A changeling's visit to Skyrim

*Hey everyone, a bit of exposition from Karliah. Hooray!*

The skeleton key, one of the two known artifacts of Nocturnal, the daedric prince of shadows and patron to thieves; it is the source of power in the Twilight Sepulcher, and the object that allows Nocturnal to bless us with our legendary luck so long as we remain loyal to her. As such, it is our sworn duty as her Nightingales to protect it.

Gallus and I swore to protect the key and watch over the Twilight Sepulcher, even in death. Mercer was once our friend, and took the oath alongside us, but somewhere along the line he lost his way, and betrayed us all to make the key his. Once Mercer had taken it and let his own greed consume him, Nocturnal abandoned us Nightingales and those of the Guild for breaking our contract, and now there’s no telling what Mercer will do. With that key he could be capable of nearly anything.

The skeleton key is no mere lockpick. Yes it can open any lock, yet its power is not limited to the physical realm; should one possess the knowledge to do so, he or she could even open the locks on their inner beings, freeing them from the inherent limits of mortals and allowing them to accomplish extraordinary things.

For the last twenty-five years I’ve tried to take Mercer down, but he was always a step ahead, and recently my best chance was wasted.

I curse my need to give lengthy, climactic speeches before getting anything done.

At least now I've re-earned the trust of the Thieves' Guild. But now my greatest hope to get revenge on Mercer, take the key back, return it to Nocturnal and restore mine and Gallus’s honor as Nightingales…

“Wait, why not just keep it?”

“Yeah, that unlocking your potential thing seems pretty sweet.”

“Who needs luck when you’ve got a key to every lock and all the skill in the world?”

…

Are a bunch of money-grubbing thieves and a pair of intrepid adventurers.

…

Why me, Nocturnal? Why me?

“I’ll tell you why we can’t keep it!” Karliah exclaimed at the others sitting around the tables at the Flagon “That kind of power is too dangerous to be left in the hands of the undisciplined. Even us Nightingales aren’t allowed to use it. Gallus and I took an oath, a contract with Nocturnal, to protect it from those who would so selfishly abuse its power. In exchange, Nocturnal watches over us all, and protects us with her luck.”

“Yeah but… skeleton key.”Delven reasoned, to which everyone else nodded in agreement.

Fenora raised her hand to call them all to attention, and then tapped Stross on the shoulder. With a nod, Stross took her form and spoke for her.

“It doesn’t matter what we do with it right now, because Mercer- sorry… that giant bucking prick Mercer, still has it. We should find out where he went, murder his ass and then figure out what to do with the key once it’s ours again.”

“Th’ lass an’ her bug have a mighty good point; we need t’ find Mercer. But now there’s no tellin’ where’ll be, he’s goh all our treasure, and all our plahns for our heists; he could be anywhere.” Brynjolf scratched his chin.

“I’ll round up our informants, see if we can scrounge up any leads.” Vex told them, stabbing her dagger into the table for nothing more than to emphasize her anger before taking her leave.

“While she’s doin’ thaht, yew an’ Stross aught t’ check Mercer’s house her in Riften for any clues.” Brynjolf told Fenora.

“Riftweald manor; I remember th’ place.” Delvin chimed in “I’ll go with ya. Been meaning to see the inside of that place for some time, if ya know what I mean.”

“Then it’s settled. Everyone has their jobs, let’s get to it.”

Vlad sat outside Riftweald manor sipping a bottle of mead and every so often chewing on a piece of stale bread, just as he’d done yesterday, and the day before that, and the week before, and the last several months past his ability to count.

The skinny nord let out a sigh of resentment towards his current situation, and towards the black-haired witch that kept him chained to it. Maven Black-briar; that woman had all of Riften in her pocket due to her funding the Thieves’ Guild during their current rough patch, and so she had practically all their resources at her beck and call.

In retrospect, borrowing that much money from Maven was never too bright an idea, but the chance to start his own shrubbery business was just too good to pass up. Unfortunately, after those mysterious knights dwelling in the forest stopped demanding them from wandering adventurers in favor of cutting down trees with fish, the fish market exploded, while he was sunk in debt.

Vlad would often daydream about what he would do if he weren’t tied down to this place. He stared off into the distance at the yard and envision a strapping man galloping across the fields on horseback, delving through long forgotten caves and ruins in search of treasure, sitting down at a crackling fire each night and telling of his bold journeys. He saw a bug-like creature in leather and chainmail burning through the lock on the gate to the yard, and-

Wait, what was that last one?

