The Brewing Storm

by Whitestrake

Rating: teen
Tags: Princess Luna, Original Character, Comedy, Adventure, Crossover, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Human
Length: 163539

Reman has returned to Nirn, and an entire nation's dreams follow.

The gate to Nirn is open, permanently binding the realm to Equestria. In order to avoid the possibility of war with the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion, Princess Celestia has enlisted the help of Reman, an Imperial. the mission is simple, and seems easy enough, but things rarely go as planned. With the enemies on all sides, each faction preparing for war, things are about to go from bad, to worse for all involved.

Published 2012-06-19 05:54:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-06-02 05:26:32 UTC

In Before the DLC

The first thing that was apparent was the smell. It wasn't unpleasant, nor unwelcome, but it was overpowering. The scent of pine trees and blooming wildflowers, Skyrim was transitioning from winter to spring. In truth, everypony was expecting the strange world to be filled with monsters and evil magic, but this forest appeared too beautiful to have been left to its own devices.

“Reman said that Nirn worked like the Everfree, that everything took care of itself.” Glade was muttering, still trying to take in the scenery, and actively making an attempt to keep her guard up. Her pack-mate had warned her about the tricks this world liked to play on the unwary. “Everypony stay alert, there are things worse than werewolves that call this place their home.”

As if to provide evidence to the lycan's statement, a massive shadow passed over the forest floor. A roar that made Glade's seem like a yawn filled the air, sending a chill down everypony's spine. Whatever it was, its massive wings sent a gust over the eight ponies, though the pine canopy obscured the beast from view. The monster howled its call again, sending a tremor through the ancient trees. Nopony moved until its roar faded into the distance.

“W-What was t-t-that?” Fluttershy was shaking, thoroughly frightened by the airborne creature.

“I think that was a dragon...” Twilight lifted a piece of parchment from her saddlebag, along with a quill and inkwell. The lavender mare checked another member of the Equestrian bestiary off of her list, and wondered how many traits dragons of Nirn and Equestria shared. “If dragon here are like that, then I suppose it explains Reman's reaction to seeing Spike for the first time.”

“I'm not comfortable standing around like this.” Luna surprised everypony with her words, though they may have been justified. The Elements and Glade knew about the Princess' delving into the Imperial's mind, she knew more about this world than anypony else. “Just let me check the map.” This would have a wonderful idea, if the group's position had been marked on the navigational aid. Realizing that Reman hadn't taken the liberty of locating the party's arrival point, the Princess of Night nearly ripped the piece of aged paper to shreds.

“Something wrong?” Pinkie leaned over the alicorn's shoulder, trying to decipher why Luna's eye suddenly developed a twitch. “Wait! Maybe your Princess Sense is telling you something!”

“Oh, it's telling me something, alright.” With a flat look, Luna pulled her own quill and parchment combo from her bag, intent on getting an updated map from the Imperial in Whiterun. After writing a rather angry note, the Princess sent the map off in a puff of purple fire. “And now we wait.”

“Doesn't Reman need to be awake to get it?” Even to the Element of Loyalty, the plan seemed off by a touch. At the realization, the Princess almost smacked herself in frustration, though when her horn sparked, Luna's attitude quickly changed. With a small plume of blue flames, a neatly rolled map with a small tag under the twine fell to the ground.

“I thought it would be strange for him to be sleeping this late in the day.” Rarity was doing her best to stay on the small rock that she was perched on, lest she touch the muddy ground. She knew that Reman would respond quickly, with an updated map, however, one thing struck her as odd.“But, what does the note say?”

With a frustrated grunt, Luna exposed the small tag's writing.

You are here.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The Imperial was currently shacked up in Jorrvaskr, taking a rest in one of the lower floor's many rooms. Eorlund Gray-Mane had been kind enough to set Reman up with a suit of the Companions' wolf armor and a sword made of Skyforge steel, despite the Imperial only being an honorary member. Kodlak trusted his advice, though, and that meant something in Skyrim. The old Nord would be tough to convince, but if the group succeeded, the Holds would be much easier to sway. Reman was certain that the old werewolf was only hearing him out because of the small amount of respect he held in Whiterun, however, he knew that Kodlak had a heart too kind to deceive him like that.

Though, perhaps the Harbinger was humoring Reman to boost the sense of brotherhood lycans shared, which was going to become much more necessary in the near future. The Imperial had heard some rather disturbing news while drinking in the Bannered Mare: the Silver Hand was upping its number in Skyrim, being bolstered by some group of vampire slayers. Whoever these Dawnguard characters were, they provided the Silver Hand with a steady supply of crossbows and silver arrowheads, a dangerous combination against werewolves.

Two groups of hunters chasing after the supernatural, and Reman thought he could take things easy for a while.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Despite the joke, Reman had actually fixed the map, and the mares were well on their way to Skyrim's largest Hold. They were making great time, Whiterun Hold was just over the next cluster of mountains. Of course, the range was still a number of hours away, and across a lake, Lake Ilinalta, if the map was to be believed.

“Couldn't we just follow the White River to Riverwood, instead?” Rarity had a good point, the land seemed fairly flat in that area, whereas the party's current path was supposed to be hilly until they reached the tundra. “The map says that there's a road that leads right to the city.”

“We still don't know how the locals will react to seeing us.” The Princess of Night was correct. So far, it seemed only Glade and Luna had kept on their guard, the lycan mare had actually kept the group from waltzing into a pack of bandits. The bloodthirsty brigands were then wiped out by a group of mercenaries, but that didn't help the small equines in the least. Well, it didn't help the majority, with Glade helping herself to one on the bandits' weapons. Although, given the nature of the experience, perhaps is was best if only Luna, Twilight, and Glade knew about the small group of highwaymen.

“Reman seemed to take it pretty well.” Fluttershy hadn't been around the Imperial much, but he had adapted fairly easily, even if he hadn't given up eating meat. Then again, he wasn't a normal human, if Glade and the Princesses were telling the truth.

“Reman adapts to everything well, even the Equestrian winter, if you recall.” Glade was proud to call the man her forebear.

“Right, his skin doesn't do much for insulation.” Twilight remembered seeing the Imperial walk around without a shirt, even when some ponies wore coats against the cold.

“So some people are going to run away from us, big deal.” Rainbow Dash didn't have a subtle bone in her body, and her current mood wasn't helping her. The cyan pegasus hated being stuck on the ground, flying would attract too much attention, even more because the local had their eyes on the sky in the event of dragon attack.

“The guards are armed, and unlike Equestria's, they kill threats on a regular basis.” Reman had said as much to the lycan, at least the dungeons were easy to escape, the guards didn't patrol them regularly.

“Can we at least stop for a rest?” Rarity wasn't accustomed to long journeys, and traveling for the amount of time that she had, it was amazing that the fashionable pony hadn't keeled over by then. While the group had started on their journey shortly before noon, the sun was beginning to set, and they were barely half-way there.

“We ain't gettin' much further before sunset, might as well make camp here.” Applejack was the most experienced when it came to the outdoors, and if she said this spot was okay, then the other mares couldn't really argue. Besides, it wasn't every day that they had the chance to camp on a lakeshore. Granted, they only had three tents among themselves, and they had exhausted their water supply for the day, the ponies felt that they were prepared for the rest of the trip. The water seemed clean enough to drink, it was so clear, one could see the wreck of a ship under the water, the crowsnest sticking out some distance away.

“If anypony needs me, I'll be bathing.” It was more out of necessity than anything, but Fluttershy needed to keep the others in the loop, in case something happened. Like the dragon came for them, or a monster came out of the water. “C-can I get somepony to come with me?”

“Scare yourself thinking about getting attacked?” Glade laughed a bit, but the Element knew she was joking. Regardless, the lycan joined the shy pegasus in her cleaning, though Glade kept her looted dagger strapped in the sheath on her foreleg. Wading out, the two noticed that the water was indeed clean enough to drink, though it was almost too cold to bathe in, but there weren't exactly many options.

Too distracted by their own thoughts, neither pegasus noticed the dark shape move under the water's surface.

Big Trouble in Little Whiterun

In her life, Twilight Sparkle had never seen anything like this strange land. In a few short hours, the mare had heard a dragon fly overhead, and been near a group of bandits as they were slaughtered. The day ended with the group making camp on the shore of Lake Ilinalta, and two of the mares were off bathing at the moment. The Element of Magic was currently occupying herself with her lists, checking off every plant, animal, and insect that she saw, all in the name of science. That didn't mean that Twilight hadn't taken the time to enjoy the sights and sounds of Nirn.

Reman's home was certainly beautiful, even with its strange moons. That was probably the toughest thing to get over, really, the two celestial bodies. Luna seemed to take some slight offense at the dual satellites, like they were stealing her thunder. The Princess was joking, using humor as a means to ease some of the group's collective nervousness. Actually, the peace of the day had done wonders to relax the other mares, well, after the near run-in with those brigands.

A scream and splash pierced the early night like a dagger. While one might confuse Fluttershy's outburst as the result of horseplay with Glade, her friends understood the fear in her shriek, and the six rushed to her aid. The Element of Kindness was standing on the shore, shaking in terror a what she had seen. The lycan that had escorted her, however, was nowhere to be found.

“Something pulled Glade under!” The shy pony was almost in shock, the attack had taken place in an instant. Pegasi aren't strong swimmers on the best of days, and the lycan had been snatched by surprise, if somepony didn't help, odds were that Glade might not survive. In this test, Twilight Sparkle jumped into action.

“Rarity, light up the water!” The alabaster unicorn obeyed, running on autopilot for the moment. With a flash, the dark waters were illuminated by the Element of Generosity's magic, revealing Glade and her attacker. Twilight didn't notice what it was, the mare was too focused on her duties. “Luna, grab Glade and pull her out!”

“Right.” The alicorn gripped the submerged and struggling pegasus, yanking her from the strange creature's grip. The lycan flew from the water with barely a ripple, the Princess' magic displacing the liquid without a sound. The lake monster launched itself after the mare, but was met with a dagger in its jaws. Reflex forced the foreign animal to bite down, the steel blade penetrated its skull and brain, death was instantaneous. Oddly enough, the weapon hadn't been thrown, it had merely fallen from its sheath.

“You can let me go, I'm fine.” Glade had a few bites, but she was still in working shape. “It just caught me by surprise, is all.” In truth, the mare had only been more afraid on two occasions, and both involved the Imperial the group was going to see. “Though, I suggest waiting until we get to Whiterun to try and bathe, other you're liable to be grabbed by... whatever that was.”

“I think it's a fish.” Pinkie was stating the obvious, but it may have been a shocking revelation to the bubbly party pony. Regardless of her current thoughts, Gummy was busying himself by nudging the floating corpse around the shallow he was presently wading through. Through the small alligator's efforts, the fish's body drifted towards the group of ponies, ready for its examination. “Those teeth are bigger than Reman's when he gets all scary and growly!”

“Why would a lake fish need teeth this large, or display that level of aggression?” Twilight wasn't about to go near the thing, even the scholarly mare had her limits, but her inhibitions didn't stop her from wondering. “Perhaps Glade is right, we should definitely avoid deep water.”

“Well, there go my plans for cleaning up.” Rarity was jesting, still slightly jarred from the earlier fiasco. The fashionable pony was slightly agitated by the delay, but she could live with it. “I'll wait until we arrive at Jarr-vasker to bathe.”

“Let's jus' get back t' camp 'fore somethin' worse than a fish comes after us.” Applejack was not about to risk the lives of her friends by talking, not while the air had bloodscent wafting through, and not while predators were roaming the woods. They needed to move, and now.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

This was easily the best part of being in the Companions, hands down, theses celebrations were worth every battle, every injury, every wound earned in combat. The mead hall shook with cheers and drunken song, though the every member of the Circle was sober as a bird. The roaring revelry was over some whelp's success on a job, while this wasn't cause for celebration in itself, the adverse conditions that presented themselves during the contract demonstrated the newcomer's skill. Some kid, about two or three years younger than Reman, had cleared out a bandit camp that had set up the day before, including the chief in steel plate. Even the Imperial had to admit, that was damn impressive.

“To Jared Thumb-crusher, a true Nord warrior!” Skjor lifted his mug and shouted across the room, encouraging the gathered fighters into an even louder frenzy. While the aged werewolf was trusted and admired in the Companions, Reman butted heads with the former Blade on a number of occasions, including the first time the Imperial set foot through the western doors. Nevertheless, Reman downed his mead with the others, not like he would let alcohol go to waste, that would just be rude of him.

“Reman God-slayer, gotta admit, it has a nice ring.” Farkas' voice was oddly loud over the roaring Companions, making the cheers seem like white noise. “Don't suppose you're gonna start going by that now, are you?”

“The Circle has been calling me that ever since I told you about my battle with Hircine.” Reman and the his fellow lycan made their out back, away from the shouting crowd. “Never understood why you five believed it when nobody else did.”

“Most folks don't have a connection to the Huntsman like we do.” The long-haired Nord shrugged, answering the Imperial's unspoken question. It never ceased to amaze Reman, but he found himself surprised every time Farkas managed to teach him something. The man may have been simple, but he wasn't stupid.“We all felt Hircine's pain when you did... something.”

“It take's a special warrior to defeat a Daedric Prince in combat.” Reman jumped slightly when Vilkas spoke from one of the benches under the mead hall's rear awning. “More than special, I suppose.”

“By the Nine, you came out of nowhere.” The Imperial chuckled slightly, only at his own jumpiness.

“Then you're going to flinch now, too?” Kodlak wasn't one to sneak about, but this matter was somewhat sensitive, and the Harbinger couldn't risk Skjor's or Aela's reactions. Reman remained still, unaffected by the man's voice. “I trust you know why we sent Farkas to collect you.”

“You've got a hunch that I haven't been totally honest with you, right?” This old song and dance, the Imperial had a passing familiarity with it. In truth, Reman hadn't lied in his description of his mission, he simply hadn't told the elder werewolf everything.

“Actually, this is in regards to the Silver Hand.” Kodlak quirked a brow at the young man's suggestion, but it didn't receive another thought. The old Nord actually had believed that Reman was withholding information, though he had no proof beyond what his gut said. “A lieutenant, of all things, came here.”

“Are they scouting for an attack?” The Imperial never liked planning large battles, they simply caused too much confusion amongst the combatants. Reman wasn't one to run from a fight, but Jorrvaskr was within the city walls, civilians might get in the way.

“Actually, she asked for you.” Vilkas sounded somewhere between explanatory and inquisitive. The warrior had no idea why some woman had asked for the Imperial, by name, no less. Some things just didn't make sense when Reman was involved. “Care to explain has she knew more about you than we did?”

“I have an idea, but I need her name before I can confirm my suspicions.” The lycan knew who it was, and his gut nearly froze at the thought.

“Just some Breton, brown hair, Cyrodiilic accent with some hints of a High Rock lilt.” Vilkas had taken the interrogation, if it could even be called that, by the reigns. Kodlak would take over if things got out of hand, but he allowed the younger lycan to handle this. “Sound familiar?”

“Yeah, I know her, old friend from home.” Half of the truth, but no lies. Reman was not comfortable with how things were going, not one bit. “But, you wouldn't be asking if something hadn't worried you.”

“She mentioned your family name.” The Imperial understood completely, his relatives weren't the best people to have linked to the Companions. “Do you have any idea how bad things could get for us? Especially if the Stormcloaks find out, because of your carelessness, all of Whiterun is in danger!”

“Vilkas, calm yourself.” Kodlak never liked being harsh, but the old Harbinger knew when one had to be forceful. “I'm certain Reman has a good reason for hiding his heritage.” The aged Nord looked to the Imperial, as though searching his heart for some answer. “But, that isn't the reason for this meeting.”

“With respect, I must ask the true purpose, then.” Reman was glad that the heat was off of him. For the moment, he was out of the frying pan.

“I had been under the impression of a lack of honesty on your end." Kodlak looked over the Imperial with a critical eye, attempting to discern the truth. "Now, what haven't you told me?"
@#@#@#@#@#@#

The next morning had been rather uncomfortable, for various reasons. Fluttershy had been woken up by every other noise, and Glade stayed too alert to sleep. Rarity had been difficult to wake, and Dash had a stiff back from the hard dirt, which was to be expected of a pegasus stuck on the ground. Pinkie had absolutely no problems, she was a morning mare, as things went. Applejack, accustomed to early rises, was slightly put off by sleeping in after sunrise. Twilight, having stayed awake to continue her notes, had baggy eye, but nothing else.

Things came to a head when Glade started to vomit her previous meal into the underbrush.

Silly Science, You Have no Place Here

Skyrim seemed to have an abundance of wild plants and herbs, Twilight recognized quite a few specimens that she had seen hanging in Zecora's home. Pushing the thoughts of categorizing local flora aside, the Element of Magic looked forward, across the sweeping flatland before her. The group had gone around the cluster of mountains, the western side, of course, and Whiterun was over the horizon. Barring any unseen delay, the expedition would make it to the eastern wall by sunset.

“Glade, how's your stomach?” Luna was only asking because the lycan had been nauseated ever since she had woken up this morning. It was probably just something she ate, maybe it was the fish that had tried to eat her.

“I'll make it to Whiterun, I'm sure Reman will have some sort of remedy for it.” Glade was almost certain the her forebear knew most of the curious facets of lycanthropy, maybe even a few remedies for any ills that may plague werewolves. “Though I seem to recall him saying lycans can't get sick.”

“Maybe it's a virus you picked up in Equestria and it was just slow to develop.” Twilight wasn't a doctor, nor an expert on the supernatural, so she was just taking a blind poke at things. The lycan merely shrugged in response, clearly finished with the subject.

“I'm just glad the drama from yesterday is behind us.” Dash was still peeved about walking everywhere, but she was adapting. If anything, her hurting hooves bothered her the most, even more than being grounded. “By the way, where did you get the knife, Glade?”

“Found it.” The lycan mare shrugged, keeping the majority of the truth hidden away. Rainbow may have acted tough, but the concept of using a looted weapon would have turned her stomach.

“Lucky, staying strapped wouldn't be half bad.” Really, was the Element of Loyalty trying to talk like a Cloudsdale punk?

“Ah don' think keepin' a weapon out like that is a good idea.” Applejack didn't think that the locals would appreciate Glade carrying a knife around, especially in such an obvious location. The farmer wasn't certain of how people here behaved, or how they would react to certain things, especially open displays of aggression. “That's jus' askin' fer trouble.”

“Relax, we won't get into trouble.” Pinkie was smiling and bouncing along, intent on enjoying the foray into Tamriellic life. For reasons only known to the pink party pony, she stopped in her tracks. “Wait! What if we run into other werewolves, and they don't like sharp, pointy things?”

“What on earth are talking about, dear?” Even Rarity had trouble understanding Pinkie at times like this, and the gossip queen was adept at reading other ponies.

“Think about it!” The pink party pony appeared on the Element of Generosity's opposite side, having evidently discovered teleportation. “Reman used that glowy sword, and he only had it when he was fighting the deer-person, couldn't another werewolf think Glade's gonna want to fight if he sees the knife?”

“I'm a little worried that you may be onto something, Pinkie.” Luna wasn't thrilled about the prospect, to be light about it.

@#@#@#@#@#

Reman was more accustomed to respect when he was referred to by his family name, not the slight contempt that currently emanated from Vilkas. Kodlak, however, was taking it rather well, all things considered, even if the Harbinger had to speak with every witness about blabbing to any informants in Whiterun. Stormcloaks might try to kidnap the Imperial, and that many deaths should be avoided when possible, but it would be infinitely worse if they actually succeeded.

Ransom wouldn't get them anywhere, after all, Reman's family likely believed that he was dead. Lynette had known the Imperial had been bitten by a werewolf, maybe she had kept that secret under her hat. Regardless, a note claiming that Reman was alive would be seen as a low blow by his father, and the Imperial's mother would be out for blood. But if his grandfather found out, there would be no denying it.

Blood would be spilled over that supposedly dead son.

“I didn't know you'd ridden before.” Farkas had been sent with the Cyrodiil native, as a comrade to aid in this task's completion. Dustman's Cairn, and the fragment held within, a simple enough target. All Reman had to do was grab a piece of Ysgramor's ancient battleaxe, and all would be forgiven.

“All nobles in Cyrodiil learn equestrianism at an early age.” It was one lesson that the man had taken to, besides Conjuration magic, Reman had a talent for riding. The Imperial had modified his saddle so he could fire a bow while on horseback, a deadly technique that had been used by the Redguards for centuries. “One of the many benefits of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”

“I'll think I'd take my ring of dirt any day.” The Nord had a simple way of things, and didn't want to burden his life with the complexities of noble birth. Humility was always a refreshing trait to find in a warrior. “But the crypt's just up this hill, maybe two minutes.”

“What can we expect inside?” Reman knew that was a stupid question, all Nord crypts held the same things. If the Imperial was lucky, he'd pocket quite a bit of treasure, after he killed a lot of draugr. Why the Nords insisted on placing their dead in tombs like these, Reman would never know. Wait, Skyrim's soil freezes in the winter, so this actually made sense. Still, it was horrible for the souls of the dead, the ancient Nords seemed so easy to disturb. “Scratch that, dumb question.”

“I don't see why you're acting scared, nothing we haven't seen before.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

It was made abundantly clear that the ponies had lucked out when it came to Hircine's choice of who to send to Equestria. At the moment, the diplomatic envoy observed a small interchange of differing opinions on who Skyrim belonged to. Everypony was horrified at the small skirmish playing out before them, twelve Imperial Legionnaires against eight Stormcloak soldiers. The fight was hardly even, but the humans in blue were holding their own against the superior numbers.

“What could have provoked a civil war?” Luna was pondering the possibilities, though a clear answer eluded her. The Princess didn't have a sample of the population to study, her only real view into Tamriel had come from Reman, and the Imperial was hardly an average subject.

“It could be any number of things, Griffins have these conflicts almost twice a decade.” Twilight had also studied foreign cultures, an attempt to grow more accustomed to the alien plane of Nirn. Like her other attempts, this one seemed to pay off.

“Did you see that hit?” Rainbow didn't seem too concerned about the political state of Skyrim or the Empire, the skirmish had her complete attention. The blow she referred to had knocked the helmet from an Legionnaire's head, and sent the steel-skinned warrior to the ground. The fighter's friend seemed to take offense, and seized revenge on the assaulting Nord. With a punch that made Glade's jaw hurt, the smaller human sent the one in blue into the air. A warhammer slammed into the lightly armored man's back, certainly shattering bone beneath the iron bludgeon. “That one had to hurt.”

“Cease!” A voice roared across the open fields, clear even from the ponies' perch, over one hundred yards away. The source was an Imperial, clad in steel Legion armor, standing in a passive and diplomatic posture. Much to Luna's surprise, both sides of the battle dropped their weapons, even helping each other up, it seemed the Imperial had worked some sort of miracle.

“How did he do that?” Rarity raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes, the magnifying lenses provided a clear view of the battlefield. Neatly trimmed, brown hair covered the man's head; a long scar ran form one ear, all the way to his mouth. But, the basic aesthetics of his face weren't what was amazing about the man. The Element of Generosity quietly gasped at the revelation. “Princess, you need to see this.”

Quickly, Luna moved the surveillance equipment to herself and tried to see what had startled the alabaster unicorn. She didn't have to search much at all. The Princess blinked, took a double take, even cleaned the lenses, but nothing could the truth of the situation. It was made abundantly clear that this was no normal Imperial, not by a long shot.

“I think we just saw Reman's doppelganger in action.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Grandfather,

I am aware that you aren't one for pleasantries, no one in our family is. I am only troubling you because a certain Breton visited my camp yesterday, I'm certain you remember Lynette, Gaston Jemane's duaghter. Anyway, she gave me some wonderful news, though it came with more than a pinch of salt. According to her, Reman is still alive! After all theses years, he must have been traveling this entire time!

Now, for the bad news. You were in Kvatch at the time, so I know that you recall the incident. You and Mother seemed particularly devastated when the priest told us the beast was a werewolf, and Lynette had admitted that Reman had been bitten. Our fears have been confirmed with this revelation, and my brother now suffers from the affliction. Though, if Lynette is to be believed, there may still be hope.

It would seem that after she and her mother left for High Rock, Lynette joined the Silver Hand. If you didn't know, they're a group that hunts werewolves across High Rock and Skyrim. Apparently, Lynette's a lieutenant, in charge of a hunting party and everything. I wouldn't mention that if it wasn't important, and this detail is of the utmost necessity. Reman, while transformed, found and eradicated Lynette's camp, but left her alive. If my brother still remembers her, then there may be time enough to find a cure before he succumbs to the beast in full.

- Uriel

Dawnguard Release Chapter.

Because I'll be too busy playing Dawnguard or working the fields tomorrow, I'm putting this up today!

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The two warriors had fought through a veritable horde of draugr, the ancient corpses did little to slow the lycans. At least the preserved bodies were easy to take down, barring the occasional magic wielder. Things seemed to be easy, until they found themselves in a certain chamber, a round one, with a few shelves filled with ruined books. There was a portcullis on the far side, and the only discernible lever was in a small side room, obviously a trap.

“Well... one of us has to trigger it if we want to get through.” The Imperial looked at the simple machine with a slight apprehension. Given the assignment's requirements, the Cyrodiil native was forced into the horrible situation.

“Try not to do anything stupid.” Farkas was trying to sound commanding, as though being Reman's Shield Sibling warranted his leadership.

“I should say the same thing to you, ice brain.” The two messed around with each other, but they never said anything truly offensive. All joking aside, the Imperial stepped into the small alcove, he really didn't want to do this. Reman put his weight into it, and the rusted switch gave way, opening the sealed portcullis.

The one leading to the alcove, however, slammed home, locking the Imperial inside.

“I really should have seen that one coming.” The young man had expected a hidden door or something, not a simple lock in like this. Much to Reman's displeasure, Farkas seemed to find the situation amusing.

“I see another lever in the next room, be back in a second.” The long haired Nord turned to the opened gate, only to be barred access. A number of Silver Hand entered the chamber, each was armed and armored, ready for blood. They surrounded Farkas, with his back against the wall, he had only one option.

“Which one is this?” One innocuous member of the hunting party seemed unfamiliar with Farkas, or perhaps he referred to the Imperial in wolf armor.

“It doesn't matter, he's in the Circle, he dies!” A feminine voice echoed from a hunter clad in steel plate, a voice the Reman was intimately familiar with. The young lieutenant likely had no idea who the Imperial was, the armor's helmet obscured most of Reman's face.

“Killing you will bring glory to our order.” The Silver Hand recruited Orcs, it seemed, the brutish elves were perfect for using silver claymores. Farkas took the threats in stride, even smiling at the leader's order to kill him.

“None of you will be alive to tell the tale.” With a fierce snarl, the Nord began to change shape. The Companions strain was unique, the lycan form's flesh materialized over the user's body, and things must have compounded from there. Regardless of how it worked, the werewolf got things done.

Two fell before the battle truly began, their silver weapons clattered to the ground. One Nord swung his sword, only to have the offending arm nearly ripped from its socket. The leader in steel plate thrust her own silver blade, piercing the lycan's tough hide without effort. Without so much a howl of pain, Farkas backhanded the heavily armored human, sending her flying against the closed portcullis.

“Leave this one alive!” Reman hooked his arms through the bars, pinning both the woman's arms to her side, and her body against the gate. The shifted Nord listened to his Shield Brother, and focused solely on the remaining Silver Hand. Actually, in the carnage, two had killed each other by mistake, leaving only the Imperial, the leader, and Farkas alive. Without hesitation, the Nord ran from the room, and threw the lever.

Reman shoved the woman in steel plate to the ground, before retrieving his arms from the bars. Wouldn't want to get those caught, now would he?

“Bastard!” The helmeted woman whirled around, wielding a scavenged sword. The Imperial brought his own blade to against the silver weapon, Skyforge steel slicing through the jeweler's metal with relative ease. The lieutenant was about to respond, but Reman prevented her action, merely by removing his own helmet.

“Lynette, I believe it's time we had a heartfelt conversation.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The map marked the ruined structure as the Western Watchtower, a scorched, charred shell of its former self. The ponies were within sight of it, though they used cover to remain hidden as best they could. The only real surprise that the group had come across was a large skeleton that resembled a four-tusked elephant. It wasn't the strangest thing they had come across, but it certainly wasn't normal. Well, normal by Equestrian standards, anyway.

“There, up on the hill.” Luna pointed a hoof, and indeed, there was a massive fortress standing on the summit. The must have been Dragonsreach, the capitol of Whiterun Hold, and the home of Jarl Balgruuf. That made the mass of buildings on the slopes and base the actual city, and Reman was inside, waiting for them. First, though, they needed to reach the eastern wall, and the ponies were currently on the western side.

“Weren't we supposed to enter at night?” Reman had never hinted at the option, but instinct told Glade that the plan was flawless. “Guards don't patrol the east very often, and it looks like it'll rain.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too.” Rainbow was in Ponyville's Weather Patrol, and she recognized storm clouds when she saw then. A smile spread across the cyan mare's features as she understood the plan's full implications.“The storm should keep the guards inside, and we fly everypony over, right?”

“That was the plan, but we don't know how reliable the weather is, though.” Twilight wasn't a weathermare, but she had studied the Everfree Forest's meteorological patterns. The Element discovered that the seasons brought most of the change, and there wasn't a small pattern to be found. “We'll need to wait until tonight to decide.”

“Oh, so it'll be a surprise for them!” Pinkie yelled in a hushed tone, a feat many thought was impossible. However, nopony knew who she meant by them, but that was just a Pinkie Pie mystery.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“You sure it was a good idea to leave her tied up near the exit?” Farkas hadn't expected the Imperial to show mercy like that, but Reman had his own way of doing things.

“I would prefer we just focus on the task at hand.” Lynette was the last thing the Imperial wanted to think about, besides, there were more pressing matters to deal with, first. The lieutenant didn't even rate in the top three at the moment, the treasure room was Reman's top priority.

“Well then, I'm pretty sure that's the piece of Wuuthrad on the far table.” The Nord motion to the other end of the vault-like chamber. Even at this distance, the Imperial could see a dark shape sitting on a small pedestal, the color of ancient, Nordic metal. There was only one thing standing between the two lycans and their prize.

“What are we going to do about these caskets?” The Nords had a tendency to place tombs across and inside walls, and this room was a fine example. From the small corridor, to the round chamber containing the fragment, sealed draugr lined walls.

“If we move the piece, they'll swarm us.” Farkas was pondering his options, and leaving without the fragment of Wuuthrad wasn't among them. “How should we prepare for that?”

“Don't treat me like a whelp, I'm thinking.” Reman moved towards one of the caskets, attempting to find a flash of inspiration. He ran a finger around the lid, feeling the small crevice that separated the outermost portion from the main container. Yes, that might work, but just to test his theory, Reman placed the blade of a scavenged silver claymore into the small sliver. Perfect fit. “Farkas, we should pry as many of these open as we possibly can, deal with the draugr individually.”

“That almost sounded like a plan.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

For Pinkie, life was one big party, and she loved parties! But, seeing those humans fight earlier, she came to understand that life in Tamriel might be much harder than in Equestria. Maybe that was why Reman seemed so serious all the time, he just never had the chance to unwind. But Pinkie had gotten him to attend a party, and he had a lot of fun, even if he kind of... died later that day. But for there to be a war between the people of the same nation, there must be something seriously wrong with the way things go around here.

“You've been awfully quiet, Pinkie.” The party pony was torn from her musings by Glade, the mare with the most knowledge of this alien world. The lycan had noticed the Element of Laughter's coat had dulled slightly, something that shouldn't happen to ponies.

“I've just been thinking.” Pinkie didn't sound like her usual, bubbly self. That was cause enough for concern, given her usual disposition. “This world just seems... harsh.” In the distance, an adventurer fell to the ground, her supplies spilling about. The Element and lycan watched the entire scene, even as several others passed by the woman, none stopped to offer assistance. “Why doesn't anypony help that one?”

“This world is tough, even the fish need armor plating to survive.” Glade spoke with a slight to of resignation, as though nothing could change what they saw. This example of general apathy must have been commonplace, even the nicer locals did nothing to bring aid to the traveler. “But, there are still plenty of those that care for others.”

Glade motioned to a figure that was approaching the adventurer, his posture and stride were calm and easygoing. A reptilian tail swished behind the kind stranger as he helped the woman with her task, picking up over half of her scattered supplies. The lizard-man handed them to the adventurer without asking for thanks, simply waving to her as he walked away.

“I guess you're right!” Pinkie's color returned in full, as though a single act of kindness could actually change one's outlook on an entire nation. But, Glade supposed such things were possible, especially in this harsh, alien realm.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Why don't Nords have proper burials!?” Reman had to shout to be heard over the melee. Only a few coffins could be opened, but they were drops in a glass, the difference was so little. The Imperial slashed at a Wight's neck, the desiccated tendons proved stronger than one would believe. Failing so sever the corpse's head, the lycan kicked his undead enemy into another draugr, one of the Restless variant.

“To keep provincials like you in Cyrodiil!” Farkas was having a tough time with the living corpses, he was constantly swarmed by the annoying things. The werewolf's slow attacks only made the draugr's jobs easier, Farkas' two-handed weapon strikes were avoided with little effort. The man may have been simple, but he hit much harder than Reman. With a pirouette, the Skyforge steel claymore cleaved though desiccated throats, separating heads from their shoulder-top perches. The ancient zombies redoubled the effort, eager to destroy the intruder. “How do you Imperials deal with the undead?”

“We burn 'em.” With a devilish grin, Reman rushed to the wall, and removed a torch from its holder. Having forgetting every spell to pay for Conjurer's Folly, the man was open to other ideas, especially the violent ones. The lycan waved his torch around, keeping the corpses away, and cut those that came too close down to size. The preservative oils used in Nordic embalming were highly flammable, and draugr weren't intelligent enough to avoid the burning torch. Reman swung his light like a mace, and the corpse caught fire almost instantly.

However, the Imperial was now dealing with a flaming draugr.

The Right Man in the Wrong Place...

The incendiary ghoul lunged at its attacker, the one who dared steal the treasure it was ordered to protect. The resurrected corpse seemed to have the advantage, its flaming body kept the Imperial in a constant backpedal. The human had to lunge to the side in order to avoid its attacks, the brave warrior was on the retreat. Things were looking up for the ancient Nord, for the first time in centuries, an adventurer was going to die by its hands.

The situation was improving, until a silver bolt sliced through the draugr's brain.

“I figured you guys would need some help.” Lynette Jemane held a crossbow in her hands, a smug and sincere grin was plastered on her face. Reman never knew that anyone could make steel plate look attractive, but the Breton woman pulled it off, somehow. “I never figured you'd be rescued by me, but I can't say I don't like the feeling.”

“Well, I’m not displeased by the results.” Reman tossed the corpse to the ground, ready to attack the next draugr in his way. “But, I must ask how you freed yourself.” The Imperial stabbed his steel through a dustman's stomach, throwing it over his shoulder.

“You used a rope as old as this crypt, you should be grateful that I didn't just leave.” The woman all ready had a shot loaded into her crossbow, ready to end another walking corpse. With a quick pull of a trigger, the silver bolt found its target, and lodged itself firmly into a draugr's chest.

“If you two lovebirds are done, I could use some help over here!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The clouds over Whiterun were still darkening, with the sun nearing the horizon, the time to enter the city was fast approaching. Everypony was doing something to pass the time until the infiltration, every simpleminded task was different from the next. Summer Glade was currently munching on some locally gathered berries, Twilight scanned them to see if they were poisonous, and the Element said they were fine for pony consumption. Actually, eating them gave the lycan a cooling sensation, not unpleasant, not chilling, but like she'd be able to stand higher temperatures. Besides, they tasted amazing, compared to the rations Glade had been forced to eat, and the berries were leagues ahead of that stupid fish.

“Those clouds don't look too welcoming.” Rainbow wasn't scared, her voice didn't hold any of the normal signs of fear, but she certainly didn't like how the weather appeared to be brewing. It was going to storm at some point after nightfall, that was certain. The wind was picking up, the air felt heavier, all classic signs of a rogue bunch of storm clouds, or a heavy rain from the Everfree.

“Ah know what'cha mean, Dash, mah family takes cover when we see weather like that.” Applejack's farm was right at the edge of the ominous forest, she knew how storms looked before they began. The alien world behaved just like the Everfree, so the concepts seemed interchangeable, at least in some respects.

“When we enter Whiterun, we need to get inside as soon as possible.” Luna hoped she would receive some signal from Reman, even the wave of a torch would be sufficient. If the Imperial was in the city, why wasn't he trying to contact the Princess?

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“That's the last of them.” Farkas had worked up a sweat, panting as he observed the carnage set before him. Combining the three humans' collective skills, the draugr were slain with startling efficiency, never had the Companion believed that two werewolves and a Silver Hand lieutenant could make an amazing team.

“Yeah, let me rest before we get out of here, okay?” Reman had been stabbed numerous times, he'd taken worse, but he needed to sit down for a bit. Lynette was using Healing Hands on her ex-fiance, almost amazed at the level of damage the werewolf could take.

“You're lucky I know Restoration magic, otherwise you might be sleeping for the next eternity in this crypt.” The Breton had mastered the use of Healing Hands around the time Reman had learned his first Conjuration spell from Gaston. For some reason, the Imperial grasp the summoning art faster than the use of a blade, it was usually the opposite with Cyrodiil's indigenous population.

“I wouldn't put money on that.” The table in the rotunda had become the unofficial resting point for the motley crew. Farkas really only had one flaw about him: he was too kindhearted. That didn't mean that the Nord was soft or merciful, he was just too trusting. If someone in the Circle said a person was okay, then the lycan had no problems with them. That was probably the only reason he was letting Lynette anywhere near Reman. “I've seen the god-slayer take worse.”

“What?” The woman ceased her work to think, that made no sense, Reman was strong, sure, but calling him a god-slayer was taking things a bit far.

“Long story.” With nothing else, the Imperial hopped off the the ancient table, injuries healed enough to be nothing more than annoyances. The honed draugr swords and axes would make fine weapons, for someone else, because Reman only sold looted items, but they made short work of his wolf armor, though. “Let's get back to Whiterun.”

“Hold up, I want to take a look around, first.” Farkas hadn't come this far to leave empty-handed, and the chest by the table drew his attention like nothing else.

“What could you possibly find interesting in this place?” The Imperial was only sounding impatient because he was in pain, stab wounds made him irritable.

“That seems to fit the description.” Lynette piped in her two septims whenever she felt necessary, which was often. At least that hadn't changed about her. The Breton pointed to a section of the back wall, behind the table. It was obvious, but in the earlier melee, the strange artifact had gone unnoticed. It was a curved, stone wall, etched with odd symbols, perhaps glyphs of some ancient language. “What is that thing?”

“That's a Word Wall, ancient Nords put them up all over Skyrim.” Farkas had lived in the frozen nation his entire life, he was raised on old legends. “They're written in the language of the old Dragon Cult.”

“Any idea what it says?” Reman had changed his mind, this strange Word Wall seemed rare, and rare finds were valuable to the right buyer.

“Sorry, the only ones that can read it are the Greybeards, and that's still a stretch.” While Farkas was wondering about the artifact's meaning or purpose for being in this crypt, the Imperial was wondering how he could use this to his advantage.

“Well, maybe I should take a rubbing of the words, let the Greybeards see them.” It would make the second time that Reman had climbed the Seven Thousand Steps, maybe they would let him into High Hrothgar again. The Imperial couldn't use the Thu'um, the closest he came was the Voice of the Emperor power, and that wasn't really special. Although, anyone could learn the skill, and Reman hadn't known anything about the language used in a Shout, but this might be his way of learning at least some portion of the ancient Nord art.

“Couldn't hurt, I doubt anything could break these things.” With Farkas' blessing, if one could call it that, the Imperial set about copying the strange script, intent of making something truly valuable of the dungeon crawl.

Thirty minutes and twenty rolls of paper later, Reman had completed his task, though he had to use two rolls for the longer words.

“Now, that just leaves you, Lynette.” The Imperial knew that there were only two options, and both of them made him ill. They could let her live, and then she could report to her superiors and attack Jorrvaskr, not good. Reman could have Farkas kill her, but he had promised Gaston to watch after her, and the Imperial always kept his word. “Give me a good reason to let you go.”

“We were going to get married, if you recall.” Farkas quirked a brow at the small revelation, but remained respectfully silent, allowing the two to settle things between themselves. “Isn't that good enough for you?”

“I'm not going to allow personal feelings to cloud my judgment in this.” Reman had learned how to deal with people in a manner that gave him an impartial stance on issues of importance. The Imperial crossed his arms, and gave the woman an expectant look.

“I've never done anything against you.” A lie, and a blatant one at that, but she seemed to believe it. One look in her eyes, and Reman knew that Lynette was telling the truth, at least what she thought was true.

“How so?” The Imperial needed to hear her justification of her actions, just for his own sake. “As I recall, this makes twice that you've tried to kill me.”

“I didn't know it was you the first time!” Lynette took a defensive posture, trying to protect herself from what Reman was saying. “I joined the Silver Hand to find you, so I could help you, I would never try to kill you.” The woman lunged at her ex, neither Farkas nor Reman moved to stop her. Lynette gripped the Imperial's armor, and got as close to his face as she could. “Look me in the eye, is this the face of a liar?”

“Lynette, your father made me promise to look after you, I will continue to do my best in that endeavor.” It took a few moments for the Imperial's word to sink in, but they took root, and the Breton woman understood his meaning. She would be allowed to live, without condition, Farkas and Reman would do nothing to stop her escape. “Now, go home to Kvatch, where you belong.”

“My mother and I moved to High Rock after the incident.” That certainly answered the question of how Lynette managed to join the Silver Hand. Regardless of the details of her recruitment, the woman had a determined look about her. The Breton crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one leg out, a sign of aggression from childhood. “I'll not return to Cyrodiil without you following.”

“Then you'll be waiting for quite some time.” Reman removed himself from Lynette's grip, and went about searching corpses for any loot he mat have missed.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” The brunette had a fair bit of patience for the lycan, he was her childhood neighbor, after all. The Breton knew how the Imperial behaved, and this was a classic sign that Reman was attempting to keep someone from involving themselves in something dangerous.

“I'm not the one being interrogated.” The lycan had never so much as raised his voice at the woman, and he wasn't about to start. Lynette had a few tells, and they were all flashing her distress, though she wasn't worried about either werewolves, something else was plaguing the woman. “If you live in High Rock, go back.”

“The Jarl of Markath sealed the only ways across the border.” Reman knew that, but there were many unofficial paths through the mountains of the Reach. Taking an old goat trail would be grueling task, and take about two weeks if one started at Markarth. “Before you even say anything, I could never avoid Forsworn patrols long enough to enter High Rock.”

“Then ask to be transferred back.” The Imperial didn't want Lynette near him right now, not during this mission. Growing up, Reman had courted the Breton, and a combination of a promise to her father, and his own instinct forced the Imperial to keep her safe. Right now, those very drives were shouting to remove Lynette from the country.

“I can't.” Reman was about to protest, but was unable to voice his opinion.

“She's right.” Farkas had been silent for as long as he could, but things were getting ridiculous, and it was time to move. The simple sentence was enough to draw attention from the Breton, enough for her to speak without interruption.

