Last Time: Dulurza executed Ahtar, Margret learned more about the Forsworn Conspiracy, and Xander met up with L'laarzen on the way to Mzulft.

Discussing Violence

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The man coughed, blood dripping from both his mouth and the hole in his stomach, and none of L'laarzen's frantic attempts at healing were able to staunch the flow. "They...took it. The focusing crystal, they...you have to br-bring it to...to..." his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

L'laarzen hung her head low, reaching out a hand to close his eyelids. She muttered something, not in Khajiiti, but in Dunmeri. Though Xander recognised the language, he couldn't figure the words out. He backed up a step, and looked awkwardly between the body of the Synod mage, and the door leading deeper into the ruins.

"...Would you be mad if I stripped his robes?"

"Alexander!"

"What! They're worth so much money!"

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"Let me look at it."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I'm fine."

"Dulurza. Let him look at it."

"My Jarl, it's-"

"Dulurza."

"...Hmph."

Dulurza grudgingly sat down in a chair in Elisif's room, allowing the priest, Styrr, to start fussing over her. "Looks like a puncture wound." He muttered. "Below your right ribs."

"Aye." Dulurza rolled her eyes. "That'll be because I was punctured below my right ribs. Crazy."

"Naked steel?" He asked.

"Wooden spike. Axe haft." Dulurza decided, for the sake of Elisif's worried expression, that she'd co-operate. "It went in about two inches."

"Hm. Not that hard to heal with some targeted restoration spells, but there might be splinters, and we don't want those getting stuck..." Styrr looked at the area critically. "Armour and tunic off. I'll need to inspect the wound."

"Alright, alright." Dulurza stood up and started unbuckling her armour, giving Elisif a reassuring smile. "It really isn't that big of a deal. I've been stabbed worse in training than this."

"You have?" Elisif looked surprised by the admission, lowering herself into an adjacent chair with visible exhaustion.

"Oh, yeah. And we don't have any fancy healing mages at Mor Khazgur to solve the problem in a few minutes. Look-" Dulurza laid the armour on the floor, then pulled up her tunic's right sleeve, bearing her inner forearm (and the long white line drawn up it) to Elisif. "My sister gave that to me, age twelve. Couldn't swing an axe for two months. Wasn't so bad, just meant I had to learn to fight with the other arm."

"Oh my." Elisif put one hand to her mouth (as though she hadn't witnessed a man being beheaded less than an hour prior, and this was the scariest wound she'd ever seen). Amused by the reaction, Dulurza pulled her tunic entirely over her head, turning to show her bare back. Elisif gasped are the big, ugly scar that traced up from the top of the Orc's breeches almost to her shoulder. "Age 16, also my sister. I thought it would be impressive to spin around in the middle of the fight; she showed me the stupidity of that quick enough. Just stepped in and-" She mimed swinging up a sword, making an appropriate "schwick!" Sound.

Elisif's eyes were wide. "Forgive me for suggesting this," She began, "but does your sister want to kill you?"

"Hah! Only when I get on her nerves." Dulurza sat back down, allowing Styrr (who muttered "showoff..." under his breath) to start poking around at the new hole in her abdomen.

Oh, okay. That is bleeding quite a lot, actually. And, yep, now I'm thinking about it, that really stings. "Borgakh is my elder sister." She said to Elisif, mostly to distract herself. "We trained together a lot. This is just what happens when you spar with steel, and I wasn't about to practice with some dummy wooden axe, there'd be no point. But if it makes you feel any better, I've done just as bad to her."

"R-Right. Good." Elisif (who until then had been staring unabashedly at her Thane) blushed, and looked away, which was odd. Dulurza looked down at herself. It wasn't like she was naked or anything, she still had bandages over her chest, what was the problem?

In front of her, Styrr made a gesture with his hand, and a small collection of wooden shards flew out of her wound, prompting another wince. She glared at the priest, but he just looked at her as if daring her to complain about it. Tch. As if I'd whine about something this minor.

But she did look for something else to distract herself, turning back to Elisif. "So, the traitors are dead or in prison. What do we have to do now?"

"Ugh. What don't we have to do." Elisif pulled her eyes away from Dulurza's abs, leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Try to put an entire hold back together in the aftermath of this disaster. First of all, we'll need a new court wizard."

"Oh, right. Sorry I murdered the last one."

