Shadow
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
"I must admit, you certainly have nerve." Floating in the darkness, Nocturnal took a sip from her cup of tea.
"Eh, I wouldn't say so." Xander, also floating, reached out to the table between them and picked up one of the sugary biscuits. "Just offering a service. If you lift the curse and fix L'laarzen's body, they'll kill Mercer for you and return the Skeleton Key. Sounds to me like you're getting a good deal. Mm, these are good."
"Thank you, I baked them myself. But I think you're misunderstanding my intentions somewhat. A dangerous thing, if you're going to be cheeky enough to try and deny me the souls of your clients." Nocturnal put her tea back down, smiling. "You think I want revenge on Mercer Frey."
"He betrayed you, stole your artefact, robbed the guild you sponsor, assassinated one of your other operatives, and then ran off." Xander listed, flatly.
"Oh, I know." Nocturnal's smile widened. "Isn't he a rascal?"
That caught Xander flat-footed. Not literally, he was in the air, but the shock must have broken through onto his face because Nocturnal laughed out loud.
"Oh, you poor, single-minded mortals. Always so...linear in your opinions. Whenever you have two conflicting desires, you actively try to quash one of them."
"Yes. You...you just described decision-making." Xander pointed out.
"There is a part of me that desires nothing more than to torture Mercer Frey for all eternity for what he has done." Nocturnal said, voice taking on an edge as one of the crows on her shoulders squawked angrily. "But there is another part of me that is proud of the raw selfish audacity he is displaying. Another part that is indifferent, another that respects his choice, another that finds the entire thing oh-so-very amusing, and more." With each statement, another bird piped up, until they were a loud chorus that Nocturnal silenced with a flick of her finger. "All of these tulpas are a true part of the Deadric Prince Nocturnal. All of them are a deeper, greater being than your little consciousness, none of them are the same as she who addresses you now, and not even I represent the entirety of who you are speaking with."
Xander tried not to gulp, at the expression of just how enormous an individual he was communing with. "So they, what? Cancel each other out?"
"And you still don't understand!" Nocturnal tsked. "I am not one puny mind. My thoughts need not clash until one overarching opinion appears. The only things that are truly ever-present within me are night, fortune, and shadow." She leaned backwards, stretching, and Xander averted his eyes from what that did to her chest.
"I would like my Key back, yes. But it will make its way back to me in a few centuries or less, with nowhere near as much effort as you are demanding from me. If your allies kill Mercer and return, no doubt they will see me pleased and vindicated." Her head tilted, and she met his eyes again. "But if he gets away with it? I'll be impressed, more than anything else. I suspect that this is what he is gambling on. The wielder of my key understands me better than most, I should think. You request a gift in exchange for a service, but I'm afraid I only care so much about that service in the first place."
Xander frowned, and took another biscuit as he thought.
This is harder than I thought. I expected pushback, but nothing so flat-out as that. How do I get this to work? Most of the discussion techniques I've learned don't really work on a God.
He thought back to his most basic lessons in negotiation. The trick to swinging any deal in your favour was properly understanding what your opponent wanted. They may claim they want X, which might be difficult for him to provide. But if what they actually needed X for was to get Y, and he had an easier way to provide Y, suddenly the deal became a lot simpler. The same could be said in reverse as well. (It was often smart to try and disguise what he really wanted to mislead them about how high his prices were and get a better deal. Not here, though. He wasn't lying to a Daedra's face, thank you very much).
So, what did she want?
"When I spoke to Azura, she said she craved the love and willing supplication of her subjects." He said, looking back at Nocturnal. "That was why she wished to take them into Moonshadow. On the other end of the spectrum, Molag Bal gets his kicks from subjugating souls to his will. But why do you want the souls of your servants?"
Nocturnal chuckled. "Darling, I am the goddess of obfuscation. You think I'm just going to tell you my deepest darkest secrets?"
"I'm a smart guy. The more I know, the more I can offer." Xander gave one of his patented winning smiles. "Come on~. Give me a shot."