“The Silver Hand sent me here on a suicide mission.” Lynette's words gave the Imperial pause, if they were true, a number of people would have an angry warrior hunting them down. Reman remained silent, this was the only consent he gave for her to continue. “When you left me alive after slaughtering my team, the senior members of the order decided that I was a liability.” Lynette didn't look like she was mad, rather, she appeared very calm, almost at ease. “Either the Circle member that was supposed to retrieve the fragment killed me, or the Silver Hand would.”

Reman groaned, he did not like how his options narrowed. If he didn't do things correctly, the Breton would die, and he would break his promise to Gaston. The lieutenant was about to get what she wanted, the thing she sought when she joined the order.

“You really haven't given me any other option.”

Now You're Thinking With Lightning

Rain. It was raining over Whiterun Hold, the dim light of the afternoon was darkened by storm clouds. A flash of lightning lit the ground, revealing every humanoid and beast in the surrounding area, a peel of thunder frightened horses and scattered birds. Storms in Skyrim were something to behold, both calmer and fiercer than one in Cyrodiil. At least the arctic country was too cold to be unbearably hot and humid, but the ground was almost always muddy, everything has its drawbacks.

The falling water plastered the Imperial's hair to his head and face, he was too busy practicing to enter Jorrvaskr. The Circle wouldn't appreciate him attempting magic indoors, anyway, so Reman wasn't about to ask. That was the only drawback to not knowing any spells, one had to manipulate raw magicka to increase his of her skill, and that was exactly what Reman was doing. With the thrust of an open palm, lightning crashed form the sky, obliterating a practice dummy in fiery splinters. That eruption was almost as impressive as the his first attempt, back in Kvatch, with Gaston and his daughter...

Lynette was bunked in the Bannered Mare, Reman would tell Kodlak about the Breton, eventually. At the moment, the lycan had bigger things on his mind. The frequent lightning provided adequate light to search the area, so long as Reman's eyes could adapt. A quick survey of the eastern farms revealed the eight ponies, waiting for the Imperial's signal. Of course, it would have been better to actually have a signal prepared. Sighing, Reman left his perch to find a quill, ink and paper, he needed to write a letter.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Rain. The oppressing clouds blotted out the moons and obscured the stars, and provided enough darkness that even Rarity's coat blended nicely. Everypony was huddled under a waterproof tarp, avoiding the rain as best they could, waiting for the signal to enter the city. Of course, there hadn't been a preset sign, and the eight mares were stuck, shivering against the chilling night. That was until a flare of magic enveloped Princess Luna's horn.

“A letter from Reman?” As though the Nirn wanted to answer the alicorn, a roll of paper, neatly sealed with a wax paw-print. “Why would he send one in the middle of a storm?” the answer was undoubtedly held within, but the Princess still felt like asking aloud. Breaking the still-warm wax, Luna read the note.

Hurry up, patrols aren't near you. - Reman

PS – We need a signal for any other situations like this.

Needing no further inspiration, the mares jumped into action. The pegasi and lone alicorn wrapped their legs around another equine, no pony with wings was without a payload. The grounded mares took a running start before takeoff, and allowed their flying partners to catch a draft before taking to the skies. Fluttershy was the only one that would have had trouble, so Twilight gave her as much assistance, lightening herself to aid the Element of Kindness.

Hooves crashed onto soggy earth, the ponies nearly lost their footing as mud gave way under the force of their entry. Their were no injuries, though Rarity would contest that claim. She wasn't harmed, no, she merely fell and tarnished her coat with dark sludge. The eight mares took a moment to get their bearings, acquaint themselves with Whiterun's interior, though more specifically, Jorrvaskr's rear yard. The first thing Glade noticed was the large, wooden awning, with torches burning beneath the outdoor roof.

She also noticed the six humans currently using it to stay out of the weather.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“I really need to stop trying to anticipate what you're going to do next, Reman.” Kodlak didn't sound like he was unnerved by the small equines. If anything, he seemed amused by the colorful ponies. Skjor and Vilkas, however, were not happy about the seemingly harmless creatures. Ignoring the two Nords, the eldest lycan addressed the group before him. “I trust you are the ones seeking an alliance with the Companions?”

“Indeed we are, sir.” Luna bowed respectfully, trying to approach from a position of humility and goodwill. Upon rising, however, the Princess was met with a response she had not expected.

“There is a difference between diplomacy and boot licking, I suggest you learn it.” The old man hadn't the time to deal with subservient politicians, he was breaking his own creed enough as it was. “But, I suppose courtesy is needed between us.” At those words, the fourteen visibly relaxed. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

For some reason, the ponies hadn't made use of the awning. Needless to say, they immediately changed that fact. Blasts of magic dried the mares, Skjor scoffed st the display of arcane talent. Shaking herself dry, Glade was the first to take a seat on one of the benches, obviously not one for participating in politics. The royal alicorn, however, decided to begin the negotiations.

“I am Princess Luna, co-ruler of the kingdom of Equestria.” While she was trying to sound both formal and casual, and was failing at it, at least she wasn't using the Royal Canterlot Voice. It was likely that many within the city would awaken if the Night Princess was that loud. “As you know, I have come to represent not only my sister's interests, but my own.”

“And those interests would be?” The Companions had a rule about staying out of politics, the law wasn't official, but many within the group followed it. Kodlak was no different, he had denied both Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius in their requests for support. Though, perhaps these equines would prove to be a cut above the petty squabbles of old warriors.

“Ensuring Equestria's security and alliance with both the Empire and Aldmeri Dominion.” The request wasn't worded in the best possible way, and the old Nord could tell that Luna didn't have all the information she needed to understand the full situation in Skyrim, much less the Empire as a whole. “Reman kindly informed my sister and I of your influence within this country.”

“Did he also tell you about the Companions' rule about political conflicts?” Kodlak understood the implications that this could bring, especially after Hircine permanently bridged the planes, everyone with ambition would have his eyes on Equestria. If the Dominion thought they could harvest the ponies for resources or labor, then the old werewolf would gladly step in, for all his sword arm was worth.

“Indeed he did, though this doesn't count as a conflict, bloodshed is incredibly unlikely in this situation.” The royal pony seemed to have the utmost confidence in her thoughts, though Luna's estimates may have been off by a bit. “I hope that this nullifies any reluctance on your end.”

“I fail to see where the Companions benefit from this arrangement.” Kodlak didn't care for riches, he had plenty, and gold flowed into Jorrvaskr faster than one could collect it. Money wouldn't be of any value in these negotiations. “We are mercenaries, Princess.”

“Then perhaps my expedition's unlimited funds will be appealing to your group.” To illustrate her point, the blue alicorn pulled a sack from her saddlebag, and gave it a toss. Vilkas put himself between the airborne bag and the Harbinger, easily catching the cloth container. Its contents were hard, but the textile bowl made no metallic noise when shaken.

“Well, Reman, they are here as a favor to you.” Kodlak didn't say anything else, he didn't need to, the old lycan's message was clear. Without a word, Vilkas tossed the sack to the Imperial, a silent order to open it. It was a formality, the Circle was well aware of how peaceful the ponies were, even if they were slow to believe what had flown into their training yard.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Numerous gems, mostly emeralds and sapphires.” Glade was impressed by her forebear's quick understanding of the crystalline minerals. Though, the Imperial's monotone voice and blank, stony expression was unsettling, but he was here as a warrior, not a friend. “Given the number, I'd estimate a value of at least ten thousand septims.”

“Well, Reman, that should cover the cost to hire you for a few months.” Luna's eyes nearly bugged out of her head when Kodlak said those words. She was about to voice her concerns, that the gems were a payment to buy the Companions' alliance, not Reman's services. “Are you truly surprised?”

“We were hoping to gain your trust, not hire anyone.” The Princess of Night was confused, perhaps more so than the Imperial she had inadvertently purchased. Reman had pledged his assistance before the jewels changed hooves, and with his impressive debt, there was no reason to bolster his devotion.

“The Companions stay out of politics whenever possible, and this is no different.” The old Nord was stalwart in his beliefs, and he would not be swayed. “I cannot involve anyone, but I can give you some advice on how to improve your chances.”

“Any assistance you could provide would be appreciated.” Luna was relieved to hear the Harbinger's offer of aid, even if it wasn't what the Princess of Night was hoping for.

“Don't try to sway the Jarls or the High Queen, you should focus on the people. The leaders have alliances and grudges against one another, but the citizenry does not, beyond the division of the civil war.” Kodlak knew how difficult it would be to earn the trust of the sons and daughters of Skyrim, and the problems would only be magnified if Reman's heritage became common knowledge. “Get the people to trust you, and their leaders will follow suit.”

“Your counsel is much appreciated, Kodlak.” Luna refrained from bowing, better to not disperse the miniscule amount of respect that she may have earned. Though the current objective had been reached, the subject of sleeping arrangements still stood. “I don't suppose you could point us to the nearest inn?”

“Nonsense, no friend of a Companion should sleep in the Bannered Mare when there are plenty of empty beds in Jorrvaskr.” Kodlak was one of the more hospitable Harbingers in the group's history, he would not turn someone from a warm fire, not if the other options was freezing rain. “Come in, we can share a few drinks before bed.”

While the ponies were slightly worried about accepting the warrior's offer, the mares gave their collective consent, and followed Kodlak Whitemane and the rest of the Cirle inside the ancient mead hall.

In the relaxed atmosphere, no one noticed Reman and Glade sneak downstairs.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Uriel

Your previous letter has troubled me deeply, it is regrettable that such wonderful news must be paired with such tragedy. I have written your father on this matter, and his war camp will be on the lookout for Reman, maybe he'll have more luck than either of us in this matter. I must ask that you stay in the Whiterun camp, your position is too vital to defend against any Stormcloak assault. I have issued a standing order to capture werewolves alive, and published bounties for any civilians that do so. Perhaps Reman will find us, first. We can only hope and pray that he is delivered safely to us.

- Marcus

Slapstick Comedy at its Finest

Glade decided that the room she found herself in was pleasant, and made infinitely more so by the company. The lycan and her forebear had excused themselves from the gathering above, opting to spend time together, instead. The two were sitting in the Circle's personal area, the Imperial's private quarters, to be precise. Reman had procured a vintage wine from a Khajiit trader, and the two werewolves sipped on it between bites of food and conversation.

“We came all this way, just to hand you a bag of gems and be denied help.” The lycan mare chuckled and took another bite of the strange bread. Actually, every part if the meal tasted fantastic, almost professional in quality. “Where did you find this stuff, anyway?”

“I cooked most of it.” Mainly the meat dish, but the soup had been his own creation as well. One can't really prepare bread after it has been baked.

“Since when do you cook?” Glade knew that there were quite a few things that she had been left in the dark about, the lycan mare and Rose hadn't discussed much in regards of Reman.

“You'd be amazed at what you pick up around the Empire.” The lycan mare understood, she herself had learned a number of tricks during her training with the Royal Guard. “Every country in the Empire has its own cuisine, and the locals can't really keep things like that a secret.”

“Well, at least we have someone who knows the local flora, now.” Glade took another sip of the fermented drink. “I was starting to wonder about what was edible.” The mare giggled as she recalled her encounter with the aquatic predator, though she enjoyed her revenge much more than that. “I actually had to eat a fish from Lake Ilinalta, damned thing tried to make a meal out of me.”

“You ate a slaughterfish?” Reman knew how the violent fish tasted, the Cyrodiil and Morrowind variants were less delectable than their Skyrim counterparts. Still, they made a good meal for anyone who wasn't able to hunt a bear, and too stupid to use a bow. “Bet that was fun.”

“It was fine, but I was sick the next morning.” Glade rolled her eyes at the thought, getting poisoned on her first day in this realm hadn't been part of the mare's plan. Noticing her forebear's expression, the lycan mare inquired about the occurrence. “Happens all the time, right?”

“No, no it doesn't.” Reman was about to press the issue, but a loud bang from about took priority over his own curiosity.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight was amazed by the Circle's varying behavior. While Kodlak had maintained a civil and controlled attitude, the other four were anything but. Vilkas and Farkas were recounting tales of battle and glory, which Skjor then had to outdo with his own stories. Though the Princess was hesitant to allow the Elements near the group of warriors, she understood that tonight was a time for celebration.

“I still can't get over the fact that you're a bunch of horses.” The lone woman, Aela the Huntress, was one of the Circle's more vocal members. The redheaded Nord had no trouble understanding that such creatures could live in Tamriel, but the thought of pegasi and unicorns talking just didn't sit well with her.

“We're ponies, not horses.” Rainbow Dash was quick to respond, not really thinking about what she said, nor the ramifications if the woman took offense. Besides, the cyan mare was certain she could handle the Companion in a fight. “Reman only made that mistake once.”

“No wonder he had such an easy time adjusting, the Imperial's had a silver spoon in his mouth since birth.” Aela's words were harsher than she had meant, but she was still mad about Reman's deception. “His sisters probably kept a few ponies as pets.”

“Bite your tongue, Aela, you should know better than to speak ill of a Shield Brother.” Kodlak intervened before any others could, all in hopes of preventing anything from spawning off the malcontent words. However, the Huntress took the Harbinger as meaning that Reman was preferred over her, with Aela running high on anger, this posed a problem.

“You've been taking his side since he first walked through those doors.” It seemed that a number of feeling were about to be vented, everything else in the room ceased making noise, even the fire's crackling seemed to fade into the background. Fluttershy and Pinkie took cover, though the Element of Laughter was hiding in preparation of a counter-aggression strike. It was of the banana cream variety.

“Aela, calm yourself.” Skjor wasn't one to rush to Reman's defense, the two men actually had a deep disdain for one another. The one-eyed Nord put his hands up in an attempt to calm the redhead. “You aren't yourself right now, maybe you should lie down.”

“And now you're taking up for him?” The woman launched herself from her seat, Aela's chair crashed to the ground with more noise than one would expect. “Of course, leave it to a couple of Imperial dogs to look after each other!”

“If you have something to say, huntress, say it to my face.” Reman voice cut the air like a knife, silence the redhead's violence, for the moment. While a crashing noise wasn't cause for concern in Jorrvaskr, the Companions brawled on a daily basis, with the diplomatic expedition in the mead hall, the Imperial was on the lookout. In any case, Reman looked like he was ready for a fight, the earlier conflict at Dustman's Cairn seemingly forgotten.“You certainly seem to have a few grievances, air them.”

“Don't even try to speak to me like you're so much better.” Aela's muscles tensed, ready to pounce on the Imperial, should he try to reach her. The two werewolves were in a standoff, neither making a move, nor speaking to the other. Reman and the huntress circled in the open space near the stairs, and the Imperial lack of a weapon was made obvious. The Circle member had a Skyforge steel dagger on her hip, whereas Reman was unarmed. “You don't even have the courage to fight with a warrior's tools.”

“You speak of magic like you know some.” Taking jabs at the Imperial's arcane skills, and current lack thereof, was a surefire way to anger him. Right now, all Aela wanted was for Reman to attack, it'd give her a good reason to end him. A blue aura of raw magicka enveloped the lycan's sword arm, as though he was about to unleash some age-old technique. “Maybe I should show you what a spellsword can do.”

“Both of you, settle down.” Kodlak's voice left no room for protest, respect for the elder lycan was present in both would-be combatants. The huntress' hand moved away from her blade, and the glow dispersed from the Imperial's arm. “Aela, get to bed, Reman and the ponies will be out of Whiterun before sunrise.”

The huntress slowly nodded her head, before slinking towards the stairs. She gave Reman plenty of room as she passed him, though she still wished to throw a few blows. Much to Aela's surprise, one of the ponies scampered from the stairwell, eager to avoid the Nord woman. Despite the distraction, the huntress still made her way to the basement. She would likely stay there for the rest of the night.

“You owe me twenty septims.” Farkas was speaking to his brother, the two had a slight gambling problem. The same twenty coins had changed hands more times than anyone in the Companions could count, and they would continue to do so.

“Dare I ask what you two bet on this time?” Reman pulled up a seat and popped the cork from a bottle, finding the one surefire way to get his body out of combat mode. His calm acceptance of the brothers' habit was expected, he often gambled, himself.

“We were seeing if you and the werewolf pony were involved.” Vilkas was more subtle about his meaning, though it wasn't disguised to any in the room. “Don't try to deny it, the two of you have practically switched scents.”

“Wait...” Applejack was struck by an odd thought, a realization of sorts. While the farmer had experienced a gut feeling about the Circle members, it was now coming into the light. “If ya can smell Glade an' Reman on each other,” a red tinge began coating the orange pony's cheeks, “Don' that mean th' rest o' y'all are-?”

“Correct, little pony, every member of the Circle is a werewolf, even myself.” Kodlak answered before anyone else could, though it was odd that he would share the information with outsiders, perhaps being friends of Reman excepted the ponies from distrust.

“What happens if one of you gets fleas?” Rainbow had spoken before she knew the meaning of her own words. The six lycans in the room looked at her, the Element's question might have offended them.

“We don't get parasites.” Skjor spoke as though it was the absolute truth, and, in a way, it was. The one-eyed Nord still had his permanent scowl, but he was easing himself around the colorful equines. The mention of illness and disease seemed to spark a memory in a certain pony.

“OH! OH! I have a question!” Pinkie waved a hoof through the air, like a filly in school trying to get her teacher's attention. Despite the humans looking at her, giving her clearance to speak, the Element of Laughter still shook her hoof around. Understanding what was happening, Reman tapped Kodlak's shoulder, and gestured that he knew what to do.

“Yes, Pinkie?” The pink party pony needed an instruction manual for times like this, but at least she was easy to get used to. At Reman acknowledgment, the Element ceased her motions, though Pinkie appeared confused after a few moments.

“I forgot...” Pinkamena Diane Pie wasn't prone to lapses in memory, quite the opposite, but she knew that the eldest lycan may take offense to any questions about human longevity. Beisdes, a little, white lie never hurt anypony, right?

“I just realized that we never got your names, beside the Princess, of course.” Vilkas wasn't concerned about their names, the man really couldn't care less, but formality demanded proper introductions.

“I'm Pinkie Pie!” The two-toned ball of pink appeared over Vilkas' shoulder, as though she had been there the entire time. “Number One Party Pony of Ponyville!”

“Mah name's Applejack.” The orange pony tipped her hat to the humans across the table. It struck as odd that the two groups hadn't been introduced earlier, but she dismissed the strange notion. “Mah family owns Sweet Apple Acres, best apple ya ever had.”

“I'm Rainbow Dash, fastest flier in all of Equestria.” The cyan pony was slightly disappointed that the earlier disagreement hadn't come to blows. But, at least things would be easier for any future negotiations. Dash put her hoof around the pony next to her, providing her introduction. “This is Fluttershy, she's kinda uncomfortable around new ponies.”

“My name is Rarity, the most talented seamstress and fashion designer in Ponyville.” The alabaster unicorn bounced her curled mane, all in all, it made her appear more elegant and refined. “Though, some ponies would say that I’m the very best in Equestria.”

“And I'm Twilight Sparkle, personal student of Princess Celestia.” The Element of Magic didn't wish to disclose anything other than her name and occupation. She didn't think any of the Nords would enjoy learning her place as an Element of Harmony.

“I immediately regret asking for introductions.” Vilkas looked like someone had passed him some rotten fish. The lycan though the names were childish and far too feminine to demand respect. However, at a time like this, Vilkas could turn to one of his fellow werewolves. “Please tell me that you have a name worth knowing.”

“I'm Summer Glade, Equestria's first lycan.” The mare wore a sweet, friendly smile as she spoke. Reman, knowing the equine werewolf, wisely scooted his chair back a few inches, giving her a clear shot. In a flash, Glade launched Pinkies banana cream counter-aggression device, hitting Vilkas directly in the face, and spraying pie-filling everywhere. Still wearing that same sweet smile, the pegasus finished her introduction.

“And I'm the pony you just pissed off.”

Horses in a Horse-Drawn Carriage

“Well... that could have gone better.” The events of the previous night were still fresh in everypony's minds. The pie incident had been diffused when Reman, Skjor, and Kodlak started laughing at Vilkas' plight. Right now, the party was enjoying the predawn darkness, keeping good on the Harbinger's word that they would be out of the city before sunrise.

“You're telling me.” Reman was giving dirty looks to anyone that dared come near the group. Really, no one was outside right now, but the Imperial was building a healthy amount of fear and respect with the local guards. For the ponies, of course, the Imperial didn't need any more respect from the city's protectors. “This is the second time I've been forced from a town under cover of darkness.”

“Come on, Vilkas had it coming.” Glade was taking her new freedom well, currently, the lycan pegasus was hovering as high as Reman's shoulder.

“While I'm not one for violence, he was being rather rude.” Rarity made a point, the Nord had crossed a certain line when he insulted the ponies' names.

“I'm not disagreeing with you, but there were other ways to handle things.” Princess Luna was nocturnal by nature, but the daytime travel had skewed her internal clock. With about two hours until dawn, she was not a happy alicorn. Having nothing else to do, the royal pony pulled out her map, her excellent eyesight allowed her to read it with ease. “Where should we head, next?”

“My current home is likely the best option, it'd give us a chance to resupply.” Reman assumed that Luna was asking him, the Imperial was the only member of the group with any knowledge of Skyrim, so he was the only option. “Let me show you where it is.” The lycan held out his hand, and received the party's only map. Using a bit of charcoal, the man made a small, but obvious, mark in a small inlet near the Pale-Winterhold border. “It'll take week to get there, but it open's up the options of Dawnstar and Winterhold.”

“Why'd you mark the map?” Glade inched closer to Reman, reading over his shoulder. The lycan pegasus gave her forebear a quizzical look, obviously curious about something. “Aren't you coming with us?”

“Of course, just covering everything.” In truth, the Imperial had a feeling brewing in his gut, a sixth sense that he'd developed over the years. It wasn't a guess, or anything like that, Reman knew something was going to go down today. “If, for any reason, we get separated, you eight should keep going.”

“Expectin' trouble?” Applejack understood that something was eating at the Imperial, being the Element of Honesty granted her that ability, she knew he was keeping a few fears to himself.

“Only every day.” Reman answered in his usual way, trademark grin on his face and bravado in his voice. Things settled after that, the mares seemed satisfied that nothing was wrong the mercenary that they had inadvertently hired. In fact, it wasn't until the group was about to exit Whiterun that the Imperial remembered that he was forgetting something important. Reman almost slapped himself when he realized the only loose end that remained.

“Wait by the stables, I'll be there in a few minutes.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The Bannered Mare wasn't the ideal bunkhouse, but the beds were warm and the drinks were cold, perfect for giving travelers the respite they needed. Lynette was bunked in the attic, a tiny alcove that was barely bigger than an average closet, but it was cheap enough for her to afford. The inn needed better security, it was too easy for Reman to find his way to the Breton's room. The Imperial felt a slight hint of nostalgia at seeing the woman curled in her sleep, but it wasn't the time for thinking about the past.

“Lynette, wake up.” Reman recalled the Breton being a light sleeper, but she didn't stir in the slightest. Then again, waking at this hour was difficult for most people, so the Imperial had to switch methods. If speaking wouldn't work, shaking should do nicely. Placing his hand on both of Lynette's shoulders, Reman pulled back slightly, but was prevented from shoving forward. In a flurry of movement, the blanket was tossed aside, and a shiny piece of metal sped towards the Imperial's throat.

“Bandit trying to sneak up on me!” Lynette was whispering loudly, before she realized where she was, and who she was trying to kill. The Breton tried to pull the knife away, but Reman's hand was locked firmly around her wrist, a perfect counter for the woman's instinctive retaliation to contact. “Well, how about that?”

“Good morning, Lynette.” The Imperial had a smile on his face, there was something he saw that was very enjoyable to look at. There were few things that could brighten one's day like what was on display.

“Reman, my eyes are up here.” The Breton covered herself with her arm, her clothing was currently out of her reach. Lynette wasn't really concerned about her lack of attire, most people in High Rock slept naked, the body was seen as a work of art.

“Hey, they stared at me first.” The Imperial liked to joke around, but he rarely bothered someone exclusively for that purpose. Lynette knew the man wasn't one to ask for things, so if he was here this early it must be important. “How are you doing, being out of the Silver Hand and all?”

“I wish you would have let me sleep more.” Lynette moved her arm to stretch, re-exposing herself. Quickly catching herself, the Breton replaced the limb and shot Reman a dirty look. “You better have a good reason for waking me up.”

With a dismissing gesture, the lycan tossed the woman her blouse, and motioned for her to make room for him to sit. The Breton quickly moved over, before putting on the oversized shirt. Reman took a seat on the bed, which was barely more than wooden planks covered by a few furs, hardly comfortable. But, there wasn't time to complain to the management.

“I assume you didn't come here just to see me.” Lynette punctuated her sentence with a yawn, stretching her back once more. Wanting nothing more than to sleep, the woman rested her head on the Imperial's shoulder.

“You're right about that, I actually have something for you.” While Reman spoke, Lynette made good use of the armor's missing pauldron, the exposed leather made for a decent pillow. The woman wrapped her arms around the lycan's, she was still half-asleep and couldn't bothered with her own actions. “Why are you doing that?”

“Your shoulder's comfy.” In no time at all, Lynette Jemane drifted back to the world of dreams, completely forgetting about why Reman needed her. Well, the Imperial couldn't really blame her, she had likely only gotten a few hours of sleep the previous night, and Bretons had a weaker constitution than other humans. With nothing else to do, Reman laid her head on her pillow and covered her with a blanket.

Resolving to finish what he came to do, the lycan set a sealed envelope on top of Lynette's gear, and left to join the ponies at the stables.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Remember when I said the journey to my home would take a week?” Reman addressed Luna in the light of dawn.

“Of course, I do.” The Princess was wide awake, though that could hardly be said. Luna cocked her head to the side, angling one of her ears to better hear the Imperial. Her eyes, however, were busy watching the horses currently stabled outside of Whiterun. “Change of plans?”

“My estimate was if we were walking.” Reman pointed over his shoulder, at a small group of wagons and roofed carriages. “I don't know about you, but I think we should take one of those to Dawnstar, and go from there.”

“I would certainly make the trip easier.” Luna was tired of walking everywhere, and the dragon paranoia kept her and the group's pegasi grounded. Taking the carriage would cut the travel time in half. “If you'll pay the driver, I'll get the others.”

“Right, I'm on it.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Uriel wasn't the brightest man in his family, but he was easily the most physically imposing. The young captain was gazing at Whiterun through a telescope, keeping an eye on every man and woman to leave the city. While the Imperial wasn't looking for any particular person, he had a gut feeling that something big was brewing over the horizon. This surveillance was a small comfort in his situation, being so far from the warmth of Cyrodiil, the safety of home.

Some say that twins share a connection that can't be broken by distance, a telepathy of sorts. Right now, that sixth sense was telling Uriel that his brother was nearby, somewhere in Whiterun Hold. If it could be trusted, then this was the closest the man had been to his older brother in years. It had been a tough time, when Reman disappeared, Cassius had caught the pox and died a month earlier. After the attack on the Jemane family, their mother had just... shut down. She didn't eat for a week, didn't speak for months, just silence. But, now was the time to rectify that, Uriel could bring Reman home.

If he tried to leave the Hold by road, the Seekers would find him.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Five flawless amethysts later, the diplomatic party was loaded into a carriage and off to Dawnstar. Reman had payed for the very best, pulled by a duo of workhorses. That had been something that the Imperial didn't want to explain, he promised to reveal his secrets later. Regardless of the possible slave labor, the carriage was luxurious, definitely the sort a noble would use to cross a country. Even if the ride was bumpy like nopony's business, it was relaxing, a chance to rest one's sore hooves.

Though, all that mattered to Glade was the fact that Reman had another scent on him.

No One Likes Police Checkpoints

Before you start, I just need to clear something up. I like to think that the educated citizens of the Empire know at least two languages. Those being the native language of their home country, and Imperial Common, a language spoken throughout the Empire and reserved for formal meeting and the like.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Contrary to popular belief, the roads of Skyrim were pretty safe for wagons and the like. That being said, the nine travelers had all ready formulated a plan of action in the event of emergencies. If the carriage was attacked or searched, Twilight and Luna would cast an invisibilty spell over the ponies, and allow Reman to kill or converse with whoever had an interest on the vehicle. Planning ahead was good, given the Imperial roadblock up ahead.

This might not end so well, and they had come too far to turn around, the border to the Pale was just over the next hill. Dealing with some Legionnaires would be a good excuse to stretch one's legs, after spending the last sixteen hours in a carriage. Reman would try to avoid killing anyone on his side of things, but they might not give him any choice in the matter. The lycan tapped two fingers on his seat, the signal for Luna and Twilight to cloak the other mares. None to soon, either, as the carriage pulled to a stop about four yards from the blockade.

“Who is in the cab, sir?” The muffled voice of a Legionnaire, probably a fellow native of Cyrodiil, addressed the driver. Luckily, he had been payed to lie his ass off if questioned.

“Just an Imperial boy, headin' up to Dawnstar for somethin'.” Reman didn't know the driver's name, but he deserved credit for sticking to his word. Footsteps approached the carriage, it seemed they were going to search and question the lycan, regardless of the testimony. A knock on the door commanded Reman to exit and make himself known.

“Afternoon, brother.” The Imperial wasn't actually related to the man, but it was a courtesy to address one's kinsmen as such. The Legionnaire seemed at ease, glad that someone seemed compliant with the interrogation. “Something wrong?”

“Just a formality, keeping Ulfric's boys on the run.” The blonde man spoke Cyrodilic fluently, and with an astute Anvil accent. Judging by the Legionnaire's uniform, he was in charge of this squad, and spoke his native tongue to keeo his subordinates from knowing what he said. “Another day in our glorious Legion, eh?”

“Aye, have to keep the Stormcloaks on their toes.” The two men laughed together, happy to find someone else from their homeland in this backwater area. “Running the roadblocks to find couriers?”

“Any idea what those two are sayin'?” The driver was asking one of the Legionnaires, a Bosmer with a bow. In response, the diminutive elf shrugged, he didn't speak Cyrodilic, and he certainly wasn't one for conversation.

“Sir, we still need to test them.” Why on Nirn did they have a cleric with them? The aged Nord was a priest of Stendarr, but not a Vigilant. Either way, the man was both a religious leader and warrior, the sort that was regularly found in the Legion's ranks.

“Test?” Reman and the driver asked the simple question in unison, both confused at the possible meanings. It could be testing for citizenship, most of the Empire's history was common knowledge, and only monks knew the obscure bits.

“Nothing painful, I assure you.” The blonde Imperial seemed confident in this, that probably counted for something. “As I'm sure you know, there's been an increase in vampire sightings and attacks, General Tullius has bolstered every war camp with vampire hunters, gave us a way to test for any sort of taint in someone's system.”

“I heard they got a wereboar in the Reach, tried sneakin' over to High Rock.” A Nord with a very large beard and the stench of alcohol on his breath practically shouted at Reman, even though only a few feet separated them.

“Just put a white cloth over your arm, we pour a special mixture over it, and it gives the results.” The monk pulled two squares of alabaster silk from a pouch on his hip, seeing the shimmering fabric, the reasoning behind the method was made clear. White silk had special, some would say magical, properties when exposed to any sort Daedric influence. With Molag Bal being the father of vampires, it only made sense to use silk to find them. “With respect, I must ask for both of you to submit to testing.”

“I'll go first, we'll get on sooner.” The driver hopped from his perch, and slowly made his way over to the priest, Reman almost sighed in relief. The lycan was going to suggest the same thing, if only to protect the ponies that were hiding inside the carriage.

“Of course, sir, just hold out your arm.” The aged monk placed the silk square over the outstretched limb, nothing out of the ordinary just yet. Next, a bottle was produced from some pouch on the old Nord's belt, and was swiftly uncorked. The mixture burned Reman's nose, even at that distance, the stuff definitely wasn't friendly for werewolves. The tonic was poured over the silk-covered arm, the soft cloth clung as wet fabric should.

Nothing happened, not a single thing that shouldn't be expected, just... moistened silk.

“That's certainly a relief to see.” With a wave of a hand, the clergyman dismissed the driver. The younger Nord quickly returned to the carriage, readying the horses for the next leg of the journey. Turning to the Imperial, the monk smiled. “Strong stuff, isn't it?”

“Yeah, what's in it?” Reman made a show of fanned his hand over his nose, a joking attempt to remove the odor from the air. If that stuff cold tell the soldiers about his lycanthropy, he might as well have fun with it.

“The standard stuff, you know, thing like hemlock, wolfsbane, nightshade.” The old man replaced the empty vessel, pulled out a fresh bottle in turn. “Pretty much just poison, but harmless if it touches your skin.” The cultist of Stendarr stared at the vial in his hand, swishing its contents merely to see them swirl in the semitransparent container. Without warning, he stopped, and gazed at the young lycan. “You don't have any cuts on your arms, do you?”

“A few, but we can use the inside, instead.” Reman's armor corroborated the story, its dented and pockmarked surface told a tale of recent battle. “Anything to get to Dawnstar faster, right?”

“If you'll just hold out your arm.” The young Imperial was about to comply, before the priest stopped him. “You should take off the armor, first.”

“Right, be back in a moment.” With a small bow, the lycan walked back to the carriage, and began to shed his steel shell. First the gauntlets, then the single pauldron, and finally the cuirass itself. Each piece was safely deposited inside the carriage, taking care to avoid the cloaked ponies that were kept waiting within.

“Somethin' messed you up, boy.” A soldier pointed out Reman's many scars, like a road map to Cyrodiil etched across a pale canvas. “Mess with a sabercat?”

“Nah, just had a run-in with a Nord woman in the Bannered Mare.” Laughter spread though the men, though the women of the blockade glared daggers at the young Imperial.

“Isn't that what I said?” Everyone laughed harder at that one, even the priest was happy with the break from stress, even if it was temporary. One takes every opportunity to relax that comes along, especially during a duty as dull as this.

“Jokes aside, we've kept you long enough.” The priest motioned Reman to come closer, the time for his test had arrived. The two men were completely at ease at the moment, even the Legionnaires were calmly going about their duties. “Same procedure, just hold out your arm and I'll do the rest.”

The young Imperial extended his sword arm, it had the fewest injuries, underside facing skyward. As the silk square was placed over the limb, Reman's heart raced, when the bottle was uncorked, his nose burned and his throat ran dry. But when the tonic was poured over the cloth, the most spectacular thing happened. Nothing, it looked just like the Driver's square, like wet silk.

At first.

Three seconds after the fluid hit the fabric, the initial drop areas blackened, revealing the remaining influence of Hircine. Talos' intervention had only altered the curse, but the majority was still the Huntsman's own creation. The dark stain extended and deepened, turning the once virginal silk a sinful black.

“But, you-” The priest was silenced by a swift kick in the chest, sending the old man onto his back. Reman still had the same smile on his face, even as he spoke.

“Looked so normal? Yeah, werewolves and vampires are good at blending into society, barring the occasional mishap.” The smile turned predatory as the soldiers drew their weapon's and strung their bows. Much to the surprise of the Legionnaires, the lycan didn't unsheathe his sword, neither hand made a move for it. The blonde officer from before stepped forward, his hand up, with his own blade clutched in the other, as though he meant peace.

“We are under orders to take anyone alive for interrogation, we promise that you won't be tortured.” Despite what some claimed, Reman knew for a fact that the Legion used all sorts of physical and mental anguish to extract information from its captives. But that only applied to highly valued targets, someone like him didn't rate a second thought. At most, all he would be subjected to was questioning, followed by a military trial in Solitude, and then he'd be sent to a prison in Cyrodiil. “Just come quietly, no one has to be hurt.”

“I won't hurt anyone, but I'm not coming without making a lot of noise.” The Imperial hunched his back as the transformation set in. It was faster than before, painless, no bloodlust. Where bone once cracked and grew, they now exploded in size, muscle expanding within seconds. A muzzle quickly extended from his skull. Dropping on all fours, the fully shifted werewolf howled into the evening air.

The horses bolted, taking everything that was attached to them for a wild ride. The ponies safe and secure, too far gone for the Legionnaires to catch them, Reman's job was done. Putting his clawed hand above his head, the Imperial began to shift back to his normal self. The soldiers were astonished that he kept true to his word, but the number of readied arrows revealed the their true expectation. The small barrage wouldn't have killed him, but it was the thought that mattered. Faster than he could blink, Reman was shackled in chains, and loaded onto a wagon set for Solitude.

Might as well enjoy the ride, he was going to visit Solitude eventually, anyway.

Besides, all good adventures start in a prison cell.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

It had taken Applejack and Rainbow Dash to keep Glade from rushing out to help Reman when he transformed. It wouldn't have helped their situation one bit, even if she could have gotten to him. Reman's howl had startled the horses, and sent them all on a very bumpy ride.

“He did it so we could get away.” The realization was voiced by Pinkie, who was still a little shaken from the entire ordeal. The party pony's mane was slightly deflated, she obviously wasn't in the happiest of moods. “Reman put himself in danger to save us.”

“He probably knew something was going to happen before we left Whiterun.” Glade sulked into the seat, head resting on the Imperial's breastplate. “Might be the reason he marked his home in the map.”

“I'm sure he'll be fine.” Luna didn't sound as certain as she wanted to, but she held a certain knowledge for his abilities. “He's gotten himself out of worse situations.”

“I bet he all ready has a plan to meet up with us.” Fluttershy may not have been the most outspoken mare in Equestria, but she tried to help her friends whenever she could. Right now, she was doing her best to help Summer Glade stay under control. The lycan pegasus might act tough, but everypony knew she had a soft spot for the Imperial.

“We might as well keep going, then.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Waking up in strange place would worry most women. Lynette Jemane wasn't most women. She had grown accustomed to traveling, her former employers had her running around Skyrim and High Rock all the time. The bedraggled Breton had woken up in a number of strange places, but she'd never woken up wearing more than when she went to bed. That was before she remembered the previous night, though it was technically very early in the morning.

Reman had come, tried to ask for something, and left after the Breton had closed her eyes. At least he left a note on Lynette's gear before leaving, though it wasn't much of a note. The woman recalled how cryptic any message that wasn't written as a letter could be when her ex wrote them. It was just a map of Haafingar and Hjaalmarch, with a number of dots scattered across it. Their meaning was written below, and in classic Reman fashion.

I hide things here, they're buried, take as much gold as you want. Come to Solitude, I may be in jail when you arrive, so bring five thousand septims with you to pay any fines I may have. I'm not in big trouble, probably, but it's better to be safe.

I think it's time for something that I've put off for far too long.

He didn't sign it, didn't say what he was doing. The Imperial hadn't needed to, he'd given Lynette all the information she needed to draw her own answers. The Breton woman giggled at first, then the possibilities of just how wrong this could go entered her mind.

The only reason she really worried was the little thing Reman had drawn on the letter's bottom margin.

The Roundabout Route

When Reman had been comfortable walking around Ponyville in only a pair of pants, nopony really thought anything about it. Seeing and feeling the weather of the Pale, however, proved to be an enlightening experience. Chilling ice and snow flew on freezing wind, this Hold was far from Whiterun, and too inhospitable for anypony to really live there, right?

“Why does 'e live all th' way out here?” Applejack was shivering, trying to fight against the unholy temperatures. Pinkie and the group's unicorns were suffering similar grievances, though the winged members were more suited for this environment.

“There must be something he likes about the storehouse.” Luna's horn sparked as she readied her spell, it was a simple bubble to keep the wind away from the mares.

“How much farther?” Glade was feeling antsy, just walking through the snow, so cold and exposed. Instinct commanded the lycan mare to find shelter, a warm hideout with plenty of food and water. Odd, because she only needed heat right now, there wasn't a need for an overabundance of supplies.

“We left Dawnstar before sunrise, and we've been going nonstop, so maybe another hour.” Dash was in charge of the map, though nopony knew why. Well, at least she had a sense of direction, and hadn't steered the group into trouble yet, so that counted for something. “Aren't there supposed to be cliffs near here?”

“Have you gotten us lost in this forsaken snowstorm?” That was one of Rarity's few moments of true anger at one of her friends. The fashionable unicorn did not want to be out in the weather, the snow made the ground slippery, and any puddles were completely frozen. “How do you even know where to go anymore?”

“We jus' needed t' follow th' beach.” Applejack had a point, in fact, they had been doing just that. The coastal winds had forced them inland, in search of some brace against them, but the attempt had only succeeded in getting the mares in deeper trouble. “We still can, if we find it again.”

“No, I totally know where we're going.” Dash closed her eyes and smirked in confidence, the cyan pony was certain that she could lead them to Reman's home. Taking another step forward, the pegasus' hoof broke though the ground, revealing her error in judgment. The Element of Loyalty had almost walked her friends off a cliff.

“Way to go, Dashie, you found it!” Pinkie jumped in the air, clearly overjoyed at her friend's success in the search. Upon noticing the polychromatic mare's confusion, the party pony bid another Element to use her talents. Pointing with a hoof, the pink bundle of sugar gave her order. “Twilight, can you throw a glowing ball down there?”

“Sure, just give me a second.” With a bright flash, the Element of Magic launched a flare into the chasm, illuminating the steep walls of the fjord. Indeed, this place seemed to match the map's illustration, right down to the water at the bottom. The was a small shack at the inlet's end, and a small boat launch at its mouth.

“That house might be it.” Fluttershy's naturally small voice was almost unheard over the wind, but she was nevertheless understood. The yellow pegasus looked over the cliff face in apprehension. “But, how do we get down?”

“Allow me, you girls have done enough for today.” Luna's horn sparked, enveloping the eight mares in a dark blue glow. In an instant, they found themselves floating to the chasm's bottom, simple levitation had been used to its best. The water, upon further inspection, had been frozen, allowing the ponies to stand on the thick ice. Without hesitation, Summer Glade launched herself at the shack, eager to escape the biting cold.

Her hopes were all for naught.

The other ponies arrived quickly, only to find the lycan pegasus standing just inside the old shack. The mares gasped at what they saw within, Fluttershy and Pinkie had to avert their eyes from the grisly scene. A corpse was slumped over the table, a knife lodged firmly in the cadaver’s back. The icicles growing on the body suggested that he had been dead for quite some time. If the large smears over the table, and the liberal coat of blood over the corpse's arms were any indicator, he hadn't died quickly, either.

“Why would Reman send us here?” Rarity was doing her best to avoid touching anything in the rundown building, but her desire for the miniscule shelter it provided outweighed her revulsion. “You don't think he killed this man, do you?”

“No, Reman wouldn't attack someone that wasn't armed, and definitely not from behind.” Glade had recovered from the sight rather quickly, nothing could be done for the dead man, so why grieve over someone she never knew? “Maybe there's a clue here, something Reman planted so we would know where to find him.”

“Check the room for anything out of the ordinary, anything that looks new or interesting.” Luna didn't want to be inside that shack any more than anypony else, but sacrifices had to be made. The alicorn understood the Imperial's need for secrecy, a man like him must have enemies, after all. But sending them on this roundabout route seemed a bit... excessive, especially when it sent them into the same area with a corpse that may have been there for months. “Wait, what if Reman wanted us here so we could find his home the same way he did?”

“What do you mean?” Twilight was looking at the sparse bookshelf, just something to keep her eyes away from the table, and maybe a book that had been left as a clue. “Aren't ruins sort of secret?”

“I dunno, Twi, half of Daring Doo's adventures start when she hears a rumor about an artifact, maybe that how Reman found wherever he lives.” Dash had somehow managed to make sense, and simultaneously fail to provide logical reasons for her train of thought. “Maybe this guy knew something, and somepony came after him for it.”

