Last Time:

The Dragonborn discovered Alduin's Wall, and the prophecy written upon it, detailing the events of the World Eater's return. He returned to the Greybeards, hoping for some knowledge that would help him slay the dragon...And was directed to the summit of the Throat of the World, there to meet with the leader of their order, Paarthurnax.

Turns out, Paarthurnax is a dragon, and there actually is a miracle shout that can force a dragon out of the sky. Who'd've thunk it?

Of course, the rest of our protagonists are a little busy with their own troubles at the moment.

Hjarnagredda and her allies have dealt a fatal blow to the Dark Brotherhood, and cleansed Hircine's cursed ring. Now she aims to return to Markarth, to save her people from themselves. Turns out, murdering all your problems isn't always a great solution. Who'd've thunk it?

Dulurza's situation only gets bleaker. Her sister leads an army of Orcs to Solitude, and her Jarl is still possessed despite every effort. Even worse, Elisif is still mad at her. Turns out, planning to kill a woman isn't great for making her like you. Who'd've thunk it?

Alexander spent weeks aiding his friends, meeting his family, and learning more of the world he was in. All of which very suddenly became less important when the remnants of the Dark Brotherhood attacked him. Turns out, he was actually the new prophesied Listener. Who'd've thunk it?

L'laarzen slew Mercer Frey, retrieving the Skeleton Key and the Eyes of the Falmer. But in doing so, she was forced to dig deep into her abilities as an assassin for the infamous Morag Tong. Turns out, succeeding at everything she set out to do didn't make her feel better. Who'd've thunk it?

Oh, and they also teamed up and fought a dragon. But that wasn't too relevant to the plot, actually.

Act IV: How Not to Kill

Relaxed Chatter

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

"Xander." Said Mirabelle Ervine. "We need to talk."

"I thought so." Xander said, dully. "Is it about the cat?"

"You can't just bring-" Mirabelle paused. "Excuse me?"

Xander pointed. On the desk in front of him, a small black cat was sat, licking its paws. It looked up at them inquisitively.

"I found it scratching at the door to my quarters." Xander explained. "It's very cute."

"Alexander..."

"I asked around but nobody claimed it." Xander continued. "Took it to Colette and she gave it a quick checkup, says it's healthy."

"Xander-"

"It's a girl."

"Xander there are Dark Brotherhood assassins living in the hall of Attainment!" Mirabelle hissed in his ear. The cat hissed too, as though the word itself brought displeasure.

Xander sat still for a moment. "...Yeah. That's, uh. That's inconvenient."

Mirabelle twitched. "Xander what the actual-"

"THEY WERE GOING TO KILL ME!" Xander roared back, rounding on her so suddenly she took a step backwards in shock.

"DARK. BROTHERHOOD. ASSASSINS. DO YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?" He yelled. "I lost an uncle to the Brotherhood! They are vicious, and they are deadly, and they are unstoppable, and nobody believed the Penitus Oculatus when they said they ran them out of Cyrodiil!" He slumped back against his desk. Reached out, and stroked the cat, making it purr. "And apparently, I can hear the voice of their God. And unless I betray that God, they can't kill me. So I'm sorry if my first instinct was to come back here to where I actually have allies, and I'm sorry if I gave them Anaconda's room to crash in while I try and decide what to do. I...I have to think carefully about this, Mirabelle."

Mirabelle stared at him for a few moments, then sighed, and came to sit next to him. "I understand." She said. "And I'm sorry for yelling, it's just...things are never easy with you."

"When'd you figure that?" Xander snorted. "Before or after we went to a party, and I broke in and freed a Thalmor prisoner?"

"You did what?"

"Don't worry about it." Xander groaned, then stood, moving to the door. "Alright, guess I'll do something about it. Let you know what gets decided-"

"Xander?" Mirabelle called, stopping him.

"Yeah?"

"Don't put the students in danger." She said. That was all there was, delivered fairly flatly. But it was all that was needed.

"I won't." Xander replied, just as simply. And that was all that was needed too.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ

Hjar found a rock that was relatively clean and dry, and spread out a map of the Reach that Octavia had included in their pack.

"Alright." She said. "Let's summarise."

"Four main factions." Margret began, walking over with an armful of papers. The pair had made camp up on a ridge not far from the city. Markarth's towers could actually be seen in the distance, peeking out from between the mountains. "The Forsworn, the Silver-Bloods, the City Guard, and the Thalmor."

