GASP! Another update?! I guess I'm not so evil after all, huh? Enjoy!

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Chapter 15:
The Tyrant

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Drevas of Mournhold
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After he scattered the skull – and helm – of another worthless Falmer across the keep's courtyard, Drevas ducked into an alcove and let his remaining Proven handle the little bastards; Isran had stepped up, when Rikke fell behind, and most of the Falmer were still outside. Plus, they were irritating pests compared to someone of Drevas' skill, not worth his time or full attention.

Speaking of which, the aged Dunmer turned and glared at the Tyrant; in his head, he called it a Chaurus Reaper Tyrant, as its chitin was the same dull burgundy color of those larger breeds of common Chaurus, and he could see – through the creature tearing at the Chaurus and Muster, its form barely visible under Khepri's Swarm and flashing, air-rattling blasts of the Arch-Mage's lightning – that it was trailing some sort of possibly egg-laying tube or whatever; he'd have to check and see if the beast kept a nest. Yes, it was clearly something the Dwemer had toyed with, in some long-forgotten time, but that was a tertiary worry.

By Boethiah's firm, supple tits was the beast huge. Worse, it was using that bulk to scatter the lines; Olquar's Thalmor, backed up by several units of the Stormcloaks, were giving as good as they got, and old Savos had blown one if the thing's mandibles off, but between the Falmer harrying Rikke and the durability of the Tyrant's cuirass, it looked like they might fold.

Sighing, Drevas carefully unwound part of Starfall's hilt-wrappings, looping a length around his hand while muttering, "Should've brought a ballista or five." He'd suggest the idea to Rikke later; sure, it hadn't worked when he used his Morag Tong connections to front the idea to the Legions, back during the War, but times were changing.

The old Dunmer's thoughts were brought up short by a screaming Falmer charging at him, its body on fire and a Daedric warhammer raised high.

Then a knife sprouted from its face, "THE WHITE TAKE YOU!" and Mjoll ran thundering past with a few Vigilants in tow, finishing the little blighter before leaping toward the next fight like the Lioness she was called. Blinking in pleased surprise, Drevas grabbed one of the Vigilants before they could engage and demanded a report.

"Galmar and Rikke are helping Carcette cut a way into the keep, but they've been held up by the main attack and the Tyrant. We only made it this far due to Faralda and the Swarm," gasped the young man, raising his shield to catch an arrow while Drevas judged the distance to the Tyrant, where Skitter tore a machine from the thing's flesh, jumping clear of a blue-flame explosion that came from the hole; over the abomination's resulting ear-raping scream, the Vigilant continued, "The Companions, Hold guards and-well, whoever isn't fighting the Falmer is fighting that… that thing!"

"Chaurus Reaper Tyrant, I wager will be the name," shouted Drevas calmly, taking aim and slowly swinging his mace back and forth, "Go on and help the others. I'll even the odds here and join you." The Vigilant took one look at Starfall and ran to aid Isran, who was getting bailed up in the next courtyard.

Putting that from his mind, Drevas kept spinning Starfall without taking his eyes off the Tyrant; while he kept building up speed, the thing spat another stream of ichor at the top of a nearby hill. The Arch-Mage, probably, raised a shimmering white barrier, causing the attack to fall short of the archers and supporting mages – and likely Khepri too, given how the Chaurus redoubled their efforts to slay the beast.

With a shriek he heard from where he was, near a mile from the bloody brawl, Drevas saw Skitter lunge from fifty yards away to strike off one of the Tyrant's antennae, before leaping onto its back and tearing at more Dwemer implants.

The Tyrant spasmed and writhed, slamming their tail end into the dirt, shaking Blackreach in a tantrum of screeching and wailing pain, furious at the ants chipping away at it. Good news: it was more or less staying in one place. Bad for it…

Drevas grinned, 'We are not ants.'

Stepping forward, he sent Starfall, wreathed now in ashen flames, flying across the cavern with a scream of his own, "PRAISE BOETHIAH!"