"Haha! Oh, you are bold! But overplaying your hand a little. You know, the Evergloam isn't that bad, especially for my servants." Nocturnal put a finger to her cheek and started tapping. "I only demand a decade or so of their shade's service guarding my Sepulchers. More or less can be bargained for in exchange for more powers or favours, of course. After that, they are free to roam my realm of Oblivion as they please. With a rather high status, too, if they are to become Nightingales."
"Then-" Xander stopped. Thought through those sentences. "Pardon me. Extrapolate about those years of service please?"
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o 8˂
L'laarzen looked completely blankly across at Karliah.
Karliah looked back. "It's kinda creepy when you do that."
"Do what." L'laarzen said back, with zero emotion.
"Ugh." Karliah tossed a card down onto the table between them. "Five."
"Chambermaid. Good game."
"Oh, come on!" Karliah let the rest of her cards fall down and sighed. "Is there anything you aren't good at?"
"Khajiit is actually a rather poor gambler. She has an excellent blank face, but poor risk-reward estimating."
"Then how did you-"
"Cheating." L'laarzen let a trio of cards flutter out of one sleeve, and smiled apologetically. "No idea how you didn't spot it, this one's arms are in quite the state."
"Oh, of course." Karliah snorted, rolling her eyes.
When they finished rolling, they landed on Alexander Meteuse. The mage was floating in midair surrounded by purple energy, as he had been for the past hour.
"Think he's comfy in there?" She asked.
"Alexander did say he was free to enter and leave negotiations as he pleased..." L'laarzen mused.
"Hmm." Karliah hmmd. "Still not sure how he's doing it in the first place."
L'laarzen's eyes flicked across, one brow raising. "It's your shrine."
"It is, and that's what worries me." Karliah did seem concerned, crossing her arms and staring at the enraptured mage. "This...shouldn't be possible. There are rules when it comes to Daedra. They were blocked by the Dragonfires in Cyrodiil and the Amulet of Kings. Then there was the Oblivion Crisis, and now they're blocked by...the big dragon statue, I think? But the point is there are limits. I'm a Nightingale, and I can only contact Nocturnal in a ritual with her armour on to help me connect. She shouldn't be able to just...snatch people off to talk to her when they walk into their house. I know some Daedra can build traps at their shrines, but they're always limited. Nothing like this."
"You think the uniqueness is on his end?" L'laarzen asked, watching Xander's face.
"I know most people don't meet a Daedra in their lifetime, but this boy has apparently stumbled across three by accident." Karliah replied. "At first, I had him pegged as an idiot. But there's something about him that-"
There was another bloom of dark, and the energy around Xander vanished.
He landed gently on the floor-
Then promptly went "OW, CRAMP, AHAHOW-" and fell over, landing flat on his back and rolling around on the stone.
L'laarzen winced, as Karliah just rolled her eyes again and said "Welcome back. Any progress?"
"Agh, pins and needles, this is awful-"
"Alexander." L'laarzen prompted. "Focus."
"Right, yeah." Xander stood up, jumping on the spot a few times. "Okay, so. Good news. I have a deal."
"You do?" Both of them exploded at once, Karliah immediately following up with "What did she say?"
"Uh, hold on." Xander pulled out his notepad, walking over to the table with them and sitting down. "What were the uh...yeah. So I couldn't get everything we wanted. But Nocturnal's willing to agree to a deal where you and Brynjolf don't have to forfeit your souls."
"Wonderful news!" L'laarzen smiled, feeling and then suppressing the urge to pat his shoulder. "Under what terms?"
"Well it was-Okay let me just read out the transcript." Xander pulled a candle closer and squinted at his writing.
"Right. Ahem. Deal revision one-point-five. Nocturnal agrees to repair L'laarzen's physical form. Nocturnal ends the bad luck curse on the Nightingales and the Thieves Guild. Nocturnal instates Brynjolf and L'laarzen as Nightingales. In return, the Nightingales must retrieve the Skeleton Key and return it to the Twilight Sepulcher. I had to pretend I knew what that was, do you-"
"The term for Nocturnal's greatest shrines." Karliah nodded. "I know where Skyrim's is found. This is good, is that all?"
"No." Xander winced. "L'laarzen and Brynjolf must also agree to serve for ten years each at the end of their lives as sentinels of the Sepulchers. Their souls will then be freed to return to whichever afterlife they were otherwise deserving of."