"Forsworn are the largest, but the least organised." Hjar started drawing crosses at certain points on the map. "These are the camps I've seen when out scouting, most are pretty busy. 'Cept Karthspire, which is empty except for the corpses. Someone went through there like a damn Dragon...anyway, no proper leaders have sprung up so far, every camp's out for themselves. There's still agents in the city, I'm sure of it, but there'll be far less than there were before the prison break."

"The City Guard are the main remnant of the late Jarl's faction." Margret added, reading through some of the notes they'd received. "Led by Faleen (the housecarl) and the mage Calcelmo."

"What about Igmund's steward?" Hjar checked.

"Uh...his uncle, Rareek. Killed in the chaos after the prison break."

"Yikes..."

"Yeah. The guard are the closest to a neutral faction in the city. If the riots did one thing, it cleaned house on the corrupt or traitors among their ranks. They have one goal: maintain order in the streets. They man the walls, patrol the city, protect the citizens. The guard barracks was destroyed, so they base themselves in Nzchuand-Zel. The other two both try to look legitimate and both hate the Forsworn, so the guard have mostly been left alone. So far."

"Speaking of whom, the Silver-Bloods..." Hjar also started glancing at the notes. "Throngvor's in charge, no surprises there. With Cidnah Mine missing almost all its prisoners, that's where they've holed up. Apparently he's declaring himself Jarl and planning to call to the Stormcloaks for help. Very popular with the citizens (those that aren't just cowering in fear). Makes sense, this wouldn't be the first time Ulfric's bailed them out while the Empire does nothing. Also, you know, he's rich. But he's stuck with his leftover mercenaries and volunteers from the populace. Why hasn't he just gone out and-"

"No getting out." Margret answered. "Enter the Thalmor, led by the Justiciar Ondolemar. A small contingent of skilled agents, bolstered by the Imperial troops in the city (those that didn't decide to join the guard). These are the ones who control Understone Keep. The main city gate's destroyed, and people are blaming that on these gits. The only way out is to make your way up onto the walls and then clamber down the other side."

"Who controls the gates?" Hjar asked.

"Nobody. Anybody who tries gets bowed down from the buildings by one group or another. Apparently there's a full-on guerilla war occurring inside the city walls; Thalmor vs Silver-Blood. Forsworn groups have attacked the city twice now, and been repelled by the guard. Nobody's entered, and nobody's left, and neither Tullius nor Ulfric have done anything yet. Oh wait no, I tell a lie! Both have issued a statement condemning the event in general. How considerate of them."

Margret slapped the notes down on the rock and whistled. "Tensions are running high, supplies are running low, and bodies are piling up. Hjar, you want to try and bring this to peace?"

"If it were easy, I wouldn't have messed it up this badly the first time." Hjar leaned back and groaned. "Throngvor and Faleen both hate me personally. The Thalmor hate me on principle. The Forsworn also hate me, and even though they're the closest thing I have to allies here, they're also the ones everyone else agrees to hate."

"Do they even know about what you did, though?" Margret pointed out. "The one upside of killing literally everyone is that you, you know. Killed literally everyone. It's possible they aren't aware it was you."

"Hm..." Hjar considered it, then sighed. "Good thought, but I can't rely on it. The door was open, and I wasn't in much of a position to count bodies. Some must have escaped to tell the story. But that will mean there's lots of conflicting rumours about what happened, we can use that..."

"Well, it can only be so hard." Margret shrugged. "Break it down into lots of little problems. Step one, get the Forsworn under control. Step two, make friends with the Silver Bloods. Step three, kill the Thalmor, and step four, profit. And I mean that literally. This is still the most financially valuable hold in Skyrim."

"Right, I'm sure it's that easy." Hjar snorted. "Are you sure you're happy with scheming against your allies?"

"Oh no I hate the Thalmor." Margret admitted. "The Empire hates the Thalmor. Everyone hates the Thalmor."

"Well, that's something. Nothing unites people like common enemies..." Hjar sat still and thought for a few minutes.

Don't rush to conclusions. Don't get attached to ideas before you've thought the situation through. Those were some of the snippets of advice from Octavia, littered throughout the notes.

"You're right, we will have to lead with the Forsworn." She said, eventually. "If things are as desperate as they look, everyone inside the city will be willing to get flexible. We get the Forsworn together, but also get them under control, and then suddenly they go from a field hazard to a potential ally in the battle. If Throngvor really wants to win, he should be able to set his differences aside and work with us. Especially since we technically own the mine he's housed in. The hard part will be convincing the city guard that the Forsworn aren't going to start pillaging again..."

"No, the hard part will be stopping the Forsworn pillaging." Margret corrected. "Because they will want to. No offense, but they sort of are-"

"Bloodthirsty savages?"

"Well, yes. What are they going to rally behind if not 'conquer Markarth'?"