“While both of you raise excellent points, I think I found what we needed to look for.” Glade was reading something on the table, hoofwritten by somepony, it might have been the dead man's journal. Twilight and Luna read over the final entries, peaking over the lycan's shoulders.

Twenty-fourth of Last Seed, 4E 199

Finally built this dump, never cared much for carpentry, but it came in handy for once. I'll never get why the Sinod didn't just come out here themselves, but they're paying me to find what they want. Why would an Elder Scroll be all the way out here, in this frozen hellhole? Damn Scrolls never made sense, but everything we need to know is written on them, so I guess things just have a way of getting complicated.

First of New Life, 4E 200

Happy New Life Day to me. Only found one lead, from some crazy old man in an ice cave, Septimus or something. Kept speaking in riddles and mentioning Tower Mzark, or things on that line, and that there was an Elder Scroll inside, even a way to read the thing without going blind. Bunch of crazy bullshit if you ask me, but it's all I've gotten so far.

Tenth of Mid-Year, 4E 200

Damn skeevers have ransacked my food supply, again, maybe I should get a dog. Or a bear. But never mind that, I have wonderful news: Blackreach and Tower Mzark exist! I regret not getting those items from Septimus when I had the chance, the fool I was! Luckily, I've managed to find a couple of gentlemen that have a key to the ancient lifts into the city: a Breton mage and an Imperial spellsword.

We're bedding down in this dump for the night, then we'll head out to their excavation site. It's on a small island, on a frozen-over lake that hasn't melted in centuries, at the very least. Both of them are fairly knowledgeable about the long-dead elves, and there lies my current problem. Either one could replace me in the Sinod, take away my life's work, my future riches and fame. There's no way that I'll let either of them live, the glory and gold are mine, dammit!

They won't know wha

“Serves him right for trying to stab Reman in the back.” That was Glade's honest opinion on the matter, whichever one of the two knifed the man, he deserved a award.

“Now Ah wouldn't go that far.” Applejack valued the sanctity of life, even the life of someone who would kill for money. No one deserved to die alone, stabbed to a table in their own home.

“Well, girls, I think we have an island to find.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Drip... drip... drip... drip...

Reman had been arrested a number of times, but this was his first stay at Castle Dour's illustrious and infamous dungeon. Given the rather excessive measure's used to contain him, the lycan was certain that escape was impossible. His wrists were bound behind his back, then chain to the shackles on his ankles. Even more chains were wrapped around his torso, those were bolted into the walls. If, somehow, the Imperial managed to free himself from those bindings, there was a silver collar fastened snugly around his neck, preventing any possible transformation, but silver was easily broken and warped, so there was one more line of defense.

Should Reman remove everything, there was still the guard posted to watch him at all times. Shifts changed every three hours, so he couldn't wait for the person to fall asleep on the job. The lycan couldn't even begin to move without the Solitude guardsman reaching for his sword, so trying to escape his bindings was pointless. But, the Imperial supposed that being held in a special area that was reserved for exceptionally dangerous criminals warranted the gross overuse of chain.

Drip... drip... drip... drip...

There wouldn't be a trial of any sort, Reman had been misinformed about what awaited him. General Tullius personally looked at every inmate before deciding what became of them, and with his workload lightening because of Ulfric's withdraw from Whiterun, the aged soldier finally had the time to perform his rounds. The old Imperial had free reign to do so, Jarl Elisif had given him executive authority over anyone arrested in Haafingar, Tullius was made judge and jury for every criminal in the Hold.

Drip... drip... drip... drip...

The steel door at the end of the hall opened. The general in charge of suppressing the Stormcloak rebellion must have arrived. Of course, he was accompanied by a legate, someone to remember which prisoners received which punishment, that sort of thing. The man would be fair in his judgment, the Legion demanded that someone with that much authority have compassion and mercy, but it was still nerve wracking to wait on him.

“Wulfgar Fog-eye, vampire accused of thirteen murders and the infection of three villagers in the Pale.” The older Imperial's voice rang though the still air of the dungeon, splitting the silence like a razor. “What to you have to say for yourself?”

There wasn't a verbal response, only the sound of someone spitting. Had the Nord vampire dared to spit in the face of General Marcus Tullius? It seemed so, given the man's reply.

“Death by decapitation, tomorrow at dawn.” More footsteps, and the sound of a quill scratching paper. The general was moving closer, onto the next cell.

Drip... drip... drip... drip...

“Olaf Gauld, suspected Stormcloak spy.” The general clucked his tongue, mulling over his options. “You don't look like a spy, so why are you here?”

“I was wrongly accused!” The Nord was young, perhaps he hadn't even reached his twentieth year, and he was worried beyond belief at the possibility of execution. “You have to believe me, you said it yourself, I don't look like a spy!”

“And in my experience, the ones you least expect are the ones you need to watch out for.” There was a pause, Tullius was making his choice of punishment, oh joy. “Send this one to Markarth, let him mine silver for a few years.”

Drip... drip... drip... drip...

“You sick, vindictive Imperial dog, I'll see your home burned for this!” At last, the aged man began his way to the end of the hall, where the lycan was chained. Wouldn't be long before the moment of judgment.

“Who's next? Oh, this should be good: Reman, no last name, Imperial werewolf that surrendered while transformed and hasn't resisted at all.”

“I wonder why he just gave up.” That must have been the legate, some Nord by the sound of his voice. “If he's been so compliant, why does he have a guard posted around the clock to watch him?”

Drip... drip... drip... drip...

“I suppose we'll find out.” There was a tone in the old man's voice, something... odd, too difficult for Reman to place. The cells were close together, so it didn't take long at all to reach the lycan's. The young Imperial kept his head bowed, obscuring his face under his hair, but he could see enough to know that the general and legate were in front of his cell. “I must say, you're rather impressive, I've never heard of a werewolf with self control before.”

“They tell me that you scared off the carriage that you were in, care to tell me why?” Imperial's were the most sociable of the human races, even in a situation like this, one couldn't keep himself from probing for information.

“My lover was hiding inside, I did it to protect her.” Tullius chuckled in response, he definitely understood the sentiment. The old general paced back and forth, possibly thinking about the younger man than knelt before him, weighing the options he had been presented. “I can't say that I wouldn't have done the same, were I in your shoes. Was she worth all this trouble, even your possible death?”

“All that and more, sir, I only regret that I can't do it twice.” The two Imperials were at an understanding, though neither could see his kinsman's face, they bridged a certain gap between worlds. Perhaps it was slightly racist, but the old man had a good feeling about the lycan, and with the wave of a hand, he decided. There was the sound of scratching, the legate had written the punishment, if there was one, and the general merely had to inform the recipient. “I'll only fine you the standard five thousand septims, but I must see the face of the boy who reminds me so much of myself, first.”

“Thank you, General Tullius.” Reman looked the older man in the eyes, and watched as recognition dawn on his aged features. The Legionnaire turned white as snow, like he'd seen a ghost or some foul demon from the depths of Oblivion. Marcus recovered quickly, and tapped his colleague on his shoulder to gain his attention.

“Take a break, I can finish my rounds alone, today.” Hesitantly, the Nord nodded his head, leaving the two Imperials relatively alone in the dank dungeon. The wailing of the Stormcloak spy, and the curses of the vampire faded into the background as the two men looked at one another.
Reman was the first to speak, putting on his trademark smirk and bravado.

“This reunion has been a long time coming, hasn't it?”

Those Three Were Just Random People, Too

Marcus Tullius looked to his grandson, both overjoyed at the prospect of seeing the young man, and worried beyond belief at the precarious position that he was in. There was no doubt, however, that this was Reman Tullius who knelt before him, chained and collared. With the wave of a hand, the warden and legate were dismissed, allowing the two men time alone. Marcus was still stunned at his grandson's bravado, allowing himself to be captured was a risky move, even for a Tullius. But, there would be time for anger later, right now, family took the priority.

“We thought you were dead.” There were few things that Imperials cared for beyond their families and friends, and seeing his diseased grandson, Marcus was nearly brought to tears.

“For the longest time, I might as well have been.” Reman felt small, next to his grandfather, he was still a child in his own mind. This reunion was four years in the making, and the young man couldn't help but feel nervous about it. “But, things are different now, better than they were, anyway.”

“Why did you leave?” Marcus was likely limited to only speaking a few words at a time, he might lose himself otherwise. The query was simple enough, but provoked more thought than one would expect. With a deep breath, the lycan began his explanation, hoping that it was believed by both Marcus Tullius, and himself.

“When I was bitten, I lost consciousness.” Marcus saw the young man's eyes fog up, losing himself in the past as he always did as a boy. “When I awoke, I could tell that something was... wrong, like I wasn't myself.”

“We could have helped you, taken you to a healer.” The general wanted nothing more than to help his grandson, even more now that he was actually here. For the past four years, Tullius had felt helpless in a way, and the campaign had shown such. But, things would improve after today, they must.

“I didn't want to risk anyone, I may have transformed at any time.” Few things were as powerful as speaking to a long-lost relative, and even the young werewolf had to admit that he was overwhelmed by the rush of emotion. “Self exile was the only way to be certain that I wouldn't hurt anyone.”

“Why haven't you tried to contact me before now?” Tullius wasn't angry at the boy, mostly just himself for allowing his own blood to suffer in isolation for so long. “Surely, you've had ample opportunity to do so.”

“I wasn't in perfect control of myself, not until recently.” Only now did Reman consider himself worthy to return to his family, if they would even take him back, that is.

“But you transformed, it's in the report, you haven't been cured.” Marcus wasn't trying to prove the younger man wrong, he simply pointed out the weakest area of Reman explanation. Certainly, there was more to this story than the aged Imperial knew, and he'd do his best to learn it before the day was out. “Doesn't Hircine still have a grip on you?”

“The Huntsman is out of the equation, he no longer has any claim to my soul.” The lycan's words held power, freedom from his Daedric oppressor. It seemed that Imperials always managed to escape tyranny, even from a god. “I defeated him in combat, and my soul is my own.”

“I have to hear this tale, all of it.” Tullius wasn't born yesterday, but he knew honesty when he heard it, and there hadn't been a single time when the man could recall his grandson lying to him.

“Could you let me out of these bindings, first?” The Imperial wiggled in the chains for emphasis, the tight links constricting his chest and cutting off the blood to his hands and feet. Nodding, General Tullius unlocked the cell door, but was still apprehensive about letting the younger man free. It killed the aged soldier inside to allow his own grandchild to sit in prison, and he was scared to be near him. But what if he'd changed, what if he saw the older man as an enemy, an obstacle in the way of his freedom?

“It pains me, but I must ask the you not move until I have re-locked the cell door.” Under normal circumstances, the young lycan would be angry, but this was his grandfather who was speaking, he simply couldn't find the rage to hate the older Imperial. With a nod from Reman, Marcus undid the many locks that held the chains to the werewolf's prison. Work completed, Tullius hurriedly left the cell, locking the barred door shut, and sealing his relative within.

The lycan stretched his freed limbs, allowing his blood to flow once more. Numbness fled the extremities, granting mobility and dexterity to his fingers. Reman reached under the tight collar, and with a sharp tug, the silver gave. The Imperial tossed the scrap to the stone floor, glad to be rid of the bindings which had kept him so helpless.

“Now, Grandpa, pull up a chair, this is going to take a while.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The island wasn't far from the shack, a map inside the dead man's journal had pointed them right to it. The journal had listed it as being on a lake, but this was only a large pond by pony standards. Still, it was in the center of a large field of ice, and a thick fog hung over the ice. It was only a few inches deep, but Fluttershy couldn't see her hoof when she'd tested the ice in the first place.

“At least we're out of the wind, I was worried we'd freeze out there.” Rarity spoke as though the mares were inside, but that wasn't the case. The ponies were sitting beneath a cliff, using it as a buffer against the frigid winds. “Though I don't see why we haven't tried to enter the ruins yet.”

“Because those guys over there don't look too keen on sharing the place.” Glade pointed a hoof towards a trio of people, two humans and a Dunmer, who seemed to be trying to cross the ice. But, for some reason, none of them had actually taken more than a few steps before running back to the shore. “I think they're scared to try and reach the ruins.”

“Girls.” Pinkie tried to get the other ponies' attention. None was given to her, her words falling on deaf ears.

“Should one of us try and listen in on them, or something?” Dash looked like she was going stir crazy, she needed something to do. “'Cause I so volunteer to scout them out.”

“Girls.” The second try was the farthest the pink party pony of Ponyville ever got, before now, and it would hopefully stay that way.

“That don' sound too smart t' me.” Applejack didn't like the look of those people, they way they moved just didn't set right with her.

“Girls!” Pinkie almost shouted, but had kept her voice quiet, even in the yelling. She had something important to ask, and she was going to ask it. “Has anypony seen Gummy? He was right here, but I can't find him.”

Almost on command, the tiny alligator waltzed into the open, right near the locals' campsite. The toothless gator wandered into the fog, his tail the only visible part of him. One of the men seemed to take notice, and moved towards the wriggling, green thing that stuck up from the thick mist. The human yelped as the toothless vice clamped onto his arm, the human grumbled something, before pulling Gummy from his limb. He seemed pretty mad, but Pinkie had a good feeling about the stranger.

That was, until he punted the baby alligator towards the island.

There was no a verbal response, no playfully absentminded name the pink mare could have called the aggressor, she simple sped off, ready to attack. Glade and Dash were the only two who even had a chance of catching her, but the Element of Laughter left them both in the dust. The pony launched herself at the man, going full speed, plenty of force to take him down. Hooves came crashing long before the human's colleagues could respond.

“Meanie! Let's see how you handle somepony your own size!” Pinkamena Diane Pie wasn't a mare to be trifled with, she may have seemed cute and bubbly, but when she was angered beyond her tolerance, bad things happened to bad ponies. The flat maned mare reared back, a strong punch that was sure to cause a lot of damage. A cyan pegasus was the only thing that saved the human's face from being smashed in, Rainbow Dash did the very best to keep her friend from doing something that she'd never forgive herself for.

“You things picked the wrong day to get lost!” The lone Dunmer of the strange group roared at the ponies, charging into battle with sword drawn. There wasn't a logical explanation for why he was so quick to ignore the strange equines, but he still did, focusing solely on killing the interloping mares.

He ran for three steps, before disappearing beneath the fog.

There hadn't been a splash, or the sound of ice breaking, or anything of the sort. He simply vanished from sight, sinking below the cover of the mist like a lead balloon. His companion was smarter, a woman that threw magic at the ponies form a distance. Though each projectile was deflected, courtesy of Twilight Sparkle, the exploding fireballs cleared the fog from the ice's surface. The elf from before banged against the frozen water, barely a silhouette, before a dark shape bolted into him, taking the Dunmer with it.

Out of magicka, and too stupid to flee, the woman drew her knife from her belt and ran into the fray. She, too, made it three steps before a hand pulled her under. This time, the dark shape stayed where it captured its victim. There was some movement, before one of the two silhouettes fell into the dark water below.

It didn't take a genius to figure out which one sank to the depths.

“Everypony, run for the ruins, we're faster than any human!” They didn't need to be told twice, even Luna followed Twilight's command, and the eight sprinted towards the Dwemer ruins in the lake's center. The silhouette, however, was also faster than a human. Or a pony, for that matter. It effortlessly passed them, before going about ten feet ahead of the farthest mare.

“It's toying with us!” Glade was... angry, for some reason. Normally, she'd be kind of scared, but something was making her very, very mad right now. There was a spark in her head, a desire for power, and the easiest way to obtain the boost she needed. But, using the Ring, she resisted. For now.

“What's it doing?” Fluttershy was about to have a heart attack, but was starting to calm as she noticea Twilight and Luna readying a spell to dispatch the monster beneath the ice. It had to bring part of itself up to reach them, so long as they payed attention to it, they could hit it when it made a move. The opportunity seemed to be ready to present itself.

A head, draped in cloth, began to emerge frm the ice. Whatever it was, it knew how to wear clothing, a fact that was horrifying on a deep level. Its face, if it had one, owas covered by a mask of some sort, or perhaps that was its face. As it rose from the ice, its black hide revealed itself to be some sort of dark armor, with many straps and belts holding the various pieces together. It fully emerged from its frozen domain, and may have been ready to attack. It... glided over the ice towards the ponies, before Luna fired her bolt of magic.

The creature dodged.

Its body had contorted in ways that went against anything they'd seen Reman do. This monster had unnatural flexibility, the ability to pass through ice as though it was nothing, and who knew what else it could do? Before Twilight could fire, something passed her, flying at incredible speeds at the creature. Summer Glade was taking the initiative in this confrontation.

However, this wasn't the pegasus the group knew, this was somepony else entirely. Brown fur, shaggy mane, claws in place of hooves, Glade had transformed without a sound, and without signaling that she was changing. But, something was wrong about the picture. The former guardspony wouldn't rush in like that, lycan powers or no. the realization dawned on everypony very quickly. Somehow, Glade had lost control of herself, and was just as feral as Reman had been at the Festival.

The strange monster wrapped its arms around the lycan's body, pinning her wings and forelegs against her chest. More surprising, the creature wasn't attacking, if anything, it seemed to want to avoid hurting her. Then, much to everpony's surprise, a masculine, lightly accented voice echoed from the masked terror, even causing the feral lycan to ease her thrashing.

“Would one of you hurry up and put this one to sleep? I can't hold her all day.”

Yep, He Owns a Doormat

“Dammit, hold still.” The creature in black growled the words as Glade struggled in its grip. To her credit, the shifted mare was making serious progress, and had nearly freed herself. With a screeching howl, the lycan slammed a clawed paw into the monster's knee. Grunting in pain, the masked fiend released her, and quickly received a buck in the chest.

The blow barely registered to the lake dweller.

Another bolt of energy flew past the creature's masked face. Twilight had finally gotten her shot off, but had failed when it came to aiming. The acrobatic monster turn its head slightly, the lavender pony could practically feel its hidden eyes bearing down on her. The Element of Magic already had her next blast readied, but a hoof on her shoulder prevented its launch.

“We can't risk hitting Glade.” Luna motioned for the other Elements to run for the ruins, it had to be safer inside the ancient structure. However, the five were hardly able to do so, instinctive fear to the masked creature and the feral Glade halted their retreat. They had seen Reman when he'd gone wild, but the lycan mare could fly, and only Dash had any hope of going faster than her. They would have to stay put, and hope that their friend was enough to drive off the strange assailant.

A loud thud drew their collective attention back to the current violence. The acrobatic monster was content with its dodging and weaving, merely allowing the winged werewolf to wear herself out. A particularly impish pirouette had caused Glade to slam into the ice, completely of her own fault, without the dark-clad biped so much as touching the shifted pony. A light laugh emanated from behind the obscuring mask, the creature finding no small amount of pleasure in her misfortune.

All the while, the shadows cast by the mountains stretched ever closer.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“... and that brings us to today.” Marcus had remain silent during his grandson's story, but had acquired a new array of questions for the younger Imperial. Reman had certainly been through a lot in his time away from home, but talking, flying, magical horses were almost too much to believe. Of course, the young man had a smirk on his face, like he knew something his grandfather didn't. “Any questions?”

“How do you expect me to believe any of that?” The general wasn't a man to be easily fooled, Imperial nature ensured it. In any event, Marcus felt that his grandson was being completely honest, even about the impossibilities. “Talking horses are a bit farfetched, even if the Daedra were involved.”

“Since when has anything our family has been involved in made sense?” The lycan was acting almost exactly like he had before his infection, if a little bolder and cockier. Such was the attitude of an adventurer, Tullius couldn't be offended if he tried. “And just to clarify, they're ponies, not horses.”

“What's the difference?” The aged man crossed his arms, still trying to absorb all the information presented to him. Marcus could, however, understand the chasm between the equines that he knew, and the alien creatures that his grandson described. That did not mean that he was fully sold on the claims made by the lycan.

“They're smaller, for one, just about the size of one of Skyrim's dogs, perhaps a bit bigger.” Reman didn't feel the need to repeat the portions of his tale that involved flying and magic, it occupied far too much time for that. “And normal horses aren't capable of vampirism or lycanthropy.”

“These ponies can be afflicted by the ailments?” Tullius was more than surprised. These prospect of the small equines contracting the dreaded curses sent a shiver down his spine, especially if they retain magic and flight. While the general knew that they were capable of human intelligence, one thing still had him stumped. “What's the part that you aren't telling me?”

“That's a bit complicated.” Reman hadn't informed his grandfather about how Glade became what she was today, nor any of the more intimate details about his stay in Equestria. In fact, the young man hadn't dropped much more information than what was needed, he'd even left out the part about infecting Glade. “I can't really say anything right now.”

“You're certainly making things difficult for me.” Marcus blinked, he hadn't expected Reman to withhold much, and he could tell that there was a large chunk missing. It would have been foolish to expect total honesty, not even priests expected that from one another, let alone family members. “How can you expect me to guarantee your freedom when you're acting like this?”

“Conscription seems like a fair option.” Tullius' coughed at Reman's suggestion. Conscription hadn't been used since Tiber Septim's days, and the practice had almost faded from the Legion's collective memory. After a few seconds of silence, the old general started to chuckle, much to his grandson's surprise.

“Still set on joining the Legion, even after all these years?” Marcus knew that the lycan and his brothers had been raised to serve the Empire. It was unfortunate that only Uriel had been able to join, a real tragedy. “If I did conscript you, that still wouldn't clear up your fine.”

“Already being taken care of.” That same smirk played across the young man's face. Tullius didn't know how far ahead Reman had planned, but any amount would be surprising in a plan as complicated as this. “Lynette should be here in the morning to pay it off.”

“And afterwords, I assume you'll be reporting for duty at Castle Dour?” It would be a pleasure to work with family, well, more than was already stationed in Skyrim. But, if Reman ever used his powers, it would reflect poorly on the entire Legion. This wasn't an easy decision for anyone to make. “Once your fine is payed, you're free to go. Why place yourself in the war?”

“Ulfric pulled me in the second he tried to kill one of the few men I respect.” When the Stormcloaks had attacked Whiterun, the lycan had to be stopped from marching to Windhelm and challenging the traitor to a duel. Too bad, Ulfric's Voice would have been an interesting obstacle to go up against.

“There isn't anything I can do to shake your stance, is there?” That was the thing about members of the Tullius family, they were too stubborn for their own good. Marcus just shook his head and sighed, knowing full well that Reman's mind was dead set on his goal.

“Nothing short of winning the war.” The Imperials were at an impasse, neither side was willing to budge an inch, nor advance in the argument. The old man looked at his lycan grandson, trying to find some way to win the stalemate. The young werewolf wouldn't lose something like this, not even the Voice of the Emperor could sway him. Growling in frustration, Tullius conceded his position in the mental battle.

“I'd like some time to think over my options.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

It had been over an hour, and Glade had yet to transform back into her regular self. The dark-clad acrobat hadn't shown any signs of slowing down, it just kept bobbing and weaving around the lycan's attacks. Luna and Twilight were unable to fire any magical attacks for fear of hitting their lupine comrade, Applejack and Rainbow Dash had to worry about being infected by a stray bite, so they weren't options, either. Until one of the two combatants surrendered or made a mistake, things wouldn't change, not unless somepony took the initiative.

A purple glow enveloped the strange biped's foot, preventing it from evading Glade's next attack. A full-force body slam knocked the evasive agent onto its back, and more than allowed the lycan to get in a few swipes before it slipped through the ice. Losing her target, the werewolf started digging, trying to find her quarry in its hiding hole. A gloved hand reached through the layer of frozen water behind Glade, and grabbed her tail. With speed that had been only hinted at by the dark silhouette, the creature swam around the lake, dragging the shifted mare along with it.

For a few extra bits of annoyance, the lake monster spun the lycan by her tail, dizzying and hurting in equal portions. While she was still trying to gain her balance, another hand grabbed her by her mane, and slammed her face against the ice. Other than eliciting a yelp, it did very little to actually cause damage, and only a fair amount of pain. With a blind, animal fury, Glade roared her frustration to the setting sun, angry that her prey had escaped for the time. The insensate pegasus beat her clawed appendages against the lakes surface, for want of something to attack.

“Um, Glade...” Fluttershy spoke up first, thinking that the black-clad monster was gone, forced into retreat by the lycan. At the mention of her name, the werewolf's ears swiveled towards the other ponies, before her entire head turned. The Element of Kindness recognized the look in the shifted mare's eyes, she'd seen it plenty of times from creatures that lived in the Everfree. “We're your friends, remember?”

“That's not going to work, not if the Ring has failed her.” Luna understood more than the others did, about werewolves, about their habits, and knew the warning signs of a feral beast. Reman had looked the same as Glade when he'd attacked at the Festival, that blind fury burning, eager to seek blood and bone. “As much as it pains me to say, we need to get to the ruins and leave Glade out here.”

“That's the best idea I've heard all day.” Rarity was in full support, she'd even taken a few steps towards the squat building at the lake's center. The fabulous pony stopped as soon as Glade's head snapped in her direction, and a primordial instinct directed the Element of Generosity to return to the herd. “Perhaps we should go as a group.”

The werewolf took a step forward, and the other ponies took one towards the ruins. Another step, one more taken in retreat, progress was made all around, it seemed. The huntress crouched, ready to pounce on her prey, she'd use her wings to cover the distance in less than a second. The moment her hooves left the ground, a fist slammed into her jaw, courtesy of the forgotten creature in the lake.

“See? One of you should have put her to sleep when I asked.” The accented voice from earlier echoed from the mask once more. The creature's tone seemed... bored, like it dealt with this situation on a regular basis. The darkness from the setting sun provided an intimidating backdrop, the monster's posture was neither aggressive nor relaxed, it just seemed to exist. Regardless of its intentions, Luna and Twilight both had magic ready to blast the strange biped into dust. “Now she's got you cornered against a locked door.”

There was silence, none of the ponies said anything as creature pulled out a clear vial of liquid. With a shake, the fluid began to glow, creating a steady, yellow source of light. Waving the bottle around, the creature provided a distraction, a chance for them to make a break for the ruins. It wasn't a difficult choice for the ponies, not even a moment's hesitation for the seven mares to run. A small part of their collective mentality recognized that they'd left behind a friend, but a more powerful instinct glared at them to reach safety.

“The key's under the mat.” Whether the creature was joking or not, they didn't know. Once they reach the bronze doors of the Dwemer ruin, the doormat practically shouted at them that it had spoken true. Casting a single look back, Luna noted that Glade and the lake dweller were about to face off once more, and quietly hoped that the lycan would emerge victorious.

A thud signaled the door sealing shut, separating the seven mares from their comrade.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Hunger. Protection. Safety. Glade had to find shelter, sate her starving stomach, find her alpha. The prey before her kept those things from her clawed grasp, a foul stench practically permeated the air around the dark figure. Its dirty tricks were nothing compared to the glory of her power, no quarry ever truly escapes the hunter, this would be no different. With a shrieking howl, the mare flew at the biped, ready to find blood, if there was any inside the agile creature. Once again, it spun away from her hungry jaws.

Ever since the sun had vanished behind the mountains, the prey had only given her more trouble. It had only harmed her a few times, barely an annoyance in the mare's bestial state. However, that didn't stop her from trying to kill and consume the strange thing, she needed to eat, and her altered form required a lot of energy. A knee into her neck forced the feral mare back into her head, the prey was taking the offensive.

“Just relax, I don't want to hurt you any more than I have to.” Was it speaking? Trying to reason with the natural order of thing? The strong survive and the weak die, that's how things went, didn't it see that? Two hands around the lycan's neck answered her questions, and the headbutt that followed only cemented the answer. Glade felt a pulse ripple over her body, magic that made her limbs heavy and her heart slow.

“Just relax, Reman said you eight were off limits, nothing bad is going to happen.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The ponies were in the first subterranean room of the ruined structure. Brass- and bronze-like lamps burned some form of gas, providing a constant level of dim light. The steady whirring and throbbing within the floor and walls was almost hypnotic, but with the situation above ground, it only served to add to the tension.

“What was that thing?” Dash wasn't one to panic, but that monster was unnerving, even when compared to some of the things the Element had seen during her life.

“Ah don' know, but it don' sit right with me.” Applejack had an idea about how strong that creature was, like Big Mac only using half his strength to pull an overfilled cart. That lake thing in black was toying with them, it could have picked them off if it wanted.

“We need to get Glade away from it.” Twilight was shaking, but the Element of Magic, knew that she needed to help her friend.

“Aw, you're hurting my feelings.” An accented voice called from upstairs. The seven ponies snapped their heads in the direction it came from, they hadn't even heard the door open. Footsteps, almost silent, echoed louder and louder as the strange creature neared. First, its boots appeared, followed by its lags and torso, with only one of its arms at its side. Summer Glade hung limply across the monster's shoulder, soundly asleep and still transformed. “And here I was told you ponies were supposed to be nice.”

“Who are you?” Luna recalled the question that Celestia had asked Reman back in the dungeon, well, her older sister had told her that the query had begun the trials against Hircine. In response to the Princess of Night's curiosity, the monster gently set the snoozing lycan on the floor, taking care not to disturb her rest. After the task had been completed, the acrobat took a step back, before giving a grand, theatrical bow, before giving a proper introduction.

“I am Renoir Belmont, of the Daggerfall Belmonts.”

Ustengrav or Bust

Lynette would make a joke about her current situation, but it seemed a bit too easy. It was only now that she could understand why the Silver Hand was constantly sending patrols to new areas: lycans could run fairly fast, faster than any horse. In three hours, the Breton woman and her friend had gotten in a two day's worth of travel.

“I guess supernatural endurance isn't a myth.” The former mercenary giggled at her innuendo, which only elicited a snort from the werewolf. Patting the beast on his head, the woman dismounted, and consulted her map. “Ustengrav, didn't we just leave a crypt?”

In response, Reman motioned for Lynette to hand him his backpack, it wouldn't do well to enter the catacombs naked. Clothes in claw, the lycan returned to his human form, and quickly donned the simple armor. Iron wasn't the best material, but the Imperial was glad that it wasn't leather. “I don't like it either, but necromancers have been picking up travelers in the area, we need to keep innocents from dieing.”

“Isn't that a bit hypocritical of you?” The brunette gave her friend a cheeky grin, she knew that resurrecting the dead was only part of the dark art, and Reman's experience ended after corpse revival. At the flat look she received, the archer put her hands forward in an apologetic gesture. “I'm kidding, I’m kidding.”

“Have enough bolts for this?” The werewolf had already forgiven her, after all, there were more important things at hand. Reman gave his sword a few swings, just to hear the air being cut, such a refreshing sound.

“Bought plenty in Solitude.” For emphasis, the woman shook the quiver, a small basket that hung on her lower back. Of course, it hadn't been her money that she'd spent, and that wasn't her only purchase, but the lycan wasn't about to dwell on it. Lynette looked at her ex-fiance, and saw him shifting his weight between feet. “You're getting antsy, aren't you?”

“Just a bit.” The Imperial clenched his fist, channeling magicka into the closed hand, the energy's familiar glow enveloped it like an aurora. The blue mist began to take shape, forming arcing runners that flashed through the magic cloud. The electricity crackled once, then died without a sound. “I haven't cast a spell in a while.”

“I thought magical backup only happened to dedicated mages and wizards.” The Breton had heard of the affliction, her father had explained it when she was younger and just learning her first spells. It was supposed to feel like a building ache in one's brain, spine, and arms, and only got worse as things went on. Mages who were feeling the effects tended to be jittery, anxious, and easily agitated.

“Spellswords and battlemages suffer it, too.” Reman could recall no less than three times Lynette's father, Gaston, had been in magical backup, using magic was the only way to relieve it. Which, thanks to Conjurer's Folly, the Imperial couldn't do at the moment. Of course, the lycan was practicing, he'd almost relearned Sparks, but it wasn't coming soon enough. “Let's get inside, maybe one of the necromancers will have a spell tome or two laying around.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“You're just going to keep it a secret until Reman shows up?” Luna wasn't believing this, first Renoir says he can help, then he clams up after scanning Glade.

“It's in both of their best interests to hear the news at the same time.” The vampire was adamant on this, and he wasn't the sort to back down just because a woman was angry with him. The last thing he needed was for either of the two werewolves to be left in the dark about something like this. “If you want to know what I do, read Reman's notes on lycanthropy.”

“If it'll help, we need to know. If you don't mind telling us.” The yellow pony hid behind her mane as the undead man's eyes fell on her. Fluttershy had stared down hostile manticores and chewed out a dragon, but Renoir's curious gaze was very different than either of those. Not more powerful, or threatening, just unusual.

“I understand your concern, but it's nothing fatal.” The vampire stopped mid-sentence, as though a stray thought struck him. With a chuckle, Renoir let the two mares in on what he found to be so funny. “Quite the opposite, really, she's technically healthier than any werewolf I've seen before.”

“At least hand me the books, then, if you won't tell us outright.” Princess Luna wanted to continue on the train of conversation that the bloodsucker had started, but she knew better than to be distracted by a vampire's words. Nothing against Renoir, but vamponies had been more than a nuisance in Equestria's past. “I trust you won't interfere in my reading.”

“Certainly not, I'm a healer when outside of combat, and I'd hate to see someone worry about one of my charges.” The pale man handed over the requested tomes, eight in total, all of Reman's research regarding the various strains and sub-strains of lycanthropy and Hircine's other manbeasts.

“You've taken care of werewolves before?” Fluttershy, of all ponies, had found common ground in the undead wizard. She herself ran an animal shelter and cared for anyone that needed help, pony or otherwise. Much to the Element's surprise, Renoir smiled.

“Three, actually, Reman's the most recent, though I don't have to patch him up very often.” The vampire had the oddest tendency to attract the company of rather... unique individuals. Since his infection in High Rock, traveling had become a great way to pass the decades, and finding strange people was only natural. “They may deny it, but lycans act more like dogs than you would expect.”

Princess Luna did her best to read over the two.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

In the animonculory, Twilight had hit a dead end. Reman's notes had mentioned something called a soul gem, and the theory that it was the source of power for Dwarven automatons. The thought of an object able to contain somepony's soul after death was horrifying, but relieving at the same time, it provided a type of immortality. The thought of using one of the scary gemstones for the purpose of longevity was quickly discarded as she reached a section about the Ideal Masters. They were a type Daedra that controlled the Soul Cairn, a realm of Oblivion where trapped souls go after being the soul gems containing them have been used for the purpose of enchanting or recharging an item.

With a nervous glance to one of the rooms two massive table, Twilight noticed that there was a number of glittering, pink gemstones, and she briefly wondered if the were full. Reman didn't seem like the type to keep useless items around, the the lavender unicorn decided to ignore them, for her own sake.

“Maybe it's time for a different book.” The Element of Magic levitated a new tome from the shelves, placing the previous book where she found it. She was a librarian, after all. Twilight had a good feeling about this one, its orange cover and the odd tree on the front seemed unusual, but the title made it sound like something she'd like.

Alteration, a Beginner's Guide.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“This is... odd.” Reman was only making a casual observation, Ustengrav's first chamber contained a number of bodies, and some were still warm. Necromancers aren't pushovers, someone had attacked quickly and mercilessly, piles of ash closer to the surface indicated that the conjurers' revived corpses had been the first to fall. “A battleaxe did this, probably a Nord or Orc that got here about twenty minutes before us.”

“You can figure out that much just from one chop?” Lynette was a little skeptical of the Imperial, even if she knew that Reman had more experience than her in this area. Then again, the injury did look like a headsman missed someone's neck.

“Not just that, the area smells like a warrior that uses two-handed weapons.” Reman knew that sounded like he was stereotyping all Nords and Orcs, but they had a certain smell about them when they used claymores and the like. “We should definitely proceed with caution.”

“Way ahead of you.” Lynette readied her crossbow, whoever did this was still nearby, and they had a job to do. The Breton was about to make a suggestion, but her ex-fiance was already at the entrance to the side passage she had seen.

“Another body, who in Oblivion is this guy?” The werewolf examined the dead Dunmer closer, he was killed by swords when he tried to run, that much was clear. Reman's question was about the warrior that had cleared the way for them, not the corpse, the elf was easy to identify as one of the mages that lived there.

“You think it's Ulfric's newest fan?” While Lynette had been serious, the lycan laughed at her question.

“If the Dragonborn is down here, I'll buy you dinner.” Reman sounded like he was joking, but in truth, he wasn't ruling out any possibilities. With no more words, the pair began their way through the ancient halls and passages of Ustengrav, following the rather lengthy trail of bodies. The Imperial kept his blade drawn, and used his free hand to motion for Lynette to stay a few feet behind him. Without any spells, the werewolf had to rely solely on his strength, which wasn't something to laugh at, but he still felt nervous.

When the narrow halls opened to a wide and breathtaking grotto, Reman's fear was justified. Bones from walking skeletons littered the floor, some still had their quivers attached to their backs. On the other side of the chamber, across a stone bridge, a figure struck down two others. The Imperial ducked and held a hand to signal his companion to do the same.

“Wuld!” The sound was thunderous in the cavern, Reman and Lynette jumped at it. The Breton turned to the lycan, rather pleased with herself, and the Imperial shot her a flat look. Keeping low, the two followed the stranger, who was kind enough to kill everything he came across. Only one thing halted their progress, nothing major, really. It was just a floor made of pressure plates that spewed fire when triggered.

“Any ideas, Ms. Jemane?” Lynette flipped the lycan off, not pleased with him at all. Smiling, the Breton darted across the plates, running faster than they could unleash their flaming payload. The archer put a boot on a dead Frostbite Spider, raising her arms in a pose of victory.

“Yeah, you should go fast, but that tin suit will probably slow you down.” Alright, two could play that game, and the werewolf was more competitive than most. With a grin, Reman began his performance, somersaulting over two plates at a time, landing in the border between two every time. When he reached safety, the lycan put a hand on his hip, and blew across his hand like a pyromancer.

“Maybe you should go fast.” Lynette huffed in response, clearly not enjoying the man's act. She shoved Reman toward the door, eager to get back on the stranger's trail. It was simple, just wood with an iron latch, put what was beyond was another story. Four stone dragons loomed over the walkway to an ancient, Nord sarcophagus, and the blond man that stood over it. At the sound of their steps, the tall man turned around, his voice was calm as he spoke.

“So you're the ones who made all that noise in the last room.” A steel battleaxe was slung over the Nord's shoulder, his blue eyes were locked on Reman with intense focus, there was no doubt that this was the man that had cleared the way for them. “Can't say I'm impressed.”

“My name's Reman, what's yours?” The Imperial was trying to be civil, but the taller human was making him nervous. Not that he'd let the Nord know it.

“Jureg Firstborn, and what's the woman's?” The name was familiar, at least in passing, Reman had heard Balgruuf mention it once or twice, the new Thane of Whiterun.

“Lynette Jemane, a pleasure.” The Breton did her best to curtsy in leather armor, but there wasn't much to work with. The three humans stood in silence for a few moments, before the archer grew tired of the wait. “We're here by orders of General Tullius to clear out the necromancers in this crypt.”

“I take it you support the Empire in the war?” When Reman and Lynette nodded, Jureg scoffed. “Figures, Imperials can't help but sink their claws into everything they see.”

“I'll have you know that I'm a Breton.” The archer was a little peeved that the Nord was proving the Altmer stereotype that all humans races looked alike. Of course, the warrior couldn't care less about her opinion on anything.

“And what about you, Cyrodiil, got anything to say?” Oh, Reman had more than a few words for the rude brute, more than any conversation could convey. Thirty inches of steel, however, could convey his point quite easily.

“My name is Reman Tullius, and I take it that you're the Dragonborn.” The lycan started charging magicka into his free hand, he couldn't launch Sparks, but he could use it on touch.

“I get to kill someone related to that bastard general, lucky me.” The Nord pulled out the battleaxe, ready to charge. But, he didn't swing, he just held it off the ground, a move that thoroughly confused the Imperial he was staring down. Once he took a deep breath, however, his motives were very clear.

“Fus Roh!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Luna cracked open the dusty book, a welcome distraction from the two chatters. It was well formatted, with subheadings every page or so, and numerous topics were covered by the volume. If Reman really had compiled these himself, then he was either a genius, or he really needed a female in his life. It was easy to find the pages that Renoir had gone over before he refused to tell anypony what was wrong with Glade.

Notes on Lycanthropy, its Healing Factors, and Biological Flexibility.

Healers and warriors alike often wonder if it would be better for soldiers if injuries healed with almost miraculous rate, and many would agree that it would be a wonderful breakthrough in Restoration. What if it were already possible?

Lune skipped a few more paragraphs, just under a full page, before something caught her eye, while Reman's ability to regenerate was startling, it wasn't that amazing. Learning more about blood transfusion wouldn't be of any sort of help, Equestria already had doctors for that, it wasn't a new technology. So she skipped more and more, until she'd gone through two pages, before setting on the book's final notes. These seemed to be what Renoir had been searching for.

It should be noted that transferal of an amputated limb is not easy if the donor was an Argonian, as the flesh has a natural resistance to disease, and thus replacing one's severed limb with it would be difficult. The conversion of flash between individuals of the same race has only been theorized, and transplants between races has never even graced the minds of the most brilliant Restoration mages, but there are plenty of example amongst the lycanthropic community. Indeed, the boundaries of race are blurred, if not completely removed by the transformation. Blood and body parts can be received from almost any donor, barring Bosmer and Argonians, and healing anyone who suffers from any form of lycanthropy is fairly simple, so long as they are actually alive.

Though, transplants are hardly the full extent of biological flexibility that lycanthropy provides, although it may be the most complex. It has been observed that couples of very different races have difficulty conceiving, this problem is unheard of amongst the manbeasts, so long as at least one of the two is a lycan, fertility is increased exponentially. Orcs and Khajiit, for example, rarely produce offspring, but when one transforms, the borders disappear. This is thought to be the product of being a shapeshifter, as all afflicted with lycanthropy are, and thus, interbreeding is very possible. Though, everyone is warned against attempting intercourse with a transformed lycanthrope, as injuries and infection are likely.

Interspecies reproduction is both unknown, and untested, and will likely remain as such for the foreseeable future.

“I think you can put the pieces together, princess.”

If You Give Twilight a Book...

Renoir looked through the eye slot at the lycan, who was currently motioning to her mouth. She was hungry, the vampire knew that much, but why should he give in to her demands? Because the mage only had a few living friends, and he might lose a very important one if he caused any harm to her. Of course, that didn't mean Renoir couldn't have some fun before he fed the werewolf.

“Say please.” Judging by her inability to ask for food, it was unlikely that Glade could speak when she was in this form. At least the Ring was working again, and Renoir knew it was because of the lycan's reply. A gesture she had learned from her Imperial forebear, the pegasus lifted her middle claw, an obscenity that Reman hadn't explained. Glade actually thought it meant no. “Very rude, but you're thinking again, that's good.”

“If she's back to her regular self, let her out.” Luna wasn't one for joking, her headache did nothing to make things better.

“Fine, spoil my fun.” The vampire stick his tongue out at the alicorn, but unlocked the closet as she commanded. Renoir never had the patience to deal with loud women, and long ago learned that doing what they say makes them shut up faster. When the bronze door was cracked enough for the werewolf to escape, she did just that, and Glade trotted to her fellow equines after reaching freedom. “Can any of you cook?”

“Are you hungry?” Fluttershy didn't answer Renoir's question, instead, she posed her own. When the wolf-like pony nodded her head, the yellow pegasus immediately rushed to her aid. The vampire shared a look with Princess Luna, and in a rush of what some would confuse for telepathy, they silently agreed that Luna would look after Glade for the time being.