"...Oh." Karliah turned to look significantly at L'laarzen.
"...Explain, please?" The Khajiit hesitantly asked.
"It's the penance she asks of all of us." Karliah extrapolated. "After we die, we spend some years as shades, our ghosts guarding our lady's temples. If I had the gall to return to the Falkreath Sepulcher, I have no doubt I would find Gallus there..."
"That's not all." Xander added. "The Nightingale abilities are being withheld until the Skeleton Key is returned, as collateral. And," he winced again, "if you die rather than succeed, the time you'll spend in servitude is increased to a hundred years."
Even Karliah winced at that. "A hundred? She really means to frighten you. From what I've heard of the experience, it's, well. Cold. Lonely. I'm due twenty four years, extra tacked on from my failure to protect the key. A century might send you insane."
"I promise I'll come visit." Xander held up a hand.
"You're planning to outlive me by a decade? With your tendency for danger?" L'laarzen found herself smiling.
"Oh, not a decade. I'm going to live forever."
"Ah, to be young...the penance is long, yes." L'laarzen agreed. She clenched and unclenched her fists, feeling the sting of pain from her arms. "But it is finite."
"Finite." Xander agreed. He gave her a serious look. "Negotiations are still open. With a few more days I might be able to wrangle a better deal, or if there's something about it you want to change-"
"A few more days larger a lead for Mercer to build up on us." L'laarzen interrupted, then smiled across at Karliah. "This one told you she was a poor gambler. L'laarzen will take the deal. Now, we just need to confirm with-"
Rapid footsteps echoed from the chamber outside, and (as if on cue) Brynjolf came running up to them, panting. "Enthir did it!" He gasped, waving a book at them. "He decoded the notes. You were right, L'laarzen. Mercer was looking into the Dwemer. We know where he's going!"
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ
"I suppose we should probably do a last minute check that we're prepared." Octavia didn't 'say' the words, they just sort of seemed to emanate from beside Hjar's ear. The woman wasn't wearing her usual noble garb; she'd swapped it out for tight black jumpsuit with a half-mask and half-cape, her hair tied up into a ponytail.
Hjar glanced back at their group, taking in everyone's appearances. Margret was dressed similarly to her superior, both wearing none of the garb that would identify them as Penitus Oculatus agents. Hjar had no idea why (she was pretty sure Falkreath was on the Empire's side?) but apparently if they got caught by the law, they had to claim to be outlaws or mercenaries rather than Imperials. Dulurza was still in her Orcish armour, and frankly Hjar couldn't blame her; the set was Muffled, and the green blended in well to the woods. Sindig and Hjar themselves were wearing loose dark cloaks over...basically nothing. If stealth broke down, anything that got between them and their wolf forms was only a hindrance.
"If we don't win I die." Sindig replied, quietly. "Not got much choice."
"Same here." Hjar added. "And you're all doing it for...honour, or the Emperor, or something. Bloody Imps."
Dulurza snorted, Margret cuffed Hjar round the back of the head.
"Alright." Octavia turned away, looking back towards the clearing. Barely visible behind some brush at the end of it, tucked underneath the road, was a dark, ominous door. "I'm going to go invisible. I'll be the party lookout, keeping an eye on your six-o-clock and scanning for hostile auras or traps. Make your way in, clear every room slowly and systematically. If you can be quiet, be quiet. If you can't, stick together and stab until you run out of assassins to stab. If all goes well, you won't see or hear anything from me until it's over."
She summoned purple flickering energy between her hands. "Good luck. Hjar, you're on point."
With that, she vanished. Barely a flicker of an outline could be seen, but Hjar blinked and it was gone.
...Wonderful.
She took in a deep breath, and then crept forwards into the clearing.
The stealth was probably unnecessary; Octavia had checked the area, and the three people following after her probably spoiled it somewhat. Still, she tried to be as quiet as possible as she made her way to the door.
It...it had a skull on it.
It was the edgiest thing she'd ever seen.
In any other circumstance she'd have made a joke, but something about the black door seemed to be staring right into her soul. Giving her the creeps.
Something about the assassins on the other side, maybe? And where's the handle on this thing?
