#whoever named the buildings at my college was a sadist

[rokhal]

College is a Scream

All-New Ghost Rider meets Scream, set when Robbie is like 20 and Lisa is in college. Part 1 of ? Posting this now in case I don't finish the rest. Thanks @wazzappp for troubleshooting this!

The first time Lisa O’Toole narrowly escaped being stabbed to death, she was walking alone across the UCLA campus on a breezy October night, chatting on the phone to a member of the student advisory committee doing a survey.

“Again, sorry to bother you so late,” the other student was saying. He cleared his throat and Lisa heard a wuffling sound, like wind across a microphone. Maybe that was from her end. “We’re just trying to take everyone’s preferences for activities into account. Uh, do you like movies?”

Lisa laughed. The guy on the other end seemed so earnest, and she could picture him crouched in his dorm room by the light of his desktop, working his way through a script and a list of numbers. Had to be such a drag. “Pretty sure everybody likes movies.”

“Any movies?”

Lisa was getting better at catching sexual innuendo. “Most movies.”

“How about scary movies?”

“Oh, you bet your bottom I do!”

She could practically hear the other student grinning back at her over the line. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Lisa bounced on her toes as she crossed a courtyard and approached the gap between the art building and the theater building. “Omigosh. That’s so hard. That’s a hard choice. Like, what’s my favorite good scary movie, or which do I watch the most, or what do I recommend to a friend or what’s the best one for a party? A party, you know, I think you want late eighties/early nineties pop-culture schlock. Like Chucky. It’s not too hardcore for a large audience, and the effects hold up, and there’s a lot going on, like with the serial killer practicing hoodoo to tie himself to the living world. Or, maybe? Elm Street II. Nightmare. If you know the behind-the-scenes story before you start, the queer cinema story, it like blows you away, and the body horror? The transformation scene where Freddy Krueger tears his way out of Jesse’s body and possesses him? Umph. Haunting. And his kinda-girlfriend has the same name as me, and she survives. Or, wait, did you mean the movie that scared me the most? I’ll be honest...you still can’t beat The Brave Little Toaster.”

“How about the Stab franchise?” the student prompted, his voice going a bit growly.

Lisa squeaked. “I love Stab! They’re so cheesy. Stab V is my favorite, it’s like the best take on time travel in cinema, it’s totally underappreciated.”

The line fell silent for a bit and Lisa checked her reception as the tree-lined walkway narrowed between the massive theater building and a freestanding wall that cupped a little wooded park at the end of the art building. “Every Stab movie starts with a phone call. A stranger calls a woman alone, seeming friendly until he suddenly ropes her into a sadistic game. So...Lisa—”

Was that movement beyond that stupid cinderblock wall up ahead? Lisa slung her purse off her shoulder and let it dangle low and heavy from her free hand. “Gotta-go-nice-chatting-call-you-back-bye!” she hissed, hanging up. It was awfully narrow between the little park and the theater building. Awfully dark, with the security lights casting harsh shadows in exactly the wrong places.

There was no law against hanging out in parks. Could be somebody sleeping rough, shooting up, waiting to meet somebody for a deal—but this wasn’t Hillrock Heights, Lisa reminded herself. On campus, nobody should have any business lurking around in the dark.

The brightly lit street was less than fifty yards ahead. Turning back would mean turning her back on whoever this was. It was probably just a couple students making out, anyway. “Hey,” Lisa called, so as not to startle whoever it was. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she silenced it, wishing she’d worn something with pockets today. She backed toward the theater building, watching the wall as she went.

No one there as she started to round the corner, just darkness and trees. She kept watching over her shoulder as she passed by, and just as she was about to look away toward the street, someone dressed in black with a shining, twisted face charged out from behind the wall. Lisa shrieked and swung her purse and struck the figure with a crack. They dropped slacklimbed to the pavement and lay still.

It was a person in a Ghostface costume, with the screaming mask and black robe and mall-ninja hunting knife and the whole bit. Not a monster, not La Leyenda, not a gang member on steroids, but a fellow student. “Oh no.” Probably some twisted fraternity prank. “Oh no!” And Lisa had gone and gotten herself involved.

She could just leave the guy there. But he’d been unconscious for thirty seconds already. That was bad. If she left him here and he died, no-one would know, but she’d know, and that would set a bad precedent. She called campus security as she kicked the knife away from the student’s slack grip.

“So, like, I was walking to my bus stop from the library and there’s this guy just lying there in a Halloween costume,” Lisa explained after greeting the dispatcher. “He’s not answering me? I think somebody needs to check on him.”

“Is he breathing?” the dispatcher demanded.

Lisa crouched behind the student’s back and watched it rise and fall. “Yeah. Like, can I go? It’s kinda creepy out.”

“Please stay with him until first responders arrive,” the dispatcher requested. “Clear any obstructions away from his nose and mouth. You need to be ready to answer questions.”

Crap, crap, crap. Lisa pulled the mask off the student’s face; it was a guy, looked like an upperclassman, white, eyes open but unfocused, blood dribbling down his scalp. “But my bus is coming!” she lied. She turned on her phone flashlight and checked the outside of her purse for blood: nothing. Looked like the guy’s hood had caught it all; small favors. This was really bad.

“You have to stay with the unconscious person!” the dispatcher insisted. “You could be legally liable for abandonment if you walk away!”

“Okay, okay,” Lisa said, stepping around to the non-staring side of the man’s face. “I’ll stick around. It’s just really creepy here, okay?”

“You’re doing the right thing. Paramedics are on their way.”

As sirens wailed in the distance, Lisa fished her lucky brick out from the bottom of her purse and threw it as hard as she could into the park. “Crap.”

[weirdchemicalengineer]

I finally did the thing I’ve been trying not to do

We have a bunch of students here for the summer and I have been doing tours for them all week. There is a building on campus call Louise Slaughter Hall, named after the late Louise Slaughter who was our House of Representatives rep for decades.

I was giving the last of the tours today and I accidentally called it “Kelly Slaughter Hall”. I almost did it once before, but I caught myself. Now I have to explain to them that there is only one Slaughter Hall and I messed up, despite the fact that there are three Gleason Halls, two Golisano Halls, two Gannet Halls, and Gosnell Hall which often gets mixed up with the other buildings that also start with the letter “G”.

And the mess up is kind of apt because the public facing parts of the Slaughter building are absolutely pristine and the rest of the building is a dark, dingy, rat’s nest that smells like a bunch of chemicals that will give you cancer in a dozen different ways.