“Fluttershy, perhaps you should gather the others and take them to the dining hall.” The Element of Kindness complied and went on her way, leaving the immortal, the vampire, and the lycan to their own devices.

“You have something for me to do, don't you?” Renoir didn't really believe the alicorn would have the gall to order him around. The dark blue pony looked the Breton over for a few moments, before taking a deep breath.

“Of course I do, you're in charge of cooking.” Luna had a smug grin on her face, she'd learned that trick from her sister, taking Celestia's example of Reman asking how he could leave his cell. When the human looked as though he was going to make an excuse, the royal mare was ten steps ahead. “We don't have thumbs, so you're the only one who can handle the pots and such.”

“I hate you so much right now.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

It was at this time that Fluttershy regretted not memorizing the layout of Reman's half of the outpost. She was completely lost, the Dwemer weren't the best when it came to making distinct passageways, and she didn't have the faintest hint of where her friends were.

“Hi, Fluttershy!” Pinkie's head appeared from one of the pipes, the frazzle maned pony had Gummy on her head, which was odd, considering that she was upside down. The Element of kindness nearly jumped out of her skin, but quickly calmed when she realized who it was.

“Glade's back to normal, so everypony is supposed to meet up in the dining hall.” At this, the Element of Laughter floated down from the pipe, and motioned for her animal-loving friend to follow. It seemed the pink party pony knew her way around, and Fluttershy couldn't really argue with Pinkie, she just had a way of things. With a new sense of direction, the two mares began to walk through the winding halls and corridors, searching for their fellow Elements.

“Applejack's still at the door, so we just need to find Twilight, Rarity and Dashie.” How did Pinkie know all of that? She had her methods, and nopony would ever take them from her, not for all the candy in the world. After the two took a few steps, a metallic scratching echoed from the pipes overhead. “That's Spinny, my new friend.”

“Spinny?” That noise didn't sound like any animal Fluttershy knew, but Spinny was the sort of name one gave to a pet. The yellow pegasus quickly got her answer when a bronze spider climbed out of one of the steam vents, and sure enough, something that resembled a gyroscope was spinning on its head. It was obviously a machine of some sort, though Pinkie must have confused it for a living, flesh and blood organism.

“I was playing hide and seek with Gummy, and Spinny just started following me around.” Pinkie shrugged, not really feeling the need to elaborate on her story.

“Let's just keep moving.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Things were awful, simply horrid. Rarity was in a dire emergency, a matter of life and death. With a dull thud, the white unicorn collapsed onto a pile of clothing.

“I'm out of yellow thread!” The fashionable pony was sobbing into a coat she found, feeling her situation was truly grim. Wasn't it? To make matter worse, her mascara was running! Things couldn't possibly get worse for her, not even if the universe hurled its ugliest stones. A simple knock on the door ended the melodrama, and snapped the seamstress back to reality. The white unicorn walked to the bronze door, curious as to who could, or would, be knocking. Before her hoof even reached the pull bar, a yellow and pink head appeared. “Fluttershy, darling, there's no need to knock.”

“Glade woke up, Luna wanted me to let everypony know to meet up in the dining hall.” The Element of Kindness was doing marvelous when it came to speaking, she had an unfortunate habit of keeping a low voice, even around friends. There was no such submissiveness present, Fluttershy was at a regular conversational volume.

Rarity knew right away that her friend had a juicy secret, the sort no tabloid could hope to match.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Rainbow Dash rubbed the large bump on her skull. Of course, Reman slept on a rock, no wonder he had been so uptight at Jorrvaskr. The polychromatic pony hadn't slammed into something that hard since she kicked a mountain. The dizzy flier wobbled to the door, too off balance to use her wings, even the door slightly confused her. She hadn't even taken two steps into the hall before a grating, annoying noise assaulted her ears.

“My goodness, darling, what happened?” Yep, Rarity was the first to comment on the fact that Dash looked horrible, it seemed that she was always in character. The white unicorn was flanked by Pinkie and Fluttershy, and those two were being followed my a robot spider... thing. This was definitely not Rainbow's best day.

“The bed is a lie.” The blue pegasus nudged her head towards the door, and winced at the pain it caused her bruised cranium. Concerned, the seamstress looked into the barracks, and gasped at what she saw.

“A rock!?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight was making leaps and bounds in her research, if she was only speaking in a theoretical sense. The lavender mage had barely been able to understand what she was reading, what Princess Celestia had taught her, all of her own work, was completely useless when applied to Nirn's magic. There was talk of extensive meditation, fasting, even self harm, and those were just to help apprentices study! The orange book was definitely meant to be accompanied by a teacher, which Twilight didn't have at the moment. This book that claimed it didn't exist was mocking her, she knew it was, using the intelligence it was incapable of having. Unless, of course, somepony had altered it to be self aware, in which case, the Element of Magic was furious with him or her.

Perhaps she should read one of the other tomes, like Conjuration, or Restoration, there had to be something in those books that she could use. But that as only the voice of doubt, trying to keep her from knowledge, from power. With the knowledge held in this library, a pony of Twilight's talent could rule a nation, even all of Equestria! She could overthrow Princess Celestia, banish her to the sun for all eternity, and make everypony's lives some much happier. And once Equestria was in her hooves, the Nirn would be ne-

“Hey, Twilight!” Pinkie came out of nowhere, she tended to do that a lot. The Element of Magic blinked a few times, before coming back to solid ground.

“What happened?” The lavender unicorn looked around, she knew that she was in the animonculory, but things got fuzzy from there.

“Glade woke up, that's what! Come on, everypony's going to the dining hall.” Dash, Fluttershy, and Rarity walked into the room, followed by a machine of some sorts. A construct that Twilight instantly recognized as a Dwarven Spider, a type of animonculus that served as servants and janitors. She was about to say something, before Dash interrupted her with the last question anypony expected to be asked.

“Where is the dining hall, anyway?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Well... that was certainly something else, not that this was any less strange, but the earlier conflict was still fresh in the Breton's mind. Lynette sat at a campfire, writing in her diary about the day's events, with Reman snoozing across from her. They'd found a horse tied to a tree near Ustengrav, and had ridden the equine for about forty miles before the Imperial decided to take a nap, while behind the reigns. Maybe the fight with that Nord had taken its tole on him, but it had a delayed reaction. Either way, the lycan was out like a light, dead to the world, but the rise and fall of his chest proved that he was very much alive. Four years, and Reman Tullius still did his best to protect his loved ones, despite being a werewolf, he hadn't changed a bit.

It had certainly been a long time since the two had last seen each other, if one left out the massacre at Lynette's camp, long enough to grow apart. Technically, their engagement had ended after the Imperial had been declared dead, officially dead, anyway, and the archer had moved on with her life. As odd as it was to think, Lynette was glad that Reman had put things behind him as well, he passed the woman's test back in Whiterun with flying colors. Pretending to fall asleep on his shoulder had been the perfect way to determine how he felt about her. At least the Imperial was still keeping his word to her father, she giggled at the thought.

Those two thought they'd been so discreet about it, Lynette had found out about it almost immediately, her mother had told her. Movement from across the fire drew the Breton from her thoughts, Reman was waking up from his power nap. The Imperial was already at the stolen horse before Lynette could get her pack on, ready to hit the road.

“Come on, we've still got a while to go until we get there.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Dinner was prepared courtesy of Renoir Belmont, vampire and wizard extraordinaire. However, he wasn't a master chef by any means, especially not when it came to vegetarian meals. Stupid froufrou ponies and their delicate digestive systems, couldn't handle the tasty foods. Everypony was about halfway through the first bowl of stew, with the obvious exceptions of Renoir and Glade. The former had opted for dry rations from his personal quarters, and the latter was on her third helping of the vegetable meal. The lycan used her claws to lift her bowl to her face, she still hadn't reverted back to her regular form, but the mare didn't seem to mind.

“So, Renoir, what do you do for a living?” Rarity was trying to make pleasant conversation, and she was genuinely curious about the vampire. Mostly because there had been a lot of things written about them in popular fiction in recent years, and she was hoping to learn more about the living dead.

“Magical research, dungeon crawling, that sort of thing.” With the crimson and black that made up his eyes, it was almost impossible to tell where the Breton was looking, but the Element of Generosity felt his gaze upon her. The vampire punctuated his answer with another bite of the dried fruit in his hand. Where one would expect him to ask a question of his own, Renoir simply looked at her, expectantly.

“Um...” Rarity looked away, trying to figure out how to word her next query. Thankfully, Pinkie Pie asked her own question before the vampire's gaze became too much. Unfortunately, the Element of Laughter asked the very same thing Rarity was going to, worded in the most offensive way one could.

“Do you really drink blood?” The undead man blinked a few times, taking in the obvious question, in truth, no one had ever asked him that. He thought about how he should answer, before he realized that a simple nod would suffice. At that, the polychromatic pony sitting next to the pink ball of energy raised her own query.

“Ever killed anypony when you drank from them?” Luna looked like she was about to reprimand the Element of Loyalty for her rudeness, but a raised hand from Renoir stop her. More surprising, the vampire started to chuckle a bit, like the question was amusing in some way. Perhaps, to him, it was, because his answer seemed to be a purposeful attempt to scare the colorful equines.

“Yes, I've gotten carried away before, but only once.” To add to the image, Renoir smiled a toothy grin, his fangs glimmered in the room's light. Only Dash really reacted to the display, and she seemed more than a bit put off by the show of predatory prowess. It wasn't a roaring werewolf, it may have been infinitely more subtle, but nowhere near as unsettling. The room sat in silence for a few minutes, and nearly achieved relaxation, before a certain purple pony seemed to snap.

“I'm completely stumped on your magic, I admit it!” Twilight seemed to be an odd mixture of hopelessly beaten and defiantly angry, not at the man she addressed, but at the arcane arts she was trying to learn. Much to her chagrin, Renoir smiled wider.

“Yeah, that happens when you aren't accustomed to our ways.” The vampire knew exactly what she was referring to, after all, Alteration was the School most requiring a teacher, and every reference Reman had about it was on the lowest shelves of his library.

“Can't you help me?” While Twilight didn't want to turn to anyone but Reman for help, they were his books after all, the Element was in a stalemate with a book that technically didn't exist. This certainly wasn't the sort of situation she ever saw herself in, what would her teacher say if she saw her now?

“Reman knows more about Conjuration and Alteration than me, but if you need help with Illusion, Restoration, or Destruction, then I'm the one you want.” Renoir would have taken a moment to say that Reman wasn't a pushover when it came to Destruction, but a noise caught his ear. Glade must have heard it, too, because her head popped up from her bowl, her ears were standing erect and she was intently facing one of the walls. “Relax, it's probably nothing.”

An Appropriate Reaction

A loud knock echoed through the ruins, Renoir and Glade weren't the only two that heard it that time. The lycan started growling, her only way of communicating her displeasure at the noise, a warning that something unwanted was in her pack's territory. Applejack looked like she was about to ask something, but the vampire gave a silencing gesture, and earned the Element of Honesty's curiosity. There was the sound of scattering and falling dining utensils, like something clumsy was making its way through the kitchen. Whatever it was slammed into the door, which only opened away from the dining hall, it did nothing but hurt itself.

Renoir had a small smile on his face as he left his seat, the werewolf he was sitting next to, however, couldn't contain her scowl. Glade's feral feature only emphasized her distaste in the situation, but a hoof on her shoulder kept her seated. The eight ponies watched as the vampire walked to the quaking door, they saw him flip a small latch on the bronze surface, and the exit fly open. A wicked, hobbled creature stumbled in, and gazed around the room with blind, cataract-filled eyes, its large ears twitched in the sides of its relatively large head. Rarity had to suppress her urge to scream at the grisly sight.

Pinkie, however, gasped in excitement at seeing something new and interesting.

The tainted elf jumped to the sound's source, and Renoir would have intercepted, had a certain farmer not taken the duty upon herself. Applejack was one of Equestria's most athletic ponies, and she more than knew how to throw her weight around. Falmer are strong for their size, but horses, and ponies by extension, are stronger. The only real problem the Element of Honesty had with the blind elf was trying to detain instead of kill it. Luckily, it was unarmed, otherwise there would have been a need to treat one or more of the ponies for poisoning.

The vampire was the first to her assistance, and using his deceptive strength, Renoir quickly pulled the Falmer from under the orange pony.

“All of you, pay attention.” The mage held the elf out, like it was nothing more than a tool to hammer in a lesson. “This is a Falmer, a degenerate descendent of the extinct Snow Elves. Anyone care to wager why it's blind?” Before any of the ponies could raise a point, to try to get him to stop his morbid display of the subdued subject, Renoir continued with his lesson. “The Dwemer blinded them, and living underground for so long has twisted their form and rotted their collective little minds.” The Breton seemed to regard the Falmer with a bit of sadness and pity, as though he knew personally their suffering. “Ancient writing tells us that they once had a mighty empire in Skyrim, but have been reduced to deadly vermin, skulking through empty corridors that will never again know occupation.”

With the twist of an arm, the vampire snapped his captive's neck.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

They had three hours until sunrise, maybe four, but that was the absolute most. Reman and Lynette had been trudging through the Pale on horseback, but their stolen mount was quickly tiring, it would not be long until they would have to abandon it. Masser provided much of the light, Secunda's waning crescent did little to provide any illumination. Still, the moons made the snowy hills and mountain passes seem ghostly with their pale glow. Perhaps that was where the Hold found it name. Despite her time in the frozen country, Lynette would never adapt to its frigid nature.

The two had been traveling in silence, as though any noise would alert every hungry beast and desperate criminal in the area, a laughable thought in these conditions. Still, the archer kept her crossbow loaded and ready, and she couldn't help but notice her friend was just as tense. The Breton's body jerked forward as the horse came to a sudden stop, she turned to get and answer from her companion.

“We're leaving the horse here, the lake isn't much farther.” Reman's boots were crunching snow before he even finished his sentence, and Lynette was quick to follow.

“I don't see why we can't just take it with us.” It wasn't that she couldn't make the walk, the archer just didn't understanding why they weren't using the easiest method of transportation available.

“We're only half a mile away.” The Imperial stopped to allow his companion to catch up, the knee-deep snow was hard enough to maneuver through without having to run. It was cold enough that it hurt to breathe, at least Reman's armor covered most of his body, a quality that Lynette's leather couldn't match. The woman's face was practically blue from the frigid wind, this was why the werewolf had recommended that she bring a thick cloak. Things would be fine, so long as they arrived quickly, the lake was just over the next hill.

“Where did you go?” The Breton was asking that out of nowhere, though she could have been more specific, she likely meant to ask where he had gone after being infected.

“I ended up in Hammerfell, walked through the Alik'r, and took a ship to Anvil.” Making conversation would speed the trip, even if the distance that remained was so very short. Just as the Imperial had hoped, Lynette was noticed the mistake in his story.

“Then how did you end up in Skyrim?” The archer was no fool, she knew exactly what Reman was doing, and understood his reasoning for it. She absolutely hated the snow, it was nice when it didn't freeze boots to the ground, but this was too much. She could tell that the lycan was about to continue, but what they saw on the hill's crest stopped them both. The lake's ice was glowing in the moonlight, its dark ruin sat in the center, easily visible against the bright background.

“Well, let's get inside, no sense freezing out here.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Dinner wasn't exactly edible after the macabre display, and everypony did their best to give the vampire a wide berth. Twilight was back to her book, Dash was watching the door, Pinkie was off playing with Gummy and Spinny, Rarity was back to working with Reman's clothing, and Applejack was taking the time to sample local beverages. Which, of course, meant that she was busy drinking the hard cider that was is stock. While tasty, it couldn't compare to her family's, but that was just her opinion, and she admitted that bias was possible.

Luna, Fluttershy, Glade, and Renoir, however, were in the animonculory, just shooting the breeze about nothing in particular.

“I've been wondering about something.” Fluttershy was oddly confident around the vampire, perhaps because they were both healers of a sort, perhaps not.

“Ask away.” The mage was busying himself by tossing a ball in the air and catching it when it came down, a repetitive and useless task that served absolutely no purpose other than to occupy his time. At least it managed to hold a portion of his mind while waiting for Reman to show, of course, there was no guarantee that he would arrive that night.

“How did you and Reman meet?” The Element of Kindness thought that the story may have been a Friendship Report that Twilight couldn't compete with, no offense to her. She had no idea just how wrong she was.

“That's a funny story, actually.” Renoir chuckled a bit as he recalled the tale, which wasn't really funny in the traditional sense. In truth, it was a terrible story that should never be repeated, especially not to innocents like the three ponies that sat in front of the man. He was about to begin, but a knock on one of the ruins many doors interrupted him. “I wonder what that was.”

“Another Falmer?” Luna really didn't want to see another one of the vile things, not that she couldn't take care of a few of them. But when Glade perked up at the noise, the Princess of Night had a feeling about the sound, and it wasn't necessarily a good one. The vampire's smile was the final nail in the coffin, and she fully understood what was happening.

“Not quite.” Renoir hopped down from his perch, an oddly noiseless action given the floor's material. The Breton began the short trip from the animonculory to the ruin's front foyer, followed by the three mares. Three knock sounded from the front door, followed a short pause, then two more. It was obvious at that point what was happening, but more importantly, who was at the door. A particularly hard impact indicated two things: the person knocking was very strong, and getting very impatient.

“How cold is it outside?” Luna knew that Reman was waiting to be let in, but she was curious about the ambient temperature. It should be noted that none of them made a move to open the door.

“With windchill, I'd say it's a fair bit below zero.” Another hard knock almost dislodged the the bronze door, and Reman was yelling through it, though his words were muffled by the metal. Renoir rolled his eyes and dug out his key, in his mind, there was nothing wrong with the weather. Granted, his body was about as resistant to the cold as the average Nord. The key was made of steel, and it was obvious that the Dwemer had no hand in its forging. In half of a second, the door was unlocked, and Reman and a strange woman practically floundered into the ruins. Upon righting himself, the Imperial put the outsider's needs before his own, and made a simple request.

“She really needs a fire.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“So Renoir, I trust you have an answer for me.” Reman was sipping from a glass of steaming hot water, trying to warm his bones. The vampire, the alicorn, the animal lover, and the equine lycan were in a small chamber, sitting around a small incinerator. Glade was sitting in her forebear's lap, quite pleased to see him again, and her earlier predicament was seemingly forgotten.

“You aren't wondering why Glade is transformed?” That certainly struck Luna as odd, the Imperial was usually very concerned with the pegasus' well being. Much to the royal pony's surprise and annoyance, the werewolf laughed at her question.

“Every werewolf in my strain, most strains really, has a monthly transformation, males are when Secunda is waxing, females when waning.” Reman shrugged, he understood what was happening perfectly, if Luna couldn't, then that was her problem. “It's probably just her time of the month.”

“You really could have worded that a bit better.” The vampire groaned at his friends ignorance, the lycan could be a genius at times, but the man really dropped the ball sometimes. To his cregit, Reman quickly realized his mistake, though he felt no need to apologize or rephrase his statement. “But, as you asked, before we were so rudely interupted,” Renoir cast a look to the dark blue alicorn, “your earlier thoughts were correct.”

“Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?” The Princess was amazed that the Imperial had prior knowledge of Glade's pregnancy, but had said nothing about it. That's not really the sort of thing to be kept from somepony. At least the lycan seemed to react to the evidence, and that it was no longer just a hunch he had about his pack-mate's behavior.

“They know already?” Renoir nodded to his friend's question, not really expecting the slight amount of anger present in the man's voice. He wasn't scared, of course, the vampire was stronger than Reman in his normal form.

“Only Luna and... I'm sorry, but I don't believe I know your name.” The mage looked at the yellow pegasus, wholly expecting an answer from the shy mare. He had an idea, his friend's letter had give the ponies' names, but he really needed confirmation. That, and he knew that looking in an angry werewolf's eyes was a challenge, and he wanted nothing to do with that.

“I'm Fluttershy.” The Element of Kindness knew that she was being used as a distraction, and given the current situation, she didn't mind in the least. This entire display was thoroughly confusing to Glade, but she understood enough to know that everyone knew more about it than she did, and it related to her. The winged werewolf cursed her inability to speak, so she pulled a solution out of the air. Reman flinched when he felt the mare's tongue drag across his neck, immediately, he looked down at her.

“Right, this is going to be difficult for me to word.” The Imperial was having trouble with it, and he really didn't know how to say what needed to be let out. This wasn't the sort of thing that someone can prepare for, and the entire time he was separated from the group, Reman had been silently hoping that Glade's vomiting was a freak case of indigestion or something. “Remember the last night we spent at Twilight's house?”

The lycan nodded, of course she remembered. It was one of the scariest times of her life, and one of her best nights, the mare couldn't really forget something like that. With that memory came a slight hint at what the three magic wielders had been discussing. With a curious and worried look on her face, Glade made a whimper, the best signal she could make for her forebear to continue.

“You must also recall the night's events, right?” The lycan nodded again, feeling as though she had already been over that, but she quickly remembered that she hadn't said a word since sundown. “Well, as it turns out, we aren't exactly, um, incompatible.” When the changed pegasus cocked her head slightly, Renoir took it as a chance to help his friend in this predicament.

“Werewolves, by their very nature, are shapeshifters, and it is very easy for them to continue their bloodlines.” When that failed to register with the winged hound, Luna decided that it was her turn to take the reigns, submitting her own method of breaking the news to the former guardspony.

“As they were saying, there can be certain outcomes when passion takes corporeal grasp over the body, one such being the inception of this discourse.” The expression was archaic by Tamriellic standards, which said quite a bit about the pony speaking. Perhaps it was denial at this point, but Glade still didn't understand what they were trying to get to her. Seeing no other option, Reman decided to just cut Fluttershy out of the equation and tell his pack-mate himself.

“Glade, there are effects for the cause we provided that night before we began our way to the Middle Plains.” Because the mare's back was still pressed again the man's chest, it was easy for the werewolf to do what he saw fit. The Imperial placed a hand on the lycan pegasus' flat stomach, the muscle over it was taut, and did nothing to hint at what it contained. “What I'm trying to say is, after whatever your species' gestation period is, you and I are going to be parents.” Reman had been prepared for many responses, a fair number of them involved the mare fleeing from the room.

However, a hoof to the face wasn't in his list of possibilities.

Fire, Water... Burn

Well, this wasn't the sort of situation Reman had ever wished to find himself in, no honest man could truly exist in the contrary. Though Glade had reverted to her pony form, the Imperial was waiting in his current state, taking the time to allow the blood covering his body to dry before exposing himself to the elements. At least the mare was going to hold off until her forebear was in a position to speak, which the young Tullius thought was a kind gesture. As soon as the crimson liquid ceased its dripping, the lycan allowed himself to become human once more. Skin lightened, fur receded, hair browned, the standard sequence of transformation played in reverse as the Imperial weakened.

“How is any of this even possible?” Despite Reman's knowledge and learning, he didn't have much of an answer for Glade's question. Perhaps whatever determined what made a person a physical individual, the mystery of heredity, whatever it was must have been different, it must have changed.

“I wish I knew.” Reman plopped down on the hay and sticks that covered the cold ground, sitting with his legs crossed, and keeping enough distance between him and the possibly homicidal mare. Of course, he was also making sure to block the only exit, it would be too dangerous to let Glade get away now. “I never thought I'd ever be in this predicament, at least not out of wedlock.”

“You think you're the one who's in trouble here?” Glade sounded more than offended, her voice carried a few hints of pissed and run, Reman, run. The pegasus stomped a hoof on the semi-frozen earth, puffing her chest, she made her mind known. “This isn't something I can walk away from, but nobles sire bastards all the time.” She pointed an accusing hoof at her forebear, completely aware of his status as a nobleman. “How do I know you won't turn and run at the first sign of trouble?”

“Family means more to me than anything.” The mare had never heard the man sound so certain, and the Imperial seemed a bit offended at Glade's insinuations. “You've met Renoir, I know that for certain, but have you wondered why I allowed a dangerous vampire within a hundred yards of you when I thought you were pregnant?”

“You must trust him quite a bit.” The mare was still angry that she had been the last to know about her unborn foal, but she would let that slide for the next few minutes. “I trust this has something to do with your point?”

“He's one of my best friends, if not the best.” Reman's eyes took on a hard quality, the resolute look of a seasoned adventurer. There was more than trust between the two men, bonds forged in the fires of battle and academic pursuit were far stronger than flimsy trust could ever hope to be. “He also knows that I would return to Cyrodiil without a second thought if it meant being with my family again.”

“What would keep you from doing that now?” Glade was a forgiving pony, but certain things are inexcusable, and it would take a long time for her to trust the Imperial again. She understood his devotion to family, but that sort of bond no longer existed between the two lycans, they were little more than pack-mates that shared a single night of passion. “If you're willing to turn your back on friends for your family, you might do the same to us.”

“Because, like it or not, the two of us have been forced into parental roles, you and the baby are as much my family as those waiting for me back in Kvatch.” Reman didn't have a problem with being a father, well, no more than one would expect, even if the child was technically illegitimate. Actually, he'd see about fixing that as soon as they returned to Equestria. “Saying that reminds me that I have quite a bit to explain to them, even more than before all of this.”

“How is this a time for jokes?” Glade didn't know that he was being completely serious, she actually believed that the Imperial was trying to defuse the situation with humor. This was hardly the time for that, the equine lycan silently added this bit to the man's long list of inappropriate attempts at comedy.

“I wasn't making a joke, I'm going to have a very difficult discussion with my parents and siblings in the future.” Reman knew that Uriel was likely to be in Skyrim, and his father was most certainly involved in the civil war, as soon as the werewolf could get his three closest relatives in the same room, he'd let them in on everything. Better for them to hear it before his mother was involved, as much as Reman loved her, the woman could be a complete shrew at times. The two of them sat in silence for the better part of a half hour, neither really knew what to say. Glade broke the pregnant pause with a simple question, but it started an avalanche of questions are worry between the two lycans.

“What in Equestria are we gonna do?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir had been a vampire for over seventy years, and he had long ago grown accustomed to his body's odd requirements. Despite what some believed, drinking blood wasn't the strangest aspect of the affliction, and only certain strains experienced the infamous nightmares. Really, the toughest part of being a vampire of the Volkihar variety was the insomnia. The Breton rested on his back, the wizard's crimson eyes stared unblinkingly at the room's stone ceiling, wishing with ever fiber of his being that he could get some sleep. He could, on occasion, catch forty winks, he'd even wake feeling better than his lycan friend, despite Reman having slept three times as long as him. But, the vast majority of the time, Renoir was stuck like this, hoping and wishing for something that wasn't coming.

It was times like this that allowed the Breton the time to think about his life, despite his immense desire to forget his formative years in Daggerfall. The Belmonts were a clan notorious for their open hatred for necromancers and all forms of Daedric worship, and they more than specialized in exterminating lairs of the villainous. The family had only come to light after what Imperials called the Warp in the West, known simply as the Daggerfall Incident to Bretons. The mage had only been halfway through his second decade before everything changed for his family, and he became the last of a dead bloodline.

Family Belmont had known about the increased vampire activity in High Rock, similar to the infestation Skyrim was currently experiencing. They'd dispatched the very best to patrol the border for any undead menace that tried to make its nest in the land of the Manmeri, the twelve hunters had found a lair containing four vampires from the infamous Clan Volkihar. There had only been one survivor, who had done his very best to flee back to Daggerfall. Eleven lives lost to claim a single bloodsucker, a shameful record of service for the Belmonts' collective record, but at least one had made it to the safety of home. The scout that made it back had been chased, even if he hadn't known it, and given the Volkihar vampires ample chance to return with greater numbers. Francois Belmont had doomed the entire family when he fled instead of dieing in honorable battle.

Renoir had been in the library when it happened, an incident that would be burned into his mind and the memory of Daggerfall for an eternity. Thirty vampires against around two hundred slayers, with the odds squarely in the favor of the neck-biters. Screams were the first sign of danger as the forward sentries were slaughtered, and sounded for a mere moment before they were permanently silenced. Flaming arrows rained from the sky, torching the stables and servant quarters before any retaliation could be taken, and the swift vampires made short work of the defending humans. The supernatural strength of the undead allowed them to cleave through any slayer that stood in their way, and once the compound's outermost buildings were ablaze and the guards lay dead, only then did the Volkihar cretins make their intentions known.

They called for the blood of every Belmont, and would only ask once before storming the massive mansion. When no answer came from within, one of the bloodsuckers decided to open the door with his foot, and was pierced by several silver swords as punishment. In a mad rush, the vampire slayers attacked the outnumbered neck-biters, and every single one of them that came with melee range was near-instantly cut down. The undead monsters only lost three more in the chaos, and a quarter of the Belmonts were staining the ground with their lifeblood, a feast that they were sore to leave behind on the march to domination. Once inside the mansion, the true slaughter began. Servants, nobles, men, women, children, it didn't matter to them, the vampire cuts them down where they stood.

Then the fire started, Renoir never figured out where it originated from, but it quickly engulfed half of the massive house, and rapidly began to spread. Some of the vampires were killed by burning timbers as they fell, but the vile creatures were hardly stopped by the obstacles, using the added chaos as fuel for the night's madness. Horrific disregard for life, malicious intent rivaling only Molag Bal in its purity, they carried out the last portion of their evil mission with startling efficiency. By midnight, only a few Belmonts remained, barricaded in the library, a stone tower that had stood in place for over six centuries. The heavy, iron door was dented by the force of vampiric assault, until its hinges finally gave, and the entrance crushed one of the last slayers.

By that time, Renoir had prepared himself, he knew that a certain sacrifice would have to be made. The wizard was well aware the he was on the top floor, and that the vampire would clear the other rooms before making it to his. He also knew that a certain crack in the wall opened up to the layer between the stones, given wonderful access to the structures supports. Twelve lamps of oil, plus the two replacement barrels, and the wooden beams were soaked enough catch fire from a single spark. As soon as the door's latch was broken, the Breton sent a gout of flame down the crack, and prepared himself for his last fight.

A lot of good that did him, the bloodsuckers ran out when they smelled the trap, but not before they threw the wizard from a balcony. A pile of hay had been his only saving grace, a stupid twist of luck that bought him the sick fancy of one of the vampires. She had called it a reward for being so entertaining, and three days later, he found himself thirsty and overly sensitive to sunlight. The Breton snorted in disgust at his own kind, the supposedly extinct clan that terrified Skyrim for an unknown number of millenia. Here he was, nearly a century old and disillusioned with the world, living with a werewolf and currently watching over a small herd of colorful ponies.

“At least it inspired me to become a pyromancer.” Renoir spoke only to himself, paying no attention to anything, but watched as flames danced around his hand, so odd that his weakness to fire didn't affect his magic in the slightest. The old pyromaniac laughed for a few moments, thinking of the flames that had burned his ancestral home to the ground, and gave him a new purpose in life. Volkihar vampires were still around, and spread across Tamriel, as though they were looking for something important. The Dawnguard was formed again, giving Skyrim a small amount of protection, but drew the Breton back to the frozen country. Whoever the brood master was, he or she had taken everything from Renoir, the pyromancer barely had anything he considered truly his. He'd find the lord over the ancient clan and end the madness that had carried on for far too long, even if the fight would him his life.

After all, even a man who has nothing can still give his life.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“You won't be going in this alone, I'm more than willing to help raise the child, I'm equally responsible for it.” Actually, the only way Reman wasn't going to help the future mother was if she ordered him not to. Even then, he would do his very best.

“You're damn right you're not backing out of this.” Glade still had some small hope of rejoining the guard when she returned to Equestria. As difficult as being a single mother would be, a military carreer would be almost impossible without the help of family, and considering the foal's heritage, the lycan mare's parents might not be too thrilled about their grandchild. “Somepony's going to help me raise her.”

“It's a girl?” A small part of the Imperial was hoping for a son, someone to whom he could teach the fine art of skirt chasing. Actually, just siring an heir would be enough for him, but having a daughter as one's firstborn was a bit of difficulty, Cyrodiil's inheritance laws were strange when it came to heiresses.

“I just think it will be, I'm guessing you think it's a colt?” Glade didn't really have any idea about gender, but ponies used female terms for somepony whose sex is in question. The pregnant lycan was still angry with her forebear, but she wasn't letting it get in the way of clearing the future. There weren't that many options open, so she was taking every bit of help she could get. “I hope you don't mind living in Equestria.”

“I was hoping we would raise it on Nirn, where it won't be shunned for its abilities.” The Imperial knew that the baby would be a lycan, and Tamriel was where it belonged, amongst its own kind. The more experienced werewolf huffed in annoyance at his pack-mate's stubbornness, shaking his head at her as he spoke. “We're just going to have to agree to disagree for now.”

“I'm fine with that.” The pregnant pony was satisfied with how things turned out, but she was still hungry from earlier, that stupid bear had cut her meal short. Her stomach growled, finally voicing its displeasure at the lack of food. Glade looked at Reman, the man seemed to be meditating, using magicka as a crude means to warm himself, lacking the fur to trap heat. The pegasus had a sinister idea forming in her head, something that would leave the Imperial wondering, and would help sate the gnawing hunger in her gut. With a grin, she stalked over the short distance separating the two, keeping low and making as little noise as possible. The more experienced lycan barely had time to open his eyes before the mare dragged her tongue from from Reman's abdomen to the top of his neck, taking the dried blood as she went. “Let's get back to the others.”

Just as Summer Glade expected, the man was too confused to do anything for a few moments.

Reman Just Leveled Up! To Level Two...

Reman hated regeneration sometimes. The cold was making the skin of his feet split in places, and quickly closed, only to crack again after a few minutes, the lacerations wouldn't heal enough to really fix the damage, only prolong the pain of walking. Of course, Summer Glade was flying next to him, using her wings to completely avoid the freezing soil.

“Why did you run this far?” The Imperial was a bit grumpy, his burning soles and numb toes were grating on his patience like nothing else.

“You would panic if you were in my shoes, and you know it.” The pregnant pony wore a smug smirk and flapped her winds a bit faster, just to rub in one of her advantages over the land-dweller. The two had stopped briefly at the dead sabercat and snowbear for breakfast, an enjoyable way to start the morning, and a subtle reminder of the clean stripe on the human's torso. But at least Reman wasn't cold and hungry, Glade wasn't that sadistic of a pony.

“Can't you fly me back?” The man eyed his friend's wings, which were a little larger than the average pegasus', and could therefore carry slightly more weight. The mare gave him a flat look, before she noted the blood he left in every footprint, and understood his reasoning behind the request. That didn't mean she could hold him aloft for long, or maybe at all. Still, she wasn't about to leave him hanging, so she drifted behind the man and put her forelegs under his arms. The pegasus flapped her wings as hard as she could, and quickly lifted the Imperial.

She promptly dropped him.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

After her short sleep, Twilight had gone back to her studies, paying little attention to the newest member of the motley crew. The lavender unicorn let the brunette woman sleep, cuddled next to Pinkie, snoring her cares away. The Element of Magic quickly found herself in the animonculory, where she was surprised and a bit worried to find the books she'd been reading had moved down the table, next to the soul gems. Twilight quickly levitated the tomes back to her seat, ignoring the slight chill she felt as she lifted them. The magical pony decided to try another one of Reman's beginner guides, and chose the one for Conjuration, something Twilight felt she could grasp easily. She quickly scanned the first few words of Homunculi to Xivilai, a Primer.

You work with powerful forces, take care they do not overwhelm you. The words were scribbled in the flowing writing of a skilled master, likely someone Reman had encountered in his travels. The instructions and example were written in a way that a new apprentice or child could understand, and this School even seemed easy to alter for unicorns to use. The basic summoning spells were for binding things called Familiars, and reanimating the corpses of those who were weak-willed in life. Twilight was going to stay far away from those. The basic procedure for summoning of the wolf-like Daedra was fairly simple, just elementary manipulation of magical energy. She had done more difficult things in school, so all she really needed was a large, flat surface to cast on, and the animonculory had plenty to offer.

The Element of Magic pulled from within, shaping her energy into the fine needle required to reach Oblivion and bring the Familiar to Nirn. Two balls of purple light spiraled around her horn, starting at the base and launching from the tip. The twin spheres flew and sank into the ground, before a dark purple vortex open and surround the impact zone. Finally, the purple pony would see what her power had drawn from the infernal realm of Oblivion. The swirling maelstrom lasted a few moments before fading and revealing what it brought forth. It was...

“Nothing?!” Twilight hung her head in defeat. What seemed like the simplest School so far had proven just as difficult in practice as Alteration had been in theory. Anger boiled within the lavender mare, anger at the Schools of Nirn's magic, anger at Reman's blatant flaunting of his skills, anger at everything that existed. The rage bubbled and grew in intensity, a spark became a raging inferno in seconds. The young mage hadn't felt anything like this since she tried to disprove Pinkie Sense, like her mane was about to burst into flames if she didn't find a release for her anger. Much to Twilight's surprise, Nirn's ambient energy seemed to respond to her temper, stoking her power higher with every beat of her heart. This contradicted everything she had learned while studying under Celestia's wing, magic was about knowledge and skill, not wild abandon and heated emotions.

The energy of Oblivion and Nirn seemed to swirl around her, promising power beyond measure. It was so easy to tap into the flickering magicka that presented itself so readily, Twilight wasn't about to kid herself, the sweet possibilities were enticing on a deep level. The book's words rang in her mind, and the Element bearer knew she was being lied to, whatever power was on the other end of the connection was after her very soul. This was a moment that was only theorized in Equestria, but it was still universally feared by all who held the power of magic: lethal-power backfire. All she could do was scream and hope somepony heard her in time. Twilight's breath caught in her throat, silencing her better than any gag.

A horrific tendril seemed to invade the mare's consciousness, like an infernal squid prying information from her skull, leaving an odd numbness wherever it found information to copy. This strange manifestation was akin to Hircine's Aspect of Guile, but its master must have been very different, as there was nothing in the student's mind the Huntsman would deem important. The invasive tentacle appeared to find Twilight's struggling mind amusing, a sideshow to laugh at while riffling through the ringmaster's personal possessions. The purple pony could feel the endless abyss tremble with glee as the intruding appendage receded from whence it came, just as suddenly as it arrived.

Terrified beyond belief, Twilight Sparkle fell to her haunches, wondering what in Equestria just happened.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Uriel Tullius was a man of simple pleasures, and watching the sun's ascent was among those select few. The Imperial sipped from a steaming mug, some warm Khajiit brew that used naturally occurring jungle bean as an ingredient, it was horrifically bitter, but at least it woke him up. The dawn's light allowed the young captain to extinguish his candle, but still have enough illumination to read his grandfather's letter. The Legionnaire mused over what he'd read, his older twin was still alive and well, Reman had left Solitude a number of days ago, bound for parts unknown. Of course, the elder brother would be returning to the capital as soon as possible, under order of their grandfather, with a few unique individuals in tow.

Uriel sighed, it was just like his brother to do things in unusual ways, at least that hadn't changed over the years. Consistency or no, the young Legion officer was on his way to Castle Dour, where he would finally get visual confirmation of his twin's life. Granted, the man was just as likely to offer a hug as he was to slug Reman right in the face for all the trouble he'd put the family through. With or without the curse of lycanthropy, the twins' mother had worried herself half to death over the missing heir, it was only by the mercy of Stendarr that she hadn't done something rash in her grief. Uriel huffed and shoved the crumpled letter into his thigh pouch, no sense in getting mad now.

At least he could enjoy the walk to Solitude in peace.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Antonius Tullius never cared much for the civil war, he was only there because his father had asked the man to serve as one of his legates. The greying Imperial was overseeing the Markarth detachment, the largest occupying force outside of Solitude. Antonius held firm belief in the Nine, and their ultimate plan for every man, woman, and child that lived on Nirn, so receiving a letter pertaining to his lost son wasn't outside the realm of believability. He would be lying if he said that his time in the Legion had drained the man's passions in some way, but he was still overjoyed to read his father's message. The aged Imperial was looking forward to seeing Reman after these years, but was concerned about the boy's well-being, lycanthropy was mind-altering at best, and it was possible that the young man he would see in Solitude would only be his son by blood.

Then there was the boy's strange message to his family, that he would be bringing guests with him. Hopefully, they would be able to get through the heightened security, with Emperor Titus Mede's upcoming visit to Skyrim, it wouldn't be easy for anyone to enter the city's walls. Marcus, Antonius, Reman, and Uriel would be in the same room for the first time in four years, so the Penitus Oculatus could shove their authority up their collective ass. The fact that Cassius would be unable to attend the reunion was a sad thought, but he had passed on shortly before his younger sibling's infection, and wold not wish to see them mourn at a time for celebration. That was for another day, after heavy drinking and equally fierce battle, only then would the hardened warrior allow himself to shed tears for those who had been lost.

Saying a silent prayer to the Divines, the legate spurred his steed onward.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

If walking on snow barefoot was bad, slipping on ice was that tenfold. A passing dragon had been Glade's reason for dropping the Imperial earlier, and the two had ducked behind some rocks until they had been certain it had left the area. At the moment, they were less than thirty yards from the entrance to the ruins, and the pregnant pony was using the relaxed portion to rest her wings. She did this by piggybacking on Reman, and lent her feathered appendages to her forebear for use a blanket, her wings trapped a surprising amount of heat. For a moment, Glade noticed her forebear seemed to be lost in thought, though the man quickly refocused as they neared the bronze door.

“Something wrong?” The Imperial stopped walking, they were within the ruins' borders, the stone before the door was heated slightly. Reman sighed like he had been keeping something on his chest for a long time.

“Less than a month ago, I was just passing through life like a dream.” He looked to the sky, the clouds moved over the misty ground as it burn under the sun's morning rays. “Like I've only suddenly woken up and gained awareness of myself.” The lycan blinked a few times, before coming to a realization of sorts. “Have you ever felt like that?”

“I can't say that I have.”

“Perhaps I need to lie down for a while.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir was boiling some water when Reman and Glade walked in, but respectfully payed them no mind as they made their way to the Imperial's private chambers. They weren't going to do anything besides sleep, the lycans looked too tired for physically demanding activities. The vampire just shook his head and chuckled as they went by, partially glad they weren't at their each other's throats. At least things would be on their way back to normal, or at least however close things got to normal for the odd pair of friends. The old mage returned to his book for an hour or so, until a gentle tap on his foot roused his attention.

“I trust that you're Reman's friend?” The woman that was brought in the previous night was standing next to Fluttershy, a hand on her hip. However, her stance wasn't the man's focus so much as the silver sword she had pointed at him. The yellow pony next to her seemed to be trying to calm her down, and was having some effect to that end. There were two ways Renoir could go about fixing the woman's fear of him, and he liked his first idea better. However, Fluttershy had a better plan.

“L-Lynette, this is Renoir.” The shy pony introduced the woman to her elder, trying to keep peace in the strange land. “He's a healer.”

“Sorry about that, just saw the eyes and went into attack mode.” The brunette sheathed her blade and extended a hand in greeting, and the vampire reciprocated with the standard High Rock handshake of his day. “I'm Lynette Jemane, Reman's ex-fiance.”

“Renoir Belmont, Reman's best vampire friend.” The mage flashed a toothy grin at his own subtle joke, hoping the younger Breton would pick up on it. Instead, the archer focused solely on one facet of the man's introduction. Apparently, she was a student of history before coming to Skyrim.

“A Belmont that became a vampire?” Lynette cocked her head, she knew the sad tale of the Belmonts, but never thought she would meet one. “I thought you all died when those vampires attacked your compound.”