Hesitantly, she raised a hand, reaching it out with intention to-
What is the music of life?
She gasped without meaning to, stumbling backwards, as the voice echoed in her ears. Everyone behind her flinched as well, but no other attack came from the door.
Remembering Arnbjorn's words, Hjar cleared her throat and whispered "Silence, my brother."
There was a long, long silence.
Hjar was about to repeat the phrase when the door (slowly, and completely silently) swung inwards, revealing a narrow passageway lit by torches curving down into the earth.
"You know." She muttered, aloud. "I really think someone smart could have guessed that with a few tries."
Checking behind her that everyone (visible) was still there, she began a slow walk into the passageway.
Dulurza followed her. Then Margret, then Sindig.
And then the moment he was through, the door swung right back around and closed itself.
In the clearing outside of the Black Door, Octavia's invisibility spell ended. She didn't refresh it, staring at the door.
"Well, this is a little embarrasing. Silence, my brother." She said.
Nothing happened.
"Silence, my brother." She repeated, now more warily.
The door did not move.
"Having some trouble down there?"
Octavia moved in an instant, darting further out into the clearing, conjuring a bound bow and knocking an arrow to it.
Standing up above the door, only a few steps from the road, was an old man in a ratty grey cloak. He had a basket in one hand, and a dangerous glint in his eye.
"Honestly," he continued, "I go out for groceries and when I return I find we have guests! And the uninvited kind, at that. The worst kind."
"The Dark Brotherhood still has to buy groceries, then?" Octavia called back up to him.
"What, you don't think we have a farm down there, do you?" He chuckled.
"Suppose not. Feel free to go ahead, but I think your door's not working."
"Oh, I'm afraid my dear that it's working just fine." The old man grinned. "The Black Door is one of us. It reports to our leader, and it follows her commands. Or did you think-"
Twang.
Clink.
A spectral arrow flew forth, and clattered against a blue shield that blossomed up in front of the old man.
"...Did you think that would work?" He asked.
"You'd be surprised by how often it does." Octavia knocked another arrow. "People who start monologuing and expect me to let them finish...Who are you?"
"My name is Festus Krex." He tossed his basket to one side, and pulled down his hood. "I'm the man who's going to kill you."
"My name is Octavia Meteuse." Underneath her mask, she smiled. "And no. You are not."
The first room had been empty, a table bearing a map with half a dozen knives sticking out of it. The antechamber off of that, a bedroom for two. Also empty.
"Think they're not home?" Dulurza asked, as lowly as she could.
"We killed two of them before coming here." Margret spoke up from behind. "And Brotherhood activity is low in Skyrim. We estimate there's less than ten in the country."
"I'd bloody hope so, if we're attacking with five..." Hjar growled, before waving a hand and directing them to move forwards.
The next passage took them even deeper into the earth, and opened up into a much larger chamber, water tumbling down the rocks (from beneath a giant glass mosaic of a skull) and into a shallow pool. Also featured was a Nordic word wall, and a forge, still lit.
Dulurza looked around, and cursed under her breath. "Three separate passages." She warned Hjar, pointing. "If we go in one, they might just sneak out behind us and laugh."
"Great." Sighed the Breton. "Well, only one option. We split up and all go different directions."
Margret visibly winced. "Please tell me that was a-"
"Of course that was a joke!" Hjar hissed, before turning to Dulurza. "You know more about fighting in a group than me. Thoughts?"
"I also thought a hundred men was a large army until just recently, so bear with me..." Dulurza warned, but thought nonetheless. Eventually, she nodded back at Sindig and Margret. "You two hold here, don't let anyone escape. Me and Hjar will clear our way through the hideout. If we need help, we'll call for it. If you need help, call for it. If we haven't shown our faces in five minutes, we're dead. Get out of here."
"But-" Margret started-
"Get. Out. Of here." Hjar emphasised, looking the redhead in the eyes. "It won't happen. Octavia will be supporting us. But if they kill us without us even making a sound, you need to go. Understood?"
A moment passed, and then Margret nodded.
Dulurza and Hjar got moving. They hugged the right wall, making their way up one side and through a simple wooden door (that creaked, noticeably, meriting a wince). Another corridor was found empty. The room to the right of that, empty as well.
