Familiar Faces

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

Shalidor's maze was constructed by the first Archmage himself, in the waning days of his leadership of the college. It had been built as a test for future Archmages, designed to challenge not only their understanding of magic, but their capacity for critical decision making, and their ability to defend the people in their care. Gauldur, Deneth, Savos Aren, all had travelled to this maze at the time of their coronation to prove themselves.

...Xander didn't have any idea what all the fuss was about.

Really, the most difficult part was tolerating the cold and carrying all four staves without a proper sheath for them. Aranea had been kind enough to loan him a spare robe for the first problem; the second he dealt with by jamming two under each arm and pulling out whichever was necessary to solve the incredibly simple puzzles. Shoot the alteration thing with the alteration staff. Shoot the destruction thing with the destruction staff. Come on, I don't even have to worry about dead ends. It's not a maze, it's a corridor with skeevers in it. Seriously, this is an Archmage level challenge? Ooh, word wall!

He briefly scanned the Dohvahzuul as he passed. "Noble nord, don't be afraid of death, Sovngarde awaits...I mean doesn't really apply to me, but thanks. Hey, maybe if I- FAAS!" He paused. "Nope, didn't work, just sound like an idiot now. Thought maybe I was, I dunno. Divines' sake Xander stop being an idiot we already know the Dragonborn isn't you, focus up..."

More corridors. Restoration plaque, shoot with restoration staff. A trapdoor opened, he dropped the staves down, winced at their clattering, then awkwardly shimmied and clambered down himself. He picked them up, looked up, and...oh. Portal. Nice. He walked in.

The swirling sphere of black and white gave off all sorts of conjuration vibes as he entered. For a moment, he was in a twisting vortex of greys, with a figure a few metres away from him.

It turned around-

And then he was back outside the front of the maze. Facing him, drawing an ebony sword from the sheath at it's hip, was-

Xander's eyes widened. "Oh, it's you!"

The Dremora paused. Then it's mouth opened in recognition. "Oh, you! You're the mage from Azura's star, right?"

"Yeah! How've you been? I didn't know you had a side gig here!"

The Dremora shrugged. "Not many people visit Shalidor's maze. I'm only ever pulled here once every couple decades, and it only lasts a few minutes or so when I do. Set the deal up with Shalidor way back, nice bit of pocket magicka, you know?"

"Oh, yeah. Still, good to see you're still finding employment."

"Yeah, it's good! You didn't put me totally out of a job. We're kind of in the end times right now, a lot of business for Daedra."

"Good to hear, good to hear." Xander pursed his lips. "Soooo...We gotta fight?"

"Yeah, basically." The Dremora tapped itself on the head with it's sword, where a gold circlet was placed. "You kill me and take this to prove you're worthy. Then once you're officially Archmage you bring it back." It looked around. "Weird that I'm alone. The maze sort of measures your magical power and decides what's a good challenge for you. Usually there's a few Dremora like me and an Atronach or two."

Oh, yeah, right, that's what this trial is. Hah, and I'm cheesing it with my garbage magicka count. Xander tried not to snort. Archmage? Screw that. I'm handing this to Mirabelle the moment I get back. "Okay. Do we go now?"

"Yeah, let's go now."

"Alright good."

Xander dropped two of the staves and started sprinting.

He blasted the firebolt staff at the Dremora once, twice, and it raised it's offhand to block them with a ward. Xander kept running, and the Daedra narrowed it's eyes, tracking the staff as Xander raised it high-

Then tossed it up into the air.

The Dremora's eyes widened in surprise, still following it, meaning it wasn't ready for what shot out of Xander's second staff. Namely, the magelight staff. The bright ball of light didn't get past the ward, but it stuck to it, forcing the Dremora to wince and shut it's eyes against the glare.

Then Xander dropped that staff too, darted in, grabbed the Daedra's upraised sword arm and twisted it, burying the blade in it's own chest.

It coughed up some blood.

"Hey, can I keep this sword?" Xander asked, idly, before wincing as the firebolt staff clattered down onto his head and fell to the floor. "I don't have one at the moment."

"Sure." The Dremora gasped out. "I can claim it as a work expense."

"Nice. Thanks!" He plucked the diadem off it's head, then yanked the sword out and kicked it's body to the floor.

It disappeared in a swirl of blue and he glanced around, confirming that he was, in fact, right where he'd started.

He put his arm through the diadem, wearing it as an armband, and then frowned.

