Chapter 1

An Imperial sat in a smoke-filled office in Solitude on a particularly rainy night. His tall, toned figure, framed by a white button-up shirt, was relaxing in an office chair; his long legs, wrapped in pinstriped reddish-maroon slacks, resting on a desk; and his fair-skinned hand holding a cigarette. His complexion was nearly matched by his pale blond hair, which was parted at the left side and combed over to the right and backwards. His sharp face suggested a noble ancestry, a family history of inbreeding and lies more glamorous than the man's current occupation.

On the oak desk sat a smoldering ashtray, a nine-millimeter pistol and leather torso holster, a small stack of papers, a sheathed katana, and a telephone. The desk was flanked to the right by a window, whose half-opened blinds made slats of street lights illuminate the man's form. To the left was a glass liquor cabinet, a squat iron safe, and a coat hanger, which bore a dark red leather overcoat. Across from the desk there was a closed door and a clock.

The Imperial took a drag of his cigarette and looked to the pane of glass being pelted by raindrops. He had closed the case of a serial killer who had been picking off the homeless in Haafingar not two hours earlier, and it had earned him a bullet to the shoulder, a scolding from the Chief for property damage caused by the criminal as he tried to escape, and a restless night. The healer had fixed his wound up, but the soreness would not go away. A buzzing broke through the silence of the wee hours of the morning. "Tacitus," said the secretary, "a message for you." The Imperial groaned as he lifted himself from his chair and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. Glancing at the clock over the door as he headed out of his office, he saw that it was 2:45 in the morning.

In the aorta of the detectives' wing of the headquarters of the Skyrim Province Bureau of Investigation, a woman sat at a desk surrounded by the doors to a number of investigators' offices. She had wavy red hair down to her shoulders and bright green eyes, dimmed by the late hours she had to work; those green eyes tried to pierce the gold-blue ones of Tacitus, but they could not. In the two and a half years he had worked with the Bureau, that hollow man had never taken notice of the secretary's tight skirts or low blouses - which were directed specifically at him - but still the sweet-faced Nord persisted. "A letter, Tacitus. No sender's name on the outside, but the return address is 1010 Queen's Flight Drive, Riften. That's on Lake Honrich. What business would some rich folk have with you, I wonder?"

"No clue. Thank you, Angi," Tacitus said tiredly, before retreating to his office.

Back at his desk, Tacitus flicked on a lamp and opened the letter. It read:

Tacitus,

You are invited to a gala, to be held at the Adlain Manor on the 31st of Sun's Height, beginning at 6 o'clock in the evening.

Tyrolil Bernand, steward of the estate of Arana Adlain

Arana.

So, she has a manor on the Gold Coast of Skyrim now, the Imperial thought in disbelief. And today is the 31st.

Tacitus rubbed his eyes, hesitating for a moment, then proceeded to prepare for the journey. He strapped on his torso holster and pistol, latched his antique katana to his belt's hilt, and finally donned his suit jacket and leather coat. He headed out from his office once more, picking up his riding gloves, leather skull cap, and goggles. As he headed through the small lobby, Angi asked, "Where're you going?"

"A party," the Imperial said as he pulled on his riding gear and continued down the hall of the mansion-turned-headquarters until he came to the stairs which led to the main lobby. He pushed out the door to the tired but still alive street, walked to the edge of the building, and turned right into the narrow cobblestoned alleyway where his gleaming black motorcycle was parked. It was a thing of sober beauty, adorned with polished black parts and the occasional hint of chrome, all clean lines and smooth curves. Its roar echoed through the alley.

Tacitus looked down at his watch, which read 3 AM. I should be there by 7, he thought. He mounted the bike and pulled out into the streets. Across the great arch and along the main southern road through Solitude, Tacitus found the rarely-traveled Stormcrown Highway, one of the only roads which ran across Skyrim without any major stops between cities and was famed as claiming the lives of many who ventured the treacherous road. As he rode the desolate route, the Imperial wondered to himself how his former lover had come into a fortune in just a few years. Hopefully when in Riften, he would find out.

Tacitus glanced through large plate glass windows into a sparsely populated diner along a road leading into Riften, laying his riding cap and goggles on his parked motorcycle's seat and tucking his gloves into his pockets. Warm rains had rolled in with the sunrise, and the soft patter of the droplets on all in sight was accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. Tacitus pushed open the diner's door and his presence was announced by the ding of a bell above the doorway.

The proprietor was in conversation with an employee. "Frea," he said with a light Nordic accent, "I need you to find someone who's selling eggs for less than a premium. Those damn chicken farmers are so protective of their birds... Oh, hello sir, what can I get you?"

"Coffee. Black. And a little information, if you could oblige me," Tacitus said as he took a seat at the cafe's long bar.