The door to the left opened up into the room right behind the skull mosaic, this one small and empty.
Except for the blond woman leaning against the glass.
"You dumb bitches." Said the assassin.
Sindig and Margret stood together by the door. And waited.
"...Hey." Muttered Margret.
"...Aye?" Replied Sindig.
"You ever wonder-"
Sindig slammed a hand over her mouth, eyes widening and darting around the room. "I smell someone." He declared. "Dark Elf!"
There was a sigh, and then a woman stepped out from the shadows by the forge.
"You doggies do have good noses, don't you?" She said, rather casually. "I know Arnbjorn was always an utter prat about it. Said he could always smell it when I-Ah, sorry, getting distracted. Please present your necks for most efficient slitting."
"What are the odds she's prepared for what I'm about to do?" Sindig muttered across to Margret.
"Quite high."
"Great. I'm doing it anyway." He started sprinting.
The werewolf transformation took over him before he'd even gotten halfway, and soon it was a very large, very frightening monster charging towards the assassin.
She didn't bat an eye, simply reaching into her robes, withdrawing a fist-sized glass vial, and throwing it.
Sindig made to swipe it away, but it shattered against his paw. It didn't release some acid or goop like Margret was expecting; instead a cloud of grey-green mist exploded out of the canister, sparkling in the low light.
Sindig charged right through it as though it was hardly there, waving it out of his eyes and snarling viciously. But within a second, he stumbled, breath catching in his snout.
The assassin sauntered to one side as he flailed pas her, then crashed into a workbench and fell to the floor, writhing and howling in pain.
"Silver dust." The Dunmer said, drawing a thin, needle-like sword from a sheath at her waist. "With ground jarrin root, a few other compounds to give it shape, and one bar of chocolate. Started making it for Veezara, but he said if he was going to kill a werewolf, he'd do it fairly. I can imagine where that got him..."
She turned to Margret as the rest of the silver-gas settled on the floor. "To be honest, I have no idea if he's going to survive. There was enough poison in there to put down a mammoth in moments...Did you get it when I mentioned the chocolate? Because, you know, chocolate's bad for dogs? That wasn't just a joke, I did actually put some in there-"
"Sorry, what was your name?" Margret asked, drawing her knives.
"Gabriella."
"Hi, Gabriella. You really do just have the Riften of personalities, don't you?"
Gabriella scowled, and Margret ran at her.
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o 8˂
"Okay, so, these ten years will be experienced at a normal Nirn-standard rate by the undersigned? Because I know you Daedra can dilate time in your realms to a degree."
"Yes, that sounds fair."
"And the undersigned will not experience any mental contamination effects that might alter their decisions at the end of the above tenure?"
"None other than the normal effects upon a mind of spending a decade as a ghost guard."
"Mmhmm. And this experience will not have any effects on the souls of the undersigned that might render them ineligible for any afterlife they were previously capable of accessing-"
"No, it will not. Lounging for years in one of my shrines will not lock the doors of the Aetherius to a mortal."
Alexander Meteuse took a long breath, and L'laarzen reached in and tapped him on the shoulder. "Ah, friend? Is all this really necessary?"
He looked back at her like she was a fool. "Uh, yes? Vague deals are the best ways for a Daedra to get away with ruining you. How many methods for you lot to get shafted have I just blocked?"
"One hundred and four, give or take some overlap." Chuckled the ominous, glowing purple ball of shadows and doom that was hovering over them all. "My dear Alexander, do you not trust me?"
Xander opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, "Lady Nocturnal. You are the Goddess of obfuscation and you're orders of magnitude more intelligent than me. It would frankly be disrespectful of me to trust you."
"Hah! You hear that, Karliah?" Nocturnal said. "He slighted me, and then turned it into a compliment. Learn from him."
"This is the lass who sold her soul to a Daedra for some goodies." Brynjolf spoke up. "I doubt she'll be able to pick the skill up."
"Yes, that was fairly stupid, wasn't it?" Nocturnal agreed.
"Okay, is it just 'bully the Nightingale day' today? Did I miss that memo?" Karliah threw her hands up in the air, flopping down in a chair with a sigh.