"You're forgiven. But it's still an urgent problem." Elisif frowned. "The job of the court wizard is to be my point of consultation on anything mystical going on. Whenever magic might threaten me or my people, I need to be able to rely on them to provide accurate advice. Talented mages are rare; reliable ones are rarer."

"And they to not be a vampire traitor." Dulurza added, as Styrr began shining a golden glow out of his hands at her wound.

"And that." Elisif cracked a tired smile. "Ordinarily, it's not an immediate problem, at least not in Skyrim. But, well. You've heard about the dragon problem."

Dulurza nodded. "Seen one of their skeletons. Massive things. Do we have any idea why they're suddenly coming back?"

"No, and that's concerning. I don't need to be dealing with a Dragon resurgence and a civil war at the same time." Elisif's scowl deepened. "And that's it's own problem. Politics. If I asked, I'm sure General Tullius would be happy to lend me one of his finest Imperial mages. A mage loyal to him. I'm not switching out one spy for another."

"Are there any mages already in court you can use?" Dulurza asked. "In the tribes, the Chief gets first pick of whatever women he wants, the same should apply for wizards."

"Oh, if only I could do the same." Elisif sighed. "I suppose I could commandeer Melaran, though it would leave Erikur without his housecarl. Argh, but Melaran's an Altmer. I don't mean to stereotype, but it's possible he's with the Thalmor."

"They bad too?" Dulurza checked.

"Well we're allies, except that they sacked the capital of the Empire, outlawed the worship of our god, send hit squads into our country kidnapping people and blatantly want to conquer the world." Elisif growled to herself, tapping on her armrest. "The only thing worse than an Inperial spy is a Thalmor one. But both of them are going to be pressuring me with offerings soon and I won't be able to decline them without being rude. So we need someone talented, wise, reliable, not politically affiliated in anyway, and we need them fast." She curled her fingers into a fist and slammed it ineffectually. "By Talos, I need a drink."

Dulurza glanced worriedly down at Styrr, who had paused in his work to give his Jarl a questioning look. "My lady, you can't go saying 'by Talos', it's not-"

"Shut up and fix my Thane, priest." Elisif snapped at him.

Okay, this is not normal. Dulurza spoke up, "Elisif, are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" The Jarl gave her a dark look.

"Something's been wrong all morning." Dulurza continued, pushing past the oppressive glare, "Are you still on edge from Stentor? If you need to take a day after something like that it's-"

"Stop doubting me!" Elisif spat, exploding up out of her chair. The atmosphere of the room started to intensify, like a pressure building between Dulurza's ears. "Are you not loyal to me?"

Dulurza hesitantly stood, "Well, yes, but-"

"Do you not think I can lead? Do you think me some precious wilting violet who can't stay focused in a crisis?" Elisif was shaking, around the room candles started to flicker out, "I am your lord! I am your Jarl, and the rightful ruler Skyrim! I am the Wolf Queen, and you will obey me!"

There was a subsonic boom, and a wave of force blasted out from Elisif's body, sending Dulurza and Styrr stumbling backwards and knocking over furniture. For a moment, there was a flash of eerie blue light-

...And then everything returned to normal.

Elisif blinked, shock creeping over her face as she looked down at her hands. "What...what was that? I didn't-I don't know how to-"

Styrr, having tripped over a chair, came back to his feet, clutching the pendant around his neck. "By the nine-eight. That was dark magic. That...wasn't you, my lady. It...it was-"

"It was a ghost." Dulurza snarled. "Of course it was a ghost. It's always got to be a Malacath-damned ghost."

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Two sets of feet (one incredibly quiet, one far less so), came to a halt as hard stone gave way to a soft bed of earth. Then an arm rapidly flapped about in the air, and the not-very-sneaky footsteps backed up a good twenty paces or so.

L'laarzen's pupils dilated, her eyes quickly adjusting to the low light, looking away from the Dwemer tunnels into a much less well excavated part of the cave. What she saw...was troublesome.

The Falmer were truly hideous things. Hunched backs, pale leathery skin, black chitinous armour likely made from the Chaurus that followed them around at heel. Their teeth were sharp, their noses were slitted, and their eyes were permanently shut, swollen and red. L'laarzen watched as they stalked about, snapping at each other in their guttural, primitive language, before she slowly turned and crept back to Alexander.

"Talk in a low voice, but do not whisper." She instructed, bringing her face closer to his. "It carries further."