[iamjjmmma]

"Number All My Bones: There and Back and There Again" Part 1 Chapter 9

Beginning: https://bit.ly/2NtGPgu Previous: https://bit.ly/2IEbN6R Next: https://bit.ly/2NwyLLR I take a few seconds to ask Betty what’s wrong with her and if there is anything I could get her to make her feel better, but she doesn’t respond. Of course, my fatherly instincts then kick in, fearing the worst, but as soon as I’m over there, I hear the snoring and the instincts back off in lieu of relief, and I pulled the blankets over her. She smiled, and it was then that I was reminded, if for a second, what I wanted as a father. But something’s troubling. It was a little bit of everything about her, I suppose. Her hair had a pink streak on the tips, not containing any hair dye (which I had found out a few hours ago, of course, by chemical analysis). She breathed, and she breathed quick, like a lab dog or a German shepherd in the cop shows Undyne loves to watch. And each and every time I looked at her, she�� sent a chill through me. And she still sends a chill through me each and every time I think of her. But that didn’t make any sense. I was a scientist; I wasn’t supposed to believe in any premonitions, any superstitions, anything that would make my college students be up to their arms in laughter. So I laughed at myself, although the laugh was strange, traveling down my arms instead of up and giving me another chill. Research. Research is the way to calm down these superstitions. A few paragraphs in, and I’ll already be put to rest. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. I took out the human-monster history book I was working on. It was riveting enough to keep me sitting on the chair, but not quite glued, and just boring enough for me to put it down every so often. Since it was in a different language, the language monsters would often use before English took over by storm, the book posed no shortage of difficulty, and it took an hour to read each chapter. The first was a foreword, signed with what must be someone’s insignia, but looks for all the world like whoever wrote this spilled his jar of ink on it. This was one of the things that sent a chill down me, and I realized I couldn’t find any respite from it other than turning the page. The first chapter, complete with illuminated manuscripts that pointed it to somewhere around the 13th century, detailed a history between Agate and Copper Lightvale, each of them fighting through the throne in the throes of siblinghood. While it didn’t appear so… the ruling was harmonious to a fault… they were in fact fighting about one conflict, one issue that seemed to tear the both of them apart. Each night after they finished their duties, they would argue behind closed doors as if they were the most sadistic, abusive couple that ever was about whether or not the monsters should continue to be sealed down Mt. Ebott (a common political issue back then). While Copper would sneak out almost every night to try and make some progress on destroying the barrier, Agate would always catch him, screaming to him about keeping the peace. I shuddered. More often that not, reality is often more enthralling than fiction. It continued on like this until one night when Agate caught Copper, she accused him of committing treason. Copper told her that this was impossible, since both of them were ruling the throne, and Agate wasted no time following her instincts and challenging her brother for the throne. The agreement was that if Copper won, Agate would exile herself and let her brother carry out his agenda, the opposite happening if Agate won. Since Agate was the more clever one, she knew that either way, she would have the upper hand. The battle lasted for days, each and every thousands of words lasting for a day, turning into a siege as factions formed for and against Copper Lightvale, forming into armies and transforming the somewhat simple conflict into an all-out war. The monsters at the barrier were nearly forgotten, and soon, most of the soldiers didn’t know what they were fighting for other than their own lives, as does happen in so many of the wars I’ve been studying. But Agate and Copper worked tirelessly to make sure the goals engraved themselves into their minds. After years, thanks to Copper’s Determination and the Determination that encompassed the majority of his army, Copper eventually managed to confront Agate herself, and quickly bested her. According to the agreement, she exiled herself, and thanks to the humiliation of having lost, she could no longer fight using her Bravery magic, her SOUL rendering null and void. She spent years roaming the island, performing studies and the worst of experiments on all sorts of inhabitants, attempting to find something more powerful than Determination. One day, when discovering a young boy who had killed dozens of other boys his age and believed by the villagers to be possessed by a demon, she found it. After taking in the boy to her home, the villagers grateful for having gotten rid of him, she conducted more experiments on the boy that left him furious and more vengeful than ever before. With these experiments, she found that somehow, in some way, the boy’s SOUL had been changed. Tragically, thanks to her, the boy died of sheer neglect. Her research ground to a halt, and she became despondent until one night, she constructed a boat made from wood in a clearing away from where the rest of the villagers were and, using the courses she had taken on astronomy before her exile, steered her way back to one of her good friends. He hid her and smuggled her to a library, as primitive as it was, and she spent weeks studying and studying. To Copper’s great surprise and dismay, Agate returned with a power called… called…called... and a genuine ink spill did happen, I suppose. I couldn’t see the word after it. I shone all types of lights on it, used some gentle chemicals to try to remove it, but all I managed to do was to change the ink spill from black to a slightly purplish substance. I could heard Betty stirring back and forth, back and forth, and when she got up and asked me what was happening, there was a deep gurgle in her voice. Fearing the worst, I flew back to the couch with her, and getting the stethoscope, I started ruling out the possibilities. Pneumonia… no. Bronchitis… no; there was no coughing. And there was no injury, either; I ruled that out when I first began. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that it was only laryngitis, telling her to go back to sleep and not use her voice any more than she had to before returning to my work. The book’s text lunged at me again. With this power, Agate managed to deplete Copper’s power, much to his army’s dismay, and Copper passed on within the hour. Agate’s armies regained their momentum faster than anyone could have imagined at the time, and in a few hours, they managed to nearly wipe out Copper’s army. While the kingdom did fall into disrepair because of the destruction the battle caused, Agate promised to establish reforms across the kingdom to restore it and build it up until it was even grander than it was first there. She also sought to improve literacy, although those goals weren’t quite outlined. The citizens highly appreciated her, and she was held banquets nearly every half week. During one of those banquets, however, she developed a sharp pain in her chest. After consulting with the same friend who guided her to the library, they realized the pain was due to her SOUL not being able to cope with its change from Bravery to its final trait. Knowing her time was running short, she fled to a clearing nearby and, entrusting the kingdom’s rule to a distant cousin, performed her final spell. In actuality, this was probably a pain-reducing spell. However, according to legend, she sacrificed her SOUL to create a creature that has long been described as the most destructive and ravenous being imaginable, whose sole purpose was to ensure that monsters and humans never lived in peace. But such creature has never been found, and the legend was most likely established by early Christian cults in order to encourage obedience among children. According to this legend, the SOUL trait of this monster was pink, and this trait was aptly named “Fear”. Everything inside of me stopped, and I could feel my heart exploding inside of my throat. Fear? Fear?! This is only a legend, don’t get yourself worked up- fear?! Everything inside me jumped back into gear, the thoughts battering in my head at such a pace that I don’t pay attention. And I don’t waste any time. I try not to waste any time in general, but now I spring from my seat, speedwalking over to where Betty was. But by the time I made my way to the living room, the couch was empty. The front door was open. And a chill punched its way indoors. All the way down my arms.