“I didn't have the good fortune of burning alive, sadly.” Renoir noted the horrified look on Fluttershy's face, and regretted being so truthful. Clearing his throat, the old mage decided to attempt to fix the situation. “Perhaps we should focus on a more positive subject.”

“You never did tell us how you met Reman.” Luna was awake, and made her presence known, the immortal alicorn yawned and made her way to the others. “I suppose that would be a better story than not dieing horribly in a fire.” Renoir shot the Night Princess a flat look, but understood that she had a point, it would at least be a bit better than recalling the night of the massacre. With a deep breath, the crimson-and-black-eyed man began his tale.

“Well, it started on a boat to Windhelm...”

Labor Day

Glade was amazed at how quickly Reman could fall asleep when he wanted to, the pegasus was even more surprised that the man could sleep on stone just as readily as her family would rest on clouds. The was no actual cushioning to speak of, only some furs that had been haphazardly strewn across the stone slab, and the blankets were itchy, but the Imperial must have grown accustomed to the hard surface. The pregnant pony briefly considered catching forty winks herself, but reconsidered, she didn't think granite would be too comfortable, even if she was tired. With one last look at the unconscious man, Summer Glade began her way back to the others, ready to meet the group's newest female member. She was, however, surprised to find the everypony crowded around Renoir for story time.

“I had stowed away on a boat leaving Solstheim, bound for Skyrim.” The vampire nodded to acknowledge Glade's entrance, but quickly return to his tale. “I was sleeping in a long crate, but woke when something started to drip on me.” Renoir sipped from the odd concoction he had brewed minutes earlier, just something to help with his lack of sleep from the previous night. The old Breton felt no need to explain what was seeping into the box, for him, the answer was rather obvious. “After I righted myself, I took the time to looked at the liquid's source, and was none too pleased to find a corpse.”

“Weren't you in the cargo hold?” Glade asked the question before she realized the implications, after all, there shouldn't have been any reason for her to know about the storm that had been raging at the time. Thankfully, Renoir either didn't notice, or didn't care enough to call the flight-worthy werewolf on it.

“He'd managed to make it to the hold, but whatever was up top had mangled him beyond recognition.” A slight smile passed over the mage's lips as he recalled the mutilated body, such an unremarkable occurrence in his relatively long life, but it had been the beginning of something incredible. “I followed the trail he'd left, about half of the crew had run from... something on the deck, I really had no idea what I was heading towards.” Renoir chuckled, he knew that looking for trouble was one of the few surefire ways a vampire could meet his overdue death. But, that may have been his goal at the time, the former healer wasn't certain of his own motives half the time.

“That doesn't sound too smart.” Luna had never heard somepony tell a true story about facing danger, to her knowledge, most heroes were layabouts with nothing better to do than lie in hopes of getting some free drinks. However, nothing made sense to the Princess of Night anymore, not that she was complaining.

“It wasn't, and I knew that, but I have a sense of adventure.” The magic user shrugged, not really caring what the alicorn thought of him, one had to really try to offend the old Breton. “But, the real surprise came when I reached the deck.”

@#The Salty Guar, 4E 200@#

Renoir Belmont crouched to examine the slain Dunmer, one of the many sailors he had come across, and this one's death had been no less horrible. From the ribs down, there wasn't much in the way of meat left on the poor man's bones, it was downright savage in execution. It was the sort of violence the vampire had grown accustomed to, and combined with the wet ripping sound coming through the cabin walls, there was no doubt about what had caused the massacre. Through a crack in the poorly repaired ceiling, the old mage could see the moons high in the night sky, the werewolf outside must have booked the cruise at the wrong time.

This was cause for some concern, lycans and vampires were evolutionary competitors, their shared food source ensured it. Renoir was powerful, he knew that, Volkihar vampires were some of the strongest in Tamriel, second in strength only to Clan Quarra of Morrowind. That being said, only the Quarra were capable of besting a transformed werewolf in physical combat. If that beast reached him, the mage would be in serious trouble, magicka reserves exhaust after a time, but lycan stamina was more than legendary. The aged vampire picked up the iron sword from the felled Dunmer, he almost never carried weapons on him, so the weak, dull blade would have to suffice.

His unnaturally light footsteps made no sound or imprint on the snow-cover deck, leaving the feasting manbeast to his or her meal. Though the werewolf looked up between bites, it made no moved to attack Renoir, which was odd in itself, but the mage would not be fooled. After he took another step, a massive, clawed hand swiped across the vampire's field of vision. In a equally swift flash, the bandit-grade blade sliced into the thickly-muscled limed that had nearly taken the old wizard's head off. In a fit of fury the undead expert of destruction gave the monster a hook that could shatter the bones of lesser men, which was received with the fragmentation of whatever bit of the skull was hit. The werewolf pulled a dirty trick from its metaphorical sleeve, and slammed its full weight into the experienced vampire. The half-dead man and wolf crashed into the ship's railing, tripped over, and splashed into the arctic waters.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Shouldn't you two have frozen to death?” Lynnette wasn't quite sure that Renoir was capable of hypothermia, but Reman most certainly was.

“Some Divine intervention, or something along those lines, we caught a current and drifted to shore about ten miles north of Windhelm.” The older Breton was glad to see one of his own race with so much curiosity for her age, he was more than happy to answer her questions.

“Couldn't you have waited until sunrise to do anything?” Glade pointed out the critical flaw in Renoir's reasoning like it was nothing. Said vampire blinked a few times, taking in the information, before he really understood.

“Dammit.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight Sparkle was still reeling from her experience with one of Nirn's more voracious forces, whatever had been after her had wanted something. It must have found it, because she was still alive, or perhaps it was leaving her breathing for some insidious purpose. Either way, it was somehow connected to magic, and the Element wouldn't attempt any more without guidance from an experienced caster. The strange tendril had rifled through her memories and knowledge like a pickpocket searching his mark's purse for coin, it was both terribly deliberate and oddly gentle, enough to leave her mind intact while fulfilling its odd desire. It was times like this that Twilight turned to something she had trusted for much of her life: books.

The library in the animonculory was insubstantial, by the Element's standards, and consisted of just over two hundred tomes, many of which were related to the practice and use of the many magics of Nirn. This, of course, made the collection quite useless for her current endeavor, but the lavender mare had hopes that she would find something of value. That something came in the form of a obscenely large, black, leather-bound book without a title. Contained within the over-sized reader was a wide array of informational writings on the Divine and Daedric, even the artifacts awarded to heroes who gained a particular deity's favor. Actually, the print seemed to change ever few pages, perhaps the book was actually a group of related tomes bound in one package for the ease of use.

Twilight read every word, desperate for some clue as to what happened earlier. However, she could not stop her inner scholar from absorbing every ounce of knowledge that came her way, and this patchwork guide was the most complete source of information related to the various gods and goddesses of Tamriel. She read every bit form Akatosh to Zenithar, including the bit about Akatosh's elves fighting Lorkhan's humans since time immemorial, but she hadn't found a single reference related to tentacles that read thoughts. That was until she entered the M section under the Daedra catergory, and found three horrible possibilities.

The first was Molag Bal, the Prince of Domination and Damnation, also known as the Stealer of Souls and King of Rape. He was the creator of vampires, and apparently had some influence over the Ideal Masters of the Soul Cairn. If the vampire myths and popular fiction were to be believed, then they were monsters beyond equal, even Ursas feared their immortal terror. If the shabby-looking guide was to be believed, Molag Bal was much scarier than Hircine or Azure normally were. But there was very little about this Prince in the tome, perhaps that was for the best, the purple pony could hardly stomach the idea of something like that rooting through her personal thoughts.

The second was Mehrunes Dagon, also known as the Prince of Ambition, Destruction, and Revolution. According to a number of different sources, historical accounts, and Reman's own notes, Dagon had tried no less than three times to conquer Tamriel for himself. Twilight shuddered at the thought of demons from the vilest pits of Tartarus marching from fiery portals to lay waste to Equestria. Luckily, the Sacrifice of Martin Septim permanently sealed Nirn from any invasion from Oblivion, sadly, that protection did not extend to the Element's homeland.

The third and final possiblity came from (Hermaus/Hermious/Herma/Hurmeas/Hermeous) Mora, who was categorized in the M section because of the various spellings and the author of the first page chose not to offend anyone, so they just filed the Prince under the second half of his common name. The Prince of Knowledge, Memory, and Fate, also known as He With the Hard Name to Spell described as a seething mass of tentacles with many eyes and a number of crab-like claws. He lived in and infinitely huge library that contained every piece of information that existed or ever would exist, and it would take the multi-eyed Prince all of eternity to read them. Compared to the previous two, Whatchamacallit Mora seemed fairly neutral, occupied only by the pursuit of knowledge. While none of the Princes should be thought of as good, Twilight was somewhat relieved that this one was the most likely possibility.

However, she couldn't help but feel that she was a pawn in some game of inter-dimensional chess played by the gods.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir's story had been derailed by Glade's comment, so the five were back to conversing casually. Introductions had been made, and they were all getting along famously, nothing worth noting really happened for the first hour or so, until a certain vampire made a seemingly small offer.

“Anyone else care for some?” The older Breton swirled a glass of reddish-purple liquid, some spiced wine from Solitude, a gift from a friend that worked in the Blue Palace. It was about ten in the morning, Luna should have been asleep, and Glade would have been on duty, but Lynnette was partaking without a word.

“I suppose I'll have some.” The Princess of Night didn't think a single glass could hurt, but she noticed the lycan pegasus abstaining form the drink, and felt a slight pang of guilt. “On second thought, perhaps I should pass.”

“Why?” Lynnette was in the dark, but that would likely change very quickly. Luna and the former guardspony exchanged glances, a silent method of communication and planning. The two knew about the woman's former relationship with a certain Imperial, and admitting that they somehow broken the species barrier might have unpredictable effects on the archer.

“I'm pregnant.” Glade's answer was simple, and inevitable. She figured Lynnette would find out sooner or later, but perhaps she could keep the father's identity secret for now. Unknown to the future mother, Renoir was about to cover her with a lie before she let the metaphorical cat out of the bag. The young archer's reaction was not foreseen in any possible scenario.

“That's cute!” The lithe hunter's arm wrapped around Glade's shoulder, a too-friendly hug that was very unexpected by any of the room's occupants. Despite the pregnant pony's first thoughts, the Breton woman was not delusional, quite the contrary, she was just a very sociable person. “But why are you here, wouldn't your home be a safer place?”

“We're on a diplomatic mission, Glade is one of our bodyguards.” Fluttershy wasn't lying, but she also wasn't saying everything needed.

“Oh, so you're all supposed to meet the Emperor, right?” Lynnette was answered by resounding nods, and continued to throw Glade under the carriage. “Does the father know yet?”

“Actually, he's the one that told me.” The lycan spoke through grit teeth, she was still peeved about being kept out of the know for so long, she was more than offended.

“And he just let you come to Skyrim?” For the Breton woman, it was a very strange thought. Granted, it was possible that females in the ponies' homeland were strongly independent, putting oneself in danger when pregnant was, for lack of a better term, stupid.

“He knows that she's well protected.” Reman's voice carried the same haggard tone as his body, though he seemed to have found some rest in his brief coma. “I'm actually the expedition's other bodyguard, and an acquaintance of the foal's father.” Somehow, lying was second-nature when it benefited the Imperial's interests. The man walked in, followed by Applejack, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Spinny, Twilight, and Rainbow Dash. How he collected all of them, nobody would ever know. “Now, Luna, I think it's time we went about our business.”

“Meaning?” The Princess of Night knew that something was up, but Reman's loyalty was to Equestria and the Empire in somewhat-equal amounts. She would have to listen to his judgment on things related to politics and diplomatic business.

“We need to let your sister know that Emperor Titus Mede II will be arriving in Solitude in twelve days, we can arrange a meeting then.” While the Imperial had been speaking, the alicorn had already produced a quill, and was writing the message with haste.

“Wouldn't it make more sense to have my sister come to Skyrim?” The dark blue mare raised a very good point, but it was very quickly shot down by the human spellsword.

“All diplomatic business with the Empire is carried out in the Imperial Palace, which is in the Imperial City, in Cyrodiil.” Reman sighed, things were starting to pile on top of each others, and there was no end in sight.

Heading Out Again

Princess-

A window of opportunity has presented itself, and we will be able to return to Equestria in just over a fortnight if everything goes as planned. Titus Mede II, the current Emperor, will be arriving in Solitude in twelve days for a dinner with the High Queen of Skyrim, we can arrange a meeting between the two of you at that time. That does not mean that you will be speaking to him in Solitude, we actually have to wait until he returns to the Imperial City for any true political negotiations to take place. It would be best if you began preparations as soon as you receive this, even if there is still a chance that the Emperor may refuse, it is better to be ready.

-Reman

PS – Sorry for not writing sooner – Luna.

The parchment disappeared in a puff of dark blue flames, which was amazing to a certain Breton who was all too surprised to see his beloved Destruction magic used for efficient communication. Renoir knew that it wasn't the same as his own magefire, but it was close enough that he wanted to learn the spell that enable such wondrous information transfer.

“How long until we head out?” Princess Luna was somewhat refreshed after sending her sister the letter, being gone from home for so long must have put some worry on her older sibling, so it felt wonderful to bring some relief to her. The dark blue alicorn also knew that leaving for Solitude early wouldn't affect the arrival of the Emperor in any way, but the question seemed necessary.

“As soon as you all want to.” Reman took a sip of the brew his friend had made earlier, the strangely bitter drink was both fragrant and unpleasant, but it did the trick. The Imperial noble didn't really care when the group made their way to Skyrim's capital, only that they made it in time for him to speak to his relatives. “We just need to grab as much gold as we can carry to pay for lodging.” The lycan neglected to add that the coinage would be used to bribe any officials that might wish to imprison the ponies, but the unspoken words were well understood. “Solitude's inn is very nice, but much too expensive for most to rent for extended periods of time.”

“We could always ask my friend for a few rooms at the castle.” Renoir knew that the barracks were only at half capacity, the majority of Solitude's guards were garrisoned at a small stronghold just west of the city's gates. The small police force would make for good company, even if nature made it difficult to tolerate the presence of law-enforcement personnel.

“Right, because they'll open up the Pelagius Wing for us.” Lynette gave her rebuttal in a flat, dismissing voice, she was clearly unimpressed by the vampire's reasoning. The older Breton huffed at the youth's brazen disrespect, but said nothing to the archer in response.

“Just be sure to bring some black roses for her.” Reman knew about his friend's contact, such a scandalous thing, from Jarl Elisif's own court no less. Renoir gave his comrade a light punch in the shoulder, light meant it would only leave a deep bruise, and laughed at the man's joke.

“She's a Destruction mage, not an alchemist.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Rarity, despite being calm during the party's meeting, and only voiced her aye during the vote to relocate to Solitude as soon as all members were packed, the alabaster mare was buzzing with excitement. If Skyrim's capital was anything like Canterlot, fashion would have a huge presence in the city's culture and social standings. If large sums of money were needed to rent a room at the local inn, then everything else would be similarly high-priced, and nothing sold like fine clothing and jewelry. The Element of Generosity was putting the finishing touches on her latest creation while she packed her kit and sparse belongings. “Marvelous, simply marvelous.”

Her little pet project was a wonderful and sinfully luxurious set of robes modeled after a portrait she'd seen in one of Reman's many books on Imperial history. The main suit was a deep crimson, covered by an overcoat of royal purple, a large ruby was sewn into the neckline. The white unicorn had received her inspiration from a woodcut titled The Last Septim, some tribute to a martyr from the Third Era, and she thought the lycan would enjoy the gift. “And to think I almost forgot about the collarbone.” Rarity absentmindedly noted the physiological discrepancy between humans and equines, glad to see her earlier work hadn't been forgotten. Maybe she could use the robes to gain the attention of any designers in Solitude, surely they would be drawn to another master's work.

“We'll see how Radiant Raiments' owner likes this.” The Element smiled as she thought about the shop's name, it couldn't be anything but a boutique.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight was packing her notes away, using her mouth and hooves to avoid magic. It had been hours since the earlier attack, but she wouldn't even risk the use of Equestrian magic until she was safe at home. The lavender mare hadn't told anypony about the incident, the scary tentacle still had a prevalent hold in her memory, a little voice in the back of her head said it wouldn't be good to mention it. Nevertheless, she worked as diligently as she could without arcane assistance, and cleared her workstation in record time. Twilight was about to toss her saddlebags on, until she noticed the two dark soul gems from earlier had somehow rolled into one of the pouches.

The lavender mare wasn't about to put those in her mouth, so she was left only with the option she most feared. It was an easy choice to leave them in her bag, it wasn't like they could do anything without being used to enchant or recharge an item. What was the worst that could happen with the inert gems? Twilight's gut said they were safe enough to transport, and she wasn't about to argue, so why was her stomach turning at the thought of bringing the soul batteries to Equestria?

“It's probably just nerves.” The Element took one more moment to look over the animonculory, it may have been the lest time she would ever see a feat of Dwemer engineering up close.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“We just got here, and now we're going to some place called Loneliness?” Rainbow Dash hadn't packed much, neither had Fluttershy, and the two were sitting in the foyer while the others readied themselves. That was until a few moments ago, when Applejack moseyed into the front room, her trademark stetson obscuring part of her face from view.

“I think it's called Solitude, not Loneliness.” The yellow pony was claustrophobic when in came to cities, the large crowds and unfamiliar territory would only worsen those fears. But she had to admit that meeting the Imperial version of Celestia would be exciting, but Princess Luna might be the only one who would have the pleasure.

“If ya ask me, ain't nothing wrong 'bout stayin' on th' move.” The Element of Honesty was more than accustomed to arduous labor, and marching across the sub-zero terrain of Skyrim's northern coast would just be another exercise for her. Pegasi may have had more insulation against the cold, but earth ponies had the endurance for long hauls, something that only augmented Applejack's natural stamina. “'Sides, we came this far, what's another hundred miles?”

“About three days' travel, give or take a few hours for weather.” Lynette was the group's newest member, by her own account, she was a childhood friend of Reman's. Regardless of the truth, the archer seemed to be well at ease around the supernatural men that called those ruins home. The brunette's hair was done in a ponytail, she very likely hadn't meant for the pun, it was just easier to keep the shoulder-length locks from being tangled in shrubs or grabbed by an enemy. “Then the real trouble starts.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” So far, Rainbow Dash and the others had faced subzero temperatures, grueling winds, and a bandit attack, so how could walking into a city be any more challenging? Much to the polychromatic mare's surprise, Lynette looked worried about something, the woman paused for a few seconds before giving her answer.

“You know of the civil war, right?” When the ponies nodded, the Breton immediately understood the problem. Reman, for all the nice aspects of his personality, was a very secretive man, and he could hardly be blamed for it. The archer guessed her ex-fiance had neglected to tell the equines everything they needed to know about the conflict in Skyrim, including the trouble they might find when trying to enter Solitude. “Let's just say that Reman has family in high places, and being seen with colorful ponies might not go over too well with the locals.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Reman was polishing his sword, the Skyforge blade had a few flecks of rust. They weren't caused by weather or poor treatment, most metals had the tendency to corrode when exposed to raw magicka. This meant the Imperial would need to refine his skills once more to keep his armor from rotting off his body. The spellsword huffed in annoyance and tilted a bottle of mead to his lips, only to have it swatted away by his pack-mate.

“I can't drink for eleven months, so you aren't getting another drop of the stuff until I deliver.” Glade had noticed her forebear's addiction, and knew of alcohol's impotence when it came to the fortitude of the lycanthropic system, so Reman's slight alcoholism was purely mental.

“I'm dry for a year?” The lycan wasn't about to say anything that may upset the pregnant mare, there was too much at risk for that. With a sorrowful look, the Imperial threw the Black-Briar Reserve into the furnace. Summer Glade couldn't believe that worked. The man looked his pack-mate up and down, sizing her up for something. Reman huffed before he spoke once more. “I suppose I'll have to find something else to calm my nerves.”

“Ignoring how creepy that was, what's up with the statue?” The lycan mare pointed to a bronze, human-like figure that seemed completely solid. It was very surprising when her forebear rapped his fist against its metal surface, the hollow banging made its use very apparent.

“Dwemer armor, sturdy enough to survive a cave in.” The ancient artifact was one of the few suits of armor that Reman would actually wear the helmet made for it, if only for the amazing facial covering. The eyes of Dwarven helmets didn't restrict vision, which was odd when one considered the fact that they were the same size as the sensory organs they resembled. The bronze metal was incredibly strong, it had to be in order to survive tunnel collapses, and was not affected by raw magicka's deteriorating qualities. There was only one problem with the elven kit, and the Imperial made it very clear. “I'm going to need some help putting this on.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Princess Celestia was reading over her newest piece of correspondence, the only fact that she hadn't anticipated was traveling to Cyrodiil. If anything, Skyrim seemed a more familiar territory, even if she had never actually seen the frozen country. She was half-tempted to reply, but knew it would be dangerous if any outsider were to see the puff of magical flames accompanying the letter. Besides, it would be more interesting to see everypony's reactions when the Solar Princess gave them some attention-grabbing news. Hircine was quite the free talker now that he was able to walk with others once more, and had been more than willing to divulge information over games of chess and the like.

“Has anything changed?” Celestia and Shining Armor were in the castle gardens, near the portal to Nirn, but their focus was on a certain statue. Shortly after sending the Elements and her sister to the alien world, the alicorn had noticed a number of hairline fractures spreading across Discord's stone prison. Almost immediately, the Aspect of Guile took its own interest in the chaos god, though it had given no reason other than to uphold its obligations to Equestria, as per the binding contract.

“No, your majesty, the cracks seem to heal after a few hours, but we don't know why.” Shining Armor had his own theory behind why Discord was only partially destroying his prison, but he was no scientist, and his hunch was likely incorrect. The young captain thought the fluctuating levels of bloodshed and chaotic battles had a direct effect on the abomination's ability to exert his eldritch powers.

“The Dark Waters are churning, Oblivion is waiting to receive its own.” The voice was Guile's, not Hircine's, the two were very different in demeanor and compliance, but neither had been violent. Truthfully, that was the first time the Daedra had spoken with being asked a question, so perhaps the augmented Dremora was being truthful.

“The old Sheogorath's favored son is trying to break free.” Hircine's voice came from the body that time, the Huntsman looked at the gestalt of all Equestria's chaos with disdain. Though he wasn't the Prince of Order, the Ascended Dwemer was a firm believer in the natural order, and the Madgod seemed to always go out of his way to break that all-encompassing flow of life. “Unless the civil war in Skyrim drags on for another year or so, there is nothing to worry about, though.”

The Ultimate Poker Face

They looked unorthodox, any casual observer would say that much as the motley crew walked over the final ridge before Dawnstar. The town's formerly nightmare-plagued residents were glad to see the familiar sight of Reman and Renoir, the two men had helped numerous people around the small township. Friendly waves came from the villagers as the humans strode into town, but curious looks fell upon the ponies, their pastel colors unheard of in the Pale.

“Odd lookin' Daedra ya got there.” One of the Nord guardsmen had been brave enough to approach the bunch, not that they were any sort of intimidating. One classic trait that could be applied to the simple protectors of Skyrim's many settlements was the complete lack of fear they presented their enemies. “I bet they make good carriage pullers.”

“Actually, they-” Lynette tried to speak her mind, the adorable ponies weren't Daedric in nature, nor were they workhorses. Sadly, the petite Breton was cut off by the armored Dawnstar Guard.

“Wouldn't mind havin' a few Daedra horses, m'self.” The strange Nord just walked away after that, leaving the eleven to their own devices. Even the snow seemed to stop falling as silence descended upon them, the unusual day seemed like it was trying to outdo itself in Tamriellic oddity. If things weren't out of the norm from Dawnstar, the newest ship to port was worth noting, if only for its absolute lack of unique qualities.

“Sail on, my Cyrus, sail on.” Reman only quoted the old sea song because he recognized the style of ship, typical from Hammerfell, the all-Redguard crew only cemented the possibility. The lycan and one of the men acknowledged each other as they passed, just a courtesy between strangers.

“Make any other friends of questionable quality?” Lynette was merely badgering the Imperial, she was well aware that the list of seedy characters an average adventurer knew was rather lengthy. Still, it felt good to pester her childhood compatriot once more.

“I really don't like being outside in this place.” Fluttershy's eyes darted around the open, harbor-side town, almost as though she expected some trouble to materialize from the ground. Despite her paranoid attitude, most of the citizenry had returned to their own business, it seemed that magical, pastel-colored ponies weren't enough to warrant blatant fear and mistrust in Skyrim.

“I agree completely.” Glade was lying through her teeth, she absolutely loved being outside, she also despised being bundled up in three quilts with every fiber of her being. Reman had insisted on the added insulation, even though her natural resistance to cold would suffice, the more experienced lycan would have no arguments when it came to the safety of his unborn offspring. The group was about to head into the Windpeak Inn, but Rainbow Dash gave them slight pause.

“One of those guys is headin' our way.” The Element of Loyalty was correct, one of the Redguards was walking towards the odd bunch. The desert-dweller seemed friendly enough, which was cause for the three humans to reach to their weapons, but when he held up a welcoming hand, tension slightly lessened.

“Afternoon, Cyrodiil, you're keeping some strange company, if you don't mind me saying.” The dark-skinned man had cornrowed hair and walked in a way that exuded his guerrilla combat expertise. Renoir had him pegged for an Alik'r marauder, but there was no way to be certain, the stranger’s accent was from a port town and nowhere near raiding hotspots. The people of Hammerfell were very traditional, and would only be so direct with someone if there was something they wanted to know about that person, this was another indication in a field of mixed signals. “My name is Thaik, by the way.”

“Reman of Kvatch.” The Imperial extended his hand, expecting to receive a shake, but he had spent enough time in his brief journey through Hammerfell to know how foreign the gesture was. When the possible marauder did not return the favor, the lycan had a sense of the man's character, and it wasn't shining in any light.

“Renoir Belmont, of Daggerfall.” The Breton mage bowed in greeting, which was returned in kind by the Redguard. “May you find the oasis at midday” Thaik blinked, he obviously hadn't been expecting the masked man to know his native tongue. Speaking Common, he realized his accent must have been fairly thick if foreigner were able to pick up on it.

“And may the sun show mercy.” That was the traditional exchange between strangers, a welcome facet from home in the strange land. The Redguard remembered a mistake and quickly righted himself, for all he knew, the motley crew before him could have been very powerful people and horse... things. “Pardon, madam, but I seem to have momentarily forgotten about you.”

“No offense taken, sir.” The marauder fell on his ass and crawled back about twelve feet. The dark blue horse just spoke, and the three people with it weren't fazed by its female voice.

“Demon!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Marcus looked his only son, and was not disappointed by what he saw. Antonius was barking orders at a squadron of raw recruits, a display of his martial expertise and point of Pride for the Tullius family. At the same time, Uriel was at the other end of the courtyard, training a handful of men as negotiators, a role only Imperials were allowed to fill. There was no prejudice, merely racial advantage that benefited the Empire.

“Are you trying to get your family killed, recruit?” Antonius was shouting at a young man, a Dunmer from Markarth that had accidentally let his sword go during a swing, a grievous error that would surely result in death during a skirmish.

“No, sir!” The greying Imperial shoved the elf towards the fallen weapon, something most armies would have seen as harsh. Those nations didn't know the Legion.

“Well, you're practically inviting a Stormcloak to cleave your wife in half!” The heavily-armored Antonius pounded his own breastplate, the almost instinctive signal to rally shared by all warring people. “Now, get in there and cut the bastard down!”

“And that's why the Legion always endures.” Marcus chuckled to his guest, who was a unexpected, but not unwelcome, surprise. The Emperor wasn't scheduled to arrive for another twelve days, in truth, it would be the monarch's double arriving on the Katariah. The real Titus Mede was leaning against the balcony alongside his fellow countryman. “Though, I'm certain you already knew that, Your Grace.”

“We are both men here, General, there is little need for formality, neither of us have enough years left on Nirn for any of that.” The Emperor was slightly pleased to see Marcus raise his glass in agreement, but it may also have been an excuse to down the rest of his brandy. “I trust the family is well?”

“Numerous and far-spread, as usual.” The aged warrior was unused to being in polite company when near His Majesty, though he had shared an audience with the Emperor on numerous occasions. “But, we're finally returning Reman to the flock.”

“Young Reman is alive?” Titus recalled the scamp, he was the troublesome twin that kicked his knee when they first met, he always liked that one. The Emperor had also attended the boy's symbolic funeral, nothing quite cemented the finality of death like bodiless burial. “He must be twenty-three years old, now.”

“He and Uriel turn twenty-three in a few months.” The general poured the Emperor and himself another glass, alcohol would help with the nerves of it all. Especially with the request he would be making after the monarch settled in, why couldn't things ever be easy for Marcus? “When they were little, they made me feel young again, now I just feel ancient.”

“Believe me, I understand your pain.” Titus' own great-grandchildren were in their teens, if Tullius felt ancient, the Emperor surely felt like a Second Era statuette. “Not a day goes by that I don't find some new ache or pain.” The royal man barely had any room to speak of pain, though, as General Tullius had served in the Great War, and both were very much aware of that glaring fact. “Skyrim's weather is terrible on my joints.”

“Some of my old scars flare up when it snows, but you barely notice the everyday pain after a few weeks.” Marcus rotated his shield arm's shoulder in emphasis, the achy limb would also serve as leverage in the near future. If the sky got any darker, it would be the very near future. “Hopefully, Uriel will avoid the mistakes of his predecessors.”

“Right, perhaps we should avoid the topic of conflict, shall we?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Sorry about startling you earlier.” Princess Luna was keeping a friendly amount of space between her and the marauder, the very last thing anypony needed was a scene in the Windpeak Inn.

“It's alright, I'm a jumpy person on the best of days.” Thaik was a raider from Hammerfell; he and his warband had to be nervous at all times, otherwise, ambushes were bound to happen.

“I'm more surprised your crew didn't come to your aid.” Renoir wasn't being rude by accident, he was deliberately probing for more information. One didn't live for a century without being forceful when the situation called for it, and this was crying from the rooftops to pry as much as possible. However, it was possible the vampiric Breton may have been overstepping his boundaries.

“Those are just some men I hired to get me out of the country.” The Redguard looked into the distance, far beyond the walls and snow that surrounded him. The thousand-yard stare was familiar to many seated at the table, a sterling reminder of what its owner had been through, and a memorial to those lost. “My real crew died in the Alik'r about a week ago.”

“I trust they died with their swords in hand?” Reman wasn't going to waste his breath saying he was sorry, or how he felt bad for the man's loss, to do so would be insulting to their memory. When Thaik nodded, the Imperial signaled the bartender to bring the raider another few bottles, there was nothing more to be done about them, crying and mourning wouldn't bring them back. “I'm certain they died well.”

“Like true warriors, they fought for what they believed in.” Though the marauder did not mention it, the combat veterans had a glimmer of who the band had been fighting, but they weren't exactly in the best place to talk of it.

“Pardon, but you've traveled a long way, why come to Skyrim?” That was something Lynette could figure out, the Alik'r portion of Hammerfell was nowhere near the border, and Dawnstar was much farther than that. It was strange for someone to go that distance, unless it was for revenge, but the warrior hadn't said anything about hunting the culprit down.

“I just had the urge to come here, can't really explain it.” With Thaik's shrugging shoulders, the conversation took a turn to religion, and followed the usual pattern for the various Divines and peculiarities of worship in the various nations of Tamriel. Across the bar, a much more interesting conversation was taking place, between three Elements and a werewolf, it was something on a level unseen since the days of Saint Alessia.

“This tastes like honey, but it's almost too different.” Fluttershy had been drinking quite a bit of Nord mead, and she had recently asked why her stomach was minty-chilled. Rarity and Applejack had confirmed their suspicions that their friend and alcohol were not to mix under any circumstances, but they tested the hypothesis in the least suitable environment.

“Mead will do that, trust me.” Glade had never actually tasted the Nord drink, but her father had let her sample the stuff when she was younger, and the unique taste had stuck with her. Granted, her uncle had brewed it, and used quite a bit of added ingredients, so it was likely to be very different from other examples.

“Too bad you can't have any.” The Element of Kindness was hoping to share the experience, but she knew how Rarity and Applejack felt about drinking. They unicorn and earth pony turned to the pegasus between them, curious as to why she was unable to partake in the distilled beverage. It was no secret that Summer Glade enjoyed tossing back a few, she had done that quite a bit after her battle with Hircine, so why was she abstaining now?

“Don't give me that look, I'm trying to stay alert.” The bleached pegasus was obviously dodging the unspoken questions, she'd even attempted to hide behind her dyed mane to avoid the Element of Honesty's eyes.

“So you're going to drink when we get back to Equestria?” Fluttershy better not have been taking things where Glade thought they were going. It wasn't that she was embarrassed, or even Lynette's possible reaction, the crowd posed the largest threat, even if the other patrons had payed them no mind since they had entered the establishment. Whatever gods were in charge of the flow of events, they seemed to laugh at her plight, because they lined everything up perfectly. “Won't that be bad for the baby?”

“You're pre-” A hoof clamped over Rarity's mouth before any more could escape her lips, but the damage was done. Even if the gossip-queen's mind hadn't immediately wrapped around the juicy detail in an equally spicy tale of, in her own words, a forbidden and tainted romance, another of the Element Bearers would make sure the news was spread to the highest reaches of Aetherius.

“YOU'RE HAVING A BABY?!” Pinkie appeared from under the table, party favor and pointy hat already equipped and eager for action. In that moment, the entire inn went silent, one could have heard the wind, had it not similarly quieted. All eyes were on the table of ponies, ragged, tired, forlorn, but none were angry or upset, just slightly annoyed at the loud outburst. After a few moments, they returned to their own drinks and conversations, the incident already forgotten. Dawnstar was a mining town, most residents were too exhausted or stressed to care about some colorful equines and their unborn children. In truth, the greatest reactions were from those that personally knew the mares.

Luna had no visible reaction, she already knew about the little surprise, it wasn't news to her in any form.

Renoir was wearing a mask, though he was slack-jawed at the display, as a gentleman, such things were unacceptable in his crimson eyes.

Lynette had both hands in the air, she had given a small whoop in approval, just her being silly and happy that the gloom and doom of her group's conversation was temporarily forgotten.

Rainbow Dash spit her drink all over the man next to her, but he had been passed out for the previous twenty minutes, so there was no harm done.

Twilight had already pieced together the puzzle of the foal's paternity, and was silently congratulating and worrying for the strange couple.

Even Reman's stoic helmet was having difficulty playing it cool.

Orcs Orcs Orcs Orcs

“That was... odd.” Lynette's observations were as astute as ever, the Breton maiden was spot on in her statement. The Windpeak Inn incident was far behind them now, but the news of Glade's pregnancy was still fresh in most of the ponies' minds, and they were positive of the unborn foal’s heritage. That being said, none of them brought it up, much to Reman's relief. The party was on the road to Solitude once more, and it would be another sixteen hours until they reached the main gates.

“Quite.” Renoir agreed with his kinswoman, but he wasn't really paying attention. Actually, he was doing his very best to tune everything out, but his heightened senses were making the task more difficult than anything had the right to be. A certain pink pony wasn't helping, either.

“What are you having? Do have any name ideas? Can I be the godmother? Can I babysit?” Pinkie had been bugging Glade since she woke, and barring an unexpected ambush, there was little chance of her stopping. The former guardspony payed her no mind, it was just the Element's way of showing happiness. The lycan pony kept her eyes forward and answered every question that came as simply as possible, anything that may help bring the stream of words to an end.

“Come on, Pinks, let her be.” Rainbow Dash was sympathetic for her fellow pegasus, even if it was for the wrong reason. The Element of Loyalty figured the ex-guard was going to need all the rest she could get for the task ahead, even if she had help, raising a foal would be harder than anything Glade had done before, including fighting a god.

“Sorry, guess I got a little carried away.” Pinkie scratched behind her head, though how she was able to have a leg up and still walk the same was a mystery. The other ponies were just happy to get some quiet, the added silence was sure to make the party much safer.

“Not a problem.” Glade kept her eyes on Reman, trying to find any indicator of worry or fear in his stride. The Imperial had been oddly silent the previous night, he hadn't even tried to sneak any alcohol before bedding down. The lycan slowed to a stop and held up a fist, the signal to stop walking and keep quiet. He and Renoir seemed to scan the area for a few seconds, before they deemed it safe to start again. That had been the third time in the past two hours they had done this, it was almost certain that someone was following them, and impossible to know the pursuer's will.

A startled yelp from Lynette caught the groups off guard, and the defending party members immediately readied their response. The ponies were scared, Fluttershy very nearly had a heart attack, but nothing prepared them for this moment.

“Got a letter for you, your hands only.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Uriel Tullius had finished his duties for the day, and efficiency that had propelled him through the Legion's ranks. The Imperial negotiator sat on one of Solitude's many benches, and occasionally scratched at the scar on his cheek. He had received the wound in a duel a little over two years ago, some lout thought he could best a Legionnaire in single combat. At least he got in one good hit before he died, such was life, just try and make your mark on the world and your enemies. That was a struggle the Imperial knew all too well.

Identical twins weren't very common to Cyrodiil's natives, and the elder was considered superior to the latecomer. Uriel learned how to hold a sword at the age of five, right when Reman discovered an affinity for magicka manipulation, the beginnings of a mage. The younger brother shot a bull's-eye with a bow, the elder would incinerate the target. Reman had been better at everything, other noble families took notice of the first twin, and only rarely acknowledged Uriel for his hard work. Their older brother, Julius, even picked on the elder twin less, and the runt was made the target of almost everything.

But, things more than turned around during adolescence. Uriel's hard work made him strong; he would work the fields and mine alongside the servants, something his more posh siblings would have deemed dirty. The Imperial was just as strong as any Nord or Orc, and it wasn't by benefit of race or misfortune in upbringing. If the twins dueled, the younger would easily beat Reman in melee. A smile spread over the brooding man's features as he thought about seeing his brother again. As much as Uriel was angry with the prodigy that was his doppelganger, it would still be wonderful to have him back.

Chuckling, the man stood and began his way back to Castle Dour, it was almost time to start getting ready for the reunion.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Antonius was spending his off time in Solitude's grand temple, praying for all who had family in the war, Imperial and Stormcloak alike. There was a sort of unspoken respect between the officers of both sides, but that kindness didn't extend to the battlefield, the reality of war didn't change just because one's enemy nodded his head to acknowledge one's own skill. The legate came from a long line of service, his own father held the same rank as he when the man was growing up, and it warmed his heart to know that there was still honor to be had in such dark times. The greying Imperial's thoughts turned to his own family, as they often did during his pondering. Antonius' wife and daughters were safe and sound in Cyrodiil, and likely in the same position as he found himself in. The women of the Tullius family had yet to be notified of Reman's survival, it was meant to be a surprise during his next visit, and it would surely help bring Senna out of her sadness. Antonius' wife never really recovered, she had lost two of her children with a month of each other, and the man felt for her continued grief.

The chapel bell tolled, it was around suppertime, and them greying man had spent most of his day indoors. The legate's joint popped as he stood, his body was happy for the strain, it served a reminder of his advancing age. Antonius briefly wondered when one of his sons would make him a grandfather, he certainly wasn't getting any younger.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Reman looked at the envelope, it was the standard one found in Tamriel, nothing at all unusual about it. The wax seal, however, was a point of great interest. A crimson dragon pressed into the shape of the Imperial Diamond adorned the letter's lips, marking it as official correspondence from General Tullius or the Emperor himself. The lycan wasn't sure which of those two worried him more.

“Go ahead and put him down.” With his friend's word, Renoir dropped the courier. It went without saying that the man ran as soon as he touched the ground, and he covered the distance to the next ridge faster than any biped had the right to. Security wasn't an issue, no one would believe some frightened man's tale of magical horses and the highest Imperial officer in Skyrim. As soon as the package carrier was out of sight, Reman broke the seal and examined the letter in its entirety.

“Anything good?” Glade didn't know who had sent the envelope, but she understood that it was important, she'd seen enough of the princess' letters to recognize royal correspondence. Much to her surprise, the Imperial regarded the written message as though it was a poorly-written novel. Though the pegasus recognized the red dragon from numerous places, Rose had shown her war banners and such during her visits, she was unable to discern why only a few of them had a black dragon within a red diamond. Upon seeing the same crest in the letter's signature, the lycan mare's confusion was only compounded, and she was left wondering.

“The illustrious General Tullius has a surprise for us up ahead.” Reman didn't know why his grandfather had done so, but the old man had seen fit to give the runaway more luxury than he was accustomed to. There would be an armed escort waiting by the rode to the Pale's war camp, not an invasion force, but the standard size for a noble's bodyguard. Twelve men would be accompanying the party, and as they trudged over the final hill, the armored bodies contrasted with the snowy ground enough to see them from the considerable distance that separated the two groups.

Fluttershy looked at what appeared to be a small army with no small amount of fear, even if she was used to seeing guards, soldiers in war were an entirely different story. The Element of Kindness ducked behind the cloaked Breton for cover, though she wasn't shaking or trembling, so that was an improvement. The diplomatic party continued their march, and only slowed when reaching conversational distance with their newest bodyguards.

“Captain!” One of the Nords saluted Reman, clearly mistaking him for Uriel. Renoir and the ponies gave the Imperial and odd look, while Lynette helped herself to a laugh. Political intrigue was something she had grown up with, being a noble's daughter and living so close to the Tullius family, it was only natural that she developed a taste for such things. Regardless of how any of his party-mates felt about the situation, the lycan held up a hand.

“You're thinking of my brother.” Between the two siblings was much more than a familial resemblance, up until late adolescence there was very little to distinguish the two of them. Luckily, the younger twin had been bulking up before Reman had been afflicted with lycanthropy, so there shouldn't have been any difficulty telling them apart. Shouldn't being the operative word.

“Captain Tullius has a brother?” It was at that moment one could have heard the buzzing of a bee's wings in the distance, even the wind had quieted to make way for a pregnant pause. The lycan could feel his comrades' eyes on him as the words sank in, it wasn't a challenge for anyone to put the pieces together and learn the second-biggest secret the man had ever kept.

“Well, 'e only looks jus' like 'im” An Imperial with more than a few missing teeth stepped out of the group, he was an obvious local and walked with the same gait many of the natives shared. “Not a bit o' resemblance.” The sarcastic negotiator turned on his heels and faced his kinsman, a hand extended in greeting. “Name's Macabee, nice t' meet'cha.”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” Reman shook the man's hand and vomited inside his mouth a bit, it was unlikely the enlisted man had ever seen a proper bath. “Now, I believe we have a schedule to keep.” The man with missing teeth perked up as he realized his own lack of motivation, he turned to the others in his guard squad and got the on track.

“You 'eard the man, jump to!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Marcus Tullius and Titus Mede II sat in Castle Dour's private lounge, both with very different reasons. The Emperor was unable to walk around the city, it would cause too much commotion and blow his cover, but he was more than content to laze about the lavish room. The Imperial general, however, was indoors awaiting the arrival of his grandson and the mysterious envoy. He may have been getting on in years, but the aged warrior still knew when the boy had something to hide, so there was something about the Equestrians he had with him that was troubling. The clues did nothing to narrow the possibilities, there were simply too many unknowns involved.