"Wait a minute. I wasn't even supposed to go this way was I? Oh, come on-"

8˂

"Now then." L'laarzen hopped up onto a wooden table and smiled innocently. "Now that all the chaos has subsided, would you mind explaining to Khajiit what exactly is going on?"

The chaos had, sadly, absolutely not subsided. The cozy little basement she perched in (along with Karliah and an Elven man named Enthir) was beneath an inn known as the Frozen Hearth in Winterhold. Winterhold, which was in absolute uproar at the moment. She hadn't gotten a good view of what was happening, being quickly hurried into the basement by Karliah after the Dunmer had pulled Enthir aside. But there were guards and mages running around, shouting at each other, bright blue shapes twirling through the sky, the Jarl was stalking through the city in full battle armour and a strange glowing circle was manifesting around the great castle offshore.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that something was very wrong at the College. Alexander, I hope you can resolve this soon. People are hurting.

But she had a much more imminent problem.

Karliah, hood and mask removed for once to reveal her face, leaned back on a support beam in sighed. "I suppose I should. You're caught up in this now, same as I. Shall I just start from the beginning?"

Enthir glanced at her. "Do we have time for that? Not that I don't enjoy your company, my dear, but have you seen what's going on upstairs?"

"L'laarzen almost just assassinated someone who may have been innocent." L'laarzen said, voice cold. She looked between them. "She would like a very in-depth explanation for these circumstances, and she would like one fast. Khajiit has judgements to make, and she must make them soon."

Like whether she should murder you both here and now and return to Riften...She clamped viciously down on the thought.

"Alright. Then I suppose I should start with the Nightingales." Karliah looked down. "We were an elite group, an inner circle in the Thieves guild, made up of Gallus, Mercer, and I."

"So Mercer told Khajiit." L'laarzen crossed her arms. "It seems that it did not work out."

"That's one way to put it." Karliah scowled. "Near the end, the two of them were planning something. Looking for something. I should have paid more attention, asked for more details, but...well. They were having their academic talks. History, science, and all that. I was only interested in the gold and the thrill of the heist, so I left them to it, but...whatever it was, it was big. Real big. And Mercer wasn't willing to share it."

L'laarzen slowly nodded, scanning every word for inconsistencies. "Is this the part where Khajiit simply flips around what Mercer told her?"

"Depends what he told you." Karliah shrugged. "Mercer invited me and Gallus to a secret, urgent meeting at Snow Veil. Wouldn't say what about. I never suspected a thing, but Gallus had been getting suspicious of him over the few weeks prior, told me to be on my guard. It was the only reason I got out of there alive."

"I woke up one night to find Karliah collapsing into my room at the College." Enthir spoke up, confirming the story. "Half dead from frostbite and sword wounds. A week later I get a letter from Mercer telling me how she tried to put an arrow in him."

"I'd certainly love to now..." Karliah growled.

L'laarzen looked up to the ceiling, mulling it all over. Khajiit will need more evidence before she unsheathes her claws again. That was too close. But...

"Karliah, L'laarzen would like to apologise profusely for trying to kill you." She spoke up, meeting the Dunmer's eyes. "She was misinformed, and should not have risen to murder based on hearsay and speculation."

"You're forgiven." Karliah replied, immediately. "You changed your mind in the heat of the moment, that's more than anyone else would have done." Her lips quirked up. "And I'm not exactly in a position to refuse allies."

"Quite." L'laarzen smiled, trying to put her happy persona back into place. It was difficult, hiding in a basement during a catastrophe after a near death experience, but she gave it her best shot. "Now then. It is clear that we won't have any peace until the truth is brought to light and Mercer is removed as an obstacle."

"I've been trying." Karliah sighed. "I've put a lot of effort and a lot of gold into trying to hamper him, but nothing so far has worked."

"Well, yes." L'laarzen blinked at her innocently. "That's because they were all rubbish ideas."

"...Excuse me?" Karliah asked. Enthir snorted.

"Goldenglow Estate, Honningbrew meadery, and presumably others." L'laarzen recited. "Attempts to isolate Maven Black-Briar from the guild, yes, but why?"

"She's one of our biggest backers." Karliah explained, clearly uncomfortable with being put on the spot. "If she cut ties with the guild-"

"Then the guild would be poorer, yes. And?" L'laarzen waited a beat. "It may seem like a strike against Mercer, but it does nothing besides damage the guild you still want to be a part of. Perhaps if they fell apart completely he would be easier to target, but he would also be harder to find, and you would have nowhere to return to when he was gone." Amateur, plain and simple.