[hydrangeathief]

quartet (ch. 1/?)

Summary: Soulmate tattoos are the link between those destined to be together, words scrawled onto skin in the other person’s handwriting, the first words a soul pair will ever speak to one another. It’s romantic, in a way, to think that fate itself has decided to so clearly and visibly knit couples together. Or at least, it would be, if Virgil didn’t have three different, distinct soulmate tattoos, all of which delivered far from positive messages. Human college AU. Pairing: LAMP/Polyamsanders CW: brief self-deprecation, some minor cursing, small and brief mentions of blood due to a broken nose, a panic attack but i kept the description light, and please please let me know if i missed anything!

Virgil wakes up on the floor, face mashed into the carpet, sunlight streaming through the blinds, apartment still and silent. He blinks a few times and groans, rolling over. He’s tangled in sheets and his entire body aches. Great. So he fell out of bed in his sleep. It’s a miracle he slept through it.

Slept through… oh shit. His alarm. Virgil sits up, heart pounding, and glances toward the alarm clock that sits on his bedside table. The clock itself is nowhere to be found, and he fumbles around the floor for a moment before he finds it, blank and unplugged, having been knocked over in the tumble out of bed. A quick check of his cell phone reveals that he has about fifteen minutes until his first exam starts, and he launches to his feet.

It takes him about three minutes to tug on a hoodie and shove his feet into beat-up old shoes, another two to fiddle with the child-proof cap on his anxiety medication. He swallows them dry. He’s going to need it today, especially with how late he’s running. Finals week is a bitch, and missing his first exam of the day isn’t going to make it any easier.

He spends the short drive to the university white-knuckling the steering wheel, but Virgil ends up making it to class just as the TA is handing out exams, breathless and shaking but miraculously in one piece. He spends the next hour alternately bubbling in the scantron and pausing to take deep breaths. Somehow he finishes the exam and retreats, making a beeline for his car.

Usually, he grabs lunch at the student center, but today is definitely a Bad Day, and on Bad Days Virgil usually goes home and sits in the dark until he has to drag himself back out for his evening class. Today, he has another exam in about an hour, so he’s going to have to settle for laying down in the backseat of his beat-up old secondhand car with his hoodie over his eyes to block out the afternoon sun.

“Whoever decided to schedule more than one final on the same Monday is a sadist,” he says to the discarded half-empty water bottle on the floor of the backseat. It does not respond, and he triple checks the alarm on his phone before closing his eyes.

He doesn’t sleep, but he manages to get his heart rate under control, which is a plus. The alarm goes off and he sits up, sweeping bangs out of his eyes, and steels himself for the walk to the math building. It’s not a long walk, but he thinks he must have bruised his hip when he fell out of bed last night, because it’s been aching all morning. He rubs at it absently, wincing when his fingers dig in. Yeah, it’s definitely bruised, right under where the soulmate tattoo is.

Hey, watch out! it says in thick, curling script. It had faded into existence sometime around his sophomore year of high school, and he’d been absolutely overjoyed. To think that someone as much of a mess as he was could have a soulmate! He’d spent days running his fingers over the ink, wondering just who it could possibly be. He didn’t really talk to people much, but someday someone would say those words, and they’d be absolutely smitten with one another. It was the light at the end of the tunnel that was his life. Sure, the words might not be entirely positive, but he was extremely lucky not to be one of the many with “Hi welcome to Chili’s” or “How can I help you?” printed somewhere on his skin.

And then, a month later, he’d woken up one morning to find I think my nose is broken scrawled messily on his right wrist, and he’d nearly died on the spot. Two soulmates wasn’t unheard of, of course-- people broke up or died or got tired of each other all the time. But two people being capable of loving Virgil? Laughable. The concept was entirely alien to him. He was a wreck, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that this second tattoo had far more negative connotations than the first. Hey, watch out! could mean anything, but what kind of person would meet their soulmate right after their nose was broken?

The third was a big enough surprise that he’d had one of his worst panic attacks to date about it. He’d gone to take off his shirt before bed one night and happened to glance in the mirror and frozen entirely, eyes locked on the rounded letters and bubbly script. You almost killed me! it exclaimed, and he’d felt the world drop out from under him.

Nobody had three soulmates. Nobody on Earth could be so unloveable as to need three soulmates, and absolutely nobody had three tattoos with so much negativity. He’d spent years almost hoping he’d never meet them. Clearly, his existence was not going to be a positive for any of them.

Virgil sighs and pulls himself out of his reverie. He needs all the focus he can muster if he’s going to scrape a passing grade on this differential equations final. He clambers out of the car, wincing as he tilts his right wrist in at a strange angle. He must have bruised it when he fell out of bed too.

The exam passes in a haze, but he’s pretty sure he managed that passing grade, so he doesn’t feel too worried when he makes his way back to his car. The sun is out, his heart isn’t pounding, and he doesn’t have another exam until Friday, so life is pretty good, or at least as it can get for Virgil. All he has to do is walk through campus and back to his car, and he’ll be home free.

He rubs at the skin over his heart with a frown. Man, he really must have done a number on himself falling out of bed. It’s a miracle he didn’t wake up.

That’s when he sees an orange blur out of the corner of his eye and someone screams, “Hey, watch out!”

Virgil hits the grass without a second thought. The blur--a frisbee--goes sailing over his head at a very high velocity, and he glances up just in time to see it smack directly into the face of a dude in a tie, who doubles over, clutching his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” says someone who Virgil presumes to be the owner of the frisbee. He’s tall, muscular, beautiful, and wearing a rather tight t-shirt with Greek letters on it. He offers Virgil a hand. Virgil takes it and hauls himself back to his feet, hissing at the pain in his hip. Yeah, it’s definitely a Bad Day. First he managed to bruise himself to hell and back, then he had to deal with a mad scramble to campus and survive two final exams in classes where he rarely understood the subject material, and now he’s experiencing near-death by frisbee. Lovely. Perfect.

“I think my nose is broken,” says the guy who took a frisbee to the face, and Virgil’s heart actually stops.

“What did you say?” he tries to say, but he can’t quite get the words out past the growing panic in his throat.

“You almost killed me!” someone yells excitedly, and yeah, Virgil is having a Bad Day. He’s also having a Strange Day, and quite possibly the Best Day Ever.

