Last Time: L'Laarzen prepared to infiltrate Goldenglow Estate, Xander was sent to retrieve books for the college, Hjar interrogated Thonar Silver-Blood, and Dulurza accepted a personal task from Elisif the Fair.

You're Not Supposed to be Here.

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The shrine of Talos was a small thing. Alexander had expected more from the Nords, especially since he had the enormous shrine of Azura to compare it to, but he supposed that given the worship of Talos was illegal (and unlike the worship of Daedra, being actively hunted) this was all the natives could manage. A statue of an armoured man, perhaps two men tall, with a few lit candles, coins, and weapons as offerings.

Xander awkwardly sat down in front of it, gulping.

"Hey Talos." He said, out loud. "It's me. Your boy."

The statue didn't respond.

"You remember me, right? I mean, I know I don't come round often...ever...this is the first time...I mean, in my defense, worshipping you has been outlawed since before I was born."

The statue was silent.

"Gods, this is stupid..." Xander shook his head. "Look, I'm here because...your whole schtick is that you used to be just some guy. A chosen dragonborn warrior thing, sure, but just some guy, who was able to become a God. You're all about something lesser become something great. And I'm...definitely lesser. Look, I'm not a mage. Divines know I'm not a real mage, but I want to be one. And now I've got to go out there and fight a cult of crazy mage dudes, twice, if I feel up to it, and I just..." He grimaced. "I was wondering if, maybe...you could give me a hand?"

There was a thud, and Xander nearly had a heart attack as a large, armoured woman dropped to her knees beside him.

She was an Orc, probably something like eight feet tall, garbed in steel armour except for her face, beautiful despite the curved, enlarged teeth that jutted out from her bottom lip. She reached to a satchel at her hip and withdrew a bone war horn, placing it gently on the altar. "You are not my god." She said, in a voice that was deeper than Xander's. "But you were his. He fought valiantly in defense of what he thought was right, and died honourably. Whatever paradise you offer, he belongs there."

Shalidor's Left Testicle, that was the most badass thing I've ever seen!

Xander gaped in awe as the Orc effortlessly stood up again and turned away.

"Who was that for?" He couldn't help but ask.

"High King Torryg." She responded, without missing a beat, continuing to walk away.

Then she stopped. Her hand went to the hilt of her axe.

"I'm sorry-" Xander blurted automatically-

"Shh. You hear that?"

Xander froze, and turned to look out into the night. It was dark (duh), the moon was covered by a thick blanket of black cloud. The candles of the shrine made a bright orange glow against the cliff side, but there were no lights in the surrounding plains, and plenty of large rocks to hide behind.

Slowly, Xander stood to a crouch, and drew his staff of magelight from his back. He charged it, and let fly a bolt of gleaming white light.

The light struck stone, and gold armour glinted.

The Orc was moving before Xander could even react, roaring a battle cry and charging at the newcomers.

Elves, five of them, their armour and robes quickly identifying them as agents of the Thalmor. And here I am at a shrine of Talos. Of course. Fortunately Xander's new acquaintance was providing him with salvation. She swung once with her axe and three of the Thalmor were forced to back up, one being disarmed. She then spun and bashed a fourth in the face before turning to decapitate the fifth like it was nothing.

Xander ran forwards, feeling like he should probably be helping, dropping his magelight staff and scrabbling for the other one strapped to his back while drawing his sword with his right hand.

By the time he got there the Orc had killed another two of the Thalmor and was already turning on one of the remaining two.

One was a robed mage, but Miss Battleaxe's target was the other, in armour, and her weapon crashed into his shield hard enough to put a dent in it and stagger him backwards.

The other summoned a bound blade in his hand, and swung it at the Orc's back.

It crashed against black steel.

Xander caught the attack on his ancient Nord sword with a grimace, arm shaking from the impact, before jabbing the staff of Jyric Gauldurson into the Elf's chest and firing it.

They howled and were flung back a few feet, dropping their bound weapon to use both hands to form a ward that blocked the next blast from Xander's staff.

It did not block the axe that came sailing over Xander's head to bury itself in their chest.

The Imperial collapsed to the ground (exhausted), while the Altmer collapsed to the ground (dead).

"Who are you again?" Xander gasped out.

"Dulurza." The Orc grunted, pulling her axe out the Thalmor's chest. "I serve the Jarl of Solitude."

"We just commit treason."

"Not if we're not here when more arrive." Dulurza sheathed her weapon, unbothered, and turned to leave.

"Waitwaitwaitwait!" Xander shouted after her, scrambling to his feet and walking after her. "I need your help!"

"With what?" She didn't turn around, or stop moving.