"I-" Karliah huffed. "Look, I'm not a tactician, alright? I'm a thief. A damn good one, but nobody ever taught me how to dismantle a hostile power structure as a one-woman army! What would you have done?"

"Assassinate him." L'laarzen replied, simply.

Enthir and Karliah both stared at her.

"Hire the Morag Tong or Dark Brotherhood, if you'd rather not get your own hands dirty." L'laarzen moved off the table and started pacing, giving the matter some thought. "If you are willing to do it yourself, luring him out to an ancient ruin is hardly the best way. He could have brought an army down those tunnels for all you knew. No, you should have gone to Riften yourself. He was foolish enough to own a house in the city; you know where he lives. Stab him while he sleeps. Set up oil canisters and burn down Riftweald manor with him inside it. Shoot him while he's in the city streets, on his way to the warrens. Time and anonymity were on your side, you had a period of many years wherein you could have struck and he would not have known."

L'laarzen turned, paced the other way, "Or, prioritise the guild-members. It's difficult to change the minds of groups; so approach them individually. Pick the ones you think will be the easiest to convince, and work up from there. You already have Enthir's word on your side. Get the guild to revolt against him together. Get Maven on your side if she's so useful, don't antagonise her. Pay those who can be bought, offer truth to those who care about it. If you require more evidence, get some. Wait until he's in the Ratway and search his house for incriminating evidence. Search his house anyway, if you are such a good thief. Steal his money, equipment and burn everything else. Or if you'd rather he never know you're there, poison his food. Put deadly insects in his clothes. Poison his water supply, trap his bed with Chaurus eggs so they hatch with his body heat, trap his favourite chair with rusted spikes in the cushioning. Follow him until you know his routine. Remember, when-"

Whenever you seek to destroy a target, information is always key.

She stopped, abruptly, and looked at them both. They were staring at her.

"How in the name of Nocturnal do you think of all that?" Karliah demanded.

Oh dear. "Is it not common sense once one takes the time to think?" L'laarzen tried to defend herself, weakly.

"Normal people might think about summoning the Dark Brotherhood if a man betrayed them." Enthir spoke up. "They don't plan to plant Chaurus eggs in the man's bed. Who are you?"

"L-L'laarzen is a hairdresser-"

"Okay, fine, that's your infiltration persona, very clever." Karliah crossed her arms. "But who are you really?"

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid cat! L'laarzen berated herself, looking between them. What is wrong with you? Calling upon his teachings like that. One betrayal, and suddenly all your self restraint is gone? We made ourself promises, L'laarzen!

She replied with another piece of old advice, however, 'when in doubt, attack'. "L'laarzen could ask you the same question." She replied, focusing on Karliah. "What strange magics are you 'Nightingales' using? You turned completely invisible, with no spell, scroll or potion. And Mercer shrugged off that deadly poison of yours within minutes. How?"

Karliah looked down. "I don't know."

L'laarzen grit her teeth. "Do no lie to-"

"I don't know!" The Nightingale shouted. "I spent months making that poison. I have several ideas for how he resisted it, but I don't know. Some are more likely, some make no sense at all, and one...one is the most unlikely of all, but it would make far too much sense. And unless I'm certain that it is true, it's a secret I can't share. I'm sorry."

L'laarzen waited a few moments, not truly expecting anything more, just ensuring that the topic of her background had been thoroughly dropped. Then she sighed, leaning back against the table. "Apologies again. L'laarzen is cold, tired, stressed, and hurt. No, we should not go and collect some Chaurus eggs, but we do need to do something." Khajiit just wanted to buy a house in Riften in a shop. She never wanted to get involved in this sort of scheming...not again...

"Well, convincing the guild to turn on Mercer was the eventual plan." Karliah turned to Enthir. "Want to tell her what we have?"

"I would, if we had anything."

Karliah gave Enthir a look, and he sighed. "Alright. Gallus didn't leave us empty handed. During that first night in Snow Veil, he gave Karliah this." He reached into a satchel at his hip, and pulled out a red leather bound book. There was a stylised bird on the cover. "This was Gallus' journal. We both suspect that the information in here is enough to incriminate Mercer, but..."

"It's coded?" L'laarzen guessed.