By Shor’s beard. Finally! It seemed this boring, dull as dishwater job had finally gotten interesting. Someone had actually found the stones to try and break into the house he so tenaciously guarded, and steal from the most feared and successful thief alive in Skyrim. And now was Vlad’s chance to stop them.

“Stop right there! You lot ain’t supposed to be here, now shove off before I have to clobber the lot of ya!” He yelled as he strode up to the one leading the pack, an elf woman in a flowing black coat. Perhaps scaring these brigands off would convince Maven to forget his debt. She might even turn him loose with a bit of payment for a job well-

*POW*

And just like that, his dreams were shattered with the jaw-crushing left hook the elf delivered to the side of his face, knocking him to the ground in a fit of overwhelming pain.

“Well that takes care of Mercer’s watch dog.” Fenora noted.

*Sh-ring**Kra-BAM*

“And that takes care of the back door.” She said after slicing the padlock and kicking the door practically off its hinges. “Alright boys, let’s get to searching. Let’s hope there’s something here.”

“Girl ain’t one for subtlety, is she?” Delvin asked Stross as they cautiously walked in behind her.

“Not really one for patience either.” The changeling replied.

After a few minutes of searching (emptying desks of papers, rummaging through clothes drawers, and flipping over tables for no other reason than to relieve some frustration) Fenora and the gang had sadly come up empty handed.

“Damn it!” Fenora threw a bottle of alto wine against the nearest wall. “There is nothing even in here, not even anything worth taking.”

“Seein’ how Mercer barely lived in this house, I’m hardly surprised.” Delvin muttered as he pocketed a few stray coins laying on a nightstand.

“Seriously?” Stross asked in amazement “He buys a giant house like this and doesn’t even live in it; what an egotist! Hey everypony, check out my swag!" he did a dumb impression of Mercer and let out a sigh "It’s a shame really, this place is nice… roomy too. Do you think Maven will let us have it once we stab Mercer in the butt?”

“You’ll have t’ take it up with her in person. I wish ya the best of luck with that.” Delvin chuckled.

“Will you guys take this seriously?!” Fenora scolded them, her throat burning in protest. “Think; if he doesn’t actually live here, what would Mercer use this giant place for?”

Fenora thought on it for a while, eyeing the cracks in the floorboards. It was when she noticed the spilled wine from the bottles she’d smashed earlier dripping through them that something clicked in her head. “Delvin, how many stories does this mansion have?”

“Just the two anymore.” Delvin answered “There used to be a basement, but it was sealed off due to water from the sewers leaking in.”

“Exactly,” Fenora snapped her fingers “that’s what he wants us to believe. I bet he’s using that basement to store whatever he doesn’t want the Guild knowing about. We need to get down there. Look around for a secret entrance or something.”

“If there was a secret Guild entrance, we probably would have found it already.” Stross reasoned as he watched Fenora tip over a bookcase.

“Not a Guild entrance Stross, an actual secret passageway.”

“Oh… that would make it harder to find.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Delvin asked indignantly.

So, with our heroes’ luck, they finally found the secret entrance to the basement, and wouldn’t you know… it was the last cupboard left to check.

There were of course a plethora of traps down there to dispose of anyone who’d somehow made it that far. They were pretty run of the mill traps for Skyrim, and yet Mercer had been inspired enough to put his own spin on things.

The pendulum blades, normally easy to avoid if you were quick, were placed in an area with waist-deep water with hidden snares underneath that slowed movement down to a crawl. The room with pressure activated fire-plates was lined with jars of highly combustible powder that would explode when the flames reached them. Even the poison dart throwers, some of the most non-threatening traps ever made so long as you wore any type of clothing, were instead loaded with armor piercing crossbow bolts that would rend you to pieces!

But for all his genius, Mercer made one crucial flaw in his design, a shut-off lever at the beginning of the gauntlet.

With a simple flick of the switch, the three of them were easily able to peruse their way through the gallery of otherwise deadly obstacles, and into the treasure room on the other side. It was then that they found some actual hard evidence that might lead to Mercer’s whereabouts, likely forgotten as he fled the city.

“Well well, he left behind a pretty nice sword.” Fenora said as she removed the malachite blade from its case.

“Now bear my arctic blatht.” Chillrend droned as though it were reading from a script.

Fenroa rolled her eyes and sheathed the talking blade before moving on. “It looks like this is what he was after, or at least what he was going over before he left.” she said as she looked over several rolls of parchment and scattered documents “We should get it back to Brynjolf, see if he can make any sense of it.”