"There's this ruin, and it's full of mages, and I'm going to need to fight them and-"

"Hire a mercenary."

"That...is a good idea, actually, but I don't want some guy with a sword from a tavern I want you!"

"I'm not for sale, boy." Dulurza replied, uninterested.

"But you just killed like five people in thirty seconds!" Xander continued desperately. "And I think Talos might have sent you to me! And I, uh-" She was still leaving- "I'll enchant all your gear!"

That made her stop. Dulurza turned around and stared at him. "You're an enchanter?"

He nodded as fast as he could. "I am! And I'm good! I can do fortify two handed, and fortify health, (obviously not both at once) and I have a few greater soul gems that I definitely didn't steal from the College, so they'll be high quality stuff, I promise!"

"How do I know you're not just lying to me to get me to help?" Dulurza asked, reasonably.

"Well, if I try to cheat you at any time, you can kill me and take all my stuff, heheh..." Xander tried for a smile, but it came out more as a grimace. "And if you want, I could do one of your armour pieces first as insurance?"

She stared at him silently for what must have been a full minute, biting her lip. "I want gauntlets, breastplate, helmet and boots done."

"Deal. Not your axe?"

"I'm holding out on getting a better axe, so not much point. This is for one dungeon, we agreed?"

"One dungeon. Half a day's work."

"And I get what I want from the corpses of the ones I kill?"

"Sounds fair." He nodded.

She held out a hand. "Deal."

He shook it. Her grip nearly broke his fingers.

"Alright then! Go team!" He grinned, stepping away and shaking out his hand. "It's only a mile or so west-northwest, up in the mountains. You want to go now? Set up camp, stop back in Whiterun for the rest of the night..?"

"We go to Whiterun, because there isn't going to be a table in the wilderness where you can enchant my gauntlets." Dulurza pointed out.

"Right, yes."

"Also, we should probably get away from these bodies."

"That too." Xander looked at them, hesitantly. "Do...you want to loot them or can I? That one's sword is better than mine."

8˂

L'laarzen clambered up the fence with little issue. There was a mercenary on a tower; she waited with her hands on the edge until he was looking the other way before pulling herself up and jumping in onto the the estate grounds.

The scent of wet grass tickled her nose. Her ears twitched to pickup the distant sound of buzzing from the hives, and her tail swished through the evening air, maintaining her balance as she rose into a crouch. Her eyes quickly adapted to the dimness, and she licked her lips, grinning. L'laarzen is Back In Business.

She decided to go for the deed to the estate first; given that setting the hives on fire would be bound to draw all sorts of attention. Her feet padded, not quite silently, but pretty close to it as she made her way through the shadows to Goldenglow Manor. The mercenaries on the outside weren't too much of a problem; those one the walls were on the lookout for threats from without, not within, and those patrolling the grounds were incredibly lax. It didn't take much for L'laarzen to sneak her way up to the back door of the manor. She put her eye to the keyhole to check the other side was clear, put her ear to it to double check, then pulled Aringoth's keyring from her belt. She tried three keys, then the fourth was able to click in the lock and turn. It was a good door, well oiled, barely a sound as it swung open. Amateur. Always have squeaky hinges. Or bells on the doors, if the squeaking sets your teeth off.

Now the inside of the manor, that was a little trickier. Everything was well lit, and the corridors had much less space to hide. But the boards creaked under the heavy footsteps of the armoured guards, and L'laarzen had already memorised most of the layout from her trip into and out of Aringoth's room. She slipped into the dining room and then out via another door, entirely avoiding one corner guard, and then pressed herself against one end of a bookcase, looking into the corridor ahead of her.

Now, here was the tricky part.

In front of her, the corridors met in a T. To the left was the staircase up to the next floor, as well as the gate down to the cellar, and to the right was a long corridor that had a blind corner at the end. A mercenary patrolled from the cellar gate along to the blind corner, then back again. That left L'laarzen with a small window where he wasn't looking at the gate and wasn't in her way.

She waited patiently, and timed how long it took him from passing her location going right to passing it going left again. Twenty one seconds. Half that to get ten, round down to eight for error...yes, there was time.

There were four total keys on the ring; presumably one to the doors (which she knew already), one to the safe, one to the cellar and one to the outside gate, leaving her three possible options. Whoever is listening, grant L'laarzen luck.

She continued to wait, and the next time he passed her location going left, she darted out into the corridor and padded rapidly to the gate, keys already in her hand.

