Was this the place, then? This hole, hidden away in the midst of a forest teeming with creatures and spriggans? Not what he’d expected, not at all, but he supposed if the Brotherhood were what he expected, they’d have gone the way of the Morag Tong long ago. Yes, this had to be the place. There was a door, a very ostentatious one, black stone and carved with disturbing images. Well. Disturbing to the average person, perhaps. He approached.
The door spoke. “What is the music of life?” How interesting. He’d doubted her, when she’d said to answer the door itself – still he doubted, wondering if perhaps there were a man behind it. But no, it was most likely actually enchanted – that seemed appropriate to a group like the Brotherhood.
“Silence, my brother,” he said, his voice deep and raspy, like most of his race.
“Welcome home,” said the door, and swung open. He crossed the threshold, a small grin upon his face. Home, eh? Would the others here feel the same thrill that he did, in the hunt and the kill? They must … else why would they be here?
“Sanctuary,” he whispered, feeling the shape of the word upon his tongue. It did, indeed, taste like home.