Hjar simply raised an eyebrow.

It took Margret a second. Then her eyes widened. "You?"

"My grandfather was the King in Rags." Hjar said, with a sly smile. "I could be a Queen. I regularly wear even less than rags."

"You're telling me I'm not just dating a werewolf; I'm dating werewolf royalty?" Margret clarified, with a snicker.

"Eh, sorta. That's not really how that works. Family is important, but there's no formal system of rulership for what's basically a group of rebels. Madanach was respected, and he earned that respect by spending the last few decades proving himself."

"You don't have decades." Margret pointed out. "What are you going to do? Waltz into a camp and declare yourself in charge?"

Hjar frowned. Thought about it. "Actually...That might not be such a bad idea."

8˂

The Twilight Sepulcher was about what L'laarzen had expected, from a temple to a shadow-god. A hidden door in a mountainside of Falkreath hold, which opened up into a deep, shadowy cavern. Directly ahead of her, braziers (who lights the braziers in these places?) lit a staircase heading up to a particularly concerning looking corridor.

"L'laarzen supposes a cozy home with a check-in desk would be too much to ask..." she mused, walking up to them.

Mm...cozy home...Khajiit really must get around to leasing a house. All this madness is exhausting, but perhaps it will help her to afford a deposit...

"I'm afraid that Nocturnal isn't really one for that sort of thing." Came a voice from right behind her.

She whirled, claws emerging, and was met by the sight of a man in Nightingale garb. Only, he was shimmering an ethereal blue.

"Greetings, Nightingale." The man said, inclining his head. "My name is Gallus Desidenius. I am one of the guardians of this Sepulcher."

L'laarzen made herself relax, retracting her claws. "I see. This one is called L'laarzen. Ah, you said Gallus? A friend of yours is actually waiting just outside-"

"Karliah." Gallus nodded. "I know. But I'm afraid she is not permitted to enter, just as I cannot leave."

"So she said." L'laarzen acknowledged, glancing past him to the entrance. Brynjolf had headed straight back to Riften, while Karliah (clearly nervous) had refused to go further, remaining on guard at the door. "What exactly is the reason for that, may I ask?"

"Since the thievery of the Skeleton Key, the Twilight Sepulcher is on lockdown." Gallus explained. "The normal entrances have been sealed, the sentinels on guard driven to mindless rage as their connection to their goddess drains away. The only reason I still have reason is because I was the most recent to die." He looked to her neck, and the unassuming metal key dangling from it. "I see you have come to return it. Thank you."

"You are quite welcome." L'laarzen replied, trying for a smile. "But how am I to enter if the entrances are sealed?"

"Most entrances are." Gallus corrected. "But the Pilgrim's Path remains open. It is a series of trials that new Nightingales must take in order to reach a senior rank and gain the greater powers associated with it. A person may only take the trials once; that is why Karliah is barred from joining you."

"Of course." L'laarzen sighed. "More hoops to jump."

"I apologise. But these are dark times." Gallus glanced to the side. "Mercer, you bastard...I take it he's dead?"

"Extremely so."

"Then you have my thanks for that as well." Gallus gestured past her. "Go. Keep to the shadows, with a watchful eye and an open mind."

"Very well." L'laarzen turned away, looking to the doorway leading deeper into the complex. "Karliah made you out to be much more...charming."

"That will be the death thing."

"Right."

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|

"CHEESE! I SMELL IT! THE ODOUR OF CHAOS IS UPON-HRK-!"

It said a lot about Elisif's life nowadays, that a raving madman bursting into her palace wasn't even the third strangest thing that had happened this week.

Dulurza moved fast, rushing past her down the palace stairs and tackling the Bosmer to the ground.

Oooh, sport! Potema's voice emerged in Elisif's mind, along with a flash of excitement that echoed itself inside her heart. Madmen are always so much fun! Quick, cut his leg off and ask him to dance!

Are you actually this sadistic or are you putting it on? Elisif asked.

"Dulurza." She said, aloud. "Please remove this person so we can finish our conversation."

"No! Wait!" The Mer begged, as Dulurza wrestled his arms behind his back and dragged him back to his feet. "My master is in here! I need you to go and find him, he needs to end his holiday!"

"Aye, aye, whatever." Dulurza started moving him to the door. "Where do you live, little mad-mer?"

"The Shivering Isles!"

"Funny."

"No, really! Please, I must bring my master back there, he is currently spending time with Pelagius the Third and-"

"STOP!"

Dulurza stopped, as did Dervenin.

Elisif slowly lowered her hastily raised hand, and closed her mouth on the unbidden words.

Uh, Potema? What was that?