"Got it." He nodded, glancing past her. "Sound intensity is proportional to the square of the distance from the source. If they couldn't hear my footsteps before, they won't hear us talking here."

"Fascinating! We make a great team." L'laarzen smiled, before glancing back the way she had come. "There is a village of them ahead, upwards of twenty."

"Any look like spellcasters?" Xander asked. "Staves are an obvious giveaway, but the ones with more ornate headdresses are those who possess more magical skill, and scholars believe they may be religious leaders. They're the ones we want to look out for."

"...One of those, that L'laarzen saw." she recalled. "When did you become an expert on the culture of the Falmer?"

"Last night." Xander coughed. "I do Dragons and Daedra, not Dwarves and...Falmer, which doesn't start with a D, disappointingly. This is just skimreading I did on the way down from Winterhold."

"You read books on a horse?"

"I fell off. Many times."

L'laarzen shook her head in incredulity. He learns the basics of an entire species in less than a day, and he's embarrassed of how little he knows? "Well, Khajiit is impressed by your determination, if nothing else."

"Do you want the rundown on how to deal with them?" Xander asked.

L'laarzen bit her lip. "L'laarzen...you may think her foolish. But she does not believe we should fight them."

He tilted his head. "Hm?"

"These Falmer. Khajiit believes we would be better off finding a way around them instead of cutting a swathe through." She looked back out at the village she had seen.

"Yeah. Okay." Xander nodded.

"It's just...Khajiit does not know as much about them as you, but they do not strike her as so mindless as stories say." L'laarzen thought back to their behaviour. "They live down here in the dark, but they live in communities, build houses. They tame pets, foster gardens where they grow alchemy ingredients. Is that the actions of a monstrous people?"

"No, I'm with you."

"And they have mages! Magic requires intellect, does it not? Spells cannot be performed by mere beasts! Khajiit simply cannot shake the feeling that she is invading on the home of creatures who have done her no harm..."

"Okay. I agree with you."

"Which is why-" L'laarzen paused in her rant. "You...what?"

"I'm with you." Xander repeated. "Absolutely let's not kill them."

L'laarzen felt a warmth blossom in her chest. "You...agree with L'laarzen's pacifism? You understand?"

Xander snorted. "Oh no I couldn't care less about their lives. Their souls are white, not black, so they don't class as a humanoid race and are thus beneath empathy. No I agree we shouldn't kill them because I'm a coward and I want to avoid danger wherever possible."

"...Oh." L'laarzen looked down, feeling a little bit put out.

"...So do you wanna know how to sneak past them?" Xander asked.

"Ah, yes, sorry, of course. Go on?"

"Okay, so, hear me out." Xander rubbed his hands together. "Due to the mushrooms the Falmer feed on, they're completely blind. So are the Chaurus they keep. Which means all they have to go on is sound and smell. Therefore," there was a gleam in his eye, "we need to stop them doing those things!"

"...Yes, that is fairly obvious." L'laarzen watched his face fall with a little petty glee. That's for shutting down Khajiit's speech. "The question is how? They are rather good at smelling and hearing."

"That's where the cunning part comes in. Observe." Xander flexed his right hand. L'laarzen watched closely as a ball of purple light grew within his palm, then exploded out with a small whisper of sound. His body was suffused with a dim glow, particularly the soles of his feet, and he grinned, throwing his hands out in a 'tah-daah!' motion.

When L'laarzen raised an eyebrow, he lifted his right foot and stomped it on the floor. No sound emerged. He jumped up and down, gave the world's most ungainly tap dance, and still, no noise came from him.

L'laarzen let out an "aah." of appreciation. "A muffle spell."

He grinned, but she wasn't done; she leaned in to take a closer look at the part that had really impressed her. "What a curious mechanism..." she replayed in her mind what he had done with his right hand. "You can use scrolls and make it look like it was a spell?"

Xander screamed "WHAT?" at the top of his lungs, and if he weren't completely silenced by the spell it would have definitely alerted the entire dungeon to his presence. He looked at her, at his wrist, back at her, and then pointed a finger and started shouting at her rapid fire.

"L'laarzen cannot hear you, friend, and she suspects she is glad of that fact." She giggled, before taking his right hand and feeling his fingers and bracer. "Ah, yes, there it is...your technique is passable, but Khajiit has spent more years than you have been alive working at her sleight of hand. The fancy gestures are all well and good, but the trick is to draw attention away from the problematic area. For example," she lifted up a rolled up parchment and tapped his forehead, "L'laarzen has just taken this from your robes while you were focused on your clever little bracer."