“Hey, who’s this dashing fellow?” Stross asked, holding up the statue of a head, whether a male or female it was hard to tell, as the only thing truly defined was the cloth headcover it wore.

“Oh bless me fingers, that there is a bust of the Grey Fox!” Delvin said and took it from Stross, looking it over with an appraising eye “Mercer always did admire the Grey Fox, and rightly so. Y’ever heard the story?”

“Uh, I’m not from Nirn, so… no.” Stross answered, clearly wishing for Delvin to tell him.

Fenora called to them from the basement stairs, so Delvin and Stross followed, and the former told the story as they walked back to the Ragged Flagon.

“They Grey Fox was a legendary thief, able to elude any guard, avoid any trap, pick any lock! He was the epitome of thieves… or maybe she was, or they were; no one knows for sure because of the Grey Fox’s legendary headpiece, the Grey Cowl of Nocturnal.

“The cowl was supposedly ripped from the hands of Nocturnal herself long ago by a master thief. So spurned was the daedric prince, that she cursed the cowl to remove from history the one who wore it; their deeds, their memory, even their names were to be forgotten by all, and the cowl itself was to never be removed from the wearer’s head.

“But as always with these shifty deals the daedra offer, there was a caveat. One could remove the cowl, and in turn have the memory of their existence restored, should they find another to take up the mantle and vanish from history in their stead. One such occurrence happened in the town of Anvil in Cyrodiil, when the mayor of the town who had happened upon the cowl implored the Hero of Kvatch to take it from him. The hero did and became the new Grey Fox and leader of the Thieves’ Guild down there. To this day little is known of the hero Kvatch due to the effects of Nocturnal’s cowl, and the Grey Fox and the cowl continued to pass into legend.”

Stross clapped as the story came to a close and the three of them made to enter the Flagon.

Fenora led the way as they once again descended through the hidden entrance in the cemetery and into the stinking cistern that served as the Thieves’ Guild’s main base of operations. Most of the regular people were still there, buzzing about like a nest of hornets, swapping tidbits of information gleaned from their spies and rummaging through whatever documents Mercer hadn’t burned.

Brynjolf walked up to them with a confidant look on his face, an oddity considering the circumstances. “Well my friends, I hope you’ve found something because we’ve got jack-monkey-squat.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Stross asked, pointing out Brynjolf’s rather happy attitude.

“Well no. But on the bright side, I’ve just finished apologizing to Karliah about the whole thinking-she-killed-Gallus-and-hunting-her-down-for-the-last-two-and-a-half-decades thing. And you’ll be pleased to hear, she’s completely forgiven us.” Brynjolf put his hands on his hips victoriously.

“Well Mister Brynjolf, you apologize quite well.” Karliah commented from the storage closet “Now did you happen to see where my pants went during all that apologizing?”

Quite a few incredulous stares, dropped jaws, and raised eyebrows were given to Brynjolf that day, and he just nodded, commenting that he’d be very sore for days to come.

Once Fenora had handed Brynjolf the papers, he laid them out of the nearest flat surface and called everyone over as he sifted through them.

“Thaht son of a motherless goat!” Brynjolf cursed and slammed the papers onto the bar counter “Stealin’ from us wahs bad enough, but now Mercer’s jus’ spittin’ in our faces!”

“So what else do we have to skin him for.” Vex asked as she leant back in her chair, twiddling with her knife.

Brynjolf looked straight ahead, and spoke to the room in a slow and even tone. “The eyes of the Falmer.”

Everyone listening perked up and turned to attention.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Vex said in denial “He’s not really-“

“Oh he is lass, he is.” Brynjolf told her “And look at this note he left in the plans… ‘s’like th’ bugger wants us to follow him.”

“So what are the eyes of the Falmer?” Fenora asked.

“That lass, is a tale that begins with the snow elves of old, back when Tamriel was still rife with th’ conflict brought on by the Night of Tears. When-“

“Cliffnotes please!” Fenora interrupted.

“Fine! Basically there’s an old statue of a snow elf buried beneath an old Dwemer ruin and it’s got diamonds twice the size of your head for eyes. Gallus always wanted to go get them, for obvious reasons, but with all the dwemer traps and constructs guarding the place we could never find the resources for an actual attempt to retrieve them.” Brynjolf explained “Now Mercer’s gotten tha gall an’ tha balls to try and take them alone, daring us to follow; he’d be set for life and we’d never find him again!”