The frantic thoughts that came in from her parasite were too quick for Elisif to parse as speech. Rather, she was met with a slew of panic, curiosity, affection, and a sudden dump of lore regarding historic events hundreds of years gone by.

"You said 'Pelagius the third'." Elisif said aloud, walking closer. "Who do you speak of?"

"Who else but Emperor Pelagius Septim!" The man tried to throw his arms out to either side. Dulurza didn't let him.

"Pelagius the third is dead." Elisif reminded him. "Has been for over five hundred years."

"Well, yes, obviously." Dervenin said, looking at her like she was stupid. "But what kind of obstacle is that to the lord of Madness? Pelagius' spirit is hosting Master Sheogorath at present, but he needs to come home!"

"Sheogo-" Dulurza stared at him, then tightened her grip. "Oh no. My Jarl, we do not want any business with the Madgod. Let me kick this maniac out of the city."

"Agreed." Elisif replied. She had been taught of all the Daedra, if only in cautionary tales. She would not be the first High Queen of Skyrim the princes of Oblivion had taken an interest in, and certainly not the last. But out of all of them, from the insidiousness of Boethiah to the power-hungry rage of Molag Bal, it was perhaps Sheogorath that frightened her the most. Completely unpredictable, practically unstoppable, and liable to drive any he interacted with insane.

"Get him out of here." She declared. "Homeless are one thing, but I can't have Daedra worshippers in my-Aargh! Wait!"

Dulurza started dragging the man away, then stopped again as Elisif staggered backwards clutching her head. "My Jarl? What-"

"Just-Give me a second!" Elisif waved her Thane off, then focused her attention inwards.

What in Oblivion is wrong with you? She snapped at her tenant.

They have Pelagius! Potema's panicked voice responded. The Madgod has my nephew!

Your nephew has been dead for centuries. Elisif pointed out.

I'm dead! Dead is relative! But this maniac seems to think Pelagius is here in the Blue Palace! He might be a ghost, or stuck in the Shivering Isles!

Well, good for him. Elisif said, more than a little vindictively. Perhaps you'll join him when you die. Now, if you'll excuse me-

No! Wait! Potema's tone was something Elisif had never heard from her before. Please, we need to investigate this! I'll be good, I promise, I, I'll lay off for a week! But we need to find him!

You...Elisif blinked into the middle-distance. You're serious.

Yes! Please!

Potema may have been lying, but her worry was real.

"You." Elisif looked back at the Bosmer. "What's your name?"

"Dervenin, ma'am!" He answered, excitedly.

"Dervenin, you said that Shegorath is in…Pelagius the third's mind? Does that mean he's here?"

"Indeed! They are having dinner together in the Pelagius wing."

Dulurza huffed. "Aren't the Daedra supposed to be locked out of Mundus? How is he here?"

"As if master Sheogorath would be bound by such petty mortal concerns." Dervenin scoffed.

"The Pelagius wing…" Elisif frowned, turning to look at the door that led to that part of the palace. "Since before I was born, they said it was haunted. I always thought it was nonsense, but…"

"Really? A dragon attacked your city yesterday but a ghost would be nonsense?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, but after the civil war started I've not been all that worried about interior decoration—"

Dulurza coughed. "Uh, Elisif? You're talking to yourself."

Dervenin giggled.

Elisif clamped her jaws shut. Sighed. "If there is a ghost in my home, it needs to be dealt with. And Potema is…insistent."

"You shouldn't be —"

"Giving in to her? No. But at this point I'm grasping at straws. And who knows, maybe Sheogorath will kill her and solve the problem for us. Aww, I knew you loved me really—Shut it." Elisif grimaced. Okay, this has officially gone too far. "Prepare yourself, quickly. Let's get this out of the way."

"Elisif, this is a bad idea." Dulurza protested. "Sheogorath is…he's Sheogorath. Mor Khazgor has tales of him beating the Prince of Nightmares at a nightmare contest. I can't fight that; I won't be able to protect you in there—"

"Did I ask for your protection?" Elisif snapped, reflexively. Dulurza flinched, and Elisif flinched right back, pausing to collect herself.

"Yes, I suppose I did when I asked you to come, didn't I?" She answered herself, quietly. "But I don't have much of a choice. I won't just ignore this. You don't have to come with me, but—"

"No, I'm coming." Dulurza (finally) let go of Dervenin, looking at Elisif earnestly. "You're not going traipsing into the Shivering Isles without me."

Oh, she's adorable. Potema gushed. I'm serious, dearie, do not lose this one.

A minute earlier you hijacked my voice but now you're staying inside my head?