"Hah! If only." Enthir tossed the thing rather casually on the table. From his expression, it was hardly the roughest he'd been with it. "Karliah has had me working on this encryption for years now. The reason it took me so long to crack it is, well. I did crack it within a month or so, it just took me this long to realise it. It's hard to know you're making progress when you can't read the language the decoded version's written in. When in Oblivion that paranoid coot had time to learn Falmer..."

L'laarzen' ears pricked up. Oh, yes, let's target all the poor Khajiit's insecurities at once shall we- "The Falmer have a written language?"

"Well of course, they- Ah, forgive me. You're thinking of the Falmer of modern day." Enthir chuckled. "I doubt those wretched things can so much as hold a pen. No, I'm referring to the Snow Elves as they originally were. A magnificent kingdom, by all accounts."

"Before their enslavement by the Dwemer. I know the lore." L'laarzen nodded. She'd had a rather recent crash course in it.

"Quite. Point is, I can't translate it. There's not enough in the journal to put a whole language together, and even if I could work out what 'and' and 'the' are, all the key words would be impossible. I need a translation, or a lot of other Falmer writing and a good few months."

"It'll have to be the former." Karliah told him. "That, or Chaurus eggs."

"Can we maybe stop with that?" L'laarzen winced. "But I agree. Where can we find such a translation?"

"I know one person who might have cracked it." Enthir replied. "But, uh. He's in Markarth. Are you willing to trek the entire diagonal of the country?"

"She'll have to steal a horse..." Karliah muttered.

"Oh, will she?" L'laarzen glanced at her. "Not coming?"

"I have preparations to make." Karliah replied, which sounded incredibly half-arsed to the Khajiit. "I need to think on some of your advice, actually. And...it's high time Gallus got a proper burial."

"Hm. Very well." L'laarzen sighed.

Horse theft. With no excuses. Necessity is getting in the way of Khajiit's preferences again...We do what we have to do. Then we buy Honeyside and settle down, put all this behind us.

"Two horses." She said, in a monotone. "If L'laarzen steals a fresh mount in Whiterun she can make the trip faster. Give her two weeks."

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

Xander strode into Labyrinthian, ignoring the skeletons that were locked in position attempting to crawl towards escape. A gate opened at the pull of a lever, allowing him access to a cavernous space, filled with bones.

These bones were not kind enough to remain stationary. Around the room, piles of them began to move, pulling themselves together into full figures that brandished swords and palms full of ice.

Xander narrowed his eyes, and went to work.

A firebolt caught one in the chest, then another, and Xander ran up on another with his new sword, dragging the sword up through its ribcage and dismantling it entirely.

He heard a growling noise from his right and turned his head, then brought his arm up and caught the swing of a sword on his staff of firebolts. The old Nordic metal ground down the body of the staff, sending sawdust flying, then Xander took its head off with his sword and turned his attention to the others.

Three more fell before Xander's attention was drawn by a roar; he turned to the centre of the room and gaped.

Great bone wingtips dug into the dirt, and a horned skull turned to stare at the intruder.

Xander clacked his mouth shut. "You know." He remarked. "You are the second complete Dragon skeleton I've ever seen. The other one didn't move so much."

It opened its mouth, and a veritable hurricane of frost tore from between its teeth.

Xander raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. A cheap magical facsimile of real Thu'um. Oh it'll kill me instantly, but still. Let's teach it a lesson. "FEIM!"

The flash of his body turning ethereal preceded the torrent of ice by a split second. It tore a great gouge out of the ground at his feet, causing bones that were caught in it to shatter in on themselves in an instant. But Xander felt nothing.

He walked straight forwards, ignoring the dragonbreath entirely. The undead thing snapped its jaws closed when he got close enough, but by that point it was too late. He passed by its skull on one side, then jammed his blade in through the gap in the back of its jaw. His staff soon followed, angled up where the blade pointed down.

With a heave, he forced the thing's mouth wide open.

It spasmed, but made no sound, and more importantly didn't die, and now he was tangible again. He tried to wrestle its skull to the floor, but had nowhere near enough strength to stop its thrashing. Scowling, he closed his eyes and focused on the staff for a moment. The crystal at it's end audibly cracked. Then he released it, yanked the blade alone out and back-pedalled away.

The dragon reared up to its full height, turning to him, and snapping its jaws closed on the staff of firebolts, breaking the haft off.