It was four seconds before she tried the first key, nothing, six seconds and she was trying the second key, nothing, eight seconds and she was on the third and a quick glance showed he was turning-

The key clicked in the lock and she swung the gate inwards, pactically throwing herself inside before shutting the gate as quickly as she could without rattling it. Across the corridor, the mercenary squinted on his way back to the gate, almost thinking he'd seen a tail flick through. But he dismissed it, shrugging and continuing his rounds.

Inside the cellar, L'laarzen held her breath until he was gone again, before glaring at the keys in annoyance. Perhaps Brynjolf was right about this run of bad luck.

But it wasn't enough to stop her.

Now underground, the lights were small candles dotted about, and most of the mercenaries were just sat at tables gambling, or sleeping outright. Keeping to the shadows, L'laarzen passed them all by, descending one more layer to reach a small room. In that room was a safe.

Of the two unknown keys, it was the second that fit the lock to the safe, which was very concerning because that meant she'd been as unlucky as possible with them. There was, what, a one in twenty four chance of that happening?

The contents of the safe were similarly concerning. Pouches of gold and precious gems, worth a lot but loud to carry around on a belt. Ingots of valuable metals that were too heavy to smuggle out, she'd have to carry them to outside and dump them in a lake, and let Brynjolf know about it later. The deed was there, thank goodness, and the note...when she read it, her eyes widened, and she quickly folded it up and stored it in one of her waterproof pouches. That fool. Why in Azurah's name has he sold the estate?

8˂

The gold and silver ingots fell into the sludge with satisfying splats, quickly sinking into the mud. L'laarzen mentally marked the spot, shook out her hands now that they were free from the weight, and turned to continue across the estate.

Night had truly fallen at this point, and the clouds obscuring Secunda meant that conditions were perfect for sneaking. L'laarzen was practically able to follow the paths on her way to the beehives. A bridge did creak, loudly, beneath her feet as she crossed it, but that only earned a cursory look by the guards as she dove behind some wooden palisades to avoid them. The real problem came when she reached the hives themselves. Burn three, Brynjolf had said, to send a message. Slight problem being that burning beehives wasn't something she could just slip in and do quickly, and there was a guard stood right there next to them. L'laarzen looked around; he was alone. Makes sense, the 'get stung by bees' shift mustn't be very desirable. Slowly, she lit up a dim golden glow in her palm, and crept up behind him.

One hand covered his mouth, while the other reached up to grab his forehead, and pulsed gold. He struggled weakly for a few more seconds, before his body went limp, and he slumped to the floor.

It was an...unorthodox application of restoration magic, she could admit, bolstering the right chemicals in the brain. The spell could be used to slowly make a customer doze off, if they would like to sleep during or after a styling session. Or it could be used to knock a grown man out in seconds.

She dragged his body out of range of any buzzing vengeance, before clicking her fingers and lighting flames in her hands. The simplest fire spells had such utility, especially for distractions.

Sorry, little friends. L'laarzen exhaled, and let loose streams of fire.

It was less than half a minute before the guards arrived on the scene, to see three of Goldenglow's hives burning like funeral pyres in the night, but by that point L'laarzen had ducked behind a set of wooden palisades. She took one last look over her shoulder before making a running jump off the edge of the island, diving into the murky waters of the lake, and away.

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"Okay, after that, I'm putting my armour on." Margret remarked.

"You have armour?" Hjar asked.

"Studded leather." She nodded. "For emergencies. And considering our 'attacks per investigation' ratio is 1:1, I think I'd like to be prepared."

"Got it." Hjar chuckled. "I'll meet you at Nepos'?"

"Sure. But you have to use this time to find a healer."

"I'm fine." Hjar lied, blatantly, and Margret clearly didn't buy it. "Ugh, alright."

"Good. I don't want you getting hurt." Margret waved, and took off at a jog back through the streets to the streets.

Hjar watched her go, smiling, then angrily shook her head. Enemy, remember?

Her hands throbbed at her, and she sighed, making her own path through the city.

She had heard that there was an apothecary in the city, but knew from experience that nothing but the most expensive healing brews would heal her up with any kind of speed. The potion of minor healing was for cuts and bruises, not broken bones.

A magic healer, then. Hjar was a Breton, but restoration was never something that she'd been able to master, much to her chagrin. Her first thought was the temple of Dibella, but that was closed for some reason. Fortunately, the nice lady there had told her that apparently there was a member of the Vigil of Stendarr the city, and unless Hjar was a vampire then he should be more than happy to help.

Further scouting and quizzing of other citizens revealed that the cleric had questioned more than a few of them about a certain abandoned house off the high street.

The vigilant wasn't in front of the house.

But the door was open.

