys. I would love to take you with me, if you are not against the company of a stupid old man. Embracing the girl by the shoulders, Torbjorn went home with joy for the first time in the past month.

The Dark Brotherhood is a society of assassins, assassins who follow centuries-old traditions and carry out murder contracts from the population. For the past two hundred years, the Brotherhood has been in decline, it has not been a long time since the Listener has appeared to lead the rest, and the Shelter in Skyrim is the last stronghold of the Dark Brotherhood in all of Tamriel.

Belated funeral

Side quest, but in fact directly related to the Dark Brotherhood. It CANNOT be completed when you meet Astrid in the Hideout, in the quest With friends like that ...
Quest giver: Wantius Lorey, Lorey's farm (north and slightly east of Whiterun), or Cicero, near the road to the farm. Farmer Lorey is pestered by some jester whose wagon has broken down. Like, he is taking his mother's body to bury. Vantia doesn't like it, who knows what kind of contraband might be in that coffin?
You have exactly two options:

1. Convince the guard patrolling the road that Cicero is breaking the law, and then he will be arrested.
2. Convince Vancio Lorey to fix the wagon.

You will learn the consequences of your choice in the story of the Dark Brotherhood.

From rumors that circulate throughout Skyrim, especially among the innkeepers, you will learn that Aventus Aretino is trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood. Lost innocence In Windhelm, you will find House Aretino, in which the boy Aventus is diligently trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood. His parents died and the city manager sent Aventus to an orphanage. However, the abbess, Grelod the Good, was so cruel that he escaped and was now trying to summon the assassin of the Dark Brotherhood to kill her. The Assassin did not come to him, but you did. Travel to the Noble Orphanage in Riften and kill Grelod the Good. Make the kids happy. Return to Windhelm and tell Aventus Aretino everything.

Now go somewhere safe and sleep in a warm bed for an hour. With friends like that ...
Waking up will not be very pleasant. You were dragged into some abandoned shack. Astrid is very surprised that you committed this murder without even being an Assassin of the Dark Brotherhood.
So, you need to determine which of the three connected in this room was "ordered". You can chat with them. You can come to some conclusions. However, it does not matter at all who you kill, even all three. You will have a talk with Astrid, she will give you the key and offer to join the group of assassins. To do this, go to the south of Skyrim, to the Dark Brotherhood Refuge. What is the music of life? Silence, my brother.
Talk to Astrid inside the hideout.

P.S. The second version of this mission! You can !

Asylum
You can look around in the shelter. The assassins' stories about their contracts are very funny. You can talk to them separately. At the end, talk to Nazir and get your first three contracts.

Nazir's contracts:

Contract: Kill Beytild. Dawnstar is located in the very north of Skyrim. Beitild works at the smelter on the street. And her house is on the shore, not far from the ships. She will sleep there after midnight. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: Kill Ennodius Papias. Anga village is located near Windhelm. Target lives in a small camp nearby. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: Kill Narfi. Go to Ivarstead Village. Narfi, this is the ragamuffin behind the ruined house. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Goodbye love
You will be trusted to accept the contract yourself. Travel to Markarth, Witch's Tincture and find Muiri. She will tell you her story and ask you to kill two people:

• Alain Dufon

You will have to fight your way through a whole bandit fort called Raldbthar. By the way, a very interesting example of combining the Nordic and Dwemer building genius.

• Nielsen Shattered Shield (optional)

The easiest way to kill her is at night in the Shattered Shield Clan House.
Return to Muiri when finished. An additional reward is a ring that increases the quality of potions by 15%.
Return to Astrid.

Whispers in the dark.

Astrid suspects Cicero of conspiring against her. You need to hide in ... the coffin of the Night Mother to overhear the conversation. Go upstairs, break open the coffin and climb inside. A very spicy moment. After all the dialogues, go to Nazir for contracts.