“Hold on, what did you just say?” says Hey, watch out and I think my nose is broken sucks in a gasp. Virgil shoves his hands into his pockets and wishes he had one of his fidget cubes to mess with, or even some loose change. His knees are already shaking, and he’s considering counting his breaths.

“I said, you almost killed me!” shouts the third guy, bouncing energetically over to where Hey, watch out has his hands on I think my nose is broken’s shoulder. There’s a thin trail of blood dripping down his thin face, and the skin there is already swelling. “Ooh, that looks bad. Are you okay?”

“I believe my nose to be broken, or perhaps severely bruised,” says I think my nose is broken. He tenderly prods at it, frowning, before giving himself a little shake.

“Oh, good!” says You almost killed me, quickly putting up both of his hands. “Not good that your nose is broken, of course! It’s just that you might be one of my soulmates!”

You almost killed me tugs back the sleeve of his gray cardigan, revealing a messy scrawl of letters that look exactly like those on Virgil’s own wrist. He sucks in a breath of surprise, heart skipping a beat, and shuts his eyes momentarily. He starts counting to four, then seven, then eight, dedicating the rest of his attention to the scene unfolding around him.

“Excellent!” shouts Hey, watch out. Curiosity forces Virgil’s eyes back open. He’s holding up his own wrist, and the words are an exact match. Both of the others stare with open grins. 

“I’m Patton,” says You almost killed me.

“Logan,” I think my nose is broken says, holding out a hand for a handshake. Patton takes it enthusiastically.

“My name is Roman,” says the third. “And I can’t bring myself to apologize for hitting you with my frisbee. Not if it means meeting the two of you.”

“Hey, about that,” Patton says. “I have a third tattoo. Either of you?”

Both nod, and Virgil is going to have to sit down. His knees are far too shaky, and his vision is starting to tunnel. He thinks that if he doesn’t sit down right this second he might actually die, but that’s when Patton notices him for the first time, and a concerned look takes over the smile on his face.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, taking a step toward Virgil.

“Yeah, I’m good,” is what Virgil tries to tell him, but desperation seizes control of his mouth long enough for him to blurt, “I’m having a panic attack,” and then he goes down.

Patton makes a startled noise, but Virgil is too busy pulling his knees up to his chest and choking on his breaths. He buries his face in his knees and tries to focus on the feeling of the damp grass, and gentle tug of wind through his bangs, the slight chill to the air. He counts to four. He counts to seven. He counts to eight. He does it again and again, struggling to get himself under control, but he finally manages to even it out enough to glance up.

Patton is there, kneeling in front of him, hands hovering nervously.

“I’m fine,” Virgil croaks. He’s not, not yet, but he’s fine enough to have a conversation, if not make eye contact.

“Here.” Logan appears over Patton’s shoulder, face still dripping blood, holding out a water bottle. Virgil takes it with a shaking hand and drums his fingers on the cap, making no move to open it. He sighs.

“Sorry,” he says, but Patton shushes him immediately.

“No, kiddo, don’t be sorry!” he says hurriedly. “It’s overwhelming! I’m overwhelmed! I’m sure they’re both overwhelmed!”

He throws a meaningful glance over his shoulder, and Roman nods enthusiastically. Logan tries to, but hisses through clenched teeth, hands going back to his face. A bubble of hysterical laughter rises in Virgil's chest, but he tamps it down, trying for a smile instead.

“I can’t believe this is my first impression,” he mutters, but his voice is stronger now. Patton is still sitting in front of him, staring at him not with pity or condescension, but with genuine concern. It’s nice, to have someone actually worried for him, and not just out of a desire to escape the situation.

“You think you made a bad first impression?” Roman laughs. “I broke his nose.”

“Yes, you did,” Logan complains.

“Yeah, we should probably get you to a hospital for that,” Patton sighs.

“I have a car,” Virgil offers, but immediately wants to kick himself. One of them probably has a car, and they definitely don’t want cram themselves into his tiny backseat. Plus, all his CDs are loud and aggressive, and none of them look the type to want to jam to that.

“Oh, good!” Patton says, eyes lighting up, and Virgil feels his heart do a funny little hop that has nothing to do with fear. No, he just really likes the way Patton looks when he smiles. “I do not want to brave the bus!”

“You probably should not be the one driving, though,” Logan says.

“I’ll drive!” Roman offers, and just like that, Virgil finds himself leading his three soulmates to his car and pulling up Google Maps to find their way to the nearest walk-in clinic.

((supposedly there’s a tag list somewhere of people who want to be tagged in specific types of fics in this fandom and if anyone knows where i can find that pls lemme know? thanks! <3))

[tastesoftamriel]

A game of deceit (a long tale by Talviel)

I just wanted to thank everyone for your patience with this fic, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting and I hope you enjoy it! ~Talviel