It moved to open it's mouth again-

But didn't get the chance.

Within its maw, the gem at the heart of the staff exploded, releasing all the remaining energy in it at once. The dragon stiffened as a bang reverberated around the room, and half of its teeth went flying out in all directions. Then it collapsed, skull shattering on the floor.

Xander sighed in relief, then started laughing. "Eat your heart out, Malyn Varen. I've been breaking powerful magical artefacts since I was thirteen."

Staves had their own power source, after all. You could get a lot of mileage out of using them 'wrong'.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|

"Daedric temple!

Daedric temple!

On the mountain!

Daedric Daedric Daedric Daedric temple!"

Cassia skipped along merrily through the trees, and Dulurza tried to resist the urge to stab her.

"Don't suppose you could make that flame cloak appear again?" The Orc asked the young mage.

"Uh, I could, but, why?" Cassia glanced back. "You cold?"

"No. Because when you're concentrating on a spell, you shut up." Dulurza weathered the girl's pout, looking further up the hill. "And look sharp. We're here."

The shrine to Meridia was...very impressive, actually. Dulurza had no idea how someone had gotten away with building such a massive temple to a Daedra. Maybe it was just that ancient? Or the Nords were even more incompetent than she had thought. Someone did somehow build a massive statue of Azura right outside a major city and nobody tried to stop them...

"Wow." Said Cassia. "That statue of Meridia is showing waaay too much leg. Look at her, what a tease! She's eighty percent wing and flowing robe and then the carvers went 'hey, let's give the worshippers a little something to-"

"Do not need to hear this." Dulurza reached into her sack, pulling out the beacon. "Alright, your worshipfulness. What do we do?"

Place my beacon on the altar. Meridia's voice hummed between Dulurza's ears. And...try to pretend you're Alexander while you do it, please.

"Spells." Dulurza acquiesced, making her voice as high as she could. "Dragon words. Insecurities."

Pretend properly.

"Why is he your champion anyway?" Dulurza asked, bringing it towards the receptacle-looking-thing at the foot of the statue. "Is it just that he was the first person to find you?"

Of course not. My champion is a special young man. He is fast becoming a powerful conduit.

"Which means?"

Someone like you would never understand the complexities.

"You know I could toss this thing back down the mountain?"

And I could leave your Jarl to be possessed by a ghost. Don't try me, Orc.

"Tch..."

"Oh, once you find a rock to argue with you ignore me?" Cassia crossed her arms. "That's rude."

"I can't ignore you. That's the problem..." Dulurza set the beacon in it's perch, and stood back.

The result was suitably impressive. The beacon began to glow, and floated into the air until it was between the hands of the statue. White light shot up through it, sending each of its facets sparkling with radiance, and then blasted upwards into the sky, parting the clouds above it.

YES! Meridia's voice crowed. COME, MORTAL, BASK IN THE...the...

She trailed off.

"...You okay?" Cassia asked.

...Neither of your are the champion. Came the God's voice, sheepish. This just feels awkward. I was going to float you all up into the sky to talk with me properly, but that would just be...it just wouldn't feel right. And now my grand return is all botched, that boy has ruined everything.

"Yeah he does that a lot." Cassia rolled her eyes. "The Synod still won't put spadetail soup back on the menu after the stunt he pulled with the-"

"Then let's skip the theatrics." Dulurza interrupted. "We'll tell everyone how impressive you were later, I swear it."

Hmph. Fine. There's this Necromancer prat corrupting my temple. I'm going to shoot a light beam in there to unlock the doors for you. Help it through, kill him, and get the Dawnbreaker.

"Got it." "Got it."

The light flashed sideways, hitting a crystal atop a pillar and then disappearing into the structure.

"...Is it just me who actually really wished we'd gotten to fly?" Cassia piped up.

"Just...get down there. Let's start killing things before this relationship becomes un-fixable." Dulurza grabbed her axe and started walking.

"Are you implying that if we do violence together we'll actually start to like each other?" Cassia asked, following.

"Maybe. It worked with your brother."

"Hah!"

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

Xander stared at the ice door. Sighed. "Okay. If I'd known this was here? I wouldn't have blown the firebolt staff up."

The copy of an ancient spell tome nearby made the solution quite clear; the book described some primitive variant of the basic 'flames' spell. Xander sighed again, dropped it to the floor, and faced the door. Hopefully I just have to sort of touch it with the right magic, and not melt the entire sheet. I don't exactly have great experience bringing down magical barriers...