With the sound of two huge books slamming together, Starfall struck the beast's left side, breaking a leg, shattering chitin around the two legs next to that one, and sending the massive horror onto its right legs with a howl of pain. The Chaurus took immediate advantage and damn-near covered the Tyrant in their own acidic spit – it wasn't very effective on the chitin, but with the wounds it'd taken that didn't matter much. As for Starfall, after bouncing off the point of impact it vanished into the ravage that covered the battlefield around the Tyrant, but that didn't much matter to Drevas; he'd find the old hammer later.

Having done his part to aid the Muster, Drevas turned back to the matter at hand with a feral grin, renewing his Ebonyflesh spell and drawing two glass knives, before meeting the five Falmer Gloomlurkers coming at him with a cry of happy fury.

After all, he was there for a fight, and whether or not they were up to his standards, the Falmer would give Drevas just that.

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Farkas of the Companions
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A shaft of white flame tore briefly out from the middle of the Tyrant after it fell, taking a good portion of the monster's side and two legs in a blast of magic. With how Farkas had been reading the chaotic battle so far, that was probably Olquar's parting shot with the creature, the sorry bastard having been on the wrong side when it fell.

Not that Farkas cared. He was busy running toward the screaming thing, greatsword in a two-handed grip and pure Nordic rage coursing through his veins.

Every head-sweeping blow or earth-shaking step of the beast had killed at least one man or Chaurus, to say nothing of the boys and girls who wouldn't even get an urn of ashes sent home due to its acid; the only consolation Farkas could think of was that they'd given the Muster time to figure out a very important fact about the Tyrant: it could bleed.

If it could bleed, they could kill it.

To wit, Farkas' plan was very simple and straightforward: wait until its head got closer to the ground, then stab it in the brain.

The Tyrant's head was closer to the ground, but it was still alive and kicking; literally, as in Farkas saw an Orc get sent flying by the thing's death throes. Even with Skitter tearing at its wounds, and what looked like Keeper Carcette wreathed in light and shattering one of the Dwarven machines on its side with her warhammer, the thing was still trying to fight.

He'd have to fix that.

Through the arrows and spells raining on the beast, Farkas leapt the last distance as it began to rise, stabbing Skyforge steel at a crack in the Tyrant's chitin with all his strength.

It went in, but not deep enough, given the deafening scream that ripped out of the beast and left Farkas' ears ringing. From its sudden shifting, and Farkas' widening view of Blackreach, it was still rising, and would likely try to shake Farkas off once it got its bearings. He wouldn't give it the chance.

Grabbing the hilts of his sword, Farkas jammed it deeper; it was like cutting into a tree with a dull saw, but the grip he'd taken aided in not getting thrown off, when the Tyrant started shaking its head furiously.

A loud POP and hsss behind him made the Tyrant jerk to a halt and spasm in pain; it might've screamed again, but all Farkas could hear was ringing and the drumming of his heart. The briefest glance showed a glowing crater in the beast's side; either from the Arch-Mage, or Skitter's explosive spit, Farkas didn't know or care for the cause.

Twisting his blade to widen the crack, and sending a brief prayer to the Gods, Farkas grabbed the handle and drove his sword deeper into the Tyrant's head.

He must've hit something important, as the fell beast suddenly stilled, nearly tossing Farkas off with the halt of all movement. As it was still standing, he planted his feet, twisted the sword once more, and tried slashing it out.

The blade broke halfway to the hilt.

'Fuck.' Farkas gaped, only having enough time to think about how unhappy Eorlund would be, when Farkas realized the ground was getting closer. It'd been about thirty feet away before, but it was coming nearer alarmingly fast.

Trusting his instincts, Farkas dove free, ending his fall with a roll; it still felt like his left arm broke, but he managed to rise to one knee easily enough. Just in time to see six Falmer, all of them wounded and being harried by insects, come charging at him.

Gripping his broken blade and gritting his teeth, Farkas prepared to meet them-

Then Khepri ran past, her sword drawn and a cloud of wasps orbiting her head.

What followed was a completely one-sided beatdown; Khepri danced around blows with fluid deadly grace, and wiped out all six Falmer with a single fatal strike for each, all with a calmly determined scowl on her face. It was honestly one of the most beautiful things Farkas had ever seen; his only regret was that he was fucking deaf, so he couldn't hear how the scene sounded. Maybe if he described it to a Bard, someday…?