Fredas, 16th of Sun’s Dawn, 4E 208. I was in Daggerfall instead of Shornhelm, but on dry land and warm in a tavern. After spending almost an hour swimming after getting thrown off a cliff from the portal, I was rescued by a small fishing boat who hauled me up, soaking, cold, and exhausted. They carried me to the local Synod conclave in the city, where the healer made sure I was fit to stand up and walk again. The story of the portal became a laughingstock of the Synod, who explained to me that the College wasn’t wrong about using it, the only problem was that one had to visualise where the portal was meant to open onto. Arch Mage Brelyna had never been anywhere near High Rock, so she had probably just thought roughly of Daggerfall, and as a result the portal opened in a random area. A local farmhand discovered Roach wandering a few miles form the cliff, unremorseful that she had thrown her owner several meters down into the ocean. He brought her to the Daggerfall stables, where I found her lazily chewing on hay and impervious to my chastising. Soon word spread around the city about my mishap, and the running joke was that Daggerfall should be renamed Talvielfall. Not a great way to make a first impression. I slunk into a tavern to settle in and rub the last of the cold from my bones. “You’re the one that fell out of the sky, eh?” The innkeep said, handing me the key to my room. “Yes, that would be me. Word gets around fast here, it seems.” I sighed. “Well, you need anything, just give a holler. Get some warm food and drink in you.” He said, handing me a mug of ale. “That would be great, but I’m more interested in looking for a job, doing some Breton cooking.” “Eh? A mage, looking for a cooking class?” “I’m no mage, just a chef who made the mistake of dabbling in magic. Can you point me to any work or not?” The innkeep looked perplexed and rubbed his chin. “Well, we just serve standard tavern grub here. If you’ve got experience as a chef, I’d say you ought to make yourself known at the palace. They’re always looking for cooks there.” I thanked him and made my way to my room to unpack and hide from the eyes of the curious evening crowd who had begun to spill in for dinner. Sitting in bed and gnawing on a carrot, I flipped through my well-worn copy of Uncommon Taste. Finally, here was my chance to try my hand at real Breton cuisine. The next morning, I made my way to Daggerfall Castle. The looming stone fortress stood proud in its corner of the city, commanding a view of everything from the docks to the forest beyond. The guards admitted me, sniggering, saying the Count and Countess were eager to meet the stranger who fell from the sky. Blushing, I made my way into the bustling hall where they held court. When it was my turn to step forward, all heads turned to face me. “So, you’re the one who made that impressive entrance yesterday.” The Countess smiled. “I’m not sure about impressive, my Lady. Wet, and awkward, but not impressive.” “My subjects report seeing a large flash of violet light on the cliff nearby, followed by a figure who flew from the sky. Regardless of how you got here, you are welcome. Come to think of it, you…look familiar. Have we met before?” I scratched my head, unsure. “We might have. I’ve cooked at many palaces and residences across Tamriel, maybe we’ve met in passing?” “No, wait, I know you!” The Countess exclaimed. “You’re Talviel of Riften, the Dragonborn of Skyrim!” The room grew silent and every eye was trained on me. “You saved all of Tamriel, several years ago, if memory serves me correctly. Hard to mistake you, there have been tales and songs from every bard from Senchal to Camlorn about the silver haired woman who rose to Sovngarde to defeat Alduin the World Eater.” The Countess grinned. “Well, yes, that’s me.” I muttered, growing beet red.  "Dear, you listen to too many songs.“ The Count chastised. "This woman here could be anyone, maybe you did meet her at a feast somewhere, like she says?” “My Lord, your wife speaks true. I am the Dragonborn.” I said quietly, and the court grew silent. “Well, if you are who you say you are, prove it. We may have need of a warrior such as you.” The Count said sternly, and I cringed. I was there to cook, not to fight. “I hope you don’t mind me ruining your plants.” I sighed, taking a step back and aiming at a potted juniper bush, freezing it solid with a shout. Everyone gasped and several guards drew their swords. The Count and Countess stayed them with a wave of their hands. “You honour us with your presence, Dragonborn. Daggerfall bids you welcome. Do tell, what can we do for you today?” The Count said. “Well, my Lord, now that my days slaying dragons are done, I’ve taken up a more humble job. I’m a travelling chef now, and I heard that you required staff in your kitchens.” “You can freeze things solid with your voice, and you wish to…cook for us?” The Countess said, perplexed. “Well, yes, if you have room for me. I have recommendation letters from The Blue Palace, the Imperial City, and Senchal if you would like to see them.” “Indeed. Quite a change in career.” The Count chortled, looking through the letters I handed over. “Impressive resumé. We would be glad to employ you into our service, but we have…a small matter of security we would be most grateful for you to attend to, seeing that Tamriel’s greatest warrior is here at a very, very opportune time.” I sighed, shrugging with resignation, knowing I had no say in the matter. “There has been a problem here in Daggerfall of late, with the rise of the Thieves Guild. The problem isn’t so much the theft, it’s the fact that they’ve got ruthless mercenaries among their ranks. Good people have been dying for months now, trying to defend their homes and families, but this lot are a slippery bunch. We haven’t even been able to track down their headquarters or leader, and anyone who tries winds up…butchered, in the most ghastly manner. Truly despicable business. If you dispose of them, you will be more than welcome in our castle kitchens for as long as you wish, along with any guidance or training you require.” My stomach dropped. The Guild. They wanted to turn me on my own family. Of course, the Count and Countess were unaware of my full history, and probably for the better. But killers? This was probably yet another of the imposter guilds that Karliah was famous for weeding out. I needed to write to her immediately before jumping to conclusions. “Of course, I understand your concern regarding these bandits.” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I would be happy to assist, but I’ll need more information to go on before I can do anything.” “Certainly, I’ll pass you over to Hadrian, our Captain of the Guard. I apologise for throwing you into a dangerous situation right after you narrowly escaped drowning, but it couldn’t be more fortuitous that you’re here now, Dragonborn. These murderers need to be stopped.” I took my leave uneasily, and was guided to the barracks by a guard. She introduced me to Hadrian, a tall man with an aquiline nose and weather-beaten features. “So, I’m looking at a living legend. Wouldn’t think it, just by glancing at you.” He said gruffly, keen eyes peering at me beneath an ornate helm. “Yet nonetheless here you are, and in good time. Another woman struck down yesterday, for just a few septims and some jewellery. I hope you aren’t squeamish.” He said, and spread the contents of a large dossier out in front of me. I read through the sheaths of parchment, my gut churning. Phrases jumped out at me here and there. “Victim, 42, killed by harbour. Guts strewn across the beach.” “Victim, 26, found at home. Eyes removed from sockets and feet hacked off.” “Victim, 65, found in gutter by west boundary wall. Head caved in by blunt object.” I shut my eyes and put a hand over my mouth, feeling sick. “Yes, nasty piece of business.” Hadrian said.  "I can tell you something for certain, Captain. This isn’t the Thieves Guild. This doesn’t even look like the work of the Dark Brotherhood. It’s…too sadistic, even for them.“ "It’s the Guild, without a doubt. Every victim has had their Shadowmark painted in blood next to their bodies.” “I don’t know what kind of Guild does this, because Skyrim would be appalled. We- they, I mean, don’t murder. Never. It isn’t their way. If they need to eliminate marks they do it with subtlety. A piece of jewellery planted here, a ledger tampered with. But butchering people is the opposite of everything they stand for and whoever is behind these crimes is setting the Guild up to besmirch their name.” I choked out, rage building in me. “You seem to know an awful lot about the Thieves Guild.” Hadrian muttered, glaring suspiciously at me. “I’m from Riften. Everyone there, deaf and blind included, knows how the Guild operates.” I said quickly. “Well, regardless of who these people are, everyone in Daggerfall wants them gone. You have access to the information and my guards at your back. The rest is yours, Dragonborn.” I went back to the inn and scribbled a hasty note to Karliah, hoping she would have some information while I dug around for clues. I asked the innkeep for rumours, and he pointed me to several citizens, most of whom were friends, relatives, or neighbours of those who had been victims to the false Guild. Nothing in particular tied the murders together- it was seemingly random, and some of the victims only had a few septims to their names. It was frustrating work- a former thief I may be, but I was never much of a detective and from experience, any snooping around was probably going to result in an attempt on my life at the very least. I kept my head down and guard up, and spent my free time browsing the kitchens around Daggerfall. A few days passed and a courier brought me a reply from Karliah. Talviel, something sinister is at work in Daggerfall. Like you say, the crimes bear no link to the Guild, nor to Nocturnal. I’ve looked into it as much as I can but I’m tied up in Elsweyr at the moment and