"Coffee, I'll have that right up. Information... Perhaps. On what?"

"A manor at 1010 Queen's Flight Drive. A few miles from here."

"Oh, the Gilded Drive, we call it. The owners of the mansions along the lake like to keep to themselves generally, but a little information gets around. The manor at that address? Owned by a Dunmer, I'm pretty sure. Frea! The manor at 1010 Queen's Flight, owned by a Dark Elf, right?"

The waitress replied across the cafe, "Name's Arana or something like that. I drive through that area to pick up some farm goods, and that mansion's one of the biggest."

"Yeah, that's right," the man affirmed as he delivered to Tacitus his coffee. "She's only been living there six months. Came outta nowhere, nobody ever heard her name before. It takes a little more than just money to get a spot on the lake front. Connections. That's one thing that I just don't get about that whole deal; what connections does a stranger have on Lake Honrich?"

"Strange."

Tacitus mulled over all he had just heard, suspicious of Arana's sudden rise to wealth. Not necessarily suspecting some foul play, but bewildered by the improbability of it all. He took a sip of coffee. Then, getting up from his stool and leaving the cost of the coffee at the bar, he thanked the Nord and left. As he reapplied his riding gear, Tacitus identified his next destination.

"Brother, I can only tell you the same story you've heard," a thin, charming Wood Elf dressed in an all-black suit and black shirt said from his temporary seat on the edge of a desk in his lavish study. "She showed up half a year ago, nobody knew her then, and that's pretty damn near the way it still is."

"Well, I know her, and I don't understand how she gained a massive fortune out of thin air!"

"Correction, you knew her, and a lot can happen in three years."

"Let me remind you, Mister Malborn, that the reason why you manage to stay out of prison is that you're the best at finding out what kind of things happen in three years. The fact that you're behind a large portion of the theft that hits Skyrim's wealthy yearly would be a large factor in earning me a nice promotion if I brought you in."

"Oh, I never pegged you as a joker, Detective Axianus, but you truly do have a way of splitting my sides!" Malborn said sarcastically. His voice shifted to a seductively serious tone. "If you brought me in because I'm... not in a position to give you what you want right now - which might I add you are admittedly unable to procure yourself - you would miss out on an opportunity for an equally beneficial alternative."

"Go on."

"Gladly." Malborn walked around behind his desk, picked up a paper, and handed it across to Tacitus. "That is the guest list to Arana's social inauguration. You're on it, I noticed when it came into my hands; so am I. That party will provide perfect cover for me to get the information you want."

Tacitus was looking over the list as Malborn spoke, and a number of familiar names stood out. By the gods... I haven't seen them in forever, he thought. He had not seen those names in a while, and now that he knew he inevitably would that evening, Tacitus was not thrilled. He had been a different person when they had been his friends. "Alright," Tacitus conceded. "I'll see you this afternoon." In the foyer of the relatively small mansion, Tacitus stopped in front of a great slab of ancient carved stone taken from a crypt and turned to ask, "Have you got a bow tie I can borrow?"

The sky had cleared by six o'clock, and guests were pouring in through the Adlain Manor's long driveway to be let off at the mansion's front door. Tyrolil Bernand, steward of the manor, was dressed in a black tuxedo and was directing guests through the house to the entrance of the mansion's great ball room. Tacitus put down the kickstand on his motorcycle in the roundabout in front of the mansion and took in the massive sight.

It was an imposing yet elegant structure with a sandstone exterior punctuated with white marble accents in the way of a front portico, window frames, and some ornament. A marble fountain stood before the portico; behind the mansion there was an expansive green leading up to Lake Honrich, and to the left and right that green shifted to forest. Tacitus's eyes were drawn from the house by the sight and sound of a roaring engine pulling up and parking behind him. Tacitus glanced at his watch. "Right on time, Malborn." The elf happily stood up from his graceful baby blue roadster, and replied, "I always am."

The two began to walk toward the house when Malborn split off to infiltrate the mansion. Tacitus continued moving with the crowd of guests toward the ballroom, and was greeted at the door by a butler who took the Imperial's coat. He walked past and entered the ballroom, stopping to look over the great marbled and gilded room. From the entrance marble steps descended to the ornate ballroom floor, and to the left and right an elevated area extended like arms. The bar, packed with people, lay to the right of the stairs. The whole room was flanked by great tall windows offering a glimpse out into the evening. The floor was covered with the faces of Skyrim's high society mingling and drinking.

Out of the crowd, he caught a glimpse of a Dunmer and went after her; before he could get any further than the bottom of the steps, an arm wrapped around his neck from behind. A delicate hand inched its way down Tacitus' chest, finding a gold and diamond necklace beneath his shirt and pulling it out for the owner of the hand to examine.