Farkas shook his head. The job wasn't done, and they were on a battlefield.

Looking around after Khepri finished with the scamps, Farkas found no more enemies nearby; the Muster was pushing the Falmer against their walls, and from the looks of things, those in the Keep were making good progress. Then Farkas saw Khepri stomping toward him, sword stained with blood and an angry look on her face, 'Uh oh.'

Before she could do more than open her mouth, Farkas yelled, "I'm deaf!" Visibly huffing, Khepri tossed her ornate sword into the mud and muck uncaringly, and pulled a red healing potion out of her tunic; reluctantly downing the small vial, Farkas ignored the throbbing pain in his left shoulder disappearing and prepared to take his licks.

Khepri opened her mouth, then closed it and looked at Farkas appraisingly; after pursing her lips, she swatted him lightly on the breastplate with her prosthetic hand, "Don't ever do something so reckless again."

"I'm a Companion." It was the truth. He couldn't promise her he'd never do something reckless again; sometimes, the job required a little recklessness.

"Does your duty regularly put you in the path of millennia-old horrors?"

After deciding that no, the Draugr didn't really count, Farkas shook his head the negative… then nodded, "Alright, no more running headlong at horrors that could kill me in one hit." It was a surprisingly easy promise to make.

Khepri looked incredibly relieved, before collecting herself, "Good… I'd hate to lose my favorite companion," and she turned away with a blush that could be noticed even in the blue dark of Blackreach; Farkas, meanwhile, felt his mind lock up a little at not hearing the capital letter. Which meant…

Shaking his head, Farkas stood fully and walked over to stand next to Khepri; as an afterthought, he glanced at the ground where her sword fell, "You should get your sword. No telling when they might come back."

"No. They're done for," replied Khepri, looking toward the Keep's highest tower, "All that's left is the children, and the leadership. Besides, I hate swords and fighting."

Thinking on that for a second, Farkas nudged her arm, "Mind if I drop by after this, talk about it over some mead and tea?"

She hadn't smiled, not really, since the Muster began; now, it came back in full, "It would be my pleasure."

Then an arrow flew between them from on high, breaking the moment. Leaving her to see to the Tyrant's corpse – which a good cross-section of the Chaurus were tearing apart, particularly the Dwarven bits, much to an arriving Calcelmo's irritation – Farkas found Vilkas and made his brother find him another blade.

There was still work to finish.

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Mjoll the Lioness
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Mjoll had her answer, to the question of how terrifying the 'Beekeeper' could be. The result was: do not ever, EVER, fight that woman.

Which was bad for the Falmer, as Khepri was the sweetest young woman Mjoll had ever met, when the insect-controller wasn't in a battle that is. In a fight… well, Mjoll wasn't eager to face her, and she'd be sure to spread that estimation to every adventurer or sellsword she met. The Falmer were safer, and that was saying something!

Taking a deep breath – and cursing the horrors to Oblivion for stinking everything up – Mjoll set her sights on the next room to take; she'd become separated from the main host at some point, and found a passage that led sideways, then down. Few followed her, but the way was longer than it first seemed; after ordering the four Rangers and two Thalmor who'd come with her to guard an intersection and send word back, Mjoll forged on alone.

There were a lot of Falmer on the way, but most of them were dead at Mjoll's feet, up to her shins, in fact… why did some have arrows or knives in them?

"Remind me to never piss you off, lass." Ah, Brynjolf, and it looked like Sapphire, Delvin and… that Breton girl who Ms. Katria was close with, were all with him. Brynjolf was pulling knives out of the ones behind Mjoll, while his two compatriots were kicking bodies and collecting arrows; the Breton woman just smiled and waved over one of Isran's crossbows.

"Thanks for the assist," Mjoll breathed in relief, letting the Falmer skewered on Grimsever slide off to join its brothers; having discarded her meatshield, she sheathed her sword and downed one of the honey-flavored stamina potions that'd become quite popular in the Muster. Dashing the bottle on the ground once it was done, Mjoll began stomping forward once more, "Let's see what they've hidden down here."