can’t make it to High Rock anytime soon. Get in touch with my contact at the southern docks, going by the name of Didier. He’s an agent of Nocturnal and may be able to get your investigation off the ground. Sorry I can’t help further, but we will get to to bottom of this and whoever is tainting the name of the Thieves Guild will pay. Eyes open, and walk with the shadows. -Karliah Burning the letter, I set off to the bustling southern docks to find Didier. It didn’t take me long to find him, after a few dock workers pointed me in the right direction- Didier was a well known and respected merchant working for the East Empire Company, and was in an office by the port. I donned my old Nightingale armour (much tighter than I’d last worn it after years of taste testing), and went to find him. Knocking on the door of a little stone building, I entered to find a balding Breton man in simple yet clearly expensive clothing going over a ledger with an Argonian. He looked up as I entered, eyes widening almost imperceptibly, and shooed her out of the office, locking the door behind her. “Sister in shadows. I presume Karliah sent you?” He said, shutting the blinds so that we stood in gloom. “You presume correctly. You must be Didier? I’m Talviel.” “I know who you are. The one who dropped off a cliff the other day then got roped in by the Count to look into these supposed Thieves Guild murders, no? For an agent of shadows, you’re rather…conspicuous.” He said, pursing his lips. “I put the Guild life behind me long ago, so spare me the chiding.” I sighed. “I just want to get to the bottom of this to clear the Guild’s name, and then get on with my life.” “Very well. We serve Lady Nocturnal and as I’m sure is obvious, these murders aren’t in style of her worshippers. I think there’s a Daedric influence behind this all, but I haven’t had the time to look into it until Karliah wrote to me.” I ran my fingers along the hilt of my blade- the one Karliah gave me all those years ago, that once belonged to her beloved Gallus. “You’re probably right, it reeks of the meddling of Daedric cultists. The problem is figuring out which one it is they serve.” I said. Didier lit a lantern and motioned for me to follow him to a back room. He rustled through a bookshelf, and pulled out a copy of The Book of Daedra. “Well, this is going to be a nice guessing game.” He said, flicking through the pages. “Senseless brutal murder? Possibly Molag Bal or Mehrunes Dagon. Mephala maybe? She likes her plots and deceit. But the crimes don’t really link up to any of the others, unless you have any better ideas.” We stood in silence in the flickering candlelight, deep in thought. “Wait. Someone wants to drag the Guild’s name through the mud. Someone violent, who likes suffering. Plotting, sedition…I think, and I’m pretty damn sure, that this has to be Boethiah’s doing.” I muttered, as the information clicked into place. I’d run into a cult of Boethiah back in Skyrim years ago, and it seemed to fit. “Hm, you may very well be correct, now that you mention it. Give me some time to follow this train of thought. Daedric worship has become rather distasteful in Daggerfall over the past century or so, so finding any names may take a bit of poking around. I’ll find you if I catch onto anything.” Didier said, tucking the book back onto the shelf. I nodded, turning to take my leave. “Shadows hide you.” I said, and left the building with my mind racing. As I made my way back into the city, a guard approached me. “Dragonborn? Captain Hadrian wishes to see you.” I sighed, following him to the barracks, when I realised with horror as I stepped through the door that I was in my Nightingale armour. It was obscure, and almost nobody in Tamriel had ever recognised it, but if Hadrian did, I was screwed. Hadrian was in the company of a few other guards, and they were all crowded around something on the opposite end of the room. They turned around to face me as I entered nervously, and Hadrian beckoned me over, looking peeved. “Well, Talviel of Riften, you’d better pick up the speed on your searching, because we’ve had yet another victim. In fact, the murderer decided to give this particular crime a bit of a…personal touch.” The guards parted, revealing a bloody sack on the ground. “Captain, I don’t think I want to look inside.” I grimaced, noticing a few of the others looking a bit green in the face. “I’ll save you the effort then. There’s a head in there, of a certain noblewoman known throughout Daggerfall for her love of ornate circlets and hair accessories. Well, her circlet’s been replaced with ebony shards nailed into her skull, and all her jewellery at home has been cleared out. So have you got any ideas, or are you just wasting our time?” He snarled. I felt a shudder run up my spine. Ebony. The material of the legendary armour bestowed upon Boethiah’s chosen. I was right. “Look, Captain, I’ve asked every lead I could find and I’ve come up with nothing. I’m an outsider, and somehow I doubt a murderer, or several of them, are going to make themselves known to me. I’m a chef, not a detective. I’ll keep at the investigation but at this stage, all I can promise is that I can fight, but not figure out who’s behind this.” I lied impulsively, surprising myself. Hadrian glowered at me, shaking his head. “Damn Nords, all you’re good for is fighting. My men and I will have to get to the bottom of this on our own then, if this is your attitude to the investigation. You are dismissed, citizen.” He turned away to speak to another guard, completely ignoring me, and I stormed from the barracks insulted. I had the lead they were missing, and something about the whole situation irked me. Who was behind the Boethiah cult, and why were they targeting the Thieves Guild? I went back to my room and peeled off my Nightingale armour, locking it away at the bottom of the trunk where I kept it hidden, wishing Brynjolf and Karliah were there for guidance. Uneasily, I realised I was in a precarious situation where my life was at stake for the first time, far from home and anyone I could call on for help. “Nocturnal guide me.” I sighed, heading to the kitchen where I helped prepare some Breton onion soup for supper. I brought my bowl to my room, eating without pleasure from the thought of dealing with the Daedra. Even the extra helping of melted Eidar cheese tartines that were used to dunk into the soup couldn’t help my mood. The lump of foreboding had settled in my gut, and I locked the door and shoved a chair under the handle before turning in for the night. Some time in the dead of night, my uneasy sleep was broken by creaking on the stairs. I quickly scrabbled for my sword and held my breath, as footsteps shuffled towards my room. I heard the lock being picked, and the door handle stuck against the chair. Moving to the far end of the room, I assumed a fighter’s stance and prepared to shout whoever was trying to break in back to where they came from. The handle thankfully stuck fast against the chair, and after what seemed to be an age, the break in attempt was thwarted and silence enveloped the room once more. Or so I thought. Without warning, the door was blasted through in a gout of flame and splinters. I raised a hand to shield myself as two figures barreled into the room. “Fus Ro Dah!” I yelled, and they were blasted back through the main corridor. I grabbed my sword and ran, kicking in the inn’s front door and bolting out into the street. I dashed towards the castle, seeing the torches of guards on patrol. “Hail, citizen. Are you alright?” The first one I reached asked, as I skidded to a halt in front of him, panting. “Captain Hadrian. I need to see him at once. This is…this is regarding the case we’re working on, someone’s out to get me.” The guard stared at me as if I’d gone mad. “The Captain is likely asleep, so this will have to wait til morning. If you need protection I suggest you come this way to the barracks to make your report.” I breathed a sigh of relief and started to follow the guard, when out of nowhere a heavy blow smashed into the back of my skull and everything went black. Eventually I came to, my ears ringing and my head pounding as if a minotaur had hit it with a hammer. I panicked, unable to see. A gag had been stuffed into my mouth, and I could feel my arms shackled, while the rest of my body was limp on the ground. There was no indication of where I was or who had abducted me. Unable to shout, and with my sword missing, I was utterly unable to fight, even if I could somehow wiggle out of the shackles. I gave my wrists a tentative tug, and felt a hard blow to my ribs that made me gasp for air. “She’s awake. Better hurry up and carry her to the altar.” A muffled voice said. Male. My hands were uncuffed yet before I could reach up to pull the blindfold from my eyes, they were pinned behind me and I was wrenched painfully to my feet. “Move.” I was shoved forward and blindly shuffled, as my captor dragged me along. Blundering along, I bumped into rough stone stairs and nearly fell, but was dragged along laboriously, my captor grunting as we made our slow ascent. This was my chance. Without warning, I let myself tumble backwards, and he let go of my arms to break his own fall. I rolled down the flight of stairs painfully, scrambling to my feet before I had even stopped moving and ripped off the blindfold and gag. The thug who’d been shoving me around came charging towards me, swearing. Knowing that I needed to save my shouts, I braced myself and quickly sidestepped as he lunged at me. He fell to the ground, and I leapt forward and pinned him down, bashing him as hard as I could. When he stopped wriggling, I stood with one foot on the back of his head, the other balanced on his back. We were in a cave of some sort, and the stairs we’d fallen down had been carved into the rock that led into a dark awning above. “Alright, s'wit. Who the hell are you, and why am I here?” I snarled, shoving my boot into the back of the man’s head.