He winced at the recent memory from the Hall of the Elements, then prepared himself, calling the flames to his hands. "Alright. Three, two, one-"

"Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?" The voice echoed into Xander's head, emanating through the door ahead of him accompanied by a deep blue glow. His focus shattered, he screamed loudly, and the fire in his hands winked out as he was hit with a wave of fatigue.

His first feeling was terror. Then surprise. Then, slowly, a trickle of glee began to form in his stomach.

'Who comes to my dark kingdom'. That was Dovahzuul.

He breathed deeply, and then called out "Alexander Meteuse! Wo spaan daar kruziik qoth?" Who defends those ancient tomb?

There was a long pause. Then, the voice returned.

"I am Morokei." It continued, still in the dragon language. "It has been a long time since one addressed me in the true tongue."

Glorious. It's name is literally Glorious. Xander grinned, and continued, also in Dovahzuul. "Modern languages are indeed crude, aren't they? I enjoyed your skeletal dragon; do your masters take kindly to you making puppets of their corpses?"

"That one's soul was consumed by the first Dragonborn, long ago. It's body had no meaning. Lord Alduin will not begrudge me my use of it, once his sights return to Bromjunaar." The voice continued. "Why are you here? I was expecting Aren to be the one to return."

At this point, Xander was fairly sure what was going on. It's a dragon priest. There's...there's an actual dragon priest down here. Beginning to see why the Archmage was so afraid...

These were the kings of ancient Skyrim, ruling at the behest of the dragons. It was said that they had the power to dominate minds, fly, control nature itself. Legends had it that the island of Solstheim only existed because a fight between priests had torn the thing off of the continent.

Then only reason Xander wasn't running away screaming was that now, the ancient sorcerer was a draugr.

It has to be, otherwise it would be millennia dead. And these zombies are substantially weaker than they were in life. Weak enough that some have been slain by adventurers in the past. Weak enough for me? Well, let's find out...

"I come seeking the staff of Magnus." He spoke, eventually.

His response was a low, guttural laugh. "Brave. Yet foolish." Morokei replied. "You shall not lay claim to my greatest prize, young mage. But if you make it deep enough into my home...it shall lay claim to you."

The voice went silent, and the pressure relented.

Xander's shoulders began to shake, as he stood before the door. But this wasn't the shudders of fear. He was laughing.

"Ahahaha! Ahahahahaha! Haah! Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to talk to someone in Dovahzuul? Any idea? Years, Morokei! Years!"

He reached down, picked up the fire tome he'd dropped earlier, then walked over to one of the candles that was...somehow lit? Whatever. He touched the corner of the pages to the flame, and waited for it to catch. "If this works, it's gonna be hilarious." He said, to a skeleton on the floor nearby. Then when the volume was thoroughly alight, he turned and tossed it at the door.

The burning book lodged in the ice, clearly nowhere near hot enough to actually melt the barrier. Still, there was a crackling noise, and the ice slowly disintegrated, leaving the doorway clear.

The spirit that had been causing the obstacle manifested itself; a ghost glowing bright blue and wielding a pair of swords.

A bolt from the Turn Undead staff took it in the chest, and it screamed, running back through the doorway before tripping on a stone and falling down the cliff on the other side.

Alexander confidently strode through after it.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ 8˂

Hjarnagredda was going to assassinate the Jarl of Markarth.

Before that, though, she was going to get a haircut.

Her mind was whirling; had been for days. She'd of course immediately wanted confirmation of what Urzoga had told her, and it wasn't 24 hours before she got it. A note, pressed into her hand by an unobtrusive citizen as she walked towards Urzoga and Mulush's house.

Granddaughter,

The note had read,

I understand what it is that you want. It's the same thing we all want. Freedom. While you're aboveground, you are perhaps freer than I, but you still must bend to the whims of your enemies. You are still trapped within Markarth's walls. Freedom is not something you can compromise on, my dear. There can be no half measures. I am glad you are willing to do what is necessary, and hope you realise that once you have taken this step, you cannot take it back. You must keep walking, and we will walk behind you until the Reach is free.

So go. Kill the man that ran you out into the wilds. On this next Tirdas, the city must wake up to find its Jarl dead, and it's mine deserted. Slay him before sunrise that day, and come to the locked entrance to the Dwemer ruin on the mine-side of Understone Keep. There, we will meet. And we will all be free.