"Elsa," Tacitus said calmly, but with a hint of puzzlement. "So good to see you. Speaking of which, let me see you." He took the hand and swung Elsa around in front of him, then took a look at her; the Nord had not changed much. Same emerald eyes, light brown hair, impressive figure, all framed by a shimmering teal gown, red lipstick, and diamond earrings.

"So nice to see you, too," she said with civility. "And that necklace of yours..."

"Is staying right here. Why don't we have a dance and catch up?"

"Sounds delightful." Tacitus took Elsa closely into his arms and they danced as the band played a symphonic rendition of an ancient Nordic ballad. "So, what're you doing with yourself these days, Tacitus?"

"Detective work. You?"

Elsa smiled over the Imperial's shoulder as she replied, "Oh, certainly not theft, if that's what you're thinking. Inheriting a fortune has gotten me onto the straight and narrow. Yes sir. You know, maybe I could get you out of that necklace somehow..."

"So, where's Garrus?"

"Over by the bar. I'll have to let you two catch up after our dance." Tacitus could feel Elsa's arm inching toward his wallet pocket. He grabbed it and put it back in its place. "Straight and narrow, hm?"

Elsa led Tacitus over to the bar and, stopping at an Imperial clad in a green military dress uniform, said, "Garrus, dear, look who it is."

Garrus turned, downing a bourbon and taking in Tacitus. "Who is it," he said, not as a question but as a statement. Tacitus noted that Garrus' uniform was decorated with numerous medals.

"It's Tacitus, dear."

"Oh, of course. Tacitus could Elsa and I have a word alone?" Tacitus nodded cautiously as the couple stepped away.

"What are you doing, bringing the detective over here?" Garrus hissed.

"He's an old friend, and we're going to be nice innocent friends and accommodate him."

"You just had to run into him. What if he finds out-"

"He won't." Elsa took Garrus' hand and the couple returned, looking mildly happy. "Ah, now we can talk," Elsa said smilingly.

"So, Garrus, you were sent off to the war since we last spoke?"

Garrus was busy replenishing his drink. At Tacitus' question, he turned and replied, "Yes, but that was a little while back."

"It has been a 'little while' since we saw each other. How long were you fighting?"

"Two years."

"You wasted no time, I see," Tacitus said, gesturing at Garrus' medals.

"You could say that," Garrus said before taking a long drink.

"What did you do over there?" At this question, Garrus threw back his drink and downed it, but before he could reply Elsa laughed nervously and thew herself into the conversation. "Garrus, dear, what say you and I have a dance?"

"Fine."

His old friends gone, Tacitus returned to his search for Arana. Her own party, he thought, and she's nowhere to be found. The Imperial had taken up a perch at the edge of the ballroom near the entrance and was leaning on the railing, his chin on his fist. Behind him a group of women passed through his peripheral vision. His mind and ears wandered to their conversation.

"Doctor, these are a few of the friends I said I'd introduce you to," one woman said excitedly.

"Mm, yes," the doctor dismissed her. "Well, introduce them." The man was very disinterested as the woman introduced her friends, but this did not faze the adoring ladies. "Eh, well, my pleasure." The man's tone contradicted his words. Tacitus glanced back and saw the doctor, tuxedo clad, going from woman to woman, deflating the ego of each. "You get a facelift, you have a tummy tuck, you get a nose job. Oh... You've already had one. Not one of mine, evidently."

Gods, man's a ladykiller for sure.

"But you..." The doctor said, evidently to another woman. "You have potential. Why don't we go discuss it?" Tacitus looked up again as the doctor took the woman by the arm and began walking away. The investigator caught a glimpse of the doctor's face.

"Pilus!" He exclaimed in a hushed tone, simply for his own hearing.

Pilus was leading a pretty Bosmer in an elegantly simple white dress away from her friends. She had obviously had too much to drink, and she was losing herself as the lanky Imperial regaled her, with little enthusiasm, of his prestigious position and her looks. As the couple turned a corner at the door from the ballroom to the rest of the house, Pilus took the glass of champagne residing precariously in the elf's hand and laid it on a small table along the wall before continuing down the hall. "Wow, a cosmetic surgeon, how interesting! You must really be someone to get into a party like this."

"Well, I am the best in my relatively infant field, but you'd be surprised at just who they'll let in to a place like this. Here, a powder room." The doctor opened the door for the Bosmer, then followed, closing the door behind him.

"So," the woman started, having turned to face Pilus in a buzzed attempt at seduction. Putting a hand on his chest, she asked, "Tell me more about how I specifically caught your attention?"

"Well, besides your looks, of course, you just seem so... Vital. Alive."

