Wonderful. Truly beautiful. These were the thoughts going around Cyrus' mind as he witnessed the completed headquarters for the first time. Geran led the way, giving all of the members of the Brotherhood a tour of the several rooms in the establishment. Each was pristine, clean and fresh. Cyrus couldn't believe that only a few months ago Geran had approached him at a seedy inn in Riften, where the only luxuries he knew were clean mugs, a litre of ale per night and a freshly-cleaned bed every other day.
Now, he had a entire castle, a whole fortress full of fine food, comfortable furniture and several servants to do all of the labour for them. It was huge, larger than the Dawnguard's fort in the South East, more massive that Ysgramor's Palace in Windhelm, more impressive than Dragonsreach in the city of Whiterun. The dining table was expansive, large enough to seat at least 50 people, with cutlery and dry food already set at the table, awaiting the rest of tonight's introductory feast to be prepared. The construction of the fortress wouldn't have been made possible without funding from the Jarls of Skyrim, who had invested in the Brotherhood's formation, out of fear of the undead slaughter, out of the need for protection from the forces of darkness. Before the support, the Brotherhood were merely coping in wooden huts and small buildings. Now, they were based in perhaps the most luxurious base in all of Tamriel, certainly all of Skyrim.
Cyrus was shown to his room by his comrade, now his superior in the ranks of the newly-formed Brotherhood. Inside, there lay a double bed, a desk across from it, with a chest and a mannequin serving as furniture to decorate the chamber. Paintings hung off the wall, decorative lamps and other trinkets lined up the space in the room, without making it cluttered. Impressed, and thoroughly pleased of his fortunes, Cyrus crossed his arms and turned to Geran with a huge, satisfied grin on his face.
Not only had he got himself a room, but Cyrus had also attained the title of 'Lesser Master' from his friend. The rank of 'Master' made him feel old, he didn't feel like a wise, experienced individual that a 'master' should be, but he'll take the responsibility gladly. The lower ranks and recruits would look up to him for leadership and guidance, and he needed to show such attributes. Although he had always been a lone wolf type of character, and in his bandit clan, everyone was seen as equals, he felt he was ready to lead, to be an officer to the soldiers in this war against dark forces. He needed to be.
Cyrus gave his friend a gesture for him to leave him in his room, and Geran obliged, moving onto his own room, which would presumably be much more impressive than his own. He strolled over to the bed, large enough to sleep two or three people, or an entire Horker, and collapsed onto it, and let out a relieved sigh. He closed his eyes and relaxed, enjoying the comfort of the soft bed. His serenity was disturbed by a knock on the door. The maid peeked through the doorframe as she opened it, when Cyrus gave her a polite gesture to speak, she said;
"Lord Geran has asked me to inform all of the members that the Jarl of Whiterun will be attending the feast tonight." She gave a warm smile after she had finished speaking. Whether out of a genuine friendly personality or if it was a necessity of her occupation was, Cyrus couldn't tell. Hmph, Lord Geran, Cyrus mentally chuckled at the thought.
"I guess I'd better put on something more eloquent then. Thank you." Cyrus returned her warm smile, but his was of actual pleasantness, instead of a forced attitude. He stripped down and removed his armour and found some more respectable clothes to wear. He treated this posh room like some teenage dormitory, and dumped his clothes and possessions around the room where he deemed fit, and the bed was covered in assortments of items. Out of anything else to do, he ventured out of the door and began to wander around the fortress and pass the time until dinner was ready.