"Hello!" She called, then immediately regretted it as her followup breath in drew a wave of dust into her mouth. She coughed, violently, which then caused her bruised ribs to throb. Grimacing, she forced herself to keep walking forwards, eyes taking in the most notable features. Fresh food, lit candles, but dust everywhere. So whoever is here's not been here long, or doesn't stay for long periods. The vigilant perhaps?

She walked further into the house.

The reason for all the dust became quickly obvious; down at the back of one of the rooms was an excavation, for Azura's sake. She proceeded cautiously down the tunnel, hearing sounds of shouting from deeper within. At this point she knew that if there was a vigilant down here, he would either be dead or quite preoccupied, but by now she was motivated entirely by curiosity.

Loose dirt crunched beneath her feet as she reached the lowest part of the cave. It was quite a sight that met her eyes.

"You blasted Daedra!" Shouted a man in vigilant robes, brandishing a steel mace threateningly at some sort of altar at the back of the cave. "I'll never allow you to-"

Hjar's foot slipped on a pebble, and he spun at the noise, spotting her immediately. "You! You're the worshipper aren't you? You built this twisted place!"

Hjar held her hands up and took a step back. "Hey, no, easy, I just wanted-"

"Lies!" A dim ray of sunlight from a hole in the roof illuminated the spittle on his lips, and the bloodshot in his eyes. "Deception! Your patron is trying to twist my mind! I won't let him!"

Bit late for that, sweetie. Hjar thought, dimly, but only got a moment to contemplate how terrible a situation this was before the vigilant raised his mace over his head and roared, bearing down on her.

This has just been the worst weekend-

Hjar charged in hard, low, and fast. His mace never got a chance to land as she tackled him about the stomach and slammed him into the altar.

She kneed him in the groin, twice, and grabbed one of his arms with hers to slam it against the wall, making him drop the mace.

Her hands were practically on fire now, this being the second time in as many hours she'd tried to use her broken bones to grip a weapon, but she ignored it, grabbing her own mace from her hip and bringing it down with a slam onto his left cheek.

There was a flash of green.

Stoneflesh- She grimaced as she saw the alteration spell in his palm, and the thin layer appeared over his body, reducing the impact of her mace to a bloody bruise, rather than a broken jaw.

Then his second hand came up and punched her in the face.

It was her turn to crash against the altar, seeing stars, but she had enough sense to swing her mace again and try and catch him.

He caught it on something, Stendarr's mercy she could barely even see, and then her mace was ripped out of her hand.

Two hands wrapped around her throat.

She coughed as she was lifted bodily upwards, feet dangling above the floor as the vigilant choked the life out of her, almost crushing her windpipe.

Her eyes started to roll upwards as she gasped for air, and she was going to die down here, and Margret was never going to know where she'd gone and the ball of rage in her stomach was getting angrier and angrier, begging to be released-

No! To Oblivion with all of you! I'm not dead while I still have two good arms!

Her eyes snapped open. Her own arms stretched out to the vigilant's face, fingers settling on his insane eyes. The stoneflesh spell helped, but it couldn't stand between her digits' desperate strength and her particularly squishy target.

His will broke first.

Howling, blood pouring down his face, he released Hjar and staggered backwards, and she collapsed to the floor no get up don't stop now-

She fell atop him, slamming him to the floor and straddling him. She didn't waste time trying to choke out a stronger and more durable opponent; she just grabbed his head, lifted it up and slammed it back down onto the rocky floor.

That didn't do much but stun him, so she did it again.

And again.

And again.

Eventually, that was enough to make him stop moving.

Hjar staggered back up, took one look at the blinded priest laying in a pool of his own blood, and turned to vomit in the corner.

It took a few minutes for her to compose herself after that, recovering her breath and getting her rage under control. That was when the sound of a dark, malicious laugh began to echo in her subconscious. "You fight like a cornered rat, daughter of the Reach."

Hjar reached up and, with a final wince, forced her nose back into a sensible location. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"You are weak. Broken. And yet you refuse to submit. You roar and flail until the world around you bends to your will. How delicious."

Hjar turned to give the altar a flat look. "Molag Bal, I take it."

"Indeed."

Molag Bal. Daedric Prince of Domination. Ruler of Coldharbour. Progenitor of vampirism. Attempted conqueror of the world.

"Alright. Nice to meet you." Hjar carefully sidestepped the obvious trap in the floor and turned to go.

"Halt!"

She groaned and looked back. "Do you mind? I've been through enough already today, and I have a date. Uh, not that kind of date."

"Your pathetic mortal matters are of no consequence to me. I have a task for you."