As it turned out, quite a lot, but all Mjoll got was the impression of a large cavern, some kind of ornate Dwemer vehicle on wheels, and pale-faced screaming children being whipped and shoved toward a container of some sort. Then the Falmer shrieked and battle was joined once more, except far more fiercely.

Twice Mjoll was knocked over, and twice was she saved, by either Brynjolf or the Breton girl, the former dancing through the fray with his knives, while the latter wielded sword and spell with great effect.

Soon enough, they'd whittled the Falmer down to only three armored beings. With a snarl, the heaviest-armored of them grabbed a child – a white-furred Khajiit girl who yowled and kicked – and put a knife to the girl's throat with a warning shriek at Mjoll, who snarled back hatefully. 'So it's like that, huh?'

Hsss.

Then the Chaurus Hunter Imp leapt off the container the children were in, ramming a claw into the top of the Falmer's head; its grip loosened on the Khajiit's fur as it died, upon which the little girl, who couldn't have been four years old, leapt at one of the other Falmer with another loud yell.

The blind creature didn't have a chance, one of Sapphire's arrows going through its throat before it could turn its blade on the little one; a second later, the other Falmer was falling in half at Mjoll's feet and the children were screaming, tearing brutally at the last Falmer in the area.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Mjoll watched some of the children warily – some of whom were watching her and the thieves, who were picking over the dead – and said to one side, "Thanks, Sapphire. I owe you a drink for that one."

"Anytime, Mjoll. Woof," the younger woman ran a hand through her brown hair, staring at the children of the Falmer; now that Mjoll was closer, she could see it. One who looked like a little Redguard boy had longer ears than normal, same as the other races of Men she could see, and all of their eyes were a shade of red, the Khajiit girl's a shocking pink, "How're we gonna explain this to the Muster, Brynjolf?"

"The children or the train?" asked Delvin, staring at the machine, which the Breton was staring at like a piece of meat, "What'd'ya make of it, Sorine?" So that was her name; good, Mjoll wouldn't have to ask it and embarrass herself, when she invited the woman for drinks.

"It's intact! An intact Dwemer Steam Locomotive! I mean, sure," the woman looked further ahead of the machine, where a pair of rails ran into the dark; in the distance, a red glow shone, "we'll have to get more light down here to see what we've really got, not to mention all the other researchers, but this has to be the biggest Dwemer find of this ERA!" and then the frighteningly excited woman turned shining eyes on Mjoll, "Can we use your name in our report as the primary discoverer of this wonder?!"

"Ah, err, certainly," Mjoll shifted uncomfortably, watching as the little Khajiit girl began sniffing and coming closer to her; the little one was still growling and would clearly try to attack, but Mjoll kept herself at ease, "But perhaps we should see to these children first."

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Houscarl Galmar Stone-Fist
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In his time serving Ulfric and Skyrim, Galmar had heard many reports of Falmer kidnappings; usually, those were dealt with by either sending some men to deal with the creatures, or, in the case of bigger raids, letting the Proven know about it. Sometimes it ended in hand-wringing thanks, other times a sorrowful pyre, but the Falmer were a fact of life for Nords; always had been, always would be. As with every storm, Skyrim would weather them; so Galmar always told himself.

After seeing the horrors in the tower – the sight of which had driven several of the Muster to vomit or tears, sometimes both – Galmar couldn't tell himself that anymore. No more.

The Falmer needed to end, and praise Talos, it was nearly at that end.

On the top of the tower, above even the sun-lamp, was a wide circular platform, on which sat a throne. When Galmar arrived – singing the praises of the Alchemists for their stamina potions – with a Proven, Faralda, Isran and Skjor, five Falmer in Daedric kit were waiting around that throne for them, while a sixth sat on the throne, dressed in a dirty yet ornate white armor, some sort of Dwemer crown on its brow.

Its screech of challenge was drowned out by Faralda's booming lightning and Galmar's bellowing war-cry, and battle was joined again.