“So, General, who is it young Reman would like me to meet?” Titus had heard the story, but it had yet to sink in, the parts involving magical horses were the only ones he had difficulty comprehending. Which meant almost the entire tale was too farfetched to be believed by the elderly ruler.

“If I recall correctly, one of their matriarchs, a Princess Luna is being accompanied by some of their nation's heroes.” Tullius played with a small toothpick, flicking it from side to side as he thought.

“A show of force?” The Emperor was accustomed to death threats, in truth, he had come to Skyrim fully expecting to die at the hands of an assassin. His Penitus Oculatus would be taking care of that soon enough, but for someone to have the gall to blatantly walk into Solitude...

“Not quite, they seem to have peace on their minds.” The aged general stared out the window, issuing a silent payer that the storm he felt brewing on the horizon would be gentler than he anticipated. In truth, Marcus Tullius knew that history was repeating itself, that his children and their own children would have to fight the same enemies that plagued Tamriel in ages past, and there wasn't much that could be done. “But I personally recommend keeping them at an arm's length.”

“We'll see how things go, then I'll make my decision.”

Even Further Lack of Orcs

Special thanks to electreXcessive and ProtheanBrony for filling in for my usual guy.
You two still have that free request, by the way
@#@#@#@#@#@#

Solitude was breathtaking in the dusk's shadowy caress, the sea-side mountains that held the thriving capital made for a wonderful contrast against the early stars and the city's burning hearths. The ponies were only allowed a brief moment to take in the sights before the the Blue Palace's facade obscured the lights.

“We won't be using the main gates?” Princess Luna looked at the towering sea arch in apprehension, not that she was scared by the Legionnaires that accompanied her group.

“The Penitus Oculatus are waiting for you on the bridge, ma'am.” An officer moved himself onto a small barge, a little smaller than the average fishing vessel, and motioned the motley crew aboard. “I'll be dropping you off at Castle Dour's auxiliary entrance.”

“That seems like a lot of trouble just to get everypony inside.” Twilight's observation was astute as usual, the roundabout way into the city was overly complicated and seemingly pointless. Fortunately, Reman was able to aptly explain the reasoning behind the tactical movement.

“The Emperor is oddly paranoid about assassins.” The Imperial took a seat on one of the barge's rails, completely unfazed by the prospect of falling into freezing water. However, the lycan seemed oddly nervous about something, and it certainly wasn't seeing his ruler. “No one has attempted anything like that since the Oblivion Crisis.”

“Everyone learned the horrible consequences of assassination, so many people think a personal bodyguard is unnecessary.” The Third Era had passed long before Renoir was born, but the undead mage was very familiar with the history, and even more intimately aware of the political views of the Empire's citizenry. The elder man was only stating the facts for the ponies, it wouldn't do them any good to go into a situation like this completely blind.

“Where exactly will we be going?” Rarity knew that Castle Dour was their destination, but she wasn't certain if she had seen the stalwart fortification. The fashionable pony caught a coastal breeze and shivered against Applejack, who was huddled with Pinkie.

“There is a passageway built into the cliff that leads to Castle Dour.” The ferryman wasn't one for smalltalk, and his passengers were starting to aggravate his nerves. It didn't help that dealing with strange, alien equines was far above his pay grade. “The Emperor's personal guard will be expecting you.”

“I thought he wouldn't be getting here for a while.” Dash was near the center of the group's pile, which was more for comfort than actual necessity, and she was greatly enjoying the shared warmth. The prismatic pony was wondering why there were guards present without their charge, Princess Celestia never sent her personal squadron anywhere without her.

“They are merely here to prepare Solitude for His Grace's arrival.” While the answer sufficed for most of the ponies, the humans and Princess Luna thought the ferryman answered a bit too quickly.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“I've received word that Reman and the ponies have arrived at the dock.” Marcus Tullius felt odd saying ponies in any sense, but the term applied in this situation.

“I'm having trouble believing what you've told me, Grandfather.” Uriel hadn't seen his older sibling in years, and the powerful Imperial wasn't sure how he should have felt about the reunion. Part of him wanted to hug his older twin, and an equal portion wanted to punch him in the head; it was the sort of internal conflict that was so common to Cyrodiil's natives.

“It is a bit hard to understand.” Antonius looked up from his book, the deeply religious man had been thinking the very same, but had been to engrossed in his lengthy novel to air his concerns. Daedra, necromancy, anything involving Oblivion or magic was easy to believe, but colorful equines were a bit out of the realm of possibility.

“Reman's been a werewolf for four years, I'm surprised he won't be walking in with a pack of his own.” The aged general relaxed in his seat, a bad habit for a man of his status to have. Marcus almost laughed at his own joke, but the old Imperial wasn't about to reveal his own suspicions. Reman had clammed up when it came to the individual ponies that were in Skyrim, so there was evidence enough that he was hiding something important. “Wait and see, I bet he'll do something we won't expect.”

“Wouldn't saying we won't expect it mean that we were actually expecting it?” Uriel had taken to riddles and paradoxes in his spare time, mental exercise was key to his role as a negotiator. It had been quite the burden on those not used to the odd quirks associated with the conflict diffusers, many thought impossible logic errors were reserved for mages and the like. Upon noticing the odd looks he received from his two most recent male ancestors, Uriel quickly backed off the subject.

“Either way, we'll have to wait until Reman gets here to make any decisions.” Marcus hadn't informed his son or grandson about the Emperor's early arrival, but Titus Mede would likely make an appearance shortly after the reunion was over with, probably sometime the next day. At least things wouldn't get boring around Solitude anytime soon.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The wind was harsher on the stone bridge, and the stoic Penitus Oculatus agents only chilled the air further. The envoy walked in a tight formation with Reman at the front and Renoir pulling up the rear, just preparation for the infinitesimal chance the Emperor's bodyguard tried anything. The Imperial had gone through some trouble to make himself appear feral, if only to contrast with his younger brother. If there was one thing that could be said about Uriel, it was his need to wear a formal appearance at all times, so showing up to the reunion would be a colossal middle finger to the junior twin.

“Calm down.” Glade was walking next to her pack-mate, keeping pace without any real effort. The lycan mare had punched the human's thigh to get his attention, if only out of worry for him. Something was making Reman nervous, his skin was looking paler than Renoir on a good day, and it was all the ex-guardspony could do to help him maintain some semblance of confidence. For a man whose grandfather was a general, the Imperial was oddly excitable when it came to family meetings. On that troubling note, the mare thought about her forebear meeting her parents, and immediately understood his fears.

“I am calm, my body is the one panicking.” The group was stopped at the door by two spear-wielding Oculatus agents, both Imperial and angry, almost like they were looking for an excuse to kill someone. After a moment, some unseen signal made them move their poled weapons aside, and beckon the motley crew indoors. When the assorted flavors of life had taken comfort in the warmth of burning hearths, the ponies used the opportunity to drop their bags and gear. Glade was the very first to shed her excess clothing, and almost sighed in relief as the heavy cloth fell to the floor.

“Look at all this stuff!” Pinkie was shouting indoors, and oddly enough, the room was fairly spartan in furnishings.

“Darling, we're in a closet.” Rarity wasn't actually sure if that was the room's purpose, but the layer of dust covering everything made the possibility seem plausible. Then again, it didn't explain the dining table and chairs, but they didn't look like they'd been used in quite some time.

“If this is a closet, what does the rest of this place look like?” Fluttershy was thinking aloud, the outburst wasn't usual for her demeanor and it would have been embarrassing were she not so amazed by the castle's simple and strong architecture.

“Trust me, it's about as interesting as drying paint.” Reman hadn't seen much of Castle Dour during his stay in the dungeon, but he could safely assume that every inch of the place was as bland as the small annex the group was using as a rest stop.

“Sir, I'd rather you not talk about my castle this way.” A gruff Nord walked into the room, looking like he was made of aggression. The newcomer moved like an experienced officer and combat veteran, and it was thankfully relieving that he didn't wear a battlemage's rosette. The dreadlocked warrior looked the Imperial and his comrades up and down, as though looking for something important or a slight detail he may have missed. “I take it that you're Reman Tullius?”

“I am, is the general ready for us?” Much to the lycan's displeasure, the Nord shook his head.

“General Tullius will be seeing you exclusively, the others will have to remain here.” The unnamed officer motioned to the nine, none of whom seemed to take the news well. Glade was particularly aggravated by revelation, if her slightly flared wings were any indicator. The lycan pegasus even had a small trail of fur on her back that stood on end, which was one of the bestial traits inherited by werewolves, but it did quite a bit to her attempt at intimidation. That didn't mean it was effective. “Trying to menace a guardsman is grounds for a month in a cell.”

“Sorry, she's a bit excitable.” Reman moved between the two in hopes of preventing any fines or jail time for Glade. The armored Imperial was more than willing to separate the two before anything bad happened. “I believe you were about to take me to General Tullius?”

“Pardon me, right this way.” The officer bowed to a door, and opened it for the walking nobleman as he approached. The officer followed Reman into the hallway, leaving the ponies to their own devices until they were needed. It didn't exactly take long for things to take the obvious course of action.

“A general?” Luna hadn't been expecting that, neither had anypony else for that matter. She knew the Imperial was from a well-off family, but for him to be from so high up on the social ladder was far from anything the Princess of Night had thought plausible.

“My thoughts exactly.” Renoir wasn't angered by the secrecy, mages encrypted their notes to keep research out of the wrong hands, and this was no different. However, the vampire felt his friend could have dropped some hints every now and then.

“Hey Glade, wasn't your dad in the guard?” When the lycan pegasus nodded, Twilight silently noted the coincidence. Pinkie, however, wasn't quite so subtle about it.

“Hey, that means the baby has two fighting grandpas!” Much to everypony's surprise, Lynette showed no outward reaction to the revelation; in fact, the archer chuckled a bit when the inquisitive eyes fell upon her.

“I put two and two together back at the outpost.” The fact that the Breton maiden was perfectly fine with a pony carrying her ex-fiance's first child was odd even for Tamriel, but High Rock was a rather tolerant place for such things. “I'm really more curious as to how it happened.”

“I believe that makes two of us.” None of the party's members noticed the old man enter the room, and his luxurious shoes no doubt added to his stealth on the stone floor. Penitus Oculatus agents flanked the bearded Imperial, giving him the regular VIP treatment in the event one of the ponies didn't like him too much. While his almost sinfully gorgeous, royal purple robes meant he was very high in status, it didn't mean he actually warranted the security. Lynette's breath seemed to catch in her throat as the man's identity sank in, and the maiden tugged on Renoir's sleeve as she took a knee.

After all, it wasn't everyday one met the Emperor of Tamriel.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Reman's heart thumped in his chest in time with every step he took. The young man was unused to such entrances, but he was familiar with an ambush, and his body was treating the reunion as such. The lycan was unsure how he should feel, it certainly wasn't the sort of thing he had prepared for. While he had hoped for a homecoming, meeting his father and twin after so long would be trying even for his jaded nerves. While he had been thinking, the wayward Tullius had traversed the hallway and found himself at the lounge's oak door. A single, powerful knock was enough to open the entrance, and Reman made his way within.

It was just as surreal as he had thought such a meeting would be. His grandfather was to his left, brother to his right, and his father was dead ahead. Despite his best attempts to retain his composure, the young Imperial couldn't help but feel his emotions run wild. A tear almost escaped as a warm pleasant feeling permeated his entire being. For the first time in four years, Reman Tullius felt at home. The feral-looking lycan embraced his father, both men were overcome by the joy of seeing each other after so long. The spellsword's day couldn't have gotten better as he ended the hug and turned to his brother.

It was a spectacular occasion, even if Uriel punched Reman square in the mouth.

Were you Expecting a Title Involving Orcs?

Uriel wasn't quite sure why he had just decked his slightly older brother, every survival instinct would have directed him not to anger the supernatural predator that stood before him. To the lycan's credit, his twin's punch was more than enough to render most men and mer unconscious or deal considerable pain, but all it did was change the traveler's view to one of the ceiling. Reman brought his head down slowly; one would almost assume he was readying a counterattack, but he had a sad, apologetic look on his face. The Imperial negotiator extended a hand in peace, which his elder brother accepted.

“I got a little carried away, this is a rather intense moment.” Uriel was more well-spoken than Reman remembered, but it was a welcome advancement. The feral man laughed alongside his more civilized twin, and a strange mirror-effect was not lost on their observers. The two were identical in the face, completely alike and yet worlds apart, few masterpieces could compare to the work of art playing out before Marcus and Antonius.

“We all have our impassioned moments, Uriel.” The lycan squeezed the bulkier man's hand, a greeting that hadn't been shared in far too long. The headbutt that followed was even more traditional, and the bloody nose Uriel was left with only solidified the reunion. “But, blood for blood, as they say.”

“Reman, was that really necessary?” Antonius was trying to reacquaint himself with his wayward son, but the sibling violence was something that was rooted in infancy when it came to the young men. The legate knew that no real harm had ever befallen either of the two, but they were much stronger in adulthood.

“That is quite enough.” Marcus Tullius wasn't one to be ignored, and the twins backed from their soon-to-escalate altercation. The aged general grabbed Reman's shoulders, and Antonius seized the younger Legionnaire, though it was unclear which of the twins was being protected by the detainment. Once the two were separated and seated, things took a turn for the relaxed and easygoing. The terrible brothers Tullius were being civil, for once in there opposite lives.“Now, Reman, I believe you have some things to tell us.”

“That really depends on what you mean.” The werewolf sipped on the purified water a server had brought, he wasn't about to drink anything alcoholic. The odd choice of beverage only stacked the curiosity of his relatives, consumption of spirits seemed to run in the family.

“You could always start with what you hid from me.” Marcus' words and stare were making the lycanthropic Imperial sweat under the pressure. There wasn't an easy way out of this, and Reman knew it.

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“I take it you must be Princess Luna?” Emperor Titus Mede II looked the blue alicorn up and down, a gesture that seemed ever so common amongst the humans of Nirn. While the Imperial sensed no ill will from the pony, he wouldn't dismiss his Penitus Oculatus until the Tullius family reunion ended.

“Indeed I am.” Luna didn't bow, Kodlak had broken the habit after their meeting. It didn't help that the princess saw the gesture as a sign of weakness, though there hadn't been any reason besides the reactions from the Companions. The immortal royal extended a hoof, and she learned from the sound of scraping metal that the Emperor's honor guard didn't like that.

“At ease.” The old, bearded man called off his warriors with the wave of a hand, a tactic that would often foster a sense of security and respect within those he spoke to. The lavishly dressed human gave an aggravated and apologetic gesture, clearly embarrassed by the behavior of his men. Titus put on a wry smile and saw a chance for good humor. “Sorry, they can be a bit jumpy.”

“I know the feeling.” Luna cast a short glance to her lycan escort, who snorted in response. The alicorn smiled bashfully and clacked a hoof against the ground, a prearranged signal for Renoir to make his way towards the front as stealthily as possible. The Princess of Night felt the undead man approach, and watched the Penitus Oculatus agents remain unresponsive. “But, I believe there are things we must discuss.”

“Yes, something about arranging a meeting with your sister.” It slightly frightened Luna that the old man knew so much about the plan, but Titus hardly exuded any ill will. The bearded Imperial looked at the bleached pegasus next to the princess, and then shifted his gaze to the masked vampire. A brief flash of recognition crossed his features as he looked at the worn face of ivory, almost like he could tell what exactly lurked behind the humanesque image. “Though that seems more like a formality at this point.”

“What makes you say that?” Princess Luna had a bit of a sinking feeling in her gut, and recalled how much she knew Titus Mede had heard. The Emperor might not take it too lightly that the progeny of one of his generals had mated with a foreigner, and one from another realm at that. The Princess of Night felt a wave of dread flush through her chest at the thought of what horrors may have been befalling the lycan down the hall, especially if all Imperials were as quick to jump the gun as Reman.

“We already meet the preliminary requirements to established economic relations.” The Colovian man wasn't even taking the unborn foal into account, the hefty sack of gems wayward Tullius wore on his hip were sign enough that Equestria would be very beneficial to the Glorious Empire, and the nation's value easily doubled if the Elder Council could somehow keep news of the brightly colored ponies from reaching the Dominion for a few months.

“So I'm a bargaining chip now?” Glade knew that it wasn't actually her the human was interested in, rather it was the developing mass of cells she housed within her lower abdomen. Intermarriage was a common tactic to form bonds with other kingdoms in Equestria, a tradition that extended well into the modern day.

“Actually, what you and Ser Reman do with your child is inconsequential, but it would be good publicity for the both of you to stay together.” Titus could already see The Black Horse Courier eating the gossip like a skooma addict with the shakes. Such news would travel fast and far, which was just what the aged Emperor wanted. “It has never, nor will it ever be the domain of myself or the Elder Council to say who our nobles may marry.”

“A nobleman and a knight? What has he been keeping from us?” Luna tapped a hoof against her chin, but quickly noticed the five sets of eyes upon her. Titus, Renoir, and Lynette knew the reason behind the title, though it wasn't as if the spellsword hadn't done enough to qualify as a knight errant.

“All nobles descended from Cyrodiilic heroes are considered to be knights.” The archer counted of some unknown quantity on her fingers, like she was explaining something to a child by using a completely unrelated subject. “And the Tullius family is the legacy of no less than two.”

“Should I just throw everything I thought I knew about the man out the the window?” Renoir was getting slightly agitated, even if his mask wouldn't show it. The nearly century-old vampire felt a little betrayed by his colleague; this sort of information denial bordered on rudeness in Daggerfall.

“Perhaps we should continue this when we have the proper time.” The Emperor knew there was a bit of tension in the air, it was in his nature to be aware of such things. Imperials hadn't conquered Tamriel on military might alone, their inborn abilities at mercantilism and public speaking made them ideal for integrating nations into their collective. “It shouldn't be taking the general this long to welcome Reman back to the flock.”

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“I'm going to be a father.” The feral man reclined in his seat, if only to appear less unnerved by the eyes upon him. There wasn't really a reaction he expected, but Reman planned on something negative. A light punch in the arm from his younger brother most certainly hadn't been on his list of possibilities.

“Congratulations, I'm sure Lynette was bursting with joy when she told you.” Uriel wore a grin, showing the gap where he'd lost one of his canines. The younger twin took a moment to realize his brother had paled slightly, and it only took a second more to understand that the child was illegitimate.

“If your fiance isn't expecting, then would you be kind enough to tell me who is?” Antonius had a look that only a man of righteous conviction could effectively wield. Tradition was very important in an Imperial household, siring bastards left and right would reflect poorly on the family. The legate was not a man to cross, and he wasn't too old to thrash his son if need be. “I assume you'll be taking responsibility?”

“Of course, I arranged for her to meet a healer I knew as soon as I suspected.” That was Reman's only reason for involving Renoir, as much as he didn't trust the vampire on a personal level. Professionally, academically, sure, but there was just something a bit... off about the undead pyromancer. “I've never made a misstep in my travels.”

“Antonius, perhaps you should be easy on the boy.” Marcus's sentence was worded as a suggestion, but any who knew him would understand the dire consequences that would befall the legate, should he continue. A palpable chill ran through the lavish lounge, every man in the room shook to their core. “Or have you forgotten how you met Senna?”

“What?” The twins were speaking in stereo, surprised that their parents had been force into matrimony to give their oldest sibling legitimacy. However, it did provide some perspective for Reman's current predicament.

“Father, is now really the time for that?” Antonius was flushed, which was quite the feat for such a serious man. The circumstances of the marriage made no difference in his mind, he still loved his wife as any other husband.

“I'm only saying the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.” With Marcus's words, the subject was dropped. Reman knew that wouldn't be the only secret to be revealed, but it was certainly the oldest. No family as prestigious as theirs was without its share of closeted skeletons, even the noble general had his own burdens to bear. “So, tell us about the pony.”

A fireball erupted from a candle as a cloud of high-proof alcohol touched its flame, the product of Uriel and Antonius mutually spitting their drinks. Both men turned to the lycan in question, who looked unfazed by his grandfather's statement. The werewolf's apparent apathy would have come across as rude, were it not obvious that he was panicking internally. Marcus snapped his fingers in front of Reman's face, eliciting no response from the dismayed spellsword. The lycan's pupils contracted and focused on the white-haired man across from him.

“How did you find out?” Reman would have tried to deny it, but he had learned early in life that one couldn't lie to General Tullius with any chance of success. If his brother and father had trouble comprehending the truth, then that was their problem.

“You weren't exactly trying to hide it.” The old man wasn't incorrect; in his eyes, the younger Imperial had left a trail of crumbs any fool could track. It was easy enough to peg something involving the mysterious equines that accompanied his grandson, given the silence that overtook Reman whenever Marcus asked for specifics. “We're family, you can share everything with us.”

“I suppose the worst you could do is disown me.” The lycan laughed without humor, something he did rather often these last few days. After going by his given name for so long, returning to anonymity would be easy. It had only been a little over a week since Reman had become a Tullius once more, and he felt as though it would be torn from his hands again. “Summer Glade and I met under, shall we say, less than ideal conditions.”

“What kind of name is that?” Uriel had recovered from his startled state, and was now listening to his counterpart in earnest. Under the younger twin's reasoning, if Marcus believed it, then it only made sense for the tale to be true.

“The sort of name common in Equestrian society.” It was also one of the tidbits Reman never quite understood. Why would intelligent creature limit their names to simple words? Human names were often unique, with no analogues in nature, but the trend was lost on the ponies. “Hircine, I'm certain you all are familiar with the Father of Manbeasts, sent me to Equestria for sport.”

“And you somehow bedded one of the natives?” Antonius was feeling a bit better. If the religious man thought of the equines as a third race of beastfolk, the prospect of his first grandchild being birthed by one wasn't too hard to swallow. Much to the man's surprise, his lycan son grew flushed, as though he was embarrassed or ashamed of something.

“Actually, I infected her, was imprisoned, had dinner with the ponies' leaders, then visited some of Equestria's heroes in Ponyville.” Reman rattled off the abridged list of events like someone would read a recipe, even if the incredible tale was more than a little unbelievable.

“Then we had sex on Twilight's bed.” A bleached pegasus scampered into the room. Glade was followed by Emperor Titus Mede and Princess Luna, who were followed by the remaining party members in turn. The werewolf mare took a flying jump into her forebear's lap, fully aware that he was sitting with his nearest male relatives. The pregnant pony snuggled into the Reman's chest, and caught a familiar face staring at her with wide eyes. Upon seeing the resemblance the stranger had to her alpha, Glade looked up the more experienced lycan. “Since when are there two of you?”

“For as long as either of us can remember.” The lycan genuinely smiled at his twin, and hugged the pony in his lap closer. It was a few more seconds until the normally-attentive Reman Tullius to realize there was an elephant in the room. Said pachyderm was neither equine nor vampire in nature, and it did not involve the unborn addition to the werewolf's lineage. “When did the Emperor get here?”

Are You Still Hung up on the Orc Thing?

“Madam, I must say that you've settled beneath yourself.” While Titus Mede's tone was jovial, the ripples it sent through the room were everything but. The Emperor spoke to Summer Glade, who was currently cuddled against her forebear's chest. The bleached mare chuckled along with the monarch even as she felt Reman tremble in the much older man's presence. “But I approve.”

“Well, that settles one problem.” Marcus Tullius tried to look on the brighter side of things, even as the situation devolved around him. The general understood his lord's reasoning; the influx of gems would devalue the diamonds found in the Dominion while simultaneously raising the cost to hire Imperial artisans.

“Not quite, there is still the matter of tradition.” Antonius still wasn't thrilled about his son's actions, but he wasn't actively trying to ruin the young man's life. The Tullius family had a ritual that dated back to Joan the Champion and Aurelius the Crusader. It was nothing special, but it symbolized the family's determination to stay true to Cyrodiil's ways.

“Yes, but the time won't arrive until summer.” Reman was well-aware of the age-old tradition, but only to the extent expected of him. He and Lynette had undergone the trial during adolescence, and there wasn't enough of a challenge for either to call it a challenge.

“Ah, yes, the All Saints Day blooming.” The Emperor chuckled a bit as he thought about the summer's events. “I think there may be a bit of irony involved somewhere in all this.”

“I thought I was the only one to notice that.” Uriel would never be credited with being smart, not while his brother had anything to say on the matter, but even the older twin had to acknowledge his mirror's perceptiveness.

“Am I the only one who's completely lost?” Rarity had remained respectfully silent, but the rambling of the social elite were unintelligible to her. The Element of Generosity understood Canterlot nobles, but those from Cyrodiil were beyond her experience. She knew they were talking about something important, and that it likely involved flowers, but nothing beyond that. The alabaster mare waited a few moments for one of the others to answer her. The humans continued to speak and Glade tossed in her two bits whenever she wished, but something very quickly dawned on the other seven ponies.

Pinkie hadn't said a word since the Emperor arrived.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

There was so much to see in Solitude! It was like a less-extravagant Canterlot, but it had a beauty all its own. Pinkie Pie had been taught that appearances could be deceiving, and the slightly monotonous city revealed the incredible noble quarter. The place seemed somewhat snobbish, but the Blue Palace at the district's far end was worth the rude neighbors. It was designed much like the rest of Solitude, if exponentially better looking.

“Have pity on an old madman.” The Element of laughter heard a distinctly un-laughing voice. The owner was a depressed-looking human dressed in ragged clothing and in desperate need of a shave. Pinkamina Diane Pie immediately recognized the man as a beggar, and most likely homeless, but there was little she could do about his financial situation. But, on a deep level, she understood there was plenty she could do to cheer him up.

“Why do you need pity? I'm sure there's loads of stuff you can do better than most ponies!” Much to the bubbly pony's dismay, the human only gave a ragged sigh. Pinkie could almost feel her mane begin to deflate, and she was almost angry that she didn't have anything stashed around Skyrim in the event of emergency.

“My master left me here.” The homeless man looked far into the distance, far enough that Pinkie thought he might fly away. But that was ridiculous, humans couldn't fly! The beggar seemed to respond to the Element's crazy idea, light sparked into his eyes like he hadn't known hope in decades. “Maybe you can help me!”

“Sure!” Pinkie wasn't sure why she was agreeing, other than that it sounded fun. Besides, Granny Pie had taught her to always help ponies who need it, and this pony just happened to walk on two feet, but that didn't mean he was any different. Besides the foot count, of course. And the hand thing, and maybe the possible flying without wings.

“Take this hipbone and get to the Pelagius Wing of the Blue Palace.” The strange human thrust what appear to be a pelvis at the pony's mouth, before he turned and ran into one of the many alleys in the area. Pinkie looked at the bone, and back to the Blue Palace. Something clicked in her pink pony head, something wonderful and terrible.

“Well, I was heading there anyway!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Why didn't you tell anypony about being the grandson of a general?” Glade and Reman were occupying one of Castle Dour's many free beds. General Tullius had allowed them to take one of the fortress's rooms, if only for privacy.

“For the longest time, I didn't consider myself to be.” The statement was enough for the mare to roll on top of the Imperial. It went without saying that she was confused by her forebear's ancestral denial; family seemed so important to him. The lycan mare was also aware that her culture was vastly different from his, and a warrior's honor was likely to be far more important in Tamriel. “Being cursed to become a sub-human beast once a month does a lot for your perspective.”

“You shouldn't be so hard on yourself.” Glade settled under her forebear's arm, too interested in what the Imperial had to say to do anything else. A quiet squeak escape her as a hand rubbed over her still-flat stomach, a faint blush accompanied the noise as the mare glared at Reman. Something about that reminded her of something important. “What does this All Saints Day thing have to do with us.”

“The holiday has a special significance in my family.” The bleached pony looked at the man as though she had a question, which she obviously did, but her modesty forced her to remain silent. The Imperial chuckled as he ran his hand through Glade's dyed mane, an action that she enjoyed too much to admit. “Every Tullius is descended from two Imperial saints.”

“So are we going to have to fight in a tournament or something?” The lycan mare had noticed a few similarities between Imperial culture and that of medieval Equestria, and blood sport had played a large part in many of the period's festivals. Despite her attempts at being correct, Reman only laughed like he was looking at something completely out of place.

“Nothing so dangerous, we just need to visit the Crusader's Glade.” Glade looked at her forebear in slight amusement; she believed she understood what the Emperor had meant about irony. It was with this that the former guardspony decided on something.

“You have to tell me the story behind this.” Reman only shot her a flat look, before Glade countered with her best impression of a small puppy. The slightly-canine pony did the impersonation with startling accuracy, and the Imperial's defenses were left wanting. The experience lycan sighed, but gave in to his pack-mates demands.

“Alright, but no interruptions.”

@#@#Somewhere in Colovia, 3E 433@#@#

“Divines curse me.” Aurelius Tullius clutched the ebony dagger in his hand, his practiced grip held the blade steady even as his arm trembled. Yes, this clearing would do nicely; it was unlikely he would be found until long after he was little more than bones and rotted leather. The rain did little to stop the burning of tears in his eyes, not that he cared about a little extra pain. The Dark Brotherhood had promised so much, but all they did was curse him to immortality and give him guilt to last even longer. “Smite me, for I am unworthy of life.”

Aurelius considered himself many things, including a murderer, but even he had a line. His Sanctuary master had handed him a contract for a minor nobleman, some spoiled son of a warlord that thought he could do whatever he wanted. He sent his soul screaming into the Void, as ordered, but a hitch in the plan had sent the vampiric man's world crashing. The nobleman's son had come to his father's defense, a boy no more than eight had charged Aurelius with a wooden sword. It was only too late the assassin realized he had cut down a child. There were no consolations, only congratulations on a job done well and without hesitation.

With a fanged smile to the cloudy skies, the lost and damned plunged the finely-crafted blade into his chest.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Wait, how could he have founded your house if he died before meeting Joan?” Glade wasn't quite sure how things worked in Tamriel, but a knife to the most vital of organs tended to end life rather abruptly. Again, Reman chuckled at her lack of information, but understood it was not her fault.

“In the moment of suicide, the Divines kept the blade from piercing his heart.” The lycan mare was unused to hearing her forebear speak about something with as much conviction as this. The Imperial hoisted himself and the pony into a sitting position, and looked like a teacher about to give the greatest lesson he could. “As Aurelius lay bleeding in the glade, Akatosh granted him a vision of the Chapel of Anvil, and the great danger that presented itself to the world.”

“Your gods seem to have a strange method of picking their champions.” Glade knew it was out of her area of knowledge, but she believed herself correct in the assumption. Her thoughts were only compounded by the Imperial's laughter.

“Indeed they do.” The lycan looked far into the distance, through the walls and past the sky, almost like her was looking for something. It was only after a few moments of silence that it became evident that Reman was thinking about how he fit into his own history. “Hard to think an abomination went on to be one of the greatest warriors in church history, isn't it?”

“The Divine Crusader, right?” Glade recalled what Rose had said weeks before, though the pegasus was almost certain the mystery mare had been Azura in disguise. In response to the correct guess, her forebear hugged tighter against his chest. “But, you haven't really answered my earlier question.”

“Right, sorry.” Reman rolled his eyes in mock sarcasm, but continued his story anyway. The lycan would be sure this tale would be what his child heard every night before falling asleep, his heir would still be a Tullius if all things went well in the summer. “Aurelius met Joan shortly after slaying Umaril the Unfeathered, when a gate to Oblivion had opened near the Priory of the Nine.”

“The what?” Glade cocked her head, unsure of the location's meaning or importance. Sure, she knew that her forebear worshiped nine gods, but the idea of a monastery devoted to all of them seemed strange. In Equestria's feudal days, nature worship had been commonplace, but each priory was devoted to only one deity.

“If you'd let me tell the entire story you would know, but suffice to say it was Aurelius's home.” The pegasus nodded in understanding, the lesson finally sinking home in her mind. “After he and Joan worked together for some time, including curing the Crusader of his vampirism, it was only natural for them to fall in love, so the story goes.”

“But how does the Crusader's Glade fall into this?” The pony by the same name hadn't been told yet, and Reman did not feel very comfortable explaining it to her just yet. The full extent of the story would have to wait until after the Imperial met his pack-mate's parents at the very least. But that didn't mean he wouldn't give her a hint.

“Let's just say they left quite the mark on the land.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Pinkie would have wondered why her friends hadn't come looking for her, if she wasn't so sure she was completely lost. One second, she was in the Pelagius Wing of the Blue Palace, then she's suddenly in this misty woodland in Celestia know where. The Element of Laughter had even lost the creepy pelvis the madman had given her, but maybe its use had already expired. Maybe that was the key to get to this weird place; it felt like the Everfree Forest, but less filled with meanies. A noise made her stop. She heard a voice off in the distance, and she saw a small flickering light between the foggy trees.

Without a second thought, the pink party pony took off towards the voice. There was a clearing beyond the trees, with a large table set up in the middle. Pinkie wondered why anypony would have a picnic in such a spooky place. Really, what kind of party only had two ponies at it? But as she thought about the strange occasion, a better question entered her mind.

Why did she hear a Scotsman?

So, Pinkie and a Prince Walk Into Pelagius III

“Pelagius, look! We have a visitor!” A bearded man practically jumped from the large table, surprisingly spry for his apparent age. The stranger wore two-toned clothes, both halves perfectly clashing in a display of odd harmony. The unusual human turned to another of his kind, a man with dark circles under his eyes.

“I see, my lord.” Pelagius, as Pinkie assumed his name to be, sounded a bit depressed. The display and apathetic tone reminded the Element of Laughter of the misunderstanding after Gummy's birthday party the previous year. “She appears to be a small, colorful pony.”

“I can see that, but we should let the lass speak for herself.” The two-toned stranger looked at Pinkie with blind, grey eyes that still allowed the human to see perfectly. It was an odd paradox that kept a strange sensation brewing on the forefront of her mind. The display of inhuman attributes sent a memory sparking through her brain. “What do ya say, little filly?”

“You look like Hircine!” That wasn't the party pony's most tactful moment, and it seemed to throw the oddball for a loop. The white-eyed nonhuman-human blinked a few times, before a sinister-sweet smile spread across his face. The unorthodox stranger picked up Pinkie by her forelegs and spun her around. Pelagius only kept his blank look at the two as they laughed in glee.

“Right you are!” The confirmed Daedra tossed the Element into the air fast enough for her ears to pop. Just as the pink pony neared the pocket dimension's ceiling, she reappeared at the table with a slight poof. The Oblivion spawn clapped at the display he caused, though his human servant seemed unimpressed. The oddly clothed biped took a bow, one of the formal sort reserved for audiences with royalty, before he spoke in a laughing tone. “You're talking to Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness, Lord of the Never-there!”

“Hi!” The Scottish-sounding Prince was confused, and not the confused he enjoyed being; the kind of confused where fun things happened. The previously mortal Daedra rifled through the memories of his predecessor for any sign of his own tampering with equines. “I'm Pinkie Pie, Number One Party Pony of Ponyville.” The tiny pony extended a hoof in greeting just as Sheogorath finished his thoughts, and the Prince accepted the offered limb and gave a firm shake.

“Pelagius, don't you have somewhere to be?” The former Emperor took the hint and disappeared in a small plume of smoke. The pink equine oohed in awe at the display of mysticism, even though it was nothing compared to what she'd seen Twilight do. “Now, I believe you have some explaining to do.”

“Well, I'm from Ponyville, like I said, and Reman has us in Skyrim so Princess Luna can talk to the Emperor and Equestria can be friends with the Empire!” The Prince looked at the babbling pony in slight annoyance, not too pleased with the information he was receiving. Sheogorath knew everything regarding the diplomatic party's mission on Tamriel, but he still wanted to know how the non magic-using equine had managed to infiltrate the his servant's mind without the Daedra knowing. “And when I was in Solitude with my friends, I found this guy that looked like he needed a hug, but he wouldn't let me hug him and just gave me a bone and told me to go to the Blue Palace!”

“Why didn't you say so earlier?” Sheogorath somehow managed to sound angry and happy at the same time, his voice even held two tones as he spoke. The Madgod looked a bit depressed as a thought rolled through his semi-infinite mind, but his smile never left his face. “All I need to do is finish things up with Pelagius, then I can take my luggage and be back to the Isles!”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to rush you.” Pinkie had mistakenly took the Lord of Madness as being sad, as though she only looked at his face but ignored his voice. But being as fickle as the Master of Insanity could be, it was only natural for the deity to find a way to extract entertainment.

“Well, if you really feel bad, then you should help me get everything back how it goes.” Fog lifted as Sheogorath spoke, revealing the treeline and three paths that extended into the distance. The Ascendant mortal could feel the tiny equine's acceptance of the task even as her own ears were just receiving the words, and he prepared accordingly. “Now, I know you're thinking about doing this the way you'd usual tear through a dungeon, but it'll take more than brute force to help Plagius's mind.”

“We're inside a man's head?” While not the strangest thing to happen to Pinkie that month, it was still a surprise to learn something like that. Much to the pink pony's astonishment, Sheogorath's happy laughter provided some odd comfort where it wasn't remotely needed.

“That's right, little filly, we're inside the mind of a homicidally insane monarch!” The Madgod gave his best impression of jazz-hooves, which was only added to with the Prince's wiggling fingers. “Quite the vacation spot, really.”

“I'll be right on it!” Pinkie seemed ready to take off down one of the paths, but a hand made of fog wrapped firmly around her tail, halting any possible movement towards a perceived solution to Pelagius's woes. Sheogorath shook his head at the mare's attempted subversion of his plans. The Prince of Madness was a kind god, often considered to be completely neutral with his influence, and he would only allow someone to go into a potentially dangerous situation if it would be incredibly funny. That being said, something just felt wrong about letting the naive pony march off to almost certain pain without the aid of forewarning.

“Come on, lass, you have to be smart about this. I know, I know; you think you're fine with your songs and dances and cakes, but why use all of that nonsense when you can use...” Sheogorath had been waiting for quite some time to hand his most treasure artifact of to a mortal, and Pinkie seemed like a good worshiper to have around. With his slight cliffhanger of a pause, the Madgod finished his sentence. “... the Wabbajack?!”

“Oh boy!” Pinkie didn't even know what that was, but it sounded like fun. Fun things often had fun names, so something like Wabbajack made it sound like a funny boat of squeaky toy. The party pony looked in awe as Sheogorath pulled a staff out of the air. The Daedric artifact found its way into the pony's hoof by unseen forces, and the mare was shocked when she felt a familiar twinge as the otherworldly material touched her. Glade let her hold Hircine's Ring for a few minutes one time, and Pinkie was amazed to see that the Wabbajack had the same effect on her. “What's it do?”

“Everything you can imagine and much, much more.” For some reason, Sheogorath's words weren't too much of a comfort, especially with the fog that rapidly separated the two. The pony walked in the direction she last saw the Daedra, only to find herself looking back at the object behind her, even though she knew she hadn't made any turns. Even though the god was absent, his voice was still very much around. “Now go have fun, and try not to get hurt!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“So, how is this supposed to help me with magic again?” Twilight only asked because she felt her question was necessary; given her current situation, it was warranted. General Tullius had given the authorization required to use Castle Dour's training yard, if only to give the diplomatic party something to do that kept them from venturing into the city. Reman and Renoir knew about the Element's desire to learn more about Tamriel's method to magic, which seemed to require her to spar with the two mages in order to master the magicka manipulation needed to cast spells.

“Trust me, combat practice is the best way to acclimate your body.” Reman was dressed in steel shin guards and bracers, but lacked a shirt and shoes. The lycan's vampiric comrade was similarly dressed, which gave credit to the odd choice of clothing. It wasn't like anyone else in the castle could teach her in a better way, so Twilight was without another training method.

“Relax, we won't hit you too hard.” Renoir knew that full-contact magic was hardly safe, and the physical impacts were negligibly at best. The real damage came from the raw magicka that flowed across a mage's body during the exercises, and the pyromancer's own preference gave even his unrefined energy an incendiary quality. “But try not to get in the way of Reman's or my fists and feet if we're aiming for each other, because that would probably break a few bones.”

“You aren't exactly filling me with confidence.” Nevertheless, Twilight charged at the sound of the bell, ready to channel magic into her hooves. The two bipeds ran with surprising speed to the yard's center, targeting both opponents at once. A foot blurred across the lavender mare's eyes as Renoir tried to kick Reman in the stomach, only for a similarly magicka-cloaked fist to come the around. Twilight slammed her forehead into the Imperial's thigh, which sent his punch off-course and tripped the two humans. The Element caught a pulled punch in the ribs for her trouble, and she almost cried out at the burning sensation that rippled through her body.

Renoir was bucked full-force in retribution for his attack, and was pleasantly surprised to feel a crackle of raw magicka in those hooves. The undead man shoved the pony and lycan off, and gave Reman a kick that sent him skidding across the ground. A headbutt to the lower back reminded the vampire that he had a second enemy on the field, and a thought that the exercise should have been confined to two mages at a time was very prevalent in his mind. The Breton attempted to retaliate, but his Imperial comrade was already back in the fray. Renoir expected some revenge, but was surprised to see Reman's offered hand.

“Just look.” The lycan pointed at Twilight, whose magic was still enveloping her horn, though that fact wasn't what was wonderful. The Element Bearer's aura was still purple, as it would likely always be, but it had taken on a lighter, bluish tone as it became less refined. Being the Element of Magic gave her quite the advantage when it came to scholarly pursuits, so such unusually swift skill reining seemed almost normal.

“Did it work?” The pony was speaking as though she couldn't feel the magicka radiating from her horn. The two supernaturals looked at each other, then back to the oblivious pony, before deciding that she quite possibly could not.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Listen, I don't want things to be awkward between us.” Glade was speaking to Antonius Tullius, the only human she had met outside of the Companions that was capable of scaring her. The lycan could feel the unease that radiated from the man, but she was glad to feel no actual hostility.

“No worries.” The legate's words were still laced with a hint of disgust, though it was difficult to pin on the mare, because it could have easily gone to the acts that led to the Legionnaire meeting her. In reality, Antonius didn't have any hard feelings about Glade, but it was difficult not to be somewhat shocked with the circumstances. At the lack of a response, the man returned to his book.

“But there are; I can tell you don't like me being with your son.” The lycan mare hovered just above the seated human's head, which served as a wonderful reminder that she was not of Nirn. With a flat look, the Imperial marked his page and stood, slightly annoyed at being driven from his comfort zone. It was such an odd occurrence to be bothered in the lounge that he wasn't even worried about calling it his comfort zone. “I just want to bury the spear before one of us uses it.”

“The what?” Antonius believed she meant bury the hatchet, but her people didn't have a word for the small ax. But that was pure speculation, it was equally likely for ponies to just use spears instead of tomahawks, but that left the question of how they prepared firewood.

“Sorry, I meant wingblade.” While Glade was still incorrect in her symbolism, the legate let it go. Despite the misunderstanding, it presented the Imperial with a wonderful array of options for pegasi wings being weaponized. “But we're cool, right?”

“I suppose we are... cool.” That was an odd statement about the temperature, but it must have had some meaning of peace in Equestria. Maybe it was to contrast the heat of war. Nevertheless, Glade's attempts to end any bad feeling Antonius had about her were irrelevant, because there were no ill intentions to mend. If anything, the officer would chew out his son over his choice in spouse; that was assuming they went that far, of course. “I have nothing to be cross with you about, so long as you don't mention anything about your exploits in the bedroom to me.”

“That's actually pretty funny.” Glade knew he was also being serious, but it was refreshing to see such a serious man use humor to make a point. There was a slight, instinctive tickle in her mind that said she had been accepted in the family. This meant she was allowed to be more open and joking around Reman's father, which posed a very serious question. “Can I call you Dad?”