"If it is, Alexander has just pulled a very clever play..." L'laarzen muttered, looking back to him. "Anything else on the list?"
"Nnnnope." Xander closed his (now almost full) notepad, and looked up at Nocturnal. "I believe we're all ready to go. And by 'we' I mean 'everyone else while I stand awkwardly at the doorway'."
"Very well." Nocturnal's voice turned serious. "Prospectives (and the disgraced), step up to the pedestals."
L'laarzen breathed deeply, then walked over to the far left platform. She met the eyes of Karliah and Brynjolf adjacent to her, and Xander waiting at the cave's entrance. Tried to still her beating heart.
Calm yourself, girl. We trust Alexander, don't we?
She did, but that wasn't the reason she couldn't stop her legs from shaking.
Now that she was allowing herself to believe that this might work, her thoughts were turning to what happened after.
And she couldn't tell if the adrenaline was from fear, or...
"So, with your friend Xander acting as the conduit-"
"I'm what?"
"-we can skip many of the formalities." Nocturnal's glowing form increased in intensity, and the room seemed to darken around them. "This is a pact. Do you all agree to the terms of the deal, as set out by Alexander Meteuse? Are you willing to pay the prices asked of you, and accept the boons in return?"
"I do." Said Karliah, without hesitation. Rather pointlessly, since she was doing very little in the deal. Brynjolf visibly hesitated, and L'laarzen did her best to straighten her back. Alright then...
"I do." She said, aloud. The moment the words came out, a weight fell on her shoulders, though she acclimatised to it so quickly she could barely tell if she'd imagined it.
"I do." Brynjolf followed, moments later.
The room darkened further. "Then the bargain is struck." Nocturnal declared. "Now, my turn. I declare the three of you Nightingales. Defend what is mine, change the world as you choose. Get rich. And never get caught. L'laarzen, dear? Do me a favour and count backwards from three."
L'laarzen gulped. "Very well. Three, tw-"
Her body burned. Her words cut off and she gasped as every nerve in her body pinged all at once and every hair in her fur stood on end and she could feel her bones moving-
She might have blacked out at that point, because the next thing she knew her shoulder was being shaken.
"L'laarzen? L'laarzen? Please be okay, it would be inconvenient if I had to kill a Daedra this early in my career I have other things to do-"
"Mmph." She waved the arm away with her own, blearily reopening her eyes to see Xander, Brynjolf and Karliah all leaning over her. She then very quickly realised that she had moved her arm.
"Ngh. L'laarzen is fine." She said, sitting up (apparently she was on the floor). Then, after another few seconds to analyse "L'laarzen...L'laarzen is fine."
And she was. Her body was practically thrumming with contentment. She felt like she'd just come out of a massage, not that she'd ever experienced one of those in her life. She flexed her claws in front of her, confirming that yes, her arms were no longer broken. Experimentally, she rolled both arms around in their sockets, and both completed a perfect circle, nothing interfering with the movement. Her ribs were fine, her skull was fine, her leg was fine, her scars...she couldn't feel her scars.
And all it took was a deal with a Daedra.
She rolled onto her back, flexed, and jumped to her feet. Her limbs responded almost eagerly, her muscles flexing without any pain. She found she was grinning, and didn't care. "L'laarzen feels better than she ever has in her life." She declared.
"And with that, my work here is done." Nocturnal's glowing purple ball of intimidation wasn't present, but her voice still echoed from the top of the chamber. "The luck is more of a passive thing, you might not even notice it. Oh, and one thing I didn't mention. You weren't too attached to those clothes of yours, were you?"
"Clothes..?" It took L'laarzen a second to realise what the Daedra meant. But after looking across at Brynjolf, and seeing that his rough-n-ready thieves guild leathers had been replaced with an elegent, ceremonial grey getup that looked almost identical to Karliah's, it clicked.
She looked down at herself, and her eyes widened.
"Yeah." Xander coughed. "Nocturnal just sort of manifested those on your bodies, I don't..."
"She did." Brynjolf spoke up. "But that doesn't look like mine."