Xander stared at her, mouth hanging open, as she unrolled it and took a look. "Ah, another muffle scroll. Presumably you purchased a selection of these before arriving?"

He nodded, looking rather upset.

"So very prudent of you!" She leaned in. "Is it perhaps an embarrassing weakness at Illusion magic that led you to construct this contraption in the first place?"

He hesitated, then nodded again.

"Do not worry, friend, I shall not tell. Would you like me to give you some hints on improving your technique once we are free of this place?"

Looking thoroughly dejected, Xander nodded once more.

"Excellent! L'laarzen would love to." L'laarzen tousled his hair and turned around, tapping the scroll in her hands as she thought. "As for the smell...well, do not worry. Khajiit's nose is quite formidable as well. She does not want to make us too pungent, that would give us away as well, but with some liberal application of Dwemer oil, dirt, and possibly that horrible blue mushroom, we should be able to come off as a fairly unobtrusive odour to these Falmer."

She looked back at him, flashing a smirk. "L'laarzen may be a hairdresser, but she does dabble in the application of perfume..."

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Hjarnagredda had never really considered herself an altruistic person. But when you see an old man shaking in front of a silver vein, looking like he's about to collapse, you'd have to be a mighty emotionless person not to help them out.

"Hey, you alright?" She asked, walking up behind the man and putting a hand on his shoulder. He practically fell apart in her arms, falling backwards and sucking in shaky breaths.

"Yes. I'm fine. Just...need a moment." She gently sat him down as he tried to recover, and he looked up at her gratefully, but with a hint of annoyance. "Damnit...I'm already behind as it is."

"They set you quotas?" Hjar asked, aghast.

"How else can they make sure we keep producing their precious silver?" He laughed, which turned into a hacking cough. "Ugh. I'm to old for this...name's Braig. You're Madanach's granddaughter, aren't you?"

"Aye. Hjar." At least he was a Breton, so didn't question her name. She leaned back against the wall and sighed, trying to quell her rumbling stomach (not due to hunger, mind you. Due to her affliction.) "This place is Oblivion on Mundus. What did you even do to get put in here?"

"What reason do you think? I'm a Reachman who breathed in a direction the Nords didn't like." He smiled, bitterly. "You got out of the city, right? When Ulfric Stormcloak Shouted the gates down?"

"When I was a babe, aye."

"You're lucky then. They weren't content to slay our warriors, when they stole our city from us. They tore a swathe through anyone who had opposed them, anyone who had even associated with their enemies." His eyes looked to the floor, hollowly. "My daughter...she would have been thirty, now. See I knew Madanach, back in the day, and that was more than enough for them to come knocking on my door. My girl went to our great and noble Jarl, and pleaded with him to take her instead, to spare me." His grip on his pickaxe tightened. "They mounted her head on a spike. And then they locked me up here to mine their silver until the day I die."

"Nord Bastards." Hjar spat on the floor.

"Aye. Damn them all..."

It was easy to listen to his story, even easier to agree. It was the sort of tale that she had heard a thousand times growing up, that made the world around her seem so simple. The Forsworn were the good ones trying to reclaim their rightful homeland, and the Empire and the Nords were the bad ones, stealing what they didn't deserve and destroying everything they touched.

It was easy to think.

Too easy.

There was a part of her brain that she was constantly using to check for inconsistencies in the world (an intuition that was incredibly useful when it came to making observations). It was currently providing a niggling feeling of 'I'm not saying you're wrong, but isn't this mighty suspicious?'

Hjar thought about it. Were the Silver-Bloods assholes? Definitely. The evidence was overwhelming.

Were the Forsworn assholes? Eeeehhh... Oh, wow, that hurts to think. What does that mean?

"You'd best find a way out of here." Braig advised. "Trust me. The mine breaks you. Wanna know the only reason I'm still here, instead of picking a fight with a guard and ending it? Because Madanach promises us a chance at revenge."

"Revenge against who?" Hjar gave him a chance to clarify.

He just grinned up at her. "Everyone."

Red flags Hjar. Red. Flags.

Then again, the only reason she was here was to save Margret. Her plan (though it was a bit of a joke to call it something so well thought out) had been to enter the prison, grab Margret, and violence her way out, with the wolf if necessary. She hadn't expected the Forsworn to accept her for more than an hour before realising that she'd murdered practically all their compatriots upstairs. She'd been resigned to more allied blood on her hands. At least that way, she wouldn't have actually had the issue of thinking about who was right...