But by Ysmir's beard, that crowned Falmer wasn't dying without a fight! With one hand sheathed in silver lightning and the other holding a Dwarven halberd that burned when it cut, the creature fought with a celerity and skill that few of the other Falmer displayed. Even with its guards dead and the other's efforts focused on slaying it, the Falmer shrieked and defied them, dodging Isran and Galmar's strikes, or deflecting Faralda's.

Then Rikke arrived, so covered in red Galmar couldn't tell what was armor and what was blood, and screamed, "BASTARD!" before leaping at the Falmer elite with such ferocity even the Proven paused, while the Falmer struggled to compensate the new opponent, receiving cut after cut as Rikke drove it toward the edge of the platform.

Well, Galmar wasn't about to let her steal his kill! Circling to the creature's left, he took an opening and chopped his axe at the creature's arm; he got a fork of lightning for his trouble, but he also took the creature's hand off, allowing Rikke to lop off the other limb at the shoulder.

Then the Falmer headbutted her, breaking Rikke's nose and staggering her back; it wound up its foot, a blade in the toe.

Galmar got there in time, taking the beast's leg next; with the backswing, he went to finish it.

Rikke's blade went through the crown into its head, while Galmar's went through the shoulder and parted its heart; sharing a glare with the woman, they both withdrew their weapons, and a lightning bolt from Faralda knocked it off the platform, ending the fight.

"Look out below!" shouted Isran over the edge, the white light around him fading; after a distant crash sounded, the Redguard glared at Faralda, who was sighing in relief, "That was reckless."

"Oh, fuck off." Rikke snarled after fixing her nose; then she grabbed Gunmar's cuirass and-

…and…

Once she was done kissing him soundly, Rikke slapped Galmar on the shoulder and said companionably, "Good work. See me for a drink later," before walking away, saying in parting, "I'm going to see to my men and announce the victory. I suggest all you do the same," Isran and Faralda both agreed that the idea was splendid and joined her in leaving.

Right as Galmar started to get properly mad, he noticed the Proven grinning; to the uppity shit, he brandished his axe and growled, "Not a fucking word."

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Khepri the Beekeeper
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I studiously ignored Calcelmo's continuing pleads, in favor of examining the Dwemer crown Skitter brought me. It was certainly beautiful, a complex filigree of the blue stone – Katria swore it was a rare material called aetherium, which was everywhere in Blackreach, much to her delight – mixed with precious stones, gold, and bronze Dwemer metal.

However beautiful it was, I could feel nothing but disappointment and disgust, looking upon this creation of the Dwemer.

In my mental battle with the Tyrant, I managed to sneak glimpses of the ancient Reaper's memory: it had always existed as a tool of the Dwemer, who'd raised it and modified it to tell other Chaurus what to do. They'd found ways to increase its size, mutating it, and turning it into a breeder, one that would make other, lesser, versions of itself; in a way, the Tyrant was also the first Chaurus Reaper, and the progenitor of all who'd come after.

The crown in my hands was how it was controlled: a Dwemer mage would put on the crown, and the mage's desires would become the Tyrant's desires, through the implants the Dwemer put in the Tyrant's body. It was why I told the Chaurus to break those implants; the knowledge of how to make them couldn't be passed on, even in record.

This small item, this pretty thing, was the reason the Chaurus were enslaved for four thousand years.

Calcelmo had gone silent, and Skitter was still knelt before me, so I asked, "Has anyone found out where the Chaurus come from?" I asked because… I had a suspicion.

"They have white souls, much like any animal of Mundus," Arch-Mage Aren told me; he and Keeper Carcette, along with Calcelmo, were the ones who were supposed to check all suspicious items – like the crown, or the train engine Mjoll found – for taint or corruption. "Therefore, they are much like the guar, spriggan or dreugh: especially intelligent members of Nirn's natural world."

"Why do you ask?" demanded Calcelmo, sounding suspicious. I didn't see the issue; between the Keep, Blackreach's landscape, and a tower that was surrounded by an impenetrable barrier of golden light, Calcelmo had decades of research and cataloging to do, which was the main reason I – and Skitter – suggested Blackreach be seen as a protected dig site under the Imperial Charter,

I told them what the crown was, and what it was meant to do. Both of them sobered up after that, but also stayed silent, so I turned my gaze back onto the item in my hands.