Nazir's contracts:

Contract: kill Lurbuk. Travel to Morthal. He hangs out at the Heathers Tavern all the time. You can ask him to sing, then you will understand why so many people want his death. To commit a secret murder, it is enough for him to go behind the back of a chair when he sits in his room. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: Kill Herne. Go to the Lunar Sawmill. Herne will attack himself after talking to you. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

With the death of silence

Developments storyline Dark Brotherhood The Elder Scrolls IV Oblivion: If you remember, François Mautiers (judging by the rare surname, the ancestor of Amon Mautiers), in Chorrol, hired assassins to fake his death with a poisoned dagger, in front of a mercenary hired to kill him for real. Then in the "morgue" he took the antidote and safely got out of the city.As you know, the contract with the Dark Brotherhood is only for murder. As a sacrifice in exchange for saving his life, François Mautier offered his mother. Travel to Volundrud to find Amon Motierre there.
Right at the entrance you will find Heddick's Record of Volundrud, the quest will begin Silence of Tongues described in section Side quests .
So, Mautier will give you a letter and an amulet for Astrid. The amulet is really strange, not the fact that it is an ordinary expensive trinket. Astrid will send you to a dealer in Riften named Delvin Mallory. You will find it in Ragged Flask. It turns out that this is an amulet of one of the members of the Council of Elders. Get Astrid a receipt from Delvin.

Until the death tear us apart.

The death of the bride right at the wedding, how tragic. Head to Solitude for an outdoor wedding. To receive the award, you must kill Vittoria Vici while she is giving a speech on the balcony. Climb through the door to the balcony opposite (I found it by chance, there are no signs), there a bow and arrows are already prepared for you. You may be able to do it in secret, but the whole town is following me! Return to Astrid and report your success.
P.S. remember that you can only pay the fine to the guards of the same city where you were caught. Unless, of course, you are a member of the Thieves Guild.

Vulnerable spot.

Talk to Gabriela, you need to kill Guy Maron and slip a note on his body. He goes on an inspection to the major cities of Skyrim. For a bonus, you need to kill him in large city, not on the road. In the village of Dragon Bridge, you will find a farewell scene. You can steal, or just peep, the schedule of his trip, it is in the house. First, he will go to Solitude. However, you can kill him in any other city of your choice, perhaps even secretly. Then place the note on the body and return to Gabriela.
P.S. if Guy was killed in the city, after talking with Gabrielle, a task will appear in the MISCELLANEOUS section, she will give you an amulet and send you to Whiterun to Olava the Weak, the soothsayer. She will show you where the legacy of some long-dead assassin is located, in the Forest Hold. On the body of the assassin, you will find the Ancient armor of the Dark Brotherhood, an order of magnitude better than modern ones.

Nazir's contracts:

Further contracts can be completed at any time, even after completing the passage of the Dark Brotherhood

Contract: kill Anoriath. Threaten him in Whiterun and he will attack you. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: Kill Discus. He camped on an island near the wrecked ship. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: Kill Ma Randru-Jo. He settled down near the farm. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: kill Agnis. This is the maid at Fort Greymour. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: Kill Helward. This is Jarl Falkreath's huscarl. He doesn't mind fighting the Assassin at all. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: Kill Maleuril. He is exploring the Dwemer ruins of Mzinchaleft. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

Contract: kill Safia. The last contract from Nazir. The Scarlet Wave ship is docked at the dock in Solitude. It looks like you are not the first one to try to kill Safia. Return to Nazir for your reward after killing.

The cure for insanity
Talk to Astrid. Cicero, it seems, decided to clear the entire shelter himself. Search his room and take the diary. Talk to Astrid again. Go outside and board Shadow Mane, your new horse. The old one, if you had one, can be found in the stable where you bought it. Go to Dawnstar. There is a Dawnstar Refuge on the beach. You will find Arnbjörn in front of the entrance. Come inside. What is life's greatest illusion? Innocence, my brother.
There will be traps and ghost guards inside. When you enter the ice caves, you will meet ... Udurfrukta! This is a monster from The Elder Scrolls III: Bloodmoon, if you remember, there he terrorized the Thirsk Mead Hall. In the end, you will have a choice: kill Cicero, or just leave and lie to Astrid.