Hircine, why does this all have to be so complicated!?

She could almost feel his ring laughing at her.

"Hey, you! Old man!"

Hjar and Braig both turned, seeing that one Orc woman walk in flanked by two other mercenaries. What was her name? Probably Urag Gro something or other. All of them were Bleh-Bleh Gro Blah-Blah of some sort. 'Cept Dulurza, wonder how she's doing...

"Something wrong, warden?" Braig looked up at her as she approached, not even remotely concerned.

"Not at all. In fact, you seem to be doing great." She leered at him. "It's always important to relax at work, isn't it?"

"Well, I'm glad you agree." He gave her a smile.

She gave him a kick to the ribs.

He curled up and swore, glaring at her, before standing again. "By the Daedra, woman, lay off! You'll have your silver."

"Will I?" The warden crossed her arms and glared down at him. "You're so confident. I'm less so, given you missed your quota last month, and the month before. If this keeps up, we might have to start recouping costs by taking it out of your food!"

Hjar (leaned against the wall watching) mustered the will to groan and push herself up and into the centre of the tunnel, blocking the warden's path. "Listen, sweetcheeks." She said, arms also crossed. "This man is something like eighty. Maybe give him a bit of a break?"

"I'm...fifty two." The man spoke up from behind her.

Hjar blinked, looking back at him. "Oh, wow. Even worse. You look like that already?"

"Oh, so you're a smart one?" The warden pushed up into Hjar's face. "Listen up, meat. First rule of this prison? Nobody sasses me."

"I sassed a god a week or so ago." Hjar answered truthfully, indignation building. "Two of them, in fact, so you're completely unimportant in context. Also, shouldn't rule one be 'mine the silver'? This place doesn't seem very well run."

The Orc dropped a hand to the sword at her hip, and the two mercs behind her did the same. "Oh really? Would you like to apologise for that or are you genuinely looking for a fight this early in?"

Inside Hjar, the wolf growled. It might have been the cursed ring, but she didn't really feel much need to keep it under wraps. "You know what? Sure. Seriously, I do not care enough to restrain myself. Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."

The warden bared her teeth.

Hjar raised an eyebrow, preparing herself to tear a furry path of devastation right up into Thonar's house.

A second passed, then another. The Orc's eyes flicked away from Hjar's own, to somewhere behind her head. Then somewhere else Hjar couldn't see, then somewhere else, then down as though she was thinking. In her peripheral vision, Hjar saw another two prisoners sidling up behind the mercenaries, pickaxes in hands, and made an educated guess that others were doing the same behind her back.

Aw, does someone not have as much control over her prison as she thought?

Eventually, the warden relaxed herself, taking a step backwards. "No. Just this once, I'll have to forgive your sass. Not of my own choice, mind." She grinned. "I'm not down here to kick at useless old men, as fun as it is. I'm here for you."

Hjar narrowed her eyes, as the Orc continued. "Thonar Silver-Blood would like to have a word with you, so I'm here to escort you topside. Of course, if you refuse I absolutely will have to break your legs and drag you there. Any objections?"

Hjar continued to glare for another few seconds, before taking a calming breath and forcing her arms to her sides. The wolf howled in protest, and she tried to ignore it as she gave the warden an empty smile. "Sure. I could use the fresh air."

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Well call the bloody emperor, I've only gone and ruined another perfectly functional set of mage robes. Xander thought, bitterly. He had no idea what was in Dwarven oil, but it seemed to be actively dissolving his apparel as time went on. In other breaking news, water is wet. Skyrim is cold. The Stormcloaks are stupid. The Imperials are bit-

Ahead of him, L'laarzen held up five fingers, and he crept more rapidly after her. They found their way into a location out of immediate 'sight' of any Falmer while her fingers slowly counted down, three, two, one...then the purple glow flashed and vanished, leaving their footsteps at normal volume again.

"Feim Zii Gron, Feim Zii Gron, Feim Zii Gron..." the muttered mantra he'd been keeping up throughout the duration of their last foray became audible again, and L'laarzen sent him a questioning glance. "What language is that?"

"Dovahzuul." Xander admitted. "I'm trying to Shout. Am I turning ethereal? I would really like to be turning ethereal right now."

