Beyond the reach of mortal man, in a strange realm, the Lord of All That is Mad sat still on His throne, staring into a shimmering patch in the air. He stood, punching the air triumphantly.

"Yes! Woohoo! Haskill, come have a geeze at this!"

Haskill sighed. Things had not been the same around the castle since Sheogorath had discovered how to scry widescreen style.
"Yes, Sire." Haskill replied.

Haskill sat down on Sheogorath's throne, which extended to support two people. Inwardly, Haskill groaned. A fold-out couch-throne? Guiltily, Haskill realised he was almost looking forward to Jyggalag's upcoming invasion. Sheogorath was beginning to lose it, which was hard to achieve when you are already the God of Madness. He put such thoughts aside and concentrated on the wide-screen scrying patch.

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Outside Castle Bravil, seven guards sat astride their horses. Night had fallen, and still that wretched detective hadn't shown his face yet. The guard captain in particular was falling victim to the lesser-known Angel of Boredom.

"Does anyone here have the time?" he asked politely.

"No."

"Nope."

"Not me."
"Drat." They sat in silence for a few minutes. The captain fidgeted on his horse. Finally, he snapped.

"Alright, that does it. Private Larson, you head inside find out whether anything's gone wrong."
"Uh… sure thing Captain K.."
"Look, I like to run a reasonably 'light discipline' battalion, but I object to being called 'Captain K.'. It's Captain Kirkderrick, thank you Larry."

"Yessir!"
"Good."
"Oh, and by the way… it's Private Larson to you, Cap."

The other guards watched as Larry dismounted from his horse and ran inside, hand on sword. One of them couldn't help but raise the question.

"Captain Kirkderrick, why do you put up with Private Larson's lip? You could fire him in a second."
Captain J. T. Kirkderrick of the 69th Battalion shook his head. "Ah, corporal, you have yet to understand tactics. Private Larson is what we like to call in military terms an 'artillery unit'."
"Uh… do you mean a 'tank', sir?"
"Yes, that's what I said, corporal. His job is to run into situations like this, and check for traps, as he is strong enough to withstand most attacks."

Corporal Calcium (when he decided to become a guard, he heard that they were 'The backbone of Imperial culture' and had changed his name accordingly) sighed to himself. Captain John-Thomas Kirkderrick was one of the 'new age' officers. There had been a time once when officers were promoted simply for surviving long enough for anyone to notice the same name popping on battleground rosters. Now, they were promoted on their general runtiness, their scores in Social Studies tests, and on the size and spherical properties of their Adam's Apples.

"Of course, Sir."
There appeared to be quite a commotion coming from inside the Castle. Swords clashed, and a loud scream echoed out through the courtyard. With a sound of smashing glass and iron a soldier came flying through the window, a sword through his stomach, and a heavily-armoured man grabbing him by the waist. They plummeted the two stories to the ground, and the heavily-armoured man landed… on top. He was so heavily armoured that top and bottom took on a new meaning, though. The soldier on the bottom seemed quite a bit flatter than previously.

Sergeant pulled his sword out of the man's chest, raised it above his head in both hands, and ran at the guards.

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Corporal Calcium wasn't exactly sure how to handle the situation. The other four soldiers were both Privates, and Captain Kirkderrick's horse had reared, giving him the excuse to fall off and curl up in a ball on the ground, effectively leaving Calcium as the commanding officer. The man had hit with all the force of a torpedo, leaving the soldiers struggling to keep their horses under control, let alone actually engaging the sociopath in combat. With a roar which came from the lungs, burned the throat, and didn't bother the tongue on its way past, the killer had poor Private Gallenus by the throat, which was fairly violent because the rest of Private Gallenus was now lying on the ground a few steps away. The man grabbed the horses reins, pulled himself up clumsily (he had planned to leap gracefully onto its back, but that was rather hard in that much armour) and rode of into the night.

Corporal Calcium let out a roar every bit as terrifying as Sergeant's had been, and kicked his horse furiously, pounding down the road on Sergeant's trail. The other guards followed, with many a "Hah!" and "Fiend! Face your peril!"

There was a few seconds silence, and then Captain J. T. Kirkderrick of the 69th division cautiously uncurled himself, stepped over the body of the now dismembered Private, clambered onto his horse, kicked it in the side, fell off, and then, on his second try, clattered off down the road at top speed.