She pulled closer. "I'm alive, all right, especially being here. With you." The elf took Pilus' hand and placed it on her chest, intending to let him feel her heartbeat but landing slightly off target, on her breast. He cupped a hand to the side of the woman's face and kissed her. They came closer together, and Pilus gently led the woman back to the wall. While she wildly kissed his neck, Pilus whispered, "You know, I'm not some stiff doctor only concerned about science and sobriety." He nibbled on her ear seductively.

"I didn't doubt it," the woman panted.

"There's something beautiful about the inner workings of a body. Raw, organic, a wonderful mystery."

"Oh, you'll get to experience the inner workings of my body soon enough," the woman half-moaned, overcome and unbuttoning Pilus' shirt.

"Yes, I will." Pilus dug a pill out of his trousers' pocket, popped it into his mouth, and quickly kissed the Bosmer, transferring it to her mouth. In her furor, the woman had swallowed the pill, and her eyes belied a foggy terror as she drifted to sleep.

"Woman of the hour's quite something, isn't she?"

The voice came from on Tacitus' right. He turned to see a young, handsome brown-haired Breton leaning casually with his back against the marble railing, martini in hand. The dashing fellow wore all white: white tuxedo suit, white bow tie, white shoes. All these were punctuated by a blood-red rose on the breast pocket. Tacitus sighed. "She is. But where have you seen her, son? She's been noticeably absent from her party all evening."

"Over there." He turned and pointed all the way across the room, where a Dunmer could be seen. "And what in Oblivion is 'son' supposed to mean coming from someone like you?"

"I'll take that as a compliment. Strange she'd show up so late."

"Better late than never, eh?" The man took a drink. "That's my thought on the matter. I've got to get over there, strike up a conversation. The things I'd do to her..." The young man was practically licking his lips in anticipation of a feast, at which Tacitus chuckled. A moment later, his mildly amiable demeanor turned serious. "Ha! I was right to call you a boy. The things she'd do to you if you got that far..."

"What, she a-"

"No." Tacitus tapped his head, a small smirk taking form on his face. "It's psychological. But your position is understandable. You remind me of me, ten years younger and twenty... Well, twenty cases earlier."

"You a cop or something?"

"Yeah. Or something."

The Breton extended his hand. "Jadier Dolbanette."

Tacitus shook the hand of the young man and said, "Detective Tacitus Axianus. Say, would you be related to a Jerome Dolbanette?"

"He's my brother."

"I knew him."

A short pause came, courtesy of what Tacitus' use of past tense implied. Jadier changed the subject. "Well, Detective, care to tell your story, forewarn me before I suffer irreparable damage at the hands of this mental femme fatale?"

"Another time. But if you're going to talk with her, Jadier Dolbanette, you're going to need another drink."

While the playboy took his advice, Tacitus made his way across the ballroom, fixated on Arana. Finally he would have a chance to get to the bottom of her fortune. As he shouldered past tipsy elites, he wondered what he would say to her. Soon, he was standing before her, taking in her regal beauty. Her curvaceous body was draped with a flowing, backless black dress cut low, which served to flaunt her ample bosom. A diamond necklace sparkled on her chest. She was making small talk among her guests, charming them with her refined voice and her elegant face. "Oh, I truly do hope the countess feels better- Tacitus!" She said, turning to the Imperial. "What a pleasure to see you again."

"Yes, yes, you too." Hmph, he thought, last time we saw each other she wasn't so pleased.

"So, how are you, my dear? I heard something about you taking a job with the government?"

"I'm well, thank you for asking." That was an exaggeration, Tacitus knew. "And yourself?" The Imperial tried to direct Arana's attention away from the fact that he was a detective, figuring that if she knew that and her fortune was gained by illicit means, it was unlikely she would talk.

"Oh, splendid, splendid. As you can see," the Dunmer said with a wave around the ballroom, "fortune has smiled upon me."

"Speaking of which, I can't help but ask just where all this came from. I truly am impressed." Tacitus was not impressed.

"Oh, a long-lost uncle of mine died and named me sole beneficiary in his will. He was well off already, but with a few good investments his small fortune became a not so small fortune."

She has no family, Tacitus mused internally. "Well, that's just wonderful for you," he said. "We should find time to catch up."

"Ah, that sounds just fine. Maybe-" Arana was interrupted by a whisper in the ear from her steward, Tyrolil Bernand. "Yes, Mr. Bernand," she said quietly, "make the call." Arana turned to Tacitus and said, "You know, you didn't really answer my question about your job, but I believe an answer would now be in order. The rumor is, you're a detective."

Tacitus nodded.

"Good," the Dunmer said soberly, "because Mr. Bernand has just informed me of a murder on the premises."