L'laarzen shook her head with an indulgent look. "No, and please do not shout, given how far we have come."

"No I don't mean shout, I mean-ngh. Whatever." Xander tried to peak round the corner, but L'laarzen gently pushed him back, and looked herself.

"How we doing?" He asked, moving close behind her and trying to look anyway.

"Not good." She tutted. "You said you can't read Dwemer?"

"I'm learning the second I get back." Xander muttered, darkly. "But no."

"Then shall L'laarzen assume that the massive golden door at the end of the massive room is this Oculory we are looking for?"

"Sounds pretty good to me, yeah."

"Well, there are a massive amount of Falmer between us and it."

"Oh, wonderful." Xander checked his supplies. "I have two muffle scrolls left."

"And we don't have the focusing device mentioned in that poor Imperial's journal. And, for all we know, the door may require a key." L'laarzen looked back at him and grinned wide. "Two unknowns, one objective, thirty Falmer in our way and one ninety second window!"

"Are you...enjoying this?" Xander asked, slightly concerned.

"N-No." L'laarzen looked away, coughing awkwardly. "Th-that would be highly irresponsible."

"Right..." Xander gave her a sideways look, but let it drop. "So what's our plan?"

L'laarzen hummed, then leaned back out to check the area again. "The area's maybe fifty paces by fifty paces, there's a tunnel on the opposite side to the door...this will be tight. Friend, Khajiit will use her scroll and move out, start checking the Falmer and their homes for the crystal or the key. This will take her away from the door. Twenty seconds after she leaves, you use your scroll and move towards it. Pick up a rock, either now or on the way. If the door opens without a key, go inside. If it does not, throw the rock up at the roof and hide behind the nearest hut to the door. Hopefully they will think it is a natural sound. If L'laarzen does not hear the rock within fifty seconds, she will assume you are safe and that she only needs the Crystal. If She hears the rock and gets both on time, we will both enter. If she runs out of time, or is caught..." She furrowed her brows, thinking about it, then smiled slyly and looked down at practical shirt and slacks she had changed into shortly after their entrance to the dungeon. "Dwemer oil is very flammable, is it not? L'laarzen will shed her clothes and set them alight. That should be enough of a distraction to sneak back to you. If the door is open, she will join you, and if not, we will both retreat out of the room and reevaluate."

"Oh, perfect. A naked Khajiit." Xander shuddered. "Sure, I saw a naked werewolf a week ago, why not this?"

"You saw a-Nevermind." L'laarzen put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you understand the plan?"

"Yes."

"Repeat it back to L'laarzen."

Somewhat shakily, he did so, and she nodded once more, turning back to the room. "Good. Sync your counting, Khajiit leaves at zero. Five, four, three, two, one,"

There was a flicker of purple light, and she was gone.

"One, two, why are my companions always so cool? Five, six..." Xander kept counting, blowing out a breath and gripping his scroll tightly in his hands.

I only asked to achieve godhood, I never wanted any of this dangerous nonsense-

His count hit twenty, and he started creeping.

He could have ran and the scroll would have kept him muffled, but something about the dozens of ex-Elven monstrosities casually scuttering around him made him a little paranoid. He'd used an invisibility scroll once, back in the Synod, and this felt a lot like that: Every part of his brain screeching at him that he was being seen, yet completely ignored, by everyone around him.

Feim Feim Feim Feim-Okay, door, door is good. Moving towards door. Stairs, we know how stairs work, right? Up the stairs, uh, wait a minute. What number were we on? How long have I been going for? Oh, okay, no, don't panic, L'laarzen gave us plenty of time, just get up to the door and STAFF-

Xander froze, stumbling slightly, as a Falmer passed between him and the door. It had a staff on its back. A really cool looking staff. It was like, made out of Chaurus bits or something, what? That's so cool, how does it work?

He took a step towards the Falmer, then grimaced, looking back to the door. I'm in a hurry though...and what am I gonna do, take it right off it's back? It'll notice!

He glanced back. But maybe if I just...

He took another step towards it. Stretched out his hand.

...Then closed his fist, shook his head, and started walking back to the door. Don't be stupid, Xander, people are at risk. Worry about your staff fetish next mission.

He reached up to the door, laid a hand on it's cool metal surface, and pushed. It didn't budge. He pushed again, harder, leaning his weight into it. This time it clattered, echoing, and a few of the Falmer down below turned their heads, but still didn't open.

