Behold my battered and beaten form, young ones, and know that I have spent two weeks working hard. That is a big part of the reason for the delays. I'm going back to work tomorrow, so if this doesn't go up on the twenty-sixth you know why.

That marking the end of my excuses, we have an HONORARY MENTION!

SkyCaptain502 has, in one fell swoop, killed three birds with one stone! He answered these Easter eggs correctly:

Chapter nineteen: Maer Lerand Alveron speaks with Kvothe of this matter in The Kingkiller Chronicle, by Patrick Rothfuss.

Chapter twenty-four: This very elegant way with words comes from comedian Timothy Minchin, in his work Storm.

Chapter twenty-seven: The box of "Time travel stuff" appears frequently in Rick and Morty, in the garage on a shelf.

I recommend you check out all of these. SkyCaptain502 obviously has, and he even had the grace to deny any influence! This obviously means that whatever happens from now on is my fault and my fault only.

Now then, let us continue with the story. If I remember correctly, and I always do, then Tabitha and Kirche had returned to the Academy, Louise was sleeping and Ysmir was heading alone for the Chapel of Brimir.

Oh. Shit.

Chapter Twenty-nine: Chapels, Kings and CHEESE

Ysmir strolled down the cobbled street, hands behind his back and whistling as he walked. The locals gave him a wide berth, since even without the helmet his Daedric armour looked fearsome. He was coming up to the Chapel of Brimir, even standing in the shadow cast by the enormous tower, when he remembered how certain religious groups acted when presented with Daedric influence.

Better safe than sorry, He decided, and snuck into an alleyway. When he emerged he was wearing his Guild Master Armour. Though he still stuck out in a crowd, it was more because of his size than anything else. The armour was designed to blend in, after all. Thusly prepared, he walked up to the chapel proper, taking a few moments to admire the building. It was bigger than Castle Dour, which was impressive in itself, but where the castle had a big courtyard and mainly consisted of walls, towers and a keep, the Chapel seemed to be one gigantic building. It had to be big, though, he imagined, if it was to hold the entirety of the population of this enormous city.

It was roughly rectangular in shape, with a five-sided dome situated on the far end of the rectangle, away from the big gate. The clock tower emerged from the top of the dome, and reached roughly eighty meters up into the skies. The dome accounted for around half of that.

The walls were made from white limestone, and framed the gate situated on the short side of the rectangular building on the opposite end from the dome and tower. The gate itself was quite massive, over five meters in height, but Ysmir spotted a smaller door to the right of the gate, with an overhanging roof above it. He approached the door, tried to decipher the minuscule runes inscribed into it. Failing that, he knocked.

The door opened almost instantly, and a man dressed in white robes stood in the doorway facing Ysmir. Raising an eyebrow at the appearance of the visitor, he stepped back to allow him access into the chapel. "What can I do for you, my child?" he said once Ysmir had entered properly.

Ysmir took a moment to admire the insides of the building; the walls were painted in beautiful colours and patterns, and windows of coloured glass limited the lighting significantly. He looked back at the man he assumed was a priest, and answered his questions, trying not to let his inexperience with the character Louise had called Brimir show.

"I have come to this city in order to find and fight several undead whom I believe to be a threat to the locals. I was wondering if the priesthood of Brimir would aid me in that regard."

"Tell me my child," said the priest, "What do you seek to gain from us? We are not like the battle-priests of Germania, but a rather peaceful order. What could we possibly do to help you?"

Ysmir wondered briefly if he was demanding too much, and then limited himself.

"Where I am from, priests offer blessings to those who do good work for them or their god. That is, unless you happen to have a cache of holy weapons lying about?"

The priest shook his head with a sad smile, and motioned for Ysmir to follow him to the altar under what must have been the dome, situated in front of the base of the clock tower. He walked behind the thick base of the tower, eventually leading Ysmir to a door on the opposite end of the tower from the altar. After mumbling a short incantation, the door opened, revealing a set of stairs. As he scaled them, he began speaking to Ysmir, who followed him silently.

"As I mentioned, our order is a peaceful one. However, every temple worshipping the Founder Brimir Ru Rumiru Yuru Viri Vee Varutori has at least one artefact intended to be used to defend the temple and its followers.

Normally, the priesthood would send out their most experienced priest with the artefact to deal with the threat, be it insurrection, invasion or even illnesses. However, we are of course limited by the nature of the artefact bestowed upon us. If a certain temple were guarding say, a sword that could call down lightning, they could obviously not use it in controlling a disease outbreak. When you see our artefact, I think you will understand why we have not used it for over a century."

They had been walking up the stairs for around three minutes when the priest stopped, wheezing slightly, in front of a door. He mumbled another incantation once he caught his breath.

The door swung open, and Ysmir entered the room. It was the inside of the circular clock tower; this fact was quite obvious as he was staring at a surprising amount of machinery and gears reminding him of dwemer ruins, all connected to the backside of the clock. It was an astounding sight, a marvel of technology and magic, judging by several crystals pulsating with light every few seconds and mounted on the biggest gear, powering it and through it the entire clock.