“You’re meant to be a bloody sacrifice innit? They warned me you’d be strong but fuck right off!” The man said, his voice muffled slightly as his face was pressed against the floor. “Who is ‘they’, and what am I meant to be the sacrifice for?” “I ain’t saying nuffin. My orders was to get you up to that altar, collect me gold, and get on me way 'ome.” The man said, and I stepped off his back, giving him a good kick to the ribs as payback for earlier. He howled, and I rolled him over to get a better look at him. To my surprise, it was the stablehand who had been tending to Roach while I was in town, named Pod. “Shor’s beard.” I muttered, as he staggered to his feet. “Pod, isn’t it? Well you’d better be treating my horse better than you’ve treated me right here, because if I had something sharp I’d have sawn your balls off by now.” I spat, and he cowered. “Easy, easy. I was just 'ere to make some coin, didn’t want nuffin to do with the ritual itself.” “My patience is running thin, Pod. I’ll rip your balls off with my bare hands if I have to, or burn you to a crisp with a shout. Start. Talking. Now.” “Boethiah! It’s for Boethiah! I’m the new initiate so they made me do all the dirty work! You’re the sacrifice, them lot are waiting for you at the top of the stairs and if I don’t get you up there in a moment they’ll have me 'ead!” “Better. Look, I suggest you run home as fast as your miserable legs can take you, because I have bigger fish to fry. I’ll deal with you later, don’t you worry. Where’s my sword?” Pod hastily went back to the room where I’d been held and unlocked a chest, tossing the blade at me and bolting before I had time to change my mind and cut him down where he stood. I growled under my breath and made my way up the stairs noiselessly, sticking to the shadows. Peeping around the corner into blackness, I crouched and snuck forward, blade drawn. Feeling cool air blowing from somewhere, I followed along the narrow stone corridor that sloped upwards gradually, to its source. A huge shrine, carved in the likeness of Boethiah, was set into a rock face and was illuminated by pyres on either side. At its base was a stone altar, with a strange contraption that ran from its middle to a pillar set in a carved stone circle, around which there stood four figures in hooded robes, blissfully unaware of my presence. “That dimwit better hurry up, I’m freezing my balls off up here.” “It’ll be worth it. Boethiah will reward us greatly for this whole plot once it’s over with. Dispatching the former leader of the Thieves Guild is one thing, the fact that she’s the Dragonborn just makes it better. Patience, brother.” Creeping in the shadows like a cat, I tried to figure out how best to reveal my would-be assassins. My first instinct was to shout the bastards into flames, but if I knew which one was the ringleader, I could march him back to the Castle and this whole sordid affair would be over with. A breeze brushed my ear, carrying a disembodied whisper. “Good, turn and smite them. The tides will turn for my amusement. Plots and deceit, one after the other. I know you, mortal. Do it.” I gritted my teeth. Boethiah knew I was here, but hadn’t tipped off the others. So this whole scheme was a farce, for me to turn around and ruin the carefully planned scheme of besmirching the name of the Thieves Guild and assassinating the Dovahkiin? Typical Daedra. I seethed in silence, trying to figure out my next move. Either way, the odds were rigged against me. This had been Boethiah’s plan all along. “I have been watching you for a long time, Talviel of Riften. This…most intricate play of mine has run its course. You have no choice but to be my Champion. Only you are worthy. Kill them all, Boethiah wills it.” Not happening. I thought to myself, as I sneaked closer to the altar, preparing to spring on the four figures. I’m an agent of Nocturnal and instead of spending my afterlife in Sovngarde, I’ll be lurking in the Ebonmere as her slave. Damned if I’ll serve another Daedric Prince ever again. The laughter only I could hear rang out over the shrine. “Say what you will. You’re all my puppets, in the end.” I drew my sword and slid forward, stabbing the nearest worshipper in the back of the knee. He let out a keening howl and dropped to the ground, as the remaining three whirled around to face…nothing. Under the Shadowcloak of Nocturnal, I was invisible, but I had to work quickly before the spell wore off. “Who’s there? Pod? What’s going on?” A woman’s voice chimed out from beneath the heavy hood she wore to conceal her identity. Magic sparked off every hand as they formed a tight circle, scanning for me. Fuck, I hated fighting against magic.