Unwilling to leave it there (though aware of the attention he was drawing), he looked for bits on the engraving that seemed grippable and gave the doors a hard tug. They clattered again, and he caught a glimpse of bars between the metal on the other side. Locked. Alright, fine, rock time.

He backed away, and just in time too. The Falmer with the staff bounded up to the door with a hissing snarl, ignoring the still inaudible Xander to pound at the door with its fist. That only caused the other Falmer in the room to start screeching along with it.

Well, at least they won't be able to hear me over this racket. Xander looked for the closest hut to the door, and started moving to hide behind it.

That was when he heard the voice.

"Ugh, again?" Echoed the words of a young woman from behind the door, making Xander stop dead in his tracks. "For the love of Julianos, when will you filth learn! It's locked! L-O-C-K-E-D! Leave the damn thing alone!"

Xander stared wide eyed at the door. His Muffle spell ended, and he didn't even notice. No...

"Cassia?" He muttered, breathlessly.

The Falmer with the staff turned it's head towards him. It didn't even have a chance to raise it's arm before Xander ran it through with his sword.

L'laarzen heard a boom, and knew the plan was finished. Well done, Xander, that lasted almost two minutes. This Thieves Guild bad luck may have some merit...

The Falmer she had been stalking turned towards the noise, and she lunged forwards, grabbing for it's belt where an ornate blue crystal ringed in Dwemer gold hung. She snatched it, then brought her foot up and booted the Falmer across the floor. It screeched and she turned, sprinting in the opposite direction, back up the tunnel into the central room.

What she saw was...

What? What in Azurah's name is he doing?

"STAY AWAY FROM HER YOU BASTARDS!" Alexander charged a Falmer and buried his sword in it's gut, leaving the blade there and swinging away from a retaliatory swipe with an axe before blasting it with the staff he was using, a hideous black thing that launched a foot long ice spike into its face.

With his other hand, he pulled a second staff from his back, turning on the rest of the approaching horde and firing blasts of lightning and ice at them with a scream of challenge.

That was about when L'laarzen tackled him about the midriff. The pair of them flew off the raised dais before the door, landing with a thud on the hard stone beside it. L'laarzen recovered quickly, disentangling herself from Xander, grabbing his shoulders and dragging him behind the hut he should have been hiding in.

"GET OFF ME!" He yelled, completely invalidating any confusion her maneuvre might have generated and continuing to fire at the Falmer.

"Have you lost your senses?" She yelled back at him. The Falmer charged them, approaching from all directions, and she lit up a novice flame spell in her hand, pouring out a line of it in their path in the hopes of dissuading them. "What happened to avoiding killing?"

Xander looked to be in the middle of a full fledged panic attack, his limbs were shaking and his eyes wide.

"I gotta, I can't let them-" he took a desperate breath, "My sister is in there!"

L'laarzen froze.

Behind them, one of the Falmer let out a blast of ice that put out the remnants of L'laarzen's barricade, and the rest of them charged.

She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and then shoved Xander against the hut. "Stay here, stay quiet, do not come out until all is silent!" She commanded.

Standing, she unclenched her fists. Claws extended from her paws.

Then she spun, and attacked.

You know what's fun? Ulfric was selected as a child to train with the greybeards, did so for years, then (presumably as a young man) left to join the war against the Thalmor. Then he does so until 4E 176, after which he leaves and does the Markarth incident taking the city. So first of all, if Ulfric was 20 (and he was probably way older) at the end of the war, he's at least 45, and he doesn't look or fight like it. Second of all, Braig's daughter was stated to be (if alive) 23 in 4E 201. Meaning that depending on your source for the Markarth Incident, she was either 3 years old or -2 years old when she tried to convince the Jarl to spare her father. I know there's a lot of NPCs in this game but come on, Todd, I'm trying to write fanfiction here.

Anyway, PLOT! Shoutout to the reviewer who called Elisif being haunted ahead of time. In case Dulurza's mission wasn't complicated enough...

And I finally get to start introducing the Meteuse family! I told you in something like chapter four that Alexander had three siblings. You're getting three siblings. More from Cassia next chapter.

Meanwhile, L'laarzen's philosophy clashes with necessity. Take your seats, boisengirls, and enjoy the show, but be wary. First few rows are a splash zone~

...yes that was a SAOAbridged reference.

Next Time: Someone reunites with family, someone meets a kindred spirit, and someone starts panicking quite a lot.