-Waiting with baited breath,

Madanach, the King in Rags.

Tirdas was tomorrow.

...Hircine, you can tell how he talks people into murder-suicides in the marketplace, can't you?

"...Friend?"

"Hm?" Hjar glanced up at the Khajiit stood behind her. "Oh, sorry, I was just-"

"Thinking?" The cat smiled good-naturedly. "Khajiit understands, she has been doing a lot of it herself lately. Then we shall have to quickly decide what I must do with your hair, and you can get back to thinking while I work, no?"

"Just make there be less of it." Hjar chuckled, dejectedly. "It's a mess, always has been and always will be. I wish I could get it into a mohawk, but I'm not paying you enough to pull off a miracle. For five septims I can't even ask you to disentangle it; you'd make more money for your time chopping firewood." I wish I had Margret's hair...Hmph. I wish I had Margret full stop.

"Is that a challenge?" The Khajiit chuckled. "L'laarzen would not be the best hairdresser in Mundus if she didn't accept. Let her see what she can do..."

The Khajiit went to work on Hjar's hair with a pair of scissors, and Hjar went back to her thoughts.

So, killing the most protected man in Markarth. Was it possible? Yes. Would it be easy? Oblivion no. I wouldn't have much trouble tearing in there as a wolf and bringing him down, but getting out alive might be another matter, and grandfather clearly wants it done with some degree of subtlety. But Hjar was still a wanted woman. She had been sleeping in Urzoga's house during the day while Mulush was out and creeping hooded through side streets at night. The main entrance to Understone Keep was guarded. The entrance to the throne room within that was guarded. The doors from there to the Jarl's quarters (and she'd never been inside, this was just what Urzoga has told her) were also guarded. Hjar knew how to sneak while hunting, but trying to pass within feet of alert guards in a well lit room was just stupidity. Either she could become an expert illusion mage in a day...or she'd have to get creative.

This led to why she was sat on a rickety chair paying to have her hair done by a strange Khajiit woman in a back alley.

"L'laarzen, right?" Hjar asked, relaxing into the feeling of her head being taken care of, "Are you new in the city?"

"Indeed!" The Khajiit answered, brightly. "L'laarzen only arrived here yesterday. The city seems somewhat...tense, is that fair to say?"

"Tense is one word for it." Hjar smiled, grimly. "if you're just here to ply your trade in a new location, you may have picked the wrong hold."

"Well, that is not the main reason." L'laarzen replied. "Believe it or not, Khajiit is here on a quest of love. Not her own, mind you; a man named Calcelmo is having some romantic woes, and I have been sent by a disciple of the Temple of Mara to aid him. This was a good few weeks ago, but Khajiit has been...busy, of late."

"Calcelmo the historian? He's the one excavating the Dwemer ruin, right?" The one the Jarl's keep is built into?

"Yyyyes, L'laarzen thinks so. Khajiit paid little attention to his research, in truth, she was enthralled by how many words he had to describe his unrequited. Faleen the Jarl's housecarl, can you believe it?"

"Really?"

"Really!"

She is good. Ah, screw it, let's get to the point. "L'laarzen," Hjar asked, "do you mind if I list a few observations I've made about you?"

"Observations?" The feline hands didn't cease their ministrations. "By all means."

"First, when you first arrived here yesterday, you appeared tired, yes, but not dirty or physically exhausted. Not very well outfitted for travel, either. The look of someone who had ridden a long way without rest, not someone who had walked." Hjar pressed on, ignoring the confused "hmm?" She received for her words. "Yes, you could have had a particularly bumpy carriage journey, but when I checked later, I recognised all the drivers in waiting. No new visitors from other cities. And even more interestingly, there weren't any new horses being stored in the stables." Hjar paused. "It's a stretch, but I think you rode here on a stolen horse and ditched it before reaching the city gates."

"My my, what a string of assumptions." L'laarzen's tone hadn't changed a bit. "Do you normally pay such attention to new visitors in your city? Markarth is a big place."

"No." Hjar replied, calmly. "This was all after I saw you checking out the lock on the door to the Hall of the Dead."

The fingers in her hair slowed. Hjar noticed in surprise that most of the knots were gone, before continuing: "A place you'd have no reason to enter, being not from here, until I realised that that Hall was one of the only ways into Understone Keep without passing a guard."

"...Really?" L'laarzen was stood behind Hjar, and as such her expression was unreadable.