Hjar grimaced. She was a Forsworn, and the Forsworn teachings were quite clear. If a Daedric Prince wants you to do something, you damn well do it.

"What task?"

"Ah, such defiance, and yet you submit. Dissapointing." Bal's voice was dripping with vitriol. "There is a priest of the pitiful wench Boeithia. Logrolf. He visits my shrine every month to perform his insulting rites at my altar, but lately he has been missing. Your forsworn have captured him at Deepwood Redoubt. I want you to find him, and free him."

"You want me to kill my fellow Forsworn?"

"I understand you have had no problem doing so thus far."

She grimaced, and the prince laughed again.

"Go. Bring him back here. Let him perform his rites one last time. But when he does, we will be waiting."

A quest. For a Daedra. Had she been younger this might have been a dream come true, but as it was she just felt tired.

"Fine." She took one last look at the dead vigilant, and turned to leave.

"One last thing. Say hello to Hircine for me, will you?"

She scowled, and walked faster, and his haunting laugh accompanied her on the way out.

8˂

A sopping wet L'laarzen pulled herself out of the lake onto the wooden platforms of Riften's docks. She was shivering from the cold, and all the combing she'd done that morning was ruined, but she found herself grinning from ear to ear. L'laarzen has forgotten how good it feels to complete a heist, it seems. Easy, girl. Don't fall back down the slope.

She shook herself off as best she could, but was unwilling to use any flame magic when it might attract the attention of the Riften guards who still patrolled at night. For the same reason, she could hardly use any of the traditional routes into the city...

Mood dampened a little, L'laarzen extended her claws again, and set about clambering up the walls.

By the time she had made her way up and over, the heat from her exhaustion did away with most of the water's chill. She dropped down, and was surprised to find that her feet met grass, rather than stone. After a quick look around to get her bearings, she realised that she must be in the back garden of that Orphanage, Honorhall. Shrugging to herself, she prepared to vault the fence and make her way down into the ratway, but shrunk back into the shadowed corner when the door to Honorhall opened.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw an old woman leading a child out by the ear.

"I didn't mean it! I swear! Grelod, OW!" The child protested angrily.

"Don't you talk back to me like that!" 'Grelod' snapped, slamming the door closed and turning back to him. The only light in the garden was a single torch in a sconce on the wall. "You have been warned about spreading rumours, Hroar!"

"But it's not a rumour! It's true!" Hroar shouted back. "Aventus told us all he was coming back! He said he was going to Windhelm, and that he was going to-"

There was a crack.

In the corner, L'laarzen's fists tightened.

Grelod used the hand she'd just slapped Hroar with with to grab him by the front of his tunic. "Listen here, you little gutter-snipe. The Arentino boy is dead, you hear me? Dead!"

"But-"

"But nothing!" She shoved him, and he stumbled back against the fence, wincing.

"This orphanage is the only place that will take in you dregs. I don't want to hear any more about Arentino, from you or the rest of you kids! If he was stupid enough to leave, then he's stupid enough to have died in the wastes between here and Windhelm!"

Hroar glared at her. "You're wrong. He's going to do the Black Sacrament, and the Dark Brotherhood are going to kill you! And then we'll all be free!"

There was silence, for a few seconds. In the shadows, L'laarzen was shaking, her claws biting into her palm hard enough to draw blood.

Eventually, calmly, Grelod said, "Take off your tunic."

The boy paled. "No, Grelod, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Tunic off, Hroar. Turn around and put your hands on the fence." As he slowly began to comply, Grelod turned around and pulled the torch out of its sconce on the wall.

"When those gossiping little wretches ask you what happened, as I'm sure they will." Grelod replied, gripping the torch in both hands and pointing it towards Hroar's exposed back, "Tell them it's what happens when you start to entertain thoughts like freedom."

L'laarzen moved.

She didn't even decide to do it; one moment she was in the corner, seething, the next she was in the air and crashing into the elderly matron.

Grelod fell with a startled cry, torch dropping to the floor, and L'laarzen fell on top of her, claws out and swinging. She didn't even look, she just felt, making impact after impact until her arms were shaking from the exhaustion and the form beneath her was completely still.

It took her a second to realise what she had done, and her eyes widened in horror.

"You...killed her..." Hroar said, from behind her, something between terror and triumph in his voice.

L'laarzen didn't turn around to look at him. She threw herself up, over the fence, and ran.

The Thot Plickens. I am sorry that all of Hjar's fight scenes end up being so brutal, I just want to get across the fact that she has to be. Physically, she's weaker than Alexander, but will resort to whatever she has to to stay alive.

Next Time: Someone gets emasculated, someone gets exasperated, and someone lets loose a little.