The clockwork was so interesting that Ysmir found himself startled as the priest walked up beside him, smiling a knowing smile.

"Amazing, yes? I was astounded when I first saw it. However, we are not here for that."

As he spoke, he held up his hand over the floor and surprised Ysmir by singing several verses of incantation disguised as hymns. Once he was finished, the marble tiles under their feet undulated like water one had thrown a rock into. They did not sink, thank Akatosh, but a small chest rose through the floor and levitated up to roughly a meter above said floor. The priest opened the lid, and both he and Ysmir gazed into the container to find a book lying on a purple pillow. It was quite dusty, and Ysmir carefully lifted it up and blew the layer of dirt and refuse off its surface, and doing so revealed the image of a phoenix on the front, as well as a title written on the cover.

He recognized the words immediately, and was suddenly very confounded. He knew he had been summoned to this place by Louise, and that Sheffield had been summoned too. The staff of Magnus had appeared rather mysteriously, but then again aedric artefacts tended to disappear and reappear from time to time.

But even so, how could a spell tome of Sun Fire have gotten here?

Viewpoint change!

In the halls of the royal castle in Norstad a man paced back and forth. He was dressed in simple travelling gear, drown clothing and a grey cloak, with only the silver chain around his neck and the golden circlet on his brow indicating his status as King of Varangia. More so than a ruler, King Asgeirr was a practical man and cared little for flaunting and boasting, and thus usually his servants were better dressed than he was. The architecture of his royal residence showed that most of his predecessors shared this attitude: it really was more of a fort than a palace, with few paintings and fewer decorations in its relatively spartan hallways.

As he completed his fifty-second lap around his desk, the door to his personal office finally opened. A servant entered, and told the king that his horse was now ready. The King burst out of his office with gusto, excited to go out.

His subjects had stopped bowing to him when he was out riding when it turned out he liked to ride several times every day, and now they just greeted him with a smile and moved on with their duties. Some of the chieftains considered this disrespectful, but Asgeirr had silenced them by showing a parchment where he had calculated that by forgoing the bowing and pledges of allegiance every time he rode past the harvest could be finished almost five days before schedule, since the farmers could concentrate on their work. Said chieftains left the room muttering that his honour-title, The Scholar, was a little too appropriate.

He thought about these things, and many others, as he rode down the street from his palace through the city and out onto the open road. Three of his guard followed him closely, making sure no one tried to hurt the king.

The four of them followed the western road for roughly an hour, and as the surrounding fields gave way to the forest known as the Greywood. For once, he did not stop for exploration of the many ruins located along the path, but instead drove his horse further along until the trail widened and he found himself outside of a big gate, accommodated into a wall of gigantic stone bricks and crafted from the great oaken trees who grew in the south.

He did not wait for his guards, who had fallen behind their liege, but dismounted and knocked on the gate.

A head appeared over the gate, belonging to the robed watchman patrolling the roofed walkways above it. The man looked down lazily for a moment, and then scrambled to correct his posture as he called out "It's the King! Open the gate!"

Someone seemed to have heard the man, as the gate creaked open to allow Asgeirr access. Ever impatient with unnecessary waiting, he snuck in as soon as he could and before the gate had opened completely. Unlike every other time, though, he did not stop just inside the courtyard to admire the building, but instead headed straight to the former Templar's Quarters, where a good friend of his was waiting.

On the way he passed by a former spare mess hall, now converted to a chapel of some kind. His friend had tried to convert him to his faith, but had given up when he realized the King cared very little for religion in general. Still, Asgeirr admitted that the holy symbol of his friend's faith was very enticing; a floating drinking horn, spilling out fluid he assumed to be delicious mead in an endless stream.

Viewpoint change!

The being who had been watching the King of Varangia climbed down from his spot in the tree. This summoner was… interesting, and older than all the others.

Even so, he would play a big part in the events to come, though not quite so much as the current contenders for Prime Champion and Elder Summoner. Thinking of which…

The being disappeared in a puff of yellow smoke, leaving behind only the faint smell of molten cheese, and traversed the shapeless knot of insanity and bewilderment that was this world's realm of Oblivion. He found the memory he was looking for, and stepped into it, emerging in a somewhat dingy windowless bedroom with two beds, only one looking used.

He turned his attention to the oaken chest in the corner, and let himself turn invisible, though not before calling forth a small bowl of Elsweyr Fondue and placing it right in front of the chest.

Having thus teased a likely candidate for the position of Elder Summoner, along with simply messing with said Summoner's Champion, the Trickster giggled quietly to himself and waited.

Author's Comments:

Well, yeah, this took a while and has three different viewpoints, along with two new characters, and an OC, so… Yay?

Either way, I am really tired and this will have to do.

There is only one Easter egg left after the rampage we saw earlier:

In the latter half of chapter 26, a phrase is mentioned that is very close to something said by a well-known and well-memed group. I want the phrase, the group and the circumstances when they say it.

Well, I'll have to leave Y'all here. Keep the ENCOURAGEMENT coming, it's really what drives me to write, even in these tired times.

Later taters.

Ossa out!