Leaping into the dim candlelight, I ducked and weaved against my opponents, slashing with care. Before I could kill them, I wanted to know who they were. I jumped and skewered one of them through the hand, pinning him to the ground and stopping the stream of fire he blasted at me. The woman summoned a storm atronach with the wave of a hand, and the last figure, tall and menacing under their hood, produced a crooked staff that glowed with an unwelcoming green light. Swearing, I had no choice but to move as deftly as I could to cut them down before they fried me alive. “Kill her! For Boethiah, kill her!” The tall one yelled, and they came at me in full force. I leapt between gouts of green flames and lightning and deadly shards of ice, trying not to panic. These mages were strong. If they cornered me, I was fucked. Scaling the statue of Boethiah, I used the rock to protect me as I caught my breath. Carefully taking aim, knowing that I only had one shot, I aimed for the woman and hurled my blade towards her. It struck her in the shoulder and she screamed as the tip burst through her robes in a spray of blood and bone. She crumpled to the ground and I dashed to retrieve my sword to finish the last worshipper. “Enough, Dragonborn! You cannot win, Boethiah is with me!” A vaguely familiar voice called out from beneath the hood, as we circled one another, the air crackling with magic and blood. “Show yourself, coward. Boethiah has spoken to me and this is all part of their plan. You’re a fool and played right into her hands, they’ve been waiting for me to kill you all along.” I hissed, dodging a blast from the staff the figure carried. “Lies! You act the valiant hero, the Dragonborn who saved Tamriel from doom, when all you are is a common criminal, a thief! You’re worth no more than as a sacrifice to Boethiah, and even then that’s too good of an end to your miserable life!” “So that’s what it’s about, gaining my trust so you can stab me in the back? Well you’ve been fooled to Oblivion and back. You trusted Boethiah, and now they’ve sent me to end you for her entertainment. But I’ll do no such thing. You’re far more valuable to me alive when I bring you to face the court’s justice, Captain Hadrian.” “Just you try, worm. I’ll have you pinned to that sacrifice pillar and gain Boethiah’s blessing as their Champion.” He snarled, and charged at me. So that’s what the contraption was. If either of us made contact with it, we would be the sacrifice and Boethiah would get what she wanted. I couldn’t let him touch it, but needed to find a way to incapacitate the Captain. If only I could get his staff… Hadrian tried to back me into the rock face, but I was quicker. A blast of green flame singed my right leg and I quickly rolled to the ground to put it out, but he had leapt on top of me. Pushing against his staff as hard as I could with my blade, I tried to knock him back, but he was bigger and stronger than me. Biting back the urge to shout, I knew I had to save my Thu'um if I was going to get us back to Daggerfall in one piece. I curled my knees beneath me and in one swift motion, bashed the Captain in the stomach. He let out a loud “Oof” and I rolled out from under his grasp, staggering to my feet before he could catch his breath. Grabbing his staff from his momentarily limo hands, I whacked him hard across the back of his head with it, accidentally sending a blast of green flame into the sky. He groaned and tried to climb to his feet, but I hit him again until he stayed down and limp. Hopefully I hadn’t killed him, but I had nothing to restrain him with and needed to move quickly before he came to. Finally, my part of the escape plan and what I had been saving my energy for had come. “Odahviing!” I shouted, wrenching Hadrian up by the hood and staggering as I tried to support his limp body with mine. After what seemed like an age, the sky cracked and the roar of a dragon filled the night. “Dovahkiin, far from home you are, but here I am.” My old friend thundered, his wings kicking up a fierce wind as the remaining worshippers screamed from where they lay. “Fahdon, I wasn’t sure you’d come! Quickly, we need to get this imbecile out of here. I don’t care about the rest. Burn this shrine to the ground. Boethiah doesn’t deserve her power here.” “Thuri, as you command.” Odahviing landed with a ground-shaking thud as I climbed onto his back, hauling the unconscious Captain after me. With a flap of his wings we were airborne, and Odahviing let out the Thu'um in only the way a dragon can. “Yol Toor Shul!” He screeched, and the entire shrine went up in flames. “Fool! Nocturnal’s whore!” I heard Boethiah call as the very stones melted from the altar and sacrifice post. “Better to serve Lady Nocturnal than a spiteful snake like you.” I said under my breath, as we were carried to Daggerfall under the light of the waning moon. As we soared over Daggerfall Castle, I screamed at the guards to stop their attack as arrows and spells flew and ricocheted off Odahviing’s thick, ancient scales. We landed in the courtyard, scattering a handful of terrified soldiers who had assembled. “This is Talviel of Riften, with the murderer who has been terrorising Daggerfall. Do not harm my dragon friend, as I wouldn’t be here without him. I demand to see the Count and Countess at once.” I called out as commandingly as I could. “Cease fire!” One of the soldiers shouted, and the courtyard grew deadly silent as I climbed off my old friend’s back, dropping Hadrian unceremoniously on the ground. “Thank you, Odahviing. I’m in your debt.” “Pah, nii lost nid, Dovahkiin. Summon the Thu'um, and the Dov shall answer.” He lifted off back into the air, and screeched a parting shout that made the entire assembly of guards cringe. With his hood still drawn over his face, Hadrian’s identity was concealed. I had him shackled and dragged into the Castle without question, his Second in Command looking nervous as he scuttled to wake the steward and the Count. Groggily, they all stumbled to the throne room, where Hadrian lay face down on the ground, groaning as he came to. Pulling the hood from his wretched head, everyone gasped as I recounted my findings and what had happened over the past few hours. Hadrian seethed, calling me a liar, but the odds were against his favour. He was hauled to the dungeon to await further trial in the morning. “And what of Boethiah?” The Countess asked, concerned. “You know the Daedra. Sooner or later they’ll be back. I’d send some guards to apprehend Pod at the stables, if he hasn’t already fled. The last three at the shrine I didn’t get a look at, but it was a woman and two men.” “What happened to them?” The Count said, looking exhausted and worried at Hadrian’s betrayal. “My dragon friend roasted them alive and the shrine is destroyed. I’m sure that Hadrian will give up their identities if you question him hard enough.” “And question him we shall. Talviel of Riften, I name you friend to Daggerfall. You have risked your own life to save our people and for this, you have our gratitude. What would you wish of us in return?” The Count asked. I smiled wanly, wanting nothing more than to go to bed and forget this whole ordeal and bloody Boethiah. “Well, a nice long sleep would be first on the list. But how about that spot in your kitchens like you promised?”