“Absolutely not.”

I'm Burnin' For You

“You see, mortal, Pelagius has been feeling a little unsure of himself as of late.” The voice of Sheogorath echoed through the misty forest in such a way that it was impossible to determine where the Madgod was. Pinkie was having difficulty understanding what was happening in front of her, and the Prince of Madness's vague words did nothing to shed light on it. Emperor Pelagius III was doing battle with a specter of some sort, and every blow exchanged resulted in one of the two shrinking while the other grew. “Maybe you can help him. All you have to do is get his self-esteem above his self hatred.”

“I know how to do this.” The Element's words were meant for herself rather than as assurance of her abilities to Pelagius. She had a surefire method to make anypony smile, just a little song and dance and poof, happy times abound. The party pony took a deep breath and prepared a song she'd been working on for the past twelve seconds, only to find a choking noise coming from her throat when she tried to sing. Pinkie tried again, but to no avail. With no small amount of horror, the Element of Laughter realized Sheogorath had taken away her ability to sing!

“Now you're getting it!” The jovial Daedra called from within the pony's head, seemingly ignorant of the sanctity of the mind. But as Prince of Madness, very little seemed to be valuable to him. The party pony was having a small heart attack as the reality of her situation sank in. Hircine had been direct in his challenge, but Sheogorath played with his toys' minds before he fully claimed them with insanity. The pink mare was reminded of Discord in no small way, and could hardly wrap her mind around the Prince's sudden cruelty. “I handed you my Wabbajack, the least you could do is actually use it!”

“How are you happy and mad at the same time?!” Pinkie tried yelling out at the voice, only to choke on her breath. Only the wind answered her garbled shout, the Prince of Madness's voice seemed to have lost interest in her for the time being. With a heavy heart and the realization that she shouldn't be too kind to strangers in Tamriel, the party-lover held the eldritch staff in on hoof. She wasn't consciously aware of the Wabbajack's operating system, but the artifact thrummed with power as she pointed it at the spirit attacking Pelagius's double. “Sorry, ghostie, but I gotta do this.”

A red bolt of magic fired from the Wabbajack's tip, visibly shrinking the phantom. In a rush of inspiration, Pinkie fired another blast at the Pelagius twin, and was amazed to see him grow in size. The pattern was simple, just alternate between the two until Sheogorath decided the task was complete. Things rarely went so smoothly, and it showed when another spirit appeared and began pummeling the dead Emperor.

“Oh, come on!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Just open your mind, the power will come naturally.” Renoir's words resounded through the air as bolts of flame impacted Twilight's barrier. The vampire was overseeing the mare's more specialized training, just the most basic of defensive magic until Reman would be able to take charge. The Breton made a great teacher, and having over half a century of experience made things almost easier for both parties.

“I'm trying.” Twilight was giving the exercise her near-best, if only because she was trying to avoid another encounter with the entity from the outpost. The Element felt a similar tingle in her mind every time Renoir's magic made contact with her own, but she did her best to resist surrender. A slight scowl appeared on the vampire's face as he noticed his pupil's lack of focus, and he sought to rectify that deficiency.

“Heads up.” The Belmont put more magicka behind his next bolt than needed, but it was for a good cause. The blast impacted with a sharp crack as Twilight's barrier fractured under the intense heat, and a similar fire in the undead man's eyes warned the pony of a more powerful attack in the works. The vampire thrust his hand forward, a white-hot firebolt quickly towards the shielded mare. The Element thought fast, and her plan seemed like a logical course of action. Twilight dodged to the side, dropping her barrier as she went, and sent a beam of her own unrefined magicka to her attacker.

“Heads up yourself.” The pony didn't mean to sound smug as the blast impacted Renoir's chest, sending the nearly century-old vampire to the ground. A slight wave of confidence filled her as she took in the sight of a more experienced mage at her mercy. A spark emerged in the forefront of her mind, a foothold for her budding skill in Tamriellic magic. While the rush was foreign, it was entirely her own, with absolutely nothing resembling the invasive tentacles from earlier.

“Are you feeling alright?” Reman walked over from his own end of the courtyard, the scent of Oblivion's dark waters present on him from his Conjuration training. The Imperial looked mirthfully at his vampiric friend as he rose from his shameful fall, only for Renoir to notice the same problem as he had.

“I feel fine, why?” Twilight couldn't see why the lycan was worried about her, other than the obvious care shared by friends. Maybe her display of strength was too powerful for a mere training session, but she was sure the two men would enjoy such an act.

“Because you appear to be on fire.” Something about the calmness of Renoir's voice left the Element unconvinced, but she also noticed the look Reman had while blatantly staring at her. Twilight reminded her self that, yes, Nirn was home to a host to things stranger than fire that didn't burn the pony it surrounded, and took a moment to inspect herself. Her tail was bright orange and red, it flowed on the air like flames in the wind. The mare's coat was almost white, but at least her hooves weren't engulfed as well.

“Well, isn't that something?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Can I please go home now?” Pinkie had completed the first step in aiding Pelagius, but she had experienced more than enough Sheogorath-style fun for a few lifetimes. The Wabbajack was nice and all, but she really needed to get back to her friends. The party-lover also wanted to get as far from the Blue Palace as physically possible.

“Now now, mortal, that's not very sporting, is it?” The accented voice lilted on the wind, sounding both amused and annoyed at the pony's attempts to escape his little game. Fun was Sheogorath's prerogative, and he would not be denied this simple pleasure by some colorful, extra-dimensional horse-beast that was too easily saddened for her own good. Did he sound bitter? Were things not following their set path? Perhaps only a purely objective observation could answer that. “Maybe we should move things along? I'm sure some people are eager to see you and your friends get home.”

“So I can lea-” Pinkie was cut off when iron shackles clamped over her hooves. While being chained wouldn't have been much of a surprise to her at this point, the fact that she also secured to a cart caught her off guard. It may have had something to do with the rail system that suddenly grew from the ground, but the Element had a bad feeling about this. The fear was only made worse when her cart-prison was moved by Sheogorath's unseen hand, pushing her ever closer to the Prince's ultimate goal. Though whether the actual object of the tasks was to aid Pelagius or just give the Madgod a few chuckles, Pinkie did not know.

“Pelagius's mother was, well, pretty bad. But, considering how most other Septims were, she was about average.” The monster trolley slowed to a stop in front of a stone stairway, the sounds of monsters drifted from the ancient-looking structure as the party-lover was ejected from her forced perch. The Wabbajack was similarly tossed to her as an unseen force moved the pink mare up the moss-covered pathway, much to her dismay. “But, she taught him to suspect danger could come from anywhere, and it very well could.” The Prince almost purred those last words, the voice's odd vibrations sent a shiver down Pinkie's spine just as surely as Skyrim's bitter winds.

“I'm not gonna have to fight a dragon, am I?” The normally-bubbly pony had fallen into one of her episodes again, which was not a good thing. There had always been an underlying semi-instability that resided within the Element, a sort of antithesis for the aspect of harmony she represented. The unusual behavior and alienated appearance of her dulled coat and straightened mane served to warn others of her emotional turmoil, and Sheogorath seemed to enjoy every second of it.

“Of course not, my little pony, you just have to make sure your atronach beats the other.” Pinkie wasn't sure what that was, but as she neared the stairway's peak, she saw three humans dressed in that same bronze armor Reman had worn to Solitude. Or, at least she thought they were human; the masked helmets made it a little difficult to determine race. Most interesting about the scene was the pit holding two elemental monsters battling it out, so the Element naturally assumed the one closer to her was her objective. The Storm Atronach was having no trouble fighting its twin, but damage seemed nonexistent. “And remember to use the Wabbajack! No singing, dancing, or cheering allowed until after you win.”

The only question now was how exactly she could do this without draining the staff's limited supply of energy, if it even needed a supply to begin with, and escape this arena unharmed. Using the only tactic Sheogorath would allow, Pinkie fired a bolt of magic at her Tesla-resembling ally. Its transformation didn't even catch her off guard, the madness of this strange mindscape was common enough for her to develop a sort of tolerance. Her now-fiery pit-dog was still ineffective at harming its enemy, which the straight-maned mare was happy for, but the lack of damage wasn't helping her escape Pelagius's dreams any faster.

“I think your aim is off.” Sheogorath was next to her, sitting calmly in a chair and eating some sort of stick-like snack. It smelled like fish. The blind-looking Prince watched the fight with little amusement, regarding the battle between two monsters like it was as dull to him as a ladle made of rounded pebbles, even though something like that would have been interesting to see. While his motives were unclear at the absolute best of times, Pinkie only realized that he was unhappy with her performance so far, and she did not want the Lord of the Never-There to be displeased with her.

The Element of Laughter turned the Wabbajack from the fighting creatures, and instead aimed it towards one of the men seated across from her. She didn't miss the Madgod's sweet smile as the crimson magic hit home, engulfing both armored men in purple smoke. When the dark, rippling mist cleared, a pair of wolves resided where humans once sat, and both lupines turned their heads to their former charge.

Much to Pinkie's horror, something held her head in place as the wolves fell upon the last human. Her eyes were glued to the scene as metal and flesh were torn away as effortlessly as paper, and it was unlikely she would ever get Sheogorath's laughter out of her mind.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“You're taking this oddly well.” Reman and Twilight had retreated indoors for their lesson, something Renoir would be completely unable to teach. While Bretons had a natural affinity for the summoning arts, the vampire was as ineffective with Conjuration as the Imperial was with Illusion. It wasn't a lack of power or skill, merely the complete inability to deal with that School in any practical sense.

“It's happened before.” The Element of Magic was referring to her current state, which was unchanged from her bout of training in the courtyard. At least the flames had died down a bit, no longer raging enough to warrant concern from anypony. The lycan cast the lavender pony an odd look, partially disbelieving her, but decided against saying anything. He had learned long ago that those with a transformation linked to ability rather than Daedric or Divine influence were best left alone.

“Remember that you deal with powerful forces, be certain they don't overwhelm you.” Reman's words did nothing to ease the nervousness Twilight felt, though the man likely had no idea that the mare was panicking like never before. Perhaps the tentacles would not return, or maybe the Imperial would be able to turn them away should they rear their ugly, probing bodies. Still, there was an ever-present level of risk that would not leave Twilight's thoughts. “Take your place opposite of me.”

“Then get ready to cast?” The lavender mare took her seat across from the man, who shot her a flat look. The Element almost flinched under the human's gaze, surprised by his sudden sternness. She needed to remind herself that magic was considered an art form as well as a science in Tamriel, and trying to charge right into the work of a artisan could come seem offensive to a masterful practitioner.

“No, first think about what spell you wish to cast; what sort of corpse you wish to raise or Daedra you wish to bind.” Reman seemed like a tough teacher, the sort that allowed no nonsense would be allowed under his watchful eye. Training someone in Conjuration so soon after exposure to Destruction could have adverse effects, especially in one so unused to Tamriel's School and disciplines of magicka. “We can begin as soon as a servant brings us the necessary materials.”

“So, we're just studying?” Twilight's question was met with an amused smirk, it was obvious that the Imperial knew more about the subject than her. The flaming Element perfectly imitated the lycan's earlier look of displeasure, which only served to bring a laugh from both parties. “I can do that with the best of them.”

“You're implying we'll be using books.”

Pinkie no Longer Enjoys Trains

Twilight Sparkle had performed many magical experiments in her life. A certain number of those she carried out from her time under Princess Celestia's personal tutelage had nearly caused her to vomit. Her lesson in Conjuration magic was setting up to be innumerable degrees worse in every possible area, least of all the use of proper equipment. The crude instruments arrayed before the lavender mare resembled embalming tools more than anything used to tune one's magic.

“The most basic facet of Conjuration is corpse reanimation; therefore, it shall be the first aspect of the School you learn.” Reman's word's made Twilight think she would merely be taught the tools of a necromancer's trade, just a mere formality before attempting actual magic. While she had read some of the Imperial's notes, the Element knew of his less than amazing feelings for the ghoul raisers. Although, there were some rather disturbing entries that referred to the black craft as an art in itself. “As soon as our materials arrive, we can begin.”

“I thought these were the learning aids.” Twilight gestured to the embalming instruments while shuddering at their possible use in Conjuration. While the wayward Tullius did not seem like the sort of experiment on the living, a gruesome and detailed dissection was extremely possible. As if on cue, a servant dressed in ragged robes entered through a side passage, carrying a large bundle over her shoulders.

“Here you are, sir. Where should I put this?” The middle-aged Nord woman was oddly professional when it came to ignoring the purple pony that sat across from the Imperial she addressed. When Reman casually gestured to the center of the circular rug, the large female only nodded slightly at the mare before taking her leave. What stunned Twilight the most was that the spellsword hadn't offered any sort of friendly contact during the exchange, as though it was beneath him to speak to the servant. Were it not for the fact that circumstance likely forced him to act like a nobleman, the Element would have thought the man was radically different from his first impression.

“Now, let's take a look at this corpse!” At those words, and the bundle's size, Twilight Sparkle nearly vomited. She turned her head as the linens were tossed aside, unable to look at the cadaver. Despite Tamriel's lack of proper embalming and sterilization practices, there was no fetid smell that was a major draw when it came to Nirn's dead. “Relax, Twilight, I just had Helga bring a medical mannequin.”

“Oh, that makes me feel much better.” Twilight sighed in relief as she returned her gaze forward, only to catch eyes with the human-sized doll. “Sweet Celestia, cover its eyes!”

“They're not that creepy.” Reman hadn't actually seen the dummy's face, but after looking at the monster of the Uncanny Valley, the Imperial was quick to admit that yes, they were the scariest thing he'd seen since his visit to Solstheim over a year ago.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“I, erm, like your mane.” Uriel Tullius was not good when it came to horses, indeed, equines were his only fear outside those he faced in battle. He was also unfamiliar with how to handle foreign royalty, having never traveled outside Skyrim or Cyrodiil, so speaking to Princess Luna was an entirely new experience.

“Why thank you, I like yours, too.” Despite fully knowing that humans referred to it as hair, the Princess of Night felt like calling the slicked back style Uriel wore by it's Equestrian name. “Not often I get compliments away from home.”

“I don't see why not; even by our standards, you're attractive.” The negotiator had to admit that he could have worded his sentence better. His fears were thankfully put down as the alicorn giggled.

“Loose tongues oft end up in tight places, Uriel.” The innuendo was light enough for casual joking, method of easing the human's obvious discomfort. It was Princess Luna's impression that every member of House Tullius had something strange about them, and the conflict-resolver seemed to have a quirk with unknown situations. The young man shifted his weight, almost as though he was trying to find the most comfortable way to stand. “But I can see you have something you want to ask, so please, speak your mind.”

“Is Reman...” Uriel struggled with the correct phrasing, something he had been trained to optimize in order to make the Voice of the Emperor all the more effective, but the proper words escaped him.

“His soul is as free as yours.” Luna hoped the Imperial knew about Hircine's enslavement of lycan souls upon death, otherwise she would have sounded rather strange. A visible wave of relief washed over the human's face as the news sank in, it almost looked as though the captain would hug the royal pony. But, that would be a break of protocol, so he had to settle for courteous bow.

“You really can't imagine how that feels, it's almost like a piece of myself has returned.” Uriel didn't mean to sound selfish, he was everything but about this topic, it was merely a cultural belief in Cyrodiil that older twins carried a fragment of his or her younger counterpart's soul within themselves. It was also a convenient way for the negotiator to explain his complete lack of arcane talent, even though magic ran strong in the Tullius line. “Eternal damnation at the hands of a foul Daedra Lord isn't a fate I would wish on my worst enemy, much less my own brother.”

“Yes, fighting Hircine took quite a bit out of the two.” Luna thought back on the fight, the Aspect of Guile's binding to Equestria still fresh in her mind. The alicorn needed to write her sister about the Prince, surely the Huntsman was aware of Glade's condition. “But, it bought Reman and Glade their freedom.”

“How did she even contract the curse?” The negotiator was just aware of one method of transmission, and Peryite was the only Prince he knew of that was able to send plague on the air. At the question, Princess Luna sighed. Uriel guessed there was quite a bit behind the story other than what the man's grandfather had mentioned. “I'm guessing my brother has something to do with that as well?”

“Everything other than actually arriving in Equestria.” The Princess of Night could recall the festival in perfect detail, including the ripping bite that had sealed Summer Glade's fate. Or, so it had seemed at the time. “It's been over a thousand years since that much strangeness has happened.”

“Well, causing trouble is in our blood.” Uriel had a cheeky smile, a much less predatory version of his counterpart's feral grin. It actually made the man seem years younger than Reman, even though their age difference was likely measured in minutes.

“I can't imagine where you people get it.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Mortal! So good to see you're adjusting, really, I thought I'd have to bring in Haskill to clean up what was left of your mind.” Sheogorath's cheerful, accented voice lilted on the wind as the possessed trolly sped through the misty woods. Pinkie's straight mane blew in the wind as she was pushed to her next objective, even the Element was growing accustomed to pleasing the Madgod, if only to stay on his good side. “I've seen someone's mind get blown, and let me tell you, it's not pretty.”

“Few things are, now that I think about it.” The Lord of the Never-There was now seated next to the pink pony, tossing an arm over her shoulder like they were old pals catching up after weeks apart. The bearded Daedra took a brief moment to look over his latest project, and was quite pleased with what he saw. Given the party-lover's tendency of low self-esteem and need to make others happy, it was easy to turn her into the puppet she was quickly becoming. She would be much the same after leaving Pelagius's mind, it would do Sheogorath no favors to simply leave such an entertaining toy broken, but she would prove much more useful to her friends. The Patron of the Arts held up Pinkie's head with a finger, a sweet smile present on his jovial face. “I already took care of Pelagius's night terrors, so I've got a surprise for you.”

“What is it?!” The Element of Laughter knew how cruel the god could be, but there was a certain joy to be had. Were the normally-bubbly mare a shady character, she might have equated the rush she felt to that a gambler gets before a heater. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Pinkie was still hoping for freedom, but the light at the tunnel's end seemed to fade with each passing second.

“A mirror pool!” Sheogorath's mad laughter was a stark contrast to the mare's stunned silence. She knew the legend, of course, every Pie was taught the nursery rhyme, but the thought that it existed with the flick of a monster's wrist was beyond her grasp. Indeed, an opening appeared in the treeline, and the trolley sped down a newly-made set of tracks. The living wagon came to a screeching halt in front of a pond, its eponymous water reflecting and magnifying the sparse light enough to truly stand out in the fog. “Nothing special, really, just a little something I did to myself to become me before I was born.”

“But, this is...” Pinkie stared at the water even as her shackles came undone. The party-lover was too stunned to process the Daedra's impossible words. The Lord of the Never-There seemed to sense the trepidation, and offered her a kind smile, as well a a fresh carrot for her stick. Sheogorath ruffled the mare's straightened mane and chuckled, acting oddly paternal for his perceived level of strangeness.

“If you can do this, I'll have you back to your friends in no time.” The semi-broken pony's eyes gained a new light as the words took hold, much to the Madgod's pleasure. Perhaps this equine was worth keeping around, if only to liven things up in the Isles. Of course, there was still something the Ascended mortal could take from Equestria, something that seemed rather important to his predecessor. Whatever it was seemed to be powerful, especially if the Old Sheogorath had somehow transferred the memory.

It was only too late that Pinkamena Diane Pie realized this mirror pool was not the one of Equestrian myth, but something infinitely worse.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir Belmont was many things: scholar, vampire, healer, killer, and many more that he didn't even wish to think of. But, there was one thing that haunted him throughout his immortal life. A nightmare he'd had ever since he turned into the creature of the night he now was, it was too vivid to be anything but truth, though it was implausible even in the most liberal circumstances. Even as the insomniac laid next to Sybille, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind tugged him to stay awake.

“You really need to lighten up, Belmont.” There was no romance between the two, no passion besides those of the flesh. Even as his nude companion sated the vampire's urges, there was something to be desired. Well, besides what the dead prisoner that lay crumpled on the floor had given.

“Just thinking.” Renoir did that a lot, especially after his interludes with the younger court wizard. For the first time in his life, the healer found himself wanting, and this went far beyond his hopes of revenge. He was almost jealous of Reman; it seemed the Imperial was being returned everything lost him, while the Breton was left with nothing but an eternal life he didn't want and long-cold ashes that once made his home. “You ever wonder if there's more to life than keeping out of the public eye?”

“If you're trying to bring feelings into this, don't.” That was the very last thing the Stentor needed, besides being burned at the stake should Ulfric Stormcloak ever take Solitude. It wasn't that she found the older vampire repulsive, the case was quite the opposite, but Sybille was just over fifty and had all eternity to think about things. The woman settled on the man's chest, a pointless gesture to share warmth neither of them needed nor possessed.

“Just hear me out.” Renoir twirled a finger through the younger vampire's hair, the only real sign of affection she allowed. The female Breton snuggled into the more skilled Destruction mage's chest, an odd double standard she had in regards to emotional connection. The court wizard's orange eyes peeked out from under her charcoal locks, a silent gesture that meant she was listening. “After this regime ends, Torygg's line is snuffed, so the Jarls are going to elect someone else, and they may not take too kindly to a vampire in their court.”

“You asking me to tag along?” The notion was ridiculous. Sybille was much too valuable to leave Solitude, and both of them knew it. “I suppose this will be after you wipe out the Volkihar?”

“You wound me, cruel woman.” Renoir grinned, fully exposing his fangs to the the femme fatale. The vampiress punched the undead man in his ribs.

The Plot Really Needs to get Moving

“For Equestria!” Pinkamena Diane Pie heard her own voice yelling at her, but the speaker was anything but. The Element's dark copy mirrored her perfectly, even if it was shrouded in inky blackness with burning ember for eyes. The clone roared at her again, displaying razor-sharp teeth within a mouth that seemed to disappear when closed. The void-pony lifted her claymore above her head, the terrible blade of liquid darkness seemed to glimmer in the misty woodland. “This is the part where you fall down and bleed to death!”

“I don't wanna bleed!” Pinkie rolled to the side, barely dodging in time to avoid the negative sword. The equine acted on instinct and kicked out, sending the shadowy pony plashing into the mirror-like waters. In a rush, the party-lover's hooves grabbed at the claymore. While the Element barely found purchase, she triumphantly held the unnatural blade with ease. The mare was now faced with a dilemma, and it was one that could not be easily answered by anypony. With this claymore, the only weapon she had to protect herself with besides the Wabbajack, she would have to kill her copy in order to return to her friends.

“You wouldn't hurt me, would you, Pinkie?” The Element found herself looking at her sister, Inky, who appeared to be severely injured. The grey pony coughed a little, a small bit of blood spattered the inside of her hoof. Even though she knew it was a trick in the back of her mind, the straight-maned mare couldn't help herself when she offered her sibling a hoof.

“I'd never hurt you, Inky.” Sheogorath howled with laughter when she said that, breaking the moment like a hammer smashing through a window. Pinkie's kindness was repaid with an uppercut, and she was just as hurt emotional as physically when her sister's form melted into that of the Element's dark copy. The void-pony grinned maliciously as another claymore formed between her hooves, just as dark and evil as the first.

“You really are useless, aren't you?” The voice of Princess Celestia came from the unholy maw, driving a stake through the party-lover's heart with every word. The two Pinkies swung their sword in unison, the voids canceling and repelling one another as their eldritch materials made contact. The parry was something she'd read about in old stories and unlikely to work in reality, but the fake-Pinkie knew everything she did. The real Element realized this meant the genuine would be able to think outside the perceived barriers of morality that constrained her when she was duplicated.

“You're not even real!” The straight-maned pony slashed at her clone, a new fury lacing her body and mind. It was something righteous and pure, but even a blind stallion could see pure did not mean good. The old Pinkie would never lethally harm anypony, and the copy knew that. Too bad for her she was dealing with the new Pinkie Pie, a pony that would gladly end the life of somepony threatening her or her friends.

“What if I'm the real one and you're the fake?” The question filled Pinkamena with a new anger, another piece of straw on her manic hay bale. To the Element, it didn't matter if she was real. Her friends were real. Her family was real. Equestria was real. The Madgod was real. This all meant that she and her copy were both real enough to fight and die. Therefore, whichever Pinkie won would have the right to return to the real world and become real again. The void-pony looked at her stunned progenitor and laughed at the dumbfounded expression on her face.

Her merriment was cut short as her own claymore ran her through. The copy's burning eyes looked into their blue counterparts, sky-colored orbs that gleamed with intense glee as the sword sliced up the clone's abdomen. The void blade stopped at her ribs, but the upward pressure didn't lessen in the least. In her anger, Pinkie Pie lift her black twin over her head and slammed her into the mirror pool with enough force to imbed the blade into the soft clay beneath the water. A clap roused the Element from her stupor, drawing her attention to the Prince of Madness.

“You may not have fixed Pelagius's mind, but you put on a good show.” The bearded Daedra pulled the pink party-lover into a hug, seemingly overjoyed with her behavior. The Lord of the Never-There ruffled the pony's straight mane back into its poofy shape, but her smile failed to return. “Aw, whats the matter, little pony, torn up about killing yourself?”

“Of course not! She never existed, just a trick of the world on everypony.” Sheogorath grinned ear to ear at that. Never before had he found someone interested in what was real and what wasn't, at least never under his domain. “Now, how am I getting back to reality?”

“Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about that, Uncle Sheogorath has it all taken care of.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“If you'll notice, your magic is causing the muscles in the arm to lightly contract and relax.” Reman pointed to the dummy's opened limb, where the artificial bicep thickened in response to Twilight's life-giving energy. While she was still miles away from summoning Daedra and making ephemeral armor, the Element of Magic was making great strides. The real boost to her performance came when the mare reverted to her regular self; fiery passion was well and good for Destruction, but nearly a death sentence when practicing Conjuration.

“That's actually pretty creepy.” Twilight observed the twitching muscles with the morbid fascination one might display when looking at a train wreck. While a powerful mage, the lavender pony had a low tolerance for the grotesque. It was no secret that she would have fled the room had an actual cadaver been presented in place of a fancy mannequin. “But, I suppose there is little that can be done about it.”

“Unfortunately, but at least we can move on to weapon binding soon.” Reman Tullius had quite a bit of time to perfect his craft, and conjuring blades and axes from Oblivion was just another facet of Conjuration. “Then we'll delve into more arcane techniques.”

“Those aren't dangerous, are they?” Twilight nearly jumped when the lycan laughed, but quickly put on an annoyed face. There were easier ways to say yes, but the Imperial desired to use the most abrasive method in his arsenal. It didn't matter that she'd been told twice that Conjuration was dangerous, but Celestia had always taught the Element to forge ever onward and ask questions whenever the chance was presented.

“Twilight, I've seen minds crushed for trying things they weren't ready for.” Reman was completely serious, and his now stoic face echoed his resolute nature. The mare hadn't considered any ramifications, especially not lethal ones, but being left an empty shell for one false step seemed extreme.

“That wouldn't involve the Prince of Knowledge, would it?” The sudden mention of the tentacled Prince caught the Imperial off guard. Reman sat up fast enough to make Twilight jump.

“How do you know about Hermaeus Mora?” The spellsword had never had personal dealings with the Prince, but he knew the stories as well as any scholar. When the mare refused to meet his gaze, the lycan grew worried. The Master of the Unknowable would likely harm the pony in the pursuit of information, even if it was unintentional, but there was a very real risk of cranial explosion involved. “Twilight, if something happened, you need to tell me.”

“There was this tentacle thing, and it went through my head like a migraine.” The purple pony's eyes shifted around the room, as though she was looking for some hidden means of listening in on the conversation. Finding nothing but her own paranoia, the Element continued. “And I've been having this feeling that I'm being watched.”

“Mara preserve us.” At Reman's reference to the goddess of love, Twilight grew truly worried. Religion was never something the Imperial spoke of,so hearing his small prayer sent off a few warning signals. The lycan immediately began packing up the embalming tools and stowing them inside the mannequin for later use. “We can practice again when we're back in Equestria.”

“Is this really that serious?” The lavender mare could hardly believe she even asked that.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“And that's how Cyrodiil was founded.” Applejack had been talking about Ponyville, which led to her family's hoof in the town’s creation. In true Imperial fashion, Antonius had to top the pony's story with his own tale. While the original Pelinal Whitestrake hadn't been a member of the Tullius Family, his reincarnation had been the line's patriarch.

“Y'all were slaves?” The short-haired man nodded, much to the farmer's surprise and horror. In a sense, learning this gave the orange mare a sense of kinship with the diplomatic race; earth ponies themselves had been forced to labor under unicorn rule before the princesses arrived, or so the story goes.

“This was over a thousand years ago, mind you, and we've more than risen above our ancient masters.” Antonius neglected to mention that the Ayleid culture had been annihilated by his people, but still managed to credit Saint Alessia with the formation of the First Empire. The legate was forced to use the simplest version of the Imperial Cult's canon, everything else was far too complicated to be mentioned in casual conversation. It was odd for the man to consider chatting with a talking pony casual in any sense of the word, but he also remembered everything that had happened in the past weeks or so. “We've gone on to build an empire the likes of which have never been seen on Tamriel.”

“What about those elves, the Aldmeri Dominion?” That was the other colorful equine Antonius had found himself speaking to today, Rarity. She seemed like she was pulled straight from Equestria's nobility, but the legate could tell it was cultivated rather than inborn. She was likely from Ponyville, if the Imperial remembered the town's name correctly.

“I can see Reman had to let you in on quite a few things you aren't quite ready for.” The two mares looked at the man as quizzically as they had his son their first time meeting him in human form. The greying man let out a sigh, the sort reserved for the exhausted and old. It seemed all the war and politics a Cyrodiil nobleman had to endure were wearing him thin, and Rarity thought she could see a little more grey appear in the man's hair just from thinking about the Dominion. “Suffice to say they aren't an entirely pleasant people, but all of that can wait for your other princess when she goes to the Imperial City.”

“Equestria wouldn't be in danger, would it?” Applejack was a hard worker, and she obviously had her countrymen, or would that be countrystallions?, and their best interest at heart. That sort of patriotism was hard to come by in many parts of the Empire these days, and it was part of the reason Antonius had a slight respect for the Stormcloaks. If the two bitter enemies could find common ground in their homeland, it only made the most logical of sense for the legate to identify with the mare on the same grounds.

“While it is unlikely with only one entrance to your world being open, there is still the distinct possibility the Dominion will attempt to subjugate your kingdom.” If the farmer was mature enough to worry about her nation's future, then she could handle the immense fear and worry that came with the territory. Reman had informed his father of Applejack's status as a hero; a Bearer of Harmony, to use the Equestrian term. “I would also recommend keeping those thoughts and questions to yourself; we may be fine here in private, but the Thalmor have eyes and ears everywhere on the streets.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Still shocked about everything?” Reman knew how difficult cultural immersion could be, he'd gone through as much during his year in Morrowind. The future father hoped Glade was adjusting well, though he briefly recalled his father's sour mood earlier and it seemed to coincide with the mare's questions.

“A bit, but I'm doing better than I expected.” The bleached mare rolled around on the large bed, looking for the most comfortable spot and completely ignoring the fact that she had to share. Most of the pony's real difficulty came from being regarded as an oddity, and she'd caught Legionnaires staring on more than one occasion. “But I've figured something out about you.”

“And what would that be?” Reman just had to hear this. It wasn't like he was trying to keep any secrets from the lycan, the case was quite the opposite, but the way Glade spoke made it sound like she'd deciphered an Elder Scroll.

“Why you don't eat much.” The Imperial hadn't been expecting that, but she raised a very valid point. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't eat much, but it probably balanced out with the amount of food he ate while transformed. Summer Glade rolled on her back and pointed an accusatory hoof at her forebear, a barely contained smile gracing her feature. “You're body thinks your starving.”

“Pardon?” That didn't seem quite right to the human. If his body thought he was starving, wouldn't that mean he was hungry all the time? The lycan resigned himself knowing that he didn't fully understand the body, if only because his old healing factor let him cut restoration out if he transformed regularly enough. “Are you sure starving is the right word?”

“In Equestria, I only remember seeing you eat three times, and you were there for a week. Your body metabolizes calories at a more efficient rate than most.”

“You're not getting a chance to try it for yourself.” Glade actually pouted at the Imperial for keeping her away from a more spartan lifestyle. It was obviously a way to rile him up, just to see how he'd react to the mare putting her health in danger. For some reason, the lycan pony thought of something completely unrelated to what was being said. “Have you seen Pinkie?”

Glade Really Likes That Spot

“Hey, Reman.” The Imperial groaned as Glade woke him. The lycan mare must have had a sleepless night so far, if Secunda's presence in the window was anything to base his judgment upon. The pegasus looked as though she had something troubling her, and her forebear knew it was his duty to care for her emotional state.

“Yes?” While the spellsword would have loved a few more hours of rest, his pregnant pack-mate took priority. Glade rolled to face the Imperial, a questioning twinkle clear in her emotive eyes. Reman worried about her for a moment, before he held her close enough to know she wasn't scared about anything, just genuinely wondering something.

“You know how the sword is a phallic symbol, right?” Glade asked the question in such a way that the spellsword almost didn't feel a small spike of anger rising in his mind. The mare had woken him up to ask about something so irrelevant as that, and she didn’t seem the least worried about his possible response.

“Yes.” If Reman sounded irritated, it's because he was. So much so, in fact, that he was considering leaving the room and bunking with Uriel for the night. He wasn't seriously thinking about it, but the fact remained the same.

“And one of the quickest ways to kill is stabbing, right?” If Glade had a point, she needed to make it soon. Her question allowed the Imperial to draw a conclusion about where the conversation was about to go, and it wasn't pleasant in the least. For once, the spellsword was wishing he was back in Equestria, where he never had this much time doing nothing. Maybe he and Shining Armor could become friends, share some nights on the town, the sort of thing that would keep them away from their respective romantic partners for a short while.

“Glade, if you're about to say something involving me being a homosexual because I thrust my sword into other men on a regular basis, I'm getting up.” The bleached pegasus giggled at the sudden outburst, not because of the flat and even tone Reman used, but how ready he was to deny such a non-existent claim. The lycan mare nuzzled into the man's neck in a soothing gesture, homing to alleviate the anger that was surely simmering beneath the surface.

“Reman, we have proof enough against that.” Glade motioned to her lower abdomen, drawing a mixed look from the Imperial. The mare admitted bringing up something he had unsure feeling of may not have been the best idea, especially after she might have insulted the man on a deep level. “At most, you'd be bi.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?” The untrained battlemage wondered why he was still in the room, given the more appealing option of a bale of hay in the stables. The bleached pony blushed as she realized her mistake, but the Imperial was sure she was planning to continue her line of thought. A small smile crept onto her face as she found the best possible way to keep the man interested in her words.

“Just think of all the hot stallions you'd have access to!” Glade threw her forelegs in the air, rising to a sitting position on the large bed. This was one of the times Reman was relieved he didn't fully understand Equestrian slang, if only to avoid the mental images such words would conjure. “I served with this one unicorn that looked just like a mare, even had a feminine voice, too.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The spellsword was not enjoying this one bit, but he suffered through it for Glade's sake. Maybe listening to her blab on would calm her nerves enough to get some sleep; she was certainly under enough stress to keep her awake. The mare's smile broadened as she thought about things, especially helping a fellow guardspony.

“His coltfriend left him just before we came to Skyrim, you can totally catch him on the rebound.” As much as things made no sense on Nirn, Equestria had the strangest sense of courtship Reman had ever seen. It made no sense for a female to recommend another male to her lover, unless there was something rather unorthodox in the relationship. “Springs and I are great friends, we could easily have a polyamorous thing going.”

“If you'll be the one to infect him, then I have no problems with it.” Glade did a double-take before she noticed the serious expression on her forebear's face. Reman seemed adamant in his desire to aid the mare's companion, even if it meant things he wasn't exactly comfortable with. “It'd be like those dens back in Morrowind.”

“What?” The lycan mare had no idea what her lover was talking about, especially at that point. Whatever a den was, or the cultural meaning it had to Tamriel's werewolves was lost on her. Glade had been using the apparent unease the Imperial felt as a means of entertainment, even if she had been serious about Springs's breakup.

“Wolf dens, Glade, back in Morrowind.” Reman's took on a wistful tone as he recalled the sanctuaries of beastmen he had used so often in the Dunmer homeland. “Imagine safehouses used by werebeasts where we can be among our own kind.” The lycan wrapped his arms around the mare, embracing her in a way that was both affectionate and predatory. “Passion was always in the air; orgies were an almost nightly occurrence.” Reman lifted his smaller pack-mate fast enough for her to almost fear being thrown from the bed. “Surely you understand why Springs would have to be a lycan to survive the sort of activities we'd engage in, don't you?”

“I'm not sure he'd like that.” Glade was surprised the Imperial seriously considering the idea of bringing the stallion into their relationship, especially when she remembered the fact that the entire thing was a joke. The bleached mare received a grin from her forebear, a silent statement that she had hated being a werewolf at first, but she now rather enjoyed it. But she certainly wasn't about to sell the colt's soul to Hircine just to get the guy a new beau.

“Besides, it'd net us a nanny so we can continue our own pursuit in Equestria.” Glade shuddered at Reman's voice. It was so unlike him to even think like this, let alone tell his plan to infect somepony, which in itself was an act he despised. The experienced lycan brought the mare in an embrace, his mouth next to her ear. The bleached pony could almost hear the smirk in his whispering voice. “Next time, don't make your attempts to steal my spot so obvious.”

“How in Equestria did you figure it out?” Glade's jaw hung open at her forebear's craftiness, completely blindsided by his sudden stealth. Granted, the mare had gone a bit to far in her attempts to subvert Reman's superior sleeping spot, it was a damned comfy place. “What would you have done if I was serious?”

“Glade, I trust you, and I sincerely doubt you'd risk a stallion's life by bringing him into our pack. That's assuming Celestia didn't exile or jail you for even having the thought.” The bleached lycan didn't pay enough attention to notice the Imperial had kept his own involvement completely out of the equation, hence he needed her to infect Springs if her wishes were genuine. The human didn't even know if Springs was a real pony, but Glade seemed far too into the game to have made the mare-like stallion up. “Besides, if we brought your friend in, he'd instinctively know better than to try and inseminate the alpha's bitch.”

“Oh, so I'm yours now?” The very notion seemed sexist in the extreme, but she knew wolves mated for life, so infidelity needed to be prevented by some means. At that moment, Glade recalled Vilkas mentioning the two lycans switching scents. While it seemed unimportant at the time, the tidbit of information provided a new piece to the lycanthropy puzzle, and it was likely the Imperial already knew about it. A sweet smile spread on the pony's face as she nuzzled into Reman's cheek, a slight purr lilting her voice when she next spoke. “Well, then that means you're mine.”

“You're still not getting my spot.”

“Damn you.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Princess Luna was still perplexed by the two moons that floated in Nirn's night sky. When the princess tried to connect to the celestial body, she noticed that even the smaller one was several times larger than her own. Masser and Secunda, books the alicorn had found in Castle Dour's library had said they were named for gods. Or maybe she misinterpreted and the were the gods, or maybe just their realms made manifest in the physical world. Gods, Divines, Daedra, nothing on Nirn made sense anymore, not even the unchanging elements of politics were safe from alienation.

“I'm surprised to see you're still here.” Titus Mede had been a very busy man as of late, spending most of his time at the Blue Palace. The Emperor was supposed to have dinner with Jarl Elisif, but there was hardly any time for it anymore. “I suspect you and the Elements would be heading home to your sister.”

“I suppose returning to Equestria for a rest sounds like a good idea.” Luna felt it was amazing to think of, having grown as tired of the strangeness as she had. But there was a practical aspect of her wishes as well, one that dealt with the matter of time. If getting to Solitude from the portal took five days by carriage, then it would take much longer for the Emperor to get from Solitude to the Imperial City, given that Cyrodiil's ports were on the southern end of Tamriel and Skyrim's capital was about as far north as one could go. “You and I have concluded our business, so there isn't exactly anything keeping us here.”

“Maybe you don't want the adventure to end.” Titus Mede was being ridiculous, or was he? The question gave Luna pause enough for it to sink in. While many things in Skyrim were giving the Princess of Night a migraine, she had to admit that it was the most fun she'd had since Nightmare Night. Of course, that was after the terrible loneliness and depression had gone away, but that was her little secret.

“What is it with you Imperials and making me think?” While that wasn't the smartest thing she could have said, Luna felt the Emperor would appreciate the honesty. Much to her surprise, Titus laughed, much the same way she'd heard Reman laugh before he decided to explain something. The alicorn had no idea a mental state could be genetic, but she also had yet to hear any other Imperial laugh in such a way.

“Princess, my people won Cyrodiil from the Ayleids in war, but conquering Tamriel took much more than steel and magic could ever provide.” The aged man knew many things people were not aware of, many of which were things men and mer would rather not understand. The human leaned over the banister, something his Penitus Oculatus agents would have hated, were they around to witness the act. “But, holding the hearts and minds of the people is how you command vast empire, not military might. That helps, though.”

“That seems like an odd afterthought, doesn't it?” Luna turned to the Emperor, only to find that he'd left. Given the shoes Titus Mede wore, such a thing should have been much more difficult than the old man made it look. The entire conversation left the alicorn perplexed, even if she ignored the vanishing royalty. The Princess of Night sighed and shook her head as she returned to her own room, hoping to forget about the odd night.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Pinkie Pie was glad to be back in the real world again. She even had the Wabbajack to show for her adventure, not that she ever wanted to see or hear from Sheogorath ever again. The Madgod had probably done some serious damage to her psyche, but Pinkie was going to keep it buried deep within herself, just like Granny Pie taught her. Sure, she was horrified by the concept of being in the woods or even using the staff now slung over her back, it certainly beat the dreamscape the Daedra had her trapped in earlier. The pink mare navigated the streets as best she could, trying to find her way to Castle Dour before anypony woke up.

Had her friends missed her? Had she been gone for days? Or had she just been in Pelagius's mind for a few hours? Only one of the questions had an obvious answer, but that was merely a single facet of the complex problem the Element faced. Hircine had been one of the Princes, he still was, so maybe Reman would be able to help her out of this mess. Renoir might know a thing or two as well, but there was still nothing certain about the Madgod or those that may know him. Before she knew it, Pinkie was back at the Imperial Legion headquarters.

The Element of Laughter knocked on the heavy, wooden door.

So, Anyone Still Here?

Never before had Princess Luna felt such unease while eating. Breakfast with Imperial nobility could be very pleasant, even worth repeating. The atmosphere changed sharply when the Emperor was present. While Titus Mede tried to keep a sense of familiarity, the traditions of Cyrodiil's clans kept the other men tense. Reman and Uriel refused to even acknowledge one another, much to the anger of their elders. The twins even seemed to be doing their absolute best to act as polar opposites while remaining firmly within the constrains of proper etiquette. Meals with Equestrian royalty were meant for discussion, especially breakfast, being one of the only times both princesses were awake.

“Uriel, I must ask, how are things in Whiterun?” Titus only bothered speaking to break the ice, understanding that cohesion was needed to win wars. The Tullius line was one of a handful of Imperial clans that consistently produced fine warriors and leaders; ensuring that the current generation could cooperate was crucial, especially if the rumors surround Reman were even half true. The young man wouldn't rout an army, but it was very likely he could handle a few rebels without assistance. The Emperor would very much enjoy having such a dog to loose upon the Empire's enemies, from within or without.