"Really." Hjar agreed. "So I started following you about. I found it weird that you were walking around pretty much the entire city, alone, in the dead of night. Of course, I do it too, but that's only because I'm a wanted criminal." Sure, I'm on a roll and I'm desperate, let's just put everything on the table. "You spent extra time around the guardhouse, walked the entire way from the Keep to the gates along three separate backstreet routes, checked the depth and length of the city waterways, noted half a dozen spots where you could hide and be almost invisible...I've been here weeks and I could never have cased the city so well."

L'laarzen's hands finally stopped, and laid themselves on Hjar's shoulders. Hjar herself tried not to gulp as she saw the scissors just peeking out into her field of vision.

"And what exactly," said the Khajiit, "do you intend to do with all this information?"

"You're breaking into Understone. I'm breaking into Understone." Hjar replied, simply, trying not to let her tension show. It's early, but if I need to let the wolf out I can. "I can't do it alone. I figured we could help each other in, go our separate ways once we're through the doors."

"You are desperate, clearly, to be making such an offer to a stranger." L'laarzen remarked. Her grip on Hjar's shoulders had grown firm.

"A little. But I've had good experience working in pairs recently."

"L'laarzen too. Well, to a degree. Her experience with Orcs and Imperials have gone exceptionally well." The Khajiit's voice suddenly changed tone, all emotion vanishing. "Her experience with Bretons has almost gotten her killed. She will not risk that again."

L'laarzen's hands shifted off Hjar's shoulders. She would have let the wolf out right then and there, if not for the connotations of one very particular comment.

"Wait, wait wait." Orcs and Imperials. There is absolutely no way, but, "Are you talking about an Orc called Dulurza by any chance?"

L'laarzen froze. Then she put her hands back on the chair. "...No way."

"Yes way." Hjar cracked a smile. "Okay this is an even further stretch because Imperials are much more common, but was that someone called Alexander?"

"No way!" The tension in the air evaporated and L'laarzen rushed around the chair so she could look Hjar in the face, cat eyes sparkling. "To think that across the whole of Skyrim-"

"I know, right? I met Alexander and realised he was the one who enchanted Dulurza's armour for her, me and her had worked together once to take down a Forsworn camp-"

"Oh, Khajiit had not heard Dulurza went down these parts, she met the two of them in Whiterun to share a drink!"

"Do you know what they're doing now? Haven't seen much of them since that one time-"

"Oh well last time L'laarzen saw Xander he was up in Winterhold, getting himself into quite a bit of trouble but Khajiit is fairly certain he will be okay-"

They continued to chatter for almost a full minute before pausing for breath, looking at each other, and bursting out laughing.

"Oh, L'laarzen apologises for the threats and the racially charged statements." L'laarzen told Hjar. "It would be rather hypocritical thing for a Khajiit in Skyrim to say, wouldn't it?"

"Nah, don't mention it." Hjar waved her off. "I've, uh, actually done a lot of hurting Bretons myself recently."

"Oh, Khajiit understands." L'laarzen went back to her previous position, behind Hjar's back. "So, why do you want into the keep?"

"...Personal reasons." Hjar hedged. "I have some questions I want to ask one of the nobles in person. But I'm obviously not welcome in there."

"A shame, you seem so nice!" L'laarzen pat her on the shoulder. "Khajiit only needs access to some notes on the Falmer language. Calcelmo, despite her aid, will only allow her into the museum."

"A dead language? I'd love to hear the story behind that at some point." Hjar blinked, then ran a hand through her hair. "Wait. You- It's straight. There aren't any more- how did you do that?"

"Best hairdresser on Mundus." Hjar could hear L'laarzen's smile. "Now then. Shall we come up with a plan?"

And so, all four of the Disasters have finally met all three other members. Woo! Confetti!

Now I've heard a lot of people say that the Thieves Guild questline is one of the weakest. I know. I'm leaning into it. Karliah genuinely doesn't know how to deal with Mercer, so she's just taking shots in the dark. L'laarzen is more than willing to educate her, but that just leads to questions about how everybody's favourite cat knows all this stuff. Guesses in the reviews, folks.

Meanwhile Xander has grown a pair, and is throwing himself into danger with suitably reckless abandon. Finally, he's in a situation he actually knows a lot about. Shame he's got literally none of the resources he'd like while doing it.

Next Time: Literally Everyone Is In A Heist.