I'm trying to take control of your body and your empire, not ruin your romantic prospects. Now, if we could hurry please?

"Right then." Elisif blew out a breath. "I don't think I've ever even been into the Pelagius wing. Last I checked, Falk had the key to—" She realised her mistake, and grit her teeth. "Nevermind. Dulurza, kick the door in."

"On it."

"Oh, wait!" Dervenin (who was apparently still there) interrupted. "The hip-bone! You'll need Pelagius' hip-bone if you want to get in!"

"Hmph. You know what? No." Elisif's wrists rolled, and it wasn't clear who exactly was using her mouth. "I have a feeling I'll manage."

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

Alexander's steps did not falter as they made their way up the steps of the Hall of Attainment. Barely. This was because the only thing more frightening than what awaited him at the top of the stairs, was the idea of showing fear to them.

There was only so much he could do about that after his rather disastrous initial meeting with them, but hey. 'The best time to make an impression on someone is with your first impression. The second best time is right now'. Never really liked that saying, I mean, surely the second best time was immediately after the first time. Like I understand the point, but—Stop rambling they're here.

The Dark Brotherhood assassins were waiting for him when he reached the upper floor of the dormitories. With Annacandle gone, Mirabelle basically living in Xander's quarters, and a frightened Nirya reportedly bunking downstairs with Brelyna, the 'guild' had apparently taken the entire floor for themselves.

Babette, the vampire 'child', stood eerily still in the hallway to Xander's left. It was probably her senses that had alerted the three to his arrival. Nazir, the Redguard swordsman, was leaning against a wall to Xander's right, arms crossed. And across the circular central balcony—

"He arrives!" Cicero, the jester, bounded out of the doorway opposite Xander, rapturous joy on his face. "Our Listen—"

"Don't." Xander snapped, holding up a hand to silence the clown. "There are students downstairs."

"Aaah. Witnesses." Cicero nodded. A knife appeared in his hand out of seemingly nowhere, and he grinned crookedly. "Would you like Cicero to take care of them?"

"No-one is going to hurt my students, or my staff. Period." Xander stated, as though it was a law of the universe. Perhaps a little dangerous to start by making demands of them, but if this was going to end in conflict, that needed to happen before anyone else got hurt.

"Is that so?" Babette seemed to want to make the first proverbial push. "Or what?"

"Disobeying the commands of the Listener would be heresy." Cicero snarled.

"Perhaps." Nazir said, with a tone that suggested this wasn't the first time the topic had been broached. "But what if he didn't want to be the Listener? What if he refused to do his duty?"

Cicero's eyes narrowed.

And there it was: the issue in a microcosm. Strange women lying in coffins, distributing contracts, is no basis for a system of government.

"I believe we got off on the wrong foot." Xander spoke up, sticking as much Savos Aren into his voice as possible. "But I am relieved to find that the two of you are actually sane (not that I have a problem with you, Cicero, you're great). It means we'll actually be able to talk about this situation in a reasonable manner. Important, because it is a serious one."

He looked between them, trying not to flinch. "I'm here to speak to the Night Mother."

That got reactions. Exultation from Cicero, surprise from the others.

"Really?" Nazir asked. "I thought—"

"That I wanted nothing to do with you?" Xander offered.

"That when you came up, there would be a platoon of guards outside." The Redguard finished.

"Don't be absurd." Xander rolled his eyes. "You're in a college with some of the strongest mages in the nation. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't call the guards."

Sort-of true, sort-of not. He'd only trust Phinis, Mirabelle and Faralda in an actual fight, and it was strange for him to realise that he could probably beat any one of them, even without the staff of Magnus. They were brilliant mages, but they were scholars, not fighters. If I do decide that I want to kill the Dark Brotherhood, the list of people I trust to help me is short.

"No, I mean no harm to any of you. As a matter of fact, I am intrigued." Xander put a small smile on his face. "I've dealt with Daedra before. But Sithis is something of a step up."

What he wanted them to think was that he was every bit the over-curious, power-hungry, morally bankrupt wizard. They would butcher him the moment they thought he was going to sell them out, so he needed them to believe he needed them. A scientific interest in their god might not be the ideal motivation, but it was consistent with what they'd seen from him so far, and it only needed to last until he did betray them horribly.

Of course, stick was little use without carrot. "You're welcome to remain here for the time being," He continued, "from what I've understand, you're rather lacking in allies, resources, and a place to stay. And perhaps more importantly, in ability to take on new…contracts, is that the word? Because that relies on me now."

Nazir and Babette looked significantly at each other. Xander stood, and waited. Cicero twitched on the spot with excitement.