To think such a small thing, could cause so much pain…

[queen]

I looked up at Skitter. She was looking right back at me.

Out loud, she buzzed and clacked out more words, "zzzWe go homezzz?"

Smiling tiredly – and sighing in relief, as Farkas entered my swarm's range once more – I turned back to Calcelmo and Savos, "The crown was a simple decoration of the Dwemer, and a sign of the Falmer's rule underground. It was symbolically destroyed by Skitter, the Chaurus Praetorian, a sign that they would no longer terrorize as the Falmer did, but live in harmony with Skyrim, as is their desire."

And, ignoring Calcelmo's displeased but accepting sigh, and Savos' hum of approval, I handed the crown to Skitter, who snapped it in half without hesitation before crumpling it into a ball and giving it to another Chaurus to bury someplace hard to reach.

During the inevitable celebrations, which lasted two days at Mzinchaleft, plus another in Dawnstar, I would find many people saw my giving the crown to Skitter, and these people then heard from multiple sources – most of whom were both drunk in celebration and important in one way or another – that it was the Falmer's crown; I encouraged this rumor, and asked Bards to note that Skitter broke it with an anticlimactic snap of metal. They wanted me to elaborate, and quite a few people called for a speech, but by then I was looking forward to making sure Bori got back home safe to Sillte, Imp didn't take too many shiny objects with her, and getting a hot bath ready for when Farkas next visited; as he was bailed up by quite a few people, and there were plenty of others to give speeches, I grabbed my steward and the Hold's Houscarl and managed to herd both back home, on the evening of the 17th of First Seed.

As my house came into view once more, and Skitter slipped deftly under the front porch, a relieved sigh left my mouth. I was glad it was over; the Chaurus were freed, the battle was ended, my sword was recovered – and on its way to a locked trunk, if I had any say – and everything could go back to a nice, pleasant normal.

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If only Khepri, if only.

Notes:
Oblivion Measures are a series of protocols that are enacted whenever something horrific and/or Daedric in nature occurs. Only enacted by Governors, the Elder Council, or the Emperor, and carried out by a trusted party – who is 'trusted' varies depending on the region and available experts – it's basically an extermination coupled with a forensic investigation and historic redaction. Traditionally, the Imperial Blades or Penitus Oculatus act as overseers in the aftermath, and the final reports are presented to the Elder Council before being archived at the Moth Priest Monastery in Cyrodiil. Notable reasons for the Measures: Order of the Black Worm (Mannimarco), Mythic Dawn (Oblivion Crisis), Warp in the West (Daggerfall, may or may not have needed Measures due to Dragon Break), and pretty much every instance where Daedric or necromantic shenanigans caused noticeable damage or upheaval.

The Imperial Charter is basically the Tamriellic Constitution. Set forth by Emperor Tiber Septim, it is a set of laws, rules, and regulations that every Province of Tamriel must adhere to, and covers all sorts of things, from basic stuff like farming tithes and the necessity of local garrisons in rural areas, to a Governor's duties and those of the Emperor.

In this chapter, Khepri invokes the Charter's section on dig sites: all newly-discovered and/or cleared ruins are to be seen as research opportunities of Imperial and nationalistic importance, no matter where they are or who they belong to. Therefore: all artifacts present after adventuring rewards are to be considered historic artifacts and treated as such; any and all indigenous animals are to be treated with care and respect, outside of professional testing; the ruin is under the jurisdiction of the Province Governor, answerable to the Emperor alone; finally, only experts on the particular ruin type and their apprentices may be allowed entry, as well as armed security where applicable.

In other words, Khepri convinced the Muster to request Blackreach be turned into a National Preserve for the Chaurus, barred the Thalmor from interfering at all – because the Concordat doesn't mention ancient ruins at all; they usually use the Synod or College of Whispers to do that stuff, with little success – and she used the Dig Site article of the Charter to do it all legally.

So concludes the Blackreach arc! After next chapter, there will be two intermissions, then it's back to Khepri and her ventures in the world of business. Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone! You're awesome!

Next time: Out of the Rain