The armour L'laarzen found herself in was the same light-eating grey as that of the other two Nightingales. While theirs were constructed from flowing layers of malleable material (she would not kid herself and pretend it was mere leather), L'laarzen's was made of segmented plates or scales, looking almost like the shells of chaurus or some other large insect. The stronger parts were linked together by an undersuit that was so light she could barely feel it. In fact, she could swear that she could still feel the air brushing her fur through it. And instead of a full cape and cowl, she had a thick scarf wrapped around her neck, tied in such a way that it could easily be pulled up to cover her face or even fully over her head. The knot was one she knew well; often seen in countries that dealt with storms of sand, or volcanic dust.
The Nightingale logo emblasoned on her upper chest did not stop her recognising what she was wearing.
"Khajiit wonders..." she muttered. "Did Nocturnal simply know what L'laarzen's old armour looked like, or did she dig it up from the hole it was buried in?"
"...Excuse me?" Karliah asked.
"It does not matter. Your Goddess merely decided to play a rather cruel prank on this one." L'laarzen shook her head to clear it, then looked up. "Now. Xander, thank you for your help, I wish you luck in your search in Riften. But the rest of us need to head to Irkngthand. We have a thief to catch."
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
"FUS...RO DAH!"
Esbern stumbled away from the secure (he had thought) door to his room, as it went flying right off its hinges, tumbled across the room, and slammed against the far wall.
Timidly, slowly, he peeked out through the doorway.
Stood there was a tall, muscular man in simple iron armour, a sword and shield in his hands. Behind him peeked out a significantly smaller man in mage robes, who was muttering "Oh my gods oh my gods..." to himself on repeat. Behind him, strewn around what was visible of the Ratway, were over a dozen Elven corpses.
"...Can I help you?" Esbern croaked.
"This is the Dragonborn." The smaller man said. "I'm his sidekick. We need your help saving the world!"
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ
Festus Krex jerked his head to one side, avoiding an arrow he had just barely noticed, and immediately launched a bolt of lightning at its source.
A tree splintered at the impact, sending shards everywhere, but the woman firing the bow was nowhere to be seen.
"Keh. Invisibility. So tiresome..." He spat on the floor, and then brought up his ward to block yet another arrow.
Her plan was certainly an effective one. Hide and shoot at him until he ran out of magicka, or one of her shots got past his defences and killed him.
She was fighting (amusingly) exactly how everyone expected an assassin-mage to fight. It made his blood boil just thinking about it.
"You know the problem almost every mage has?" He shouted, marshalling magic between his palms. "They always try to come up with convoluted solutions to their problems. I prefer to keep things simple. For example-"
He saw a flicker in the forest and hurled a fireball at it. The attack exploded on the ground, scorching the grass and setting the trees ablaze. The sudden light made clearer the subtle blur of a human form that ran away from the blast.
He grinned, maniacally. "You can't hide in the forest if there is no forest!"
Flames curled in his fists, and he began tossing fireballs with reckless abandon.
The cave rumbled around Hjar, and she tried not to visibly gulp. This place better not collapse on me. This room is tiny as it is, I don't even know if I can bring the wolf out without getting stuck, if rubble starts falling then in the name of Hircine I am out of here-
"And I thought Men were big on politeness." Dulurza spoke up, in response to the earlier comment about them being dumb bitches. "Who in Malacath's name are you?"
"My name is Astrid." Said the woman, loathing plain on her face. "And your friends are being slaughtered as we speak, so I'm going to be quick. Is Arnbjorn the werewolf dead?"
"Aye." Hjar said, drawing her mace. "That was me."
The rage on Astrid's face cracked for a moment, as the assassin showed some glimpses of genuine sorrow. And then it was back, twice as strong as before. "I see. That was my husband. You die last."
And so, the battle lines are drawn.
There's often the feeling that whenever a main character gets crippled, its just a matter of time until they get fixed. Especially in this case. But I hope its clear that L'laarzen will be facing consequences for this. And the stakes of her rematch just shot right up.
You know, I had two big realisations when preparing the fight with the DB.
The first was 'oh no, there's only three of them, they're going to get rolled'.
The second was 'oh, wait. They're the Dark Brotherhood.'
These guys are strong. You can tell, because Octavia met one and he's not dead.
Next Time: Someone gets impaled, someone gets depressed, and someone gets on a boat.