P.S. if Cicero survives, his influence will be limited to meeting at the very end. Nothing will change globally, so the choice is a matter of principle.

A killer recipe Talk to Festus Krex. So, you need to find Anton Viran, who must know the true identity of the Gourmet - a cook hired to serve the emperor. Travel to Markarth's Rock Fortress and talk to Anton. It will crack quickly. Now he needs to be killed. Go to the Night Gate Tavern. From the innkeeper you can find out where Balagog gro-Nolob is. You can secretly kill him in the cellar, or by the river. Take the letter from the body and return to Festus in the Vault. If you did everything exactly, then you will receive a bonus - a ring that increases stealth by 10% and reduces the cost of magic for destruction spells, again by 10%.

Death of the Empire
Ask Astrid for a plan. Travel to Solitude and speak with Commander Maron. Indeed, nord in heavy armor bears little resemblance to the famous chef. Go to the castle and talk to Gianna. The armor is not so suspicious compared to the lack of a chef's hat! Find one of these on the shelf against the wall on the left and talk to Gianna again. Don't give yourself away by naming a product out of place in the broth. Don't forget to mention the fried root at the end!
Follow Gianna to the refectory. Watch your culinary triumph. Then run! On the bridge you will be greeted by guards with terrible news: it was not the emperor who was killed, but only his double! And what's more, the Imperials are storming the Vault now! Go there rather.

Death Incarnate On the way to the Vault, the Imperials will attack you. This is not good at all. Go inside and kill the soldiers. Save Nazir. Climb into the Night Mother's Coffin. Find Astrid after the miraculous rescue. After talking, grab the Blade of Woe (familiar to Oblivion players :) and kill her. Return to the Night Mother.

Glory to Sithis!
Tell Nazir about your assignment. Travel to the Prancing Mare in Whiterun and speak with Amon Mothier. He will tell you that the real emperor is going to sail on a ship that is in Solitude Bay. Do not forget to ask Mautiers about Commander Maron, you must avenge your family. Maron is in the East Empire Company Warehouse. He will attack you himself, and given that they don't like him here anyway, no one will even fine you.
So, go and find the ship Kataria. Climb aboard using the anchor chain. Make your way through the ship to the emperor's chambers. Emperor Titus Mede II was waiting for you. His last wish would be ... the death of the customer. Slay the Emperor for the Glory of Sithis! Don't forget to rummage around for valuables. Return to Amon Mautier at The Prancing Mare in Whiterun. He will send you to Volundrud, where gold is hidden in the urn (as much as 20,000 gold!). Also, you can now fulfill the last will of the emperor. Fortunately, the Breton has very expensive stones with him.
Return to Nazir at Dawnstar Refuge afterwards.

Where to hang the enemy's head
Nazir will suggest that you send to Delvin Mallory in the Ragged Flask in Riften. If you saved Cicero's life, he will meet you at the exit from the hideout. So, talk to Delvin about the Dawnstar hideout. Ironically, the furnishings are worth 19,000 out of the 20,000 you were paid for the contract of the century.

The Dark Brotherhood is eternal

Return to Dawnstar Hideout and examine it. A lot of useful things have appeared, including even "objects" for practicing attacking skills. In addition, the "objects" hide little secrets from the MISCELLANEOUS section. Who would have thought how many hollow stumps and stones with treasures in Skyrim! There will also be initiates who you can take with you on your journey. If you remember, in Oblivion, newbies were scared to death of you.
The Mother of the Night will turn to you, go to her coffin. Now you will receive tasks from her. And their number is infinite. Glory to Sithis!