After a few seconds of silence, the two starers looked back at Xander.

"I don't trust you." Nazir said.

"Obviously." Xander replied.

"If you betray us, I'll eat you." Babette added.

"I would expect nothing less." Xander replied.

"I'm just thrilled that you're here!" Cicero declared.

"Glad to hear it." Xander replied.

When no other statements came, he spread his eyes. "So? Can I talk to the coffin now?"

8˂

L'laarzen opened the door. Ahead of her was another corridor, which seemed at the end to open out into a larger room.

She scowled, and closed the door.

This was silly. Maybe she was just tired, emotionally and physically, but come on. She didn't want to do another set of Nightingale tests. She didn't even want to be a Nightingale! And she didn't see why she had to do it alone either. Surely this was the sort of situation where the rules slackened somewhat? She could at least go back and ask Karliah for advice on what exactly she was going to face in the trial.

She considered doing just that...then sighed. Maybe Khajiit would just be wasting more time. Come now, this test must not be anything we have not faced before.

She opened the door again.

Scowled.

Closed it again.

And what was the deal with the Key being stolen meaning all the entrances locked down? To stop the thief escaping? Surely it just made it more inconvenient for whoever was returning the Key to do so? Unless Nocturnal did not have the power to rescind the instruction with her artefact gone...still, it's not like closing the doors would have stopped Mercer getting out. He had the Skeleton Key. Why on Nirn would any of that stop him from-

She blinked. And felt quite silly.

If none of that stopped Mercer, why should it stop L'laarzen?

She reached up to her neck, and unclasped the string the Key was held on.

It was light in her hand. Unassuming. And when she fit it into the ancient Nordic door in front of her, it slid in with a satisfying click.

There was no explosion of colour or truth in her mind, like Xander had used to describe his experiences with such artefacts. She was just a woman holding a key in an already unlocked door. But still, she closed her eyes and focused. Tried to picture the trial in front of her as just another lock, an obstacle, between her and her real destination. Come on, little key. You want to return to your Goddess, don't you? Let me bring you there.

She twisted the key. Tumblers rumbled, and somehow the already unlocked door clicked around again.

L'laarzen pushed open the door and stepped through.

The corridor was gone. Whatever Pilgrim's Path had had in store for her, it was instead replaced by a dimly lit room. Dome shaped, with fog-shrouded doorways all around the walls. Looking behind herself, L'laarzen saw that her entrance had been replaced by one of the same.

Okay...

She approached the centre of the room. A completely uniform stone floor was disrupted only by a small slot right in the middle. Ten guesses what this is for.

She slid the Skeleton Key into the receptacle.

The walls rumbled, and she jumped spryly backwards as the ground in the centre of the room started to crack and spin apart.

A swirling portal of darkness appeared, which the Key tumbled down into. Replacing it, emerging from the shadows amidst a fluttering murder of crows was-

Ja-Kha'jay and Jode, she is not wearing many clothes.

"Greetings, Nightingale." Said Nocturnal, who then tilted her head. "If the title is even appropriate. You skipped the Pilgrim's Path."

"L'laarzen took the route that would maximise the chances of a successful delivery." L'laarzen countered. "A hundred years was on the line. Khajiit thought you would appreciate the added care?"

"Hm." A corner of Nocturnal's mouth twitched up. "I suppose it was wise of you. After all, if you had completed the path and drank of the Ebonmere as you were supposed to, it would have solidified your bond to me. Your soul would have become destined for the Evergloam."

"You did try to trick Khajiit." L'laarzen accused, paws tightening.

"I was completely honest with you. The deal we made didn't doom you to my realm, but your future actions may have. I was mostly just looking for an excuse to talk to your lawyer again..." Nocturnal sighed. "Do you think he'll call me back? I didn't leave a bad impression on him, did I?"

"...Eh?" L'laarzen responded.

"Sorry, getting distracted." Nocturnal coughed, and brushed down what little clothing she had on. "Yes, I suppose it was foolish to try and claim your soul as payment. Since I imagine Mephala already has her slimy little mandibles on it-"

"No." L'laarzen interrupted, scowling. "Just because Khajiit was...she never—"

"Truly?" Nocturnal leaned forwards. "You know, for an interesting little cat, you are so boring when it comes to matters of your soul. You keep it from the Morag Tong, and now you keep it from the Nightingales..." The Daedra raised an eyebrow. "A seat of power in the Evergloam would be a good option for you. You don't really expect to find your way to Llesw'er, do you? Look at what you've done. Look at how you did it."

L'laarzen looked to the floor, gritting her teeth. "Perhaps not." She admitted. "But L'laarzen will still try. And she does not believe it is any of your business. Our deal is concluded, is it not?"