“Well if he actually does want us to follow, he’s probably set up an ambush for us, like he did for Gallus and the others.” Fenora deduced “I don’t care how good he is or what magic powers that key gave him. Let’s not keep him waiting, I say we all go there and swarm his cocky ass. With that many of of us, we’ll finish him off easy.” Fenora pounded her fist on the table.

"Hah, sure. Have fun with that." Vekel the man, the Flagon's bartender chuckled "We're not warriors or assassins, we're thieves and fences."

“Aye, but the lass is right. I say that this's our best bet if not our only one, we've got enough skilled fighters to take down one man.” Brynjolf countered “Delvin, we need you to hold down the fort. Vex you’re coming with us, we’ll need your killer instinct, and get Maul and Dirge, tell them to suit up. The Dragonborn, Karliah, the changeling, and myself will meet you at the stables. From there, we’ll ride to… Irking… ira-kir… Iknrithraid? Bah! The Dwemer ruin where Mercer went, fook these stupid Dwarfish words!”

Less than an hour later, the seven of them had arrived just outside the dwemer ruin. Fenora and Karliah led the way with their bows at the ready, Stross followed closely behind them as they scouted ahead. Fenora’s ears perked up at every wisp of wind and chirp from the nearby birds as they quietly stalked up the path; any one of those sounds could be Mercer, patiently waiting to pick them off one by one.

“Hold up.” Stross halted them as they reached the precipice of the hill “I’m sensing life ahead, it’s very weak… fading fast.”

“I too sense something.” Karliah mentioned “There is a foul smell in the air; it is the smell of blood.”

The three of them peeked over the hill and into the courtyard of the ruin below. What greeted them was a horrific sight. It seemed as though the ruin of Irkinstrad was not abandoned, or home only to dwarven machines; a rather large group of bandits had made it their base. Now, dozens upon dozens of them were either dangling from balconies by the ropes around their necks, or lay strewn about on the ground in glistening pools of their own blood.

Even more were reduced to nothing more than butchered body parts that littered the ground, and it seemed as though not even the unfortunate travelers that were held captive by the band of criminals were spared this gruesome fate, evidenced by the open cages and the smears of blood leading from them.

Signaling to Brynjolf and the others, their group cautiously moved to the blood-soaked entrance.

“Mercer’s work?” Fenora asked as she prodded a dismembered bandit with her sword, showing no sympathy for the criminals and marauders.

“Can’t be, not even Mercer could do all this by himself, he had to have had help.” Vex said as she sifted through some piles of gods knew what.

“I’m telling you, it’s the key.” Karliah said “I’m beginning to think we were foolish to come here.”

“Guys! We’ve got a live one over here!” Stross called and continued to cast his healing magic, giving his best attempt to stabilize the child, no older than twelve who’d had both his legs torn off and was limply propped up against the wall of a tent. “You’re going to be okay. Can you talk? What happened here?” Stross asked.

The boy coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood, indicating he no longer had his tongue.

“It’s alright, just take it easy.” Stross said gently.

Suddenly the child’s eyes shot open, wide with fear as his senses came back to him. “Geh awah!” He screamed and weakly shoved Stross with what precious little strength remained in him “RRRUUUHH!” he yelled in warning before violently exploding, spraying gore and shrapnel everywhere.

The others were quite a few paces back, and Stross took the brunt of the explosion. But the shards of metal didn’t faze him nearly as much as the sheer horror of seeing an innocent child you were trying to save blown to bits right in front of you.

After that initial explosion, the rest of the bombs Mercer had planted triggered, and every other dead body in the camp was liquefied and turned into a rain of blood and skin that poured down on our heroes and their thief allies, sending them diving for any cover they could find. Once the rain of gore had concluded, several deer hides above the entrance to the ruin unfurled into a banner with a thoughtful message from Mercer Fray: “I hope you enjoy the taste of blood, because I look forward to drowning you in your own. -M”

As the thieves collected themselves and wiped the blood and bits of flesh from the uniforms in disgust, Fenora rushed over to Stross, who was still sitting where the boy had shoved him, eyes wide and breathing extremely heavily.

“Stross, are you alright? Anything hurt?” Fenora asked as she wiped the blood off his face and forehead.

“They didn’t deserve this.” Stross said blankly “He butchered them.”

Fenora scoffed. “I know, and Mercer’s going to pay for-“

Stross abruptly stood and shoved Fenora away. “Mercer’s going to BURN!” he screeched as he ignited in a pillar of flame, boiling off the blood that covered him.