After a moment, Nocturnal leaned back again. "I suppose so. The key is returned, the Sepulcher is restored. You have been an effective agent, Nightingale. Contact me if there is ever anything else you need, and I shall do the same. If not..." she cracked a smile. "See you when you die. Ten years, remember~"

The crows swirled around her, and she vanished back into the dark portal. All that remained was a few murals of the moon in its phases circling the floor, and the Skeleton Key, sitting innocuously in its sheath.

Karliah entered not long after, and had a very adorable and heartfelt reunion with Gallus.

L'laarzen didn't really listen to any of it. Her eyes lingered on the key that had caused so much trouble, and her thoughts chased each other round in circles.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

Xander had seen many scary things in the last few months of his life. The dragon was still probably the scariest, but the coffin of the Night Mother was up there.

Crafted of what looked like wrought iron, it was a monolith well over seven feet tall, mostly unadorned except for the intimidating metal face at its top. The members of the Dark Brotherhood (even Cicero) had all made themselves scarce, leaving him alone in the room with it.

"What do you bet there's an undead in there…" He mused, glancing down at his sword. No response came from Dawnbreaker.

He frowned, putting a palm on it's hilt. "Meridia? You there?"

Still nothing.

Okaaaaay…

Xander gulped, and reached out to the coffin. It clicked the moment his palm fell on it, and the two sides swung open, revealing—

Oh, Divines, that's worse than I thought.

He was met by the corpse of a woman. It was completely desiccated. Her skin resembled burned animal hide, eye sockets empty and sunken, mouth open in a perpetual scream. The only thing that struck him as odd was the complete absence of a smell.

His lips suddenly felt parched, and he opened his mouth. "…Night Mother?"

Listener.

He flinched backwards. Her voice simply was, inside his mind, an experience similar to his interactions with the Daedra yet somehow more final. It was raspy, whispered, quiet yet somehow deafening, sending shivers up and down his spine.

Do you come to hear of the newly made Black Sacraments?

I'm here for answers. He thought, purposefully. He did not want Babette and her vampiric senses eavesdropping on his part of the conversation.

Ask.

Why did you choose me as your Listener?

You were suitable.

Xander blinked. Uh. That's it?

The close-minded servants of the Dark Brotherhood, even poor devoted Cicero. None were appropriate to be my Listener.

But I was? Why?

Silence. Then,

There are many who still cry out into the void, begging Sithis to claim the souls of those around them. The Brotherhood as it stands has not the capacity to hear them all. But the work must begin soon. Ready yourself to hear my proclamations.

Okay, we're just skipping that question, fine…Xander looked sheepishly over at the door, in case on of the other assassins was watching. Why did none of the rooms have doors? Not even the rooms of the masters had doors. He needed to do something about that.

Listen, uh. He focused his attention back on the Night Mother. We may have a problem there.

There was no response. After a few seconds, he continued,

I think you chose the wrong man here. I'm not the leader of an assassin's guild—

You are now.

Okay, yes, but I don't want to be. The internal proclamation was met again with silence. It was extremely unnerving.

I'm not a murderer. He elaborated. I'm not going to carry out the deaths of—

You have killed. The Mother's voice interrupted him again. Twenty-seven have died by your hand.

The number was consistent with Xander's own count. He winced. Yes, but I had good reasons—

You will kill for your own reasons yet not for others?

Yes! I kill bad people to save lives, I'm not going to murder someone in a lovers' quarrel for coin!

Who are you to judge good from bad, right from wrong?

Oh don't give me that edgy philosophy crap! He retorted, annoyed. Judging good from bad is what us mortals are supposed to do!

The mages you slew in Fellglow keep did you no ill. They were merely in your way.

Well yes but they stole from the college, and they were doing necromancy, and—He glared at the coffin. Look, that's not the point.

Your own reasons are as base and fleeting as those of any other mortal. For the first time, he caught a hint of emotion in the Night Mother's voice. Disdain. Morality is as infantile as greed, as petty as any other thought that crosses mortal minds. Even you, who has known larger thoughts than most, cling to that which ultimately has no meaning. In the end, there is only Sithis.

Xander felt he was probably getting rather spoiled by so many Daedra dealing with him relatively respectfully. Because this corpse speaking to him so patronisingly was really starting to get on his nerves.

I think you might have to learn to adapt to the infantile bits, 'mother'. He thought back at her, glaring. Given that I'm the one with the sword-arm, both figuratively and literally.

You might have made me your Listener. But there's no rule stating that I can't ignore you.

The silence that followed was a loud one.

You would defy my proclamations?

Not defy, per se. I just don't have to tell anyone about them. Speak to me all you want, missus, but you're a corpse in a box. There's nothing to stop me dealing with the rest of your Brotherhood once and for all and tossing your coffin into the Sea of Ghosts. That should end the problems you cause for at least a few hundred years. I can put up with the headache.

The thoughts you contemplate are heresy. The disdain was replaced by a low current of anger.

There's too many gods, Mother, I'm bound to be a heretic to one of them. Xander turned away, looking to the door. Fact remains that you dropped this position on me without asking, and I don't want it. Find another Listener.

For a few more seconds, the corpse was silent again. When it's voice returned, it was just as calm as when it had started.

Do you know the true effect of the Black Sacrament?

That caught Xander off guard. Well, yes. It allows someone to contact the Night Mother, and set up a contract with an assassin.

No. The Black Sacrament is the contract.

His head snapped back to the face of the corpse. Pardon?

Money. Difficulty. Additional targets, additional objectives. All these things are meaningless. Once the Black Sacrament is heard and proclaimed, one soul is consigned to Sithis. The soul of the target, is the intention. Or the soul of the assassin, should they fail in their objective. Or the soul of the client, if they are dishonest. Or, perhaps, the soul of the Listener, should they fail to perform their duty.

Xander's face went slack. You can't do that. I never consented to—

I am the bride of Sithis. Do not presume to tell me what I cannot do. The Night Mother's voice echoed between his ears. I can always reach you. The moment you hear of the Sacrament, your soul is complicit. If you will not carry out your duty, then when your time comes…

A bead of sweat rolled down Xander's cheek. He felt like he might faint.

Sithis was not Aedra or Daedra. Sithis was greater than either. Sources in the Imperial City were sketchy, but most viewed the dread father as a primordial concept, born of the great eternal chaos Padomay. It was also the end of everything. Most souls were believed to be granted some form of afterlife in the Aetherius, there to await the end of time. L'laarzen had been right to fear her soul being owed instead to Oblivion, which (depending on the prince who snatched you) could mean eternal torment.

But being claimed by Sithis was neither of those. It wasn't an afterlife. If Sithis got you…it was over. Nothing. You became as nothing.

The Night Mother was blackmailing him with the utter annihilation of his immortal soul.

…Well screw that for a month of Sundas'.

"I'm sorry." Xander said aloud. "I don't think you understand exactly who you're dealing with here."

He walked closer to the coffin, staring into the Night Mother's eyesockets.

"Firstly." He began, holding up a finger. "I value my afterlife. I'd possibly value it above the afterlife of another innocent. Possibly two or three, if I was feeling particularly selfish. But I would have to be unquestionably evil to kill a lifetime of people merely to save myself, and I don't care how 'petty' you think my morals are, but I am not that twisted.

Secondly." He held up another finger. "Alduin is literally here, which means the end of time is possibly less than a month away. Your bargaining chip is a lot less scary when I might not get to enjoy heaven for even a lifetime before the universe packs in and decides if it wants another go or not. And thirdly," He raised another finger and poked the corpse in the chest with all three, "you may think you're all unstoppable and scary, but most people would say the same about the Daedra. I have my entire life to find a way to get out of your little trick. You're talking to the mage who went from a nobody to the confidante of Daedra and owner of the staff of Magnus inside of a couple of months. What do you think I can do with sixty to eighty years?"

There was no response, and Xander honestly didn't feel like giving her the time to formulate one.

"Think about it." He concluded. "And next time you want to blackmail someone, sweetie, pick someone with less time or a smaller ego."

With that he slammed the doors to the coffin shut, and walked away.

He didn't even notice the three assassins staring at him in abject horror as he passed.

Hello, everybody, welcome back!

Been a hot minute, but here I am, and the story continues. Bit of an introductory chapter this one, don't worry, we'll get to the violence soon enough. Not much to really say here, besides the fact that I wish it was more often possible to use differing typefaces as well as grammatical gender to have characters converse with each other. Do you have any idea how awkward it is to write two guys talking to each other? Either I drown the text in pseudonyms or I have 'Xander said' 'Julius said' 'Xander said' 'Julius said' every other bloody line.

You know what we need to normalise? Using different fonts for different characters. Imagine if you could have five people talking without even needing to introduce them, because you can read it in the font. Be bloody brilliant. I know you're supposed to make it apparent in word choice and speaking style, but lets be real, unless you're doing comedically overexaggerated accents that is hard, and the effects are minimal.

Uh. Sorry. Offtopic.

Next Time: Someone struggles with economics, someone makes a compromise, and someone wears some silly clothes.