“Perfectly well, Sire; we've had no further occurrences since the Stormcloak attack some weeks ago.” The culture captain was the very pinnacle of respect as he spoke. While his grandfather was the general overseeing the war against the rebellion, Uriel would be over a barrel if the Emperor wished him dismissed. To his credit, the negotiator responded with all the poise expected of his position. “Trading caravans have been reporting no incidents in the past month, and local giants have avoiding the roads as much as possible.”

“Not quite, my comrades had to clear no less than four bandit dens last month.” Reman was smart enough not to mention exactly who he meant, knowing the repercussions his kin may face under Imperial inquisition. The lycan shared a glance with his pack-mate, then gazed at his father. Neither of the two looked particularly happy about his corrections. However, the man made no attempt to even look at his twin. “There are at least eight slain merchants that aren't on the official reports.”

Uriel grit his teeth and did his best to hold his tongue.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir Belmont was going to kill Sybille. While the healer knew his younger lover was still considered a child by most of their kind, no excuses existed for such treachery. The Breton may well have been overreacting, but the bedroom had an implied level of trust, and the court wizard had broken it thoroughly. It was possibly that the pyromancer would look at this moment and laugh, but that would be in the future. He was far too concerned with his now missing clothing to bother thinking ahead. The century-old vampire was left in quite the predicament, given the arrangements of his most recent coupling.

The Blue Palace was well-guarded, doubled patrols and around-the-clock sentries in every hall. This would make sneaking back to Castle Dour rather difficult. Illusion magic would only get him so far, with invisibility out of his skill range, leaving the Breton with few options and slim odds. Wrapped in little more than a sheet, the vampire began his escape. Muffled feet struck cold stone as Renoir used his supernatural nature to his advantage. He could have used a spell to detect the living around him, but that would give off far too much light, nevermind the noises involved.

The vampire hugged a wall, easing around a corner as carefree as an assassin. His unearthly sight allowed him an unparalleled view of his surroundings, ensuring he wold see any torch bearing guards before they could glimpse at him. The agile wizard was more than gaunt when compared to the Nords of Skyrim, so much so that he easily fit beneath a nearby table covering. While his ears could not hear the footsteps, the vibrating stones echoed enough for Renoir to guess where patrols may be. As if on cue, the armored feet of trained warriors were made evident.

Five guardsmen loyal to Solitude and Jarl Elisif marched through the corridor in single-file, a testament to their disciplined nature. While a skilled combatant, there was no way Renoir could take all five of them without killing one or two in the process, and a murder charge was the very last thing he needed. Instead of a direct approach, the Breton opted for very basic distraction. With an imperceptible bump, a silver candle holder fell to the floor just after the last soldier marched past.

“Dammit, Fraki, be sure you catch up; you know the captain has been riding everyone lately,” One of the guard very calmly chided his compatriot, but the chain of bodies kept moving. The warrior now known as Fraki cursed under his breath as he bent to pick up the fallen item. In a blur faster than most untrained eyes could perceive, a pale hand slammed the man's face into the stone floor. Before the man could cry out for help, a swift punch to the side of the head rendered him blissfully unconscious.

Though the armor was not fitted for him, Renoir Belmont had seen Khajiit pass for city guards without detection, so he fancied his odds.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Could you please remind me why this is necessary?” Princes Luna was not amused. Reman and Uriel continued to act like children, though the sniping stopped rather quickly. Eventually, the breakfast conversation had become a mechanical exchange of information whenever one of the twins was asked something. Even Glade had experienced trouble in getting her pack-mate to speak openly.

“Because these two have decided to act like unsavory youths, they shall settle their differences as such.” Titus Mede was old, and his advanced age bestowed no small amount of intimidation. His hawk-like eyes observed the two young men as they readied themselves. This was the most ancient way for Imperials to decide who was correct in an argument, dating to the days of Saint Alessia and her grand war against the Ayleids. “Toe the line, boys!”

The twins moved towards a crude line in the training yard dirt, their fists raised to block any surprise blows. Pugilism would be fairly easy to watch, especially when compared to the duel the two would be forced to partake in if either refused to settle this with their fists. The rules were simple: no kicking, biting, groin hits, or eye gouging. Neither man wore armor, though Uriel settled on a modest pair of pants. Reman, true to his feral nature, was bedecked in little more than underclothes; dressed in a crude mockery of a Legionnaire's kilt.

“Check out Uriel.” Rainbow Dash was actually awed by the captain musculature, in an odd way. Reman, for the most part, was lithe and agile, not too different from the wolves his beast form resembled. His younger twin, however, looked like he was more ox than man; one of his arms was only slightly thinner than the lycan's thigh. It didn't help that the little brother had a chest that would have given Iron Will a run for his money. “He looks like he tosses boulders for fun.”

“Yes, Uriel was quite taken with the arduous life after we thought Reman had died.” Antonius was forthcoming with the information, not seeing anything really private. Most of the men serving under the negotiator knew about his slight obsession with surpassing his two older brothers. The fact that he had mined for a year before the incident certainly helped, but Reman and Julius had helped just as much. “I heard he killed a man with a single punch once.”

“Yes, I'm sure the Empire is quite proud of him.” Glade's response was unfocused as she gazed intently at the quarreling twins.

“I assure you, Ms. Glade, Antonius is exaggerating.” Marcus Tullius was not one to apologize, but he knew how loyal wolves were to one another. If the pack mentality transferred to werewolves, then it would do the aging general well to keep on the pony's good side.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Twilight was concerned for the two Imperials, if only for their capability to damage one another with ease. If Uriel landed a blow, it might break bones or damage internal organs. Reman probably wasn't as strong, but he most likely had the advantage of speed, possibly stamina, meaning that his hits would be fast and targeted, though relatively weak.

“Twilight, Trust me when I say nothing can go wrong.” Titus Mede gestured to a couple of mages dressed in white robes that stood to the side. It took the Element of Magic only a moment to realize they were healers. Needless to say, the purple mare was hardly impressed by the Emperor's confidence in his kinsmen. But, the thought struck that the medics were most likely there because of the monarch's faith.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“You actually learn how to fight while I was gone?” Reman smirked at his mirror image, finding it so odd to see a tamed and civilized form of himself. The lycan was actually very impressed with how his slightly-younger brother had turn out, given his rather prestigious position. Uriel's dueling scar on his left cheek certainly helped sway the man, but that was the elder's little secret. The werewolf confidently moved his toe to the dirt line, signaling his readiness for battle.

“More than you can imagine.” The negotiator looked his older sibling up and down, sizing him for the fight. Compact, dense muscle over a likely strong skeleton meant the Legionnaire would have to aim for his twin's kidneys and ribs before attacking the face. This was, of course, assuming an opening would be easy to spot; Reman had no doubt learned quite a bit during his travels. The modestly-dressed man placed his shoeless foot near the thin line in the dirt. In that same moment, a strong fist collided with the bridge of Uriel Tullius's nose.

The elder twin ducked down and jabbed twice at his brother's exposed stomach, taking advantage of the younger man's shock. The werewolf took a single step forward, uppercutting the negotiator hard enough to make the man stumble. Just as Reman dropped his hand to move away, Uriel's own fists shot out with surprising speed. The deceptively quick Legionnaire's aim was true, impacting with enough force to make his opponent's ribs rattle. Preparation or no, the double-punched lycan clutched at his abdomen; all the regeneration in the world wouldn't stop Reman from urinating blood later.

“Feel that, fleabag?” the scarred warrior taunted, taking a bit of pride in his brother's pain. No sooner had he spoken the words did his feral sibling roll to the side. Uriel, feeling luck was on his side, attempted his own attack. A quick punch grazed the lycan's cheek as the negotiator only slightly missed, though it had the wonderful effect of planting a smile on the werewolf's face. A strong hand wrapped around the Legionnaire's wrist, locking the arm in place for a split-second. The time was all Reman needed to deck his little brother in the mouth, though he almost immediately regretted his decision.

Having both arms occupied was a death sentence for warriors, a fact exemplified by Uriel's ease of attack. The negotiator reared a fist back, bringing it forward like a soaring comet. Wetness spread from the point of impact, a small river of blood was already flowing the next moment. Feeling one good hit deserved another, the captain kept on his assault, raining as many blows upon his stunned brother as he could. Like a hammer, each powerful punch knocked the older Imperial's head around, until Reman finally stumbled back.

“Divines, I'm glad my teeth grow back,” the lycan said as he tried to find his balance. His little brother hit like a horse's kick, and had twice the aggression. The werewolf's tongue flicked around the exploded bit of meat he once called a mouth, knowing it would take days before it'd be back to normal. The scent of blood was fresh in his nose, meaning he had somehow injured Uriel in a visible way. In the brief combat hiatus, Reman's eyes darted to his brother's hands. There, imbedded in a knuckle, was a large portion of one of the spellsword's incisors.

As quickly as the rest began, it was ended by the mercenary's quick attack. Caring little for his own well-being and only for the fun of fighting his twin, the lycan knocked a massive arm from his path to slam a meteoric fist against the Legionnaire's nose. In a graceful pirouette, the master conjurer wormed pasted the retaliatory swing, planting an elbow at the bottom of his brother's ribs. With Uriel's back open, the predator wasted no time in assaulting the exposed vitals, eager to get even for the kidney shots taken mere moments ago. Organ strikes would simply not suffice, so the cunning hunter aimed for much more promising target.

A blow to the back of the head seemed like a solid idea at the time, but Reman realized such an onrush only worked if properly placed. Just as the werewolf's fist glanced off his brother's skull, he felt something akin to a boulder hitting him in the temple. Ears ringing, head swimming, the lycan stumbled for a moment. Another crack of thunder sounded as half his field of vision darkened. The image of a closed fist was the last thing to grace the man's eyes as the training yard was replaced with a sea of stars.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Summer Glade's jaw could not have opened farther, and she was far from the only one surprised by the fight's outcome. Everypony had been rooting for Reman, given their experience with the spellsword's ability. To see his limp body hit the ground sent a cold chill through the lycan mare, a thing that made this mock arena battle all too real. The medics were on the field in a flash, tending to both Imperials, and paying no mind to their status. Uriel tried to turn them down, but he quickly accepted when one of the cloaked humans pointed out the bit of tooth lodged in his hand.

“That was probably the first time Uriel has ever beat Reman in anything,” Marcus Tullius mused aloud, feeling mixed about the entire battle. While it was wonderful that things were settled, and cultural law now required Reman to accept his younger brother's opinion, it seemed a bit odd for things to play out so cleanly. Uriel was no pushover, but a werewolf should have been able to avoid most of the Legionnaire's relatively clumsy attacks. “Terrible shame Julius couldn't be here to see it.”

“Aye, that it is.” Antonius's eyes were locked on his sons, slightly worried about the injuries the twins suffered. Reman was roused quickly, albeit groggily, shaking himself awake. One of the healers helped the lycan to his feet while keeping the golden aura of Restoration magic firmly active.

“Maybe we should speed things along, if only to avoid more violence.” Princess Luna was finally seeing the wisdom in quick negotiations, though only when said exchanges were to set up future meetings. The alicorn understood this was probably a unique happening, but also that there was still a chance for tensions to rise quickly once more. Imperials had conquered the continent with their brutal military might and discipline, but they were equally as skilled in the lingual arts. If one of them was as direct as Titus Mede had been the previous night, it was very likely any given advice should be taken with the utmost attention to detail.

“I'm fairly certain this is the end of their little conflict, for now.” The Emperor was a particularly smart man, having somehow held the nation together while so many of his subject blamed him for surrendering to the Altmer at White Gold Tower, he had the utmost certainty that the men and women of the Empire were more than capable of coming together from bloody hatred. In truth, disagreements within noble households were not under the jurisdiction of the throne, and forcing the Tullius twins to settle their differences in the arena had not been for the benefit of either man.

Titus Mede II was putting on a show for the Stormcloak spies seeded within the Legion's ranks.

Author's Note

Whelp, that took an inordinate amount of time to crank out.
To be honest, that should be the longest silence until this is completed.
In other news, my Xbox copy of Skyrim glitched shortly after I acquired Hearthfire.
I have stopped playing until I can get Dragonborn.

Ah, the Joys of Being Owed a Debt

Uriel Tullius was elated that morning, reveling in yesterday's victory. Even the cold, stone halls of Castle Dour could do nothing to lessen his joy as he went about waking the garrisoned troops. The rank and file Legionnaires were already up and about, kept to a strict schedule that required no interference from the higher-ups. The rest of the Imperial's family, as well as the ponies currently staying within the impregnable fortress, were a completely different story. The negotiator's fist needed to tap against each wooden door but once for its respective resident to awaken.

“Ah, Uriel, so nice to see you this morning.” Princess Luna's voice was quite the surprise, given the hall's relative silence. The blue alicorn kept herself aloft, flying so her eyes were level with the average Imperial. “I trust you have reminded everypony that we're leaving at noon?”

“That was not a duty assigned to me.” The captain was fairly certain the mare was casually joking, though serious about the change in locale. In roughly five hours, Reman would escort them back to their entry portal, which was kept a secret from everyone for matters of international security. The nobleman actually missed the days when politics were simple enough to guess what would happen. “But I'll be sure to pass word along, princess.”

“Well, it would appear you only have one door left, captain.” The royal equine had a half-smirk on her face. Princess Luna had clearly enjoyed yesterday's boxing match, even if the outcome had been an utter shock for anyone on four legs. The scarred Imperial gave the mare a flat look, completely unaffected by the obvious prank he was about to suffer. “Well, jump to.”

“I had two older brothers growing up, don't you think every joke in the book has been pulled on me by now?” Uriel remembered a particularly nasty trick Julius had played on him that involved a fake ring from Morrowind, and the angry Dunmer that came looking for it. Eight hours into the ruse, Antonius had been kind enough to point out that the Ashborn was actually one of Julius's friends from Kvatch. Confidently, the Legionnaire cracked the door latch, giving the unlocked door the gentlest of pushes.

The iron and wood door slammed open as a hulking, black mass shot from within the murky room. In an instant, the negotiator was pinned to the floor, staring into the golden eyes of a monster. After a moment that seemed like eternity, the beast's maw opened wider than any mouth had the right to, and issued a roar deep enough to make Uriel's teeth rattle. The Legionnaire had never seen a werewolf, but the legends said they resembled creatures such as this. Another, lighter beast entered the sides of his vision, giving its own howl. The brown one must have been female, because its call was far more piercing than the bassy, throaty rumble that came from its pack-mate.

Somewhere in the noise, Uriel himself started to scream along with the monsters. His arms were pinned to his side by a massive pair of clawed hands, keeping him from even attempting a retaliation. After a single moment, the sound suddenly ceased, leaving only the man's voice penetrating the air. A giggle came from the side, followed by another, and quickly tailed by the laughter of seven women. Even the werewolves that had been so quick to attack were now making their own undulating vocalizations, grinning from pointed, elven ear to pointed, elven ear. It took only a moment longer for the Imperial captain to realize who the beasts were.

“You son of a bitch!”

“Aren't the two of you twins?” Pinkie called from the side, wiping her tears with a hoof. The former rock farmer had her Wabbajack strapped to her back, which drew stares but elicited no verbal response form anypony. The mare was actually going to talk to Reman about her run-in with Sheogorath, but the joke he was playing on Uriel was too funny to pass up. Everything about the Imperials was funny, once the bubbly pony looked past the powder keg that could ignite into a fiery genocide at any moment. At calling his own mother a bitch, Uriel Tullius's cheeks reddened in both embarrassment and anger.

“I've never seen anypony get served by Pinkie.” Rainbow Dash had landed to avoid falling as she doubled over with laughter, completely enraptured by the surprisingly-simple prank. Ambush jokes were childish, yes, but this one had actual monsters and real fear, so that was cool. However, the polychromatic mare clearly observed the captain's shortening temper even as the two lycans retreated to their room, laughing in an unnaturally deep tone.

“Um, maybe we shouldn't laugh at him; he seemed kinda scared.” Fluttershy gave the Legionnaire a sympathetic look, though she took steps not to seem condescending. The books she had looked at during her stay in the Dwemer outpost had suggested Imperials had very sensitive egos, and pity from an outsider was very painful. The clean-cut soldier gave her an understanding, though near-imperceptible nod.

“Yes, we should focus on getting back to the portal.” Princess Luna felt the need to shuffle things forward, if only because there was now a half-hour before the party would begin their return journey. Sneaking Glade onto a carriage was easy, but doing it while she was in her beast form would be much more trying. The roadblock in Whiterun had given the alicorn evidence enough to conclude the scent of a transformed werewolf was enough to spook the strange equines the humans used as beasts of burden, and no amount of gemstones would buy the silence of someone out such a large investment. “Remember that we represent Equestria, and not some kingdom of foals.”

“Eh, Princess, we technically are.” Applejack had not meant to come across as a snarker, though she very nearly did. The farmer was given a very flat look in return, but there was an almost amused quality in the royal's eyes.

“Nuances of Equestria aside, it's time for me to return to the troops.” Uriel gave a curt bow and stepped from the cramped hallway. The Imperial was certain that if his brother were in the corridor, Reman would have been able to see his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. Already, the negotiator was planning to take leave to Cyrodiil; there was a lieutenant who could take command while he was visiting home. The Tullius had been raised to be punctual, and so had his twin. It would take the Emperor three weeks to reach Anvil, plus eight days by carriage to reach the Imperial City. This gave Uriel a total of twenty-nine days to reach County Kvatch.

“As nice as a change Uriel is, he can be quite rude sometimes.” Rarity wasn't truly offended; she rather understood the need for proper scheduling in any military, though there was still a certain level of decency expected of an officer. Like Twilight, the alabaster unicorn would be returning home with a few books in tow. The Element of Generosity had gotten her hooves on a few concept books from Radiant Raiments, which Lynette had been so kind to lift, as she had put it, from the High Elves that owned the clothing store. The magic-wielder rather respected the mer if they could make such wonderfully baroque fashions, all these Great War things aside. “At least Reman is courteous enough to be blunt during first impressions.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The Imperial Legion was very different from any local militia, if only for its lack of chaplains. There were a few spattered here and there, but the mighty army mainly relied on idols and amulets carried by individual Legionnaires. The practice led to an odd number of icons relating to Akatosh and Mara being spread across the continent, though it also included talismans and horns consecrated to the worship of Talos scattering during the Great War. The Amulet of Talos Antonius bore around his neck was one such item of contraband, and a side of him felt both rebellious and righteous in wearing it beneath his clothes. The aging Imperial placed a few septims on an altar to Zenithar, thanking the god for his family's continued prosperity.

Antonius Tullius moved to another shrine. Mara, goddess of platonic and familial love; she so loved the ten races that she gave them the ability to love, and to be loved in turn. It was easy for the legate to find something to be thankful for, and a dozen or so gold coins were neatly stacked in gratitude. The Legionnaire's prayer was bit longer than those to the other Divines so far, given that between one and three members had been added to his family. Despite his somewhat-hostile attitude, he rather liked the spunky little equine; she would have made a fine catch were she an Imperial or Redguard, and Gaston Jemane would probably have needed to find a new suitor for his daughter.

The next Divine on his list was Dibella, goddess of romantic love and carnal relations. There wasn't much the man could ask of the Divine, given that he now had a grandchild on the way and his own equipment still seemed in serviceable shape. The legate briefly considered sending a week's pay to bend the goddess's ear and hopefully send matches for his other children. The aging Imperial chuckled a bit to himself, momentarily entertaining a rather ludicrous idea about Uriel and the colorful visitors from another realm. Upon a second consideration, that was truly a terrible thought.

Solitude's chapel had not ordered it shrines in such a way that Antonius's pattern was done linearly. It was a Tullius tradition to follow the order in which Aurelius had visited the wayshrines on his holy pilgrimage to become the Divine Crusader and reform the Knights of the Nine. The order still existed in Cyrodiil, its monks sequestered to the Priory of the Nine, forever in study and worship. The Aldmeri Dominion had forced the guild to rename itself and its holiest sanctum, even the very relics it contained, after the worship of Talos was banned. Bitterly, the knight nodded to the empty base, stopping only to see if any of the clergy had their eyes upon him.

The officer considered asking his father for permission to take leave for Cyrodiil for a week or so to shake the cold out of his bones. Thinking on that note, Marcus could have used a vacation as well.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Renoir, you can get out of that ridiculous getup now.” Reman gave his associate an almost stern look and tossed him a bundle of cloth. The armored Breton effortlessly caught the clothing, nearly tearing the fabrics in his hands as he realized what they were. “Your pain in the neck brought them to me before dawn.”

“I really need a new lover.” The mage took off his stolen helmet and shook his head, mostly trying to get his neck to loosen. The vampire wouldn't strip in front of his comrade; they were friendly, yes, but there were certain lines neither bachelor would ever cross. It was odd how often it came up around the College, fueled by rumors spread by the apprentices of the respective fields both men studied. Renoir's fingers brushed against a hard, rectangular shape beneath the layers of cloth. “I wasn't wearing boots yesterday.”

“Unwrap it first, conjurer.” Reman smirked at his own joke, knowing full well his colleague was completely hopeless in Conjuration. Thankfully, the scholarly vampire understood there was a good reason for the Imperial's childish antics, and promptly followed instructions. Renoir nearly gasped as he saw the purple tome, hoping his eyes didn't deceive him. Few things in life could surprise the near-century old man, but the arcane knowledge he held in his hands certainly qualified.

“Is this what I think it is?” There was an almost boyish glee in the vampire's voice. Reman's nod nearly caused a small seizure, but the nobleman maintained his composure well enough to fully comprehend the priceless item's true value. “How did you even get this?”

“The bookies were done with it, so I called in a favor before I went to Equestria. Turns out Skyrim's couriers are very serious about their jobs.” The spellsword shrugged, weaving magicka over his arms as he did so. His spellcraft wouldn't be at his previous level for some time, but progress was steady. The procured literature was actually perfectly useful, given its nature within Conjuration and the innovative nature. Despite the negative stigma surrounding its writer's name, the notebook was full of new and inventive ways of working magicka. “This is only a decoded copy; we both know there was no way the archmage would allow me to have the original on hand.”

“What do you even need this for?” Renoir knew his question was a bit foolish, but it still made sense. There was no need for the Imperial to study the book's contents, given his particular branch of Conjuration study. Genius writer or no, the fact remained that the knowledge contained within this ledger was unique and extremely dangerous to the unwary. “You don't have permission to have this, do you?”

“Like I said, I called in a favor.” Reman had actually acquired a reputation as a student eager to endanger himself in the name of knowledge, though that was mainly to find a cure for his lycanthropy. The regeneration he had possessed was renowned within Winterhold, and both the Jarl and archmage knew about his werewolf nature. “Did you know Twilight had an encounter with Mora?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Renoir knew the book was from before Reman's little vacation, so there was no reason to mention Twilight without some ulterior motive. Study had been the most important thing on his mind then, and because of Conjurer's Folly, the Imperial couldn't put half of the knowledge to use. There was no such contact until recently, and the Element was too inexperienced to utilize it, so what was the reason? “Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Yeah, Glade may have been visited by Azura if my theory is correct, Twilight had a run-in Herma Mora, and Pinkie has the Wabbajack. These ponies are talking to Daedra left and right.”

“I hate it when you do things like that.”

Author's Note

Anyone care to wager what's in the book?

By Popular Demand, I Present the Orc

“Why is this an open carriage?” Reman asked the driver, more angry than confused. Skyrim, as a whole, was not ready to meet the ponies, and riding in a wagon would really draw attention. The people of Solitude were one thing; the men and women of every settlement between there and Falkreath were completely different.

“Well, sir, the Emperor ordered me to do so.” The driver was unwavering, though still a bit shaken at the Imperial's attitude. The Nord huffed at the young man, his own anger rising. Still seated, the wagoner crossed his arms. “If you have some problem, I'm sure you can take it up with him.”

“I don't care if the ghost of Martin Septim visited you in the night. Why, I have half a mind to-” Reman was cut off by a switch jerk over the rail. Renoir, in his knowledge, had pulled the werewolf into the open carriage before he had a chance to make a fool of himself. As the spellsword dealt with the vertigo of sudden change in position, the vampire pressed a leather-bound tome against his chest. The Tullius stared into the Belmont's masked eyes, and understood the silent message.

“My colleague apologizes; you know how testy scholars can be,” The Breton said, adding a mock laugh to test the waters. The blonde Nord only shook his head and started the horses at a calm pace. Renoir turned to his friend, hissing under his breath, “Do you have any idea what you could have done?”

“Really, Reman, there was no need to be so confrontational.” Rarity bounced her curly mane with a hoof as she spoke, silently wondering what had possessed the lycan since the prank that morning. The seamstress was relieved, on some small level, that none of the humans in the group were wearing armor; under order from Titus Mede, all gear was to be stowed until arrival at the portal. “I understand you must be worried for everypony's safety, but you father ensured there would be two mounted Legionnaires riding ahead. We're completely safe, darling.”

“She's right, conjurer, so just have a seat and read your fancy book.” Twilight was trying to be playful. With Lynette trying to sleep, and Glade too focused on every passing woodland critter to care, it was up to the Element of Magic to joke with the werewolf. Just as well, she was also hoping to get the Imperial to teach her some more magic on the way, while they were still under the protection of Tamriel's separation from the planes of Oblivion. Hermaeus Mora would likely jump at the chance to peek inside her noggin again, and it would take meditation and dedication to avoid tentacled mind rape. “Or maybe let me read your fancy book?”

“Twilight, as much as I would like to, this isn't meant for beginners.” Actually, Reman couldn't have lied more. The notes were unique, and the spells described were so simple, even the worst of novices could master them. “I can show you a thing or two when we reach Canterlot.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Yol!” A burst of flame erupted from the blonde's mouth, searing through the draugr's armor and charring the desiccated flesh. Jureg Firstborn fought his way through what must have been the thirtieth Nordic ruin since he first awakened his draconic soul's true nature. The berserker leaned against a wall, panting from the massive battle he'd fought moments before. The Dragonborn couldn't help but smile; he'd asked for this, after all. Ulfric Stormcloak sat in Windhelm, doing little to actually help Skyrim. “Not like you can criticize me, eh?”

The severed head did not respond, but that didn't stop the exhausted warrior's dry laugh. The entire rebellion was something wholly different than what he had expected. Racism was not in the lightly-armored man's list of personality traits, which was one of the many glaring differences between him and the true High King. In fact, the only thing they agreed on was a desire to end the Empire's hold on the nation. But Jureg just had to go and attack General Tullius's grandson, which might have signed his death warrant if he ever showed his face in Solitude. Sadly, he was using the dungeon as a distraction to avoid doing just that.

“Damn Delphine, damn Thalmor, damn dragons.” The Dovahkiin was more than worried about meeting a headsman when he walked through those city gates. His scaled boots felt leaden as he trudged to the tomb's entrance, loot in pack and ready for market. He took the time to flip a hood over his head as he entered the snowy wind, thanking Talos for granting his race such a fierce resistance to the chilling effects of mountain air. The two-handed wielder walked along the road at a leisurely pace, seeing no reason to rush to Delphine's contact in Solitude. The clop-clop of hooves on the cobbled path was his only companion as he footslogged along.

Jureg gave a friendly wave to the driver, who reciprocated the kind gesture. A brunette with her head over the carriage's side caught his eye, like he knew her from somewhere. Their gazes met for the briefest of moments before true understanding bloomed within them, and a look of shock spread over her face. Her arm darted to the side to alert the others in the wagon, and two heads immediately joined hers. There was a man in a mask like some gaunt skull of ivory, and the man Jureg knew as Reman Tullius. The two warriors shared a small thought of disbelief as the trio passed in their fancy accommodations. It wasn't until they were already past him that Jureg noticed another eight pairs of eyes on him.

Reman Tullius was riding in a wagon with bright, colorful... things of some kind. While the possibility of a beheading was dropping, a feeling of dread began to spread within the Nord's chest. The young man, a patriot for a country he had only spent three months in, had no reason to save anyone there, but he did in the tradition of ancient heroes. There was only one thing he could say in any language to accurately convey haw he felt about seeing something so strange, and knowing how odd events were becoming.

“I need a drink.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Was that who I think it was?” Lynette asked, still looking at the figure shrinking in the distance. The archer wasn't going to do anything, but confirmation would help. The last she checked, the Nord was belly-up in Ustengrav, but he was just seen walking up the mountain path to Solitude.

“I think so; good to see he's alright.” Reman really didn't care; he had a very interesting book to read. The Imperial was just beginning a section detailing a method of permanent resurrection and enthrallment of corpses.

“Friend of yours?” Fluttershy had tried giving a wave to the stranger, but remembered Princess Luna's policy on natives. Much to her surprise, the spellsword looked up from his leather-bound tome to answer her.

“Nah, just some Stormcloak supporter who almost killed Lynette and me.” The Imperial shrugged; he'd actually stopped worrying about the Dragonborn shortly after getting the news of Glade's pregnancy. The man had his priorities in order, to say the least. Said pony lycan snapped her eyes to her forebear upon hearing those words.

“What do you mean almost killed Lynette and me?” Summer Glade stared at her alpha male, more than a little peeved about the mentioned near-death experience. The soon-to-be matriarch expected an answer immediately, and she knew she would get it. Defensively, Reman put his hands before him to calm the mare. It could have gone better.

“He's some young Stormcloak supporter, probably not even eighteen yet. We left him unconscious in some cold water a fortnight or so ago.” The Imperial didn't think Jureg knew what he was getting into when it came to the civil war. To anyone listening, it was plain as day that the blonde berserker wasn't from Skyrim, so his siding decision was probably for some shallow reason like race. The Nord probably didn't have family involved, and he seemed too young to posses a serious political opinion. “He can also take me in a fight, so we shouldn't turn around.”

“Letting the city handle him?” Princess Luna asked, attention undivided. The royal could understand the lycan's reasoning; he was, after all, one man, and there was practically an army housed within Solitude. When Reman nodded his affirmation, there wasn't even the slightest hint of surprise present on anypony's face. With nothing left to say on the subject, the Imperial returned to his book. For the first time since meeting the werewolf, the alicorn was completely shocked to see him so absorbed in study.

“Maybe keepin' the weapons in storage wasn't a good idea.” Applejack came to her realization at the berserker's mention, and Reman's near-defeat. Even when faced with two enemies, the mysterious Nord was able to nearly kill the second-strongest human the farmer knew. “Better get the swords and such out, just in case.”

“Sorry, but orders are orders.” Renoir Belmont hadn't expected himself to say that after his family's massacre, but now he had to play by someone's rules. The vampire was old enough to be the Emperor's father, but he still listened as a citizen of the glorious Empire. Besides, the healer was interested in the mysterious land of Equestria, hungry for adventure. It didn't help he was getting a little stir crazy from being holed up in the outpost for so long. “We can't use anything but our magic until we're safely out of Skyrim.”

“Just think of it like special rules for a game.” Pinkie was feeling rather nice. She found no end of joy in the shining sun and chirping birds. That elation could have also been a leftover trace of Sheogorath's little mind game, but that wasn't going to get her down. The bubbly pony was practically ready to bounce from her seat and run alongside the wagon, she was so eager to return home.

“You guys had an escort, right?” The driver suddenly asked as the carriage slowed. This interruption was enough to draw the group's attention; the driver was aware of the two Legionnaires riding ahead, but no mention was needed. Confirmation was out of the question, as was simple curiosity, so there was only a single possibility. Quicker than lightning, the leather-bound book was slammed shut, and the mages were on the defensive. Renoir and Reman readied their Destruction spells while Twilight and Luna prepared to place a barrier around the carriage. Lynette, thinking ahead, was aiming her Healing Hands at the two combat veterans.

“Yeah, we did.” Reman wished the wagon was covered, like it should have been. Titus had some things to answer for once he returned to the Imperial City, and the lycan would be certain he was held accountable for any pony blood spilled that day. Hoping for the best, the spellsword asked about the worst. “Vampires?”

“Bandits, most likely.” While a relief, this was still a dangerous situation. At least there would be no infections. The driver halted the carriage, unable to pass the fallen horses and slain soldiers in the road. Very calmly, as though it had been done a thousand times, the brigands emerged form their hiding spots behind the treeline. There were eight of them, at least, though they were poorly equipped. Their chief, however, was wreathed in Dwemer metal, though his head was unprotected.

His tusked, green face scowled at them.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Lieutenant Scipio led his troops through the Pine Forest, on the prowl for a certain group that had been a thorn in the Empire's side for far too long. The Penitus Oculatus agent motioned for his second to move up along the road. The Emperor himself had given his team a Writ of Exterminatus, signed by the Elder Council and sealed with the Imperial Dragon. The order was for the Dark Brotherhood and its accomplices, under the stipulation that none of the assassins survived. At that very moment, they came upon the clearing an informant had told them of, and saw the Black Door that must have led to the Sanctuary.

With the movement of the lieutenant's hand, his team's archers loaded arrows tipped with oil-soaked cloth. All was quiet as they hid in the brush, with only the flaming tips of their missiles to light the way. Another group waited above the hole, holding clay pots of flammable liquid. There was an inferno ready to be struck, a punitive flame to cleanse the tainted land of the evil that rooted itself in the cavern below. Orders were to wait until Lieutenant Scipio gave the order to fire, which would certainly have to wait until any possible targets could be identified as Dark Brotherhood.

Thirty minutes after their arrival, the Imperials were rewarded with a lone sheep wandering from its twisted flock. An old man dressed in black and red mage's robes, likely a Breton and most certainly a master wizard. The black hand on the robe's chest was all Scipio needed to give his command. The officer raised his sword and shouted.

“Fi-” His voice was cut short by the sliver of midnight that suddenly protruded from his chest. The masked assassin pirouetted and slashed another Oculatus agent's throat, before an arrow flew through her eye. The situation was rapidly dissolving as more black-clad figures emerged from various spider-holes in the terrain. The wizard retreated into the barrow while his younger colleagues handled the Imperial threat.

I Call Him Nubby

“Alright, hand over all your valuables, and we'll let you go.” The Orc had a smug look on his face. The rich humans would no doubt comply, and then he could give the signal for his boys to capture them. They'd ransom the weaklings, then kill them once the money came through. “I'm only telling you once.”

“I've got a better deal, greenskin: you get out of our way, and we'll only kill half your men.” Renoir had grown up around Orsimer, and had no love lost for the brutish elves. The Breton felt no superiority to them, as many of his kinsmen did, but he knew they weren't always the brightest of fellows.

“You heard him, boys.” At their leaders command, the bandits readied their longbows. Many of them were using iron arrows, but their target were unarmored. One of the marks, a man with dark hair, dove beneath a blanket. The first arrow was directed at him. A purple barrier flashed around the entire carriage, and shimmered as the missile glanced off its ethereal surface. A small hole appeared in the shield, barely the size of a fist. At the same time as a masked man stood, the one who dove under the blanket landed next to the wagon, still protected by the defensive sorcery.

A ball of flame, concentrated into an orange-hot inferno. Soaring on unseen winds, the magic collided with the first bandit to fire. The simple furs the Bosmer wore made excellent kindling for the magical miniature sun. The remaining seven archers released, creating little more than a light show as the iron-tipped missiles danced off the seemingly-invulnerable sphere. Now it was the woman's turn to leave the carriage, and she joined the other human in rifling through the luggage compartment. She helped the first put on a simple shirt of mail, before grabbing her own weapon.

As mysteriously as it appeared, the lavender dome vanished without the slightest of traces. The three humans leaped from their positions, barely away from the former shield's border. The two males were oddly mobile, even with things at a brief halt. The woman, a Breton by the look of things, had an eerie calm about her.

“Still not taking my friend's offer?” the unmasked man asked, wearing a wolfish grin. By his tone and voice, his nature as an Imperial was easy to spot. One hand held a steel sword, but the other remained oddly empty. “Tell me, Orc, what is the name of the elf I'm going to kill today?”

“I wouldn't know; he isn't here.” The greenskin returned the grin, magnified tenfold by his protruding tusks. He unhitched his mace and twirled between his gloved fingers. He snorted once, his breath fogging in the mountain air. “Don't suppose you'll listen to reason?

“Well, you see, we're on a tight schedule, and really don't have time to deal with anyone at the moment.” There was a cheeky tone in the Imperial's voice, almost like he was confident enough to take on the entire warband. A few sparks arced between his fingertips as the other humans covered his flanks. “You've got one chance to surrender and leave this place alive.”

“Really, as much fun as it would be to turn you all into cinders, we need to be on our way.” The masked man spoke that time, still not holding a weapon. Strangely, he had no exposed skin, almost like he was scared of being burned by his own mage's flames. The crossbow-carrying woman remained silent as the grave.

“Boy, I guess we just have to disagree.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Man down!” Geoffrey held his comrade's neck, trying to stem the tide of blood. One of the assassins had somehow sneaked behind their lines, and executed Lieutenant Scipio before a response could be made. The man she attacked next was the force's newest agent and stood little chance against her. The witch lay dead, but at the cost of two good men. But, even if the first fell, there were more underground. “I need some help up here!”

A dark figure stepped from the underbrush, wearing a mask that concealed his face. An Orcish sword was loosely held in his hand, a deranged look in his eyes. Geoffrey knew the Dark Brotherhood was, in its most basic form, a cult devoted to death, and this assassin seemed just as insane as one would think. With a cackle that only hinted at unknown warping of mind and soul, the black-clad murderer rushed the Penitus Oculatus agent. The masked man brought his sword down on the warrior, who parried with his Imperial-forged blade. Geoffrey used his enemy's stagger to end things as soon as possible, and slashed across his relatively-unprotected gut.

The cultist fell to the ground, panicking as he tried to hold his intestines. The Imperial was on him in a flash, making the decision to abandon his wounded comrade to kill and enemy of the Empire. Steel slammed through leather and muscle, glancing off bone as is shredded through vital organs. Satisfied, Geoffrey pulled the assassin's cowl from his face, and felt his blood run cold. It had not been a member of the Dark Brotherhood who attacked him, but one of his fellow agents. Something like that should have been impossible, but quite literally stared the man in the face.

The Imperial fell back and scooted as far from the corpse as he could, disgusted with himself and the Brotherhood. This was not how battles should have been fought, and even as he heard the shouts and screams of those around him, dying in the forest, he couldn't help but quake with terror. If these murderers were able to hypnotize a loyal servant of the Emperor, how could anyone be safe? The world seemed to have no certainties for the man; it wobbled and waved in his sight and blurred his reality. In a panic, the Penitus Oculatus agent scurried to his feet, and ran into the brush, away from the bloodshed in the Pine Forest.

He took three steps before he caught on something. Orcish metal speared trough his abdomen, no different from the blade his fallen comrade had used against him. Something pushed Geoffrey, turning and twisted the man until he face skyward. A familiar cowl came into view; the same assassin that had disguised himself as an agent stood in the clearing, placing a cork back into a clay flask. The cloth hood came off, revealing the Bosmer who had caused so much pain, and remained remorseless.

The last thing Geoffrey saw was the elf turning back to the fray, eager to spill more blood.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Reman kept one eye on the Orc chieftain, who remained out of the action. Only five bandits remained of the original eight, not counting their leader in Dwemer metal. The Imperial grunted as an iron arrow punched through his chainmail shirt, firmly jamming into his scapula. The lycan stabbed his Skyforge blade through a Nord's gut while Renoir engulfed a charging brigand in an inferno of blue-hot flames. Lynette fired her crossbow; the missile flew true.

A Bosmer stumbled once, eyes half-focused on the bolt now protruding from his sternum. A shaky hand reached for the feathered projectile, but fell limp as its owner crumpled to the ground. Two bandits remained; an Imperial creeping around the back of the carriage, and a Dunmer who stalked from behind the treeline. Even then, the Orsimer was confident in victory, already spending the gold in his mind. In a mad rush of adrenaline, the Cyrodiil climbed onto the wagon.

“Twilight, coming up from the rear!” Lynette shouted, hoping to surprise the highwayman and give the unicorn enough time to put her training to use. The Imperial criminal pulled the tarp aside, eager to gain some cover from the crossbow and magic the two Bretons were slinging. She was met with a small, purple equine, brandishing a horn. The female human's eye widened, and she only had time to register the glow of magicka before she saw the sky.

Reman flinched as he heard the whirl of Destruction magic, punctuated by a woman's terrified scream. The werewolf snapped his head to the wagon, and saw Twilight sitting with her forehooves clamped over her mouth. A pain of sympathy ran through his soul as he understood her agony; one first kill was never easy, and the unicorn was far too innocent to take a life.

“Reman, the greenskin's charging!” Renoir would have given more than his words, but his hands were currently throttling the life from a Dunmer. The vampire could only watch as the Orsimer slammed into the smaller man's back, breaking through the lycan's poised balance like a boulder through a farmhouse of wood scraps. The spellsword's blade clattered to the ground in time with the Orc's priming. The Dwarven mace came crashing, giving Reman barely time to raise his arms to block the blow.

The sound of something solid smacking meat, and the sickening crack of bone reached the Imperial's ear before he felt any pain. A few red slivers poked from his skin, shard of a shattered bone or two. Even a spell as weak as Oakflesh would prove to be a life saver in that moment, but the only magic he knew then was Sparks, leaving him high and dry. A bronze flicker alerted the human to another impending attack. All Reman could do was wait for the inevitable, a hit that would cripple him for weeks or months.

The thunk of a bolt slipping through platemail echoed through the mountains, and Lynette's projectile stuck from between the abdominal and pelvic plates. Inspiration in the form of Orcish pain came to the spellsword at once, and his broken limbs shot out. Both his hands wrapped around the shaft, and he quickly released as much raw magicka into the steel-and-wood missile. Corrosive and venomous, the unrefined energy immediately started taking random effects on the changed elf's flesh. Muscle spasms, frostbite, and burns ruined and paralyzed the Orc's lower body.

The Dwemer mace fell to Nirn's soil as its owner began shouting in pain. Feet slapped against the muddy ground as Renoir grabbed a dead bandit's greatsword, keeping at a run even as he reached for the blade. The vampire closed the distance in what felt like an instant, swinging the steel weapon with deadly precision. The alloy, supplemented by unholy strength, cleaved through the tough flesh of the Orc's neck, jerking to a near stop as it barely pass through bone. There was a heavy thup as the greenskin's head hit the ground.

The slain elf's body crumpled to the ground, falling away from the broken Imperial. Reman rolled to the side, keeping his shattered limbs off the ground. Through blurred eyes, he watched Renoir and Lynette walk over to him, not running like they would if he were in serious danger. The female Breton was the first to speak.

“Reman, you are the biggest idiot I have ever met.” The archer could only question why the man hadn't rolled instead of block.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The last of the assassins lay dead in a sea of its ilk. Lieutenant Castellan breathed a sigh of relief, sitting on a nearby rock. A third of his men were unable to continue the fight, whether slain or injured, but that left him with thirty able-bodied troops. In all of that mess, some good news came to light. The Sanctuary’s cavern was porous, and had numerous openings to the surface. Castellan already had his men dumping oil into the vents. The Imperial almost laughed about the ridiculous oversight; even a Dunmer would be reduced to ash by the intense flames the oil produced.

Light burned from within one of the holes, a fire traveling up the stream of fuel. The clay pot exploded in the pourers' hands, setting them ablaze with the same intensity as the surely-burning cave interior. Another gout of fire shot up, then another. Castellan could only fear the worst as he heard the door slam open.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Arnbjorn's worst nightmare was coming true. The Nord felt flames lapping at his hide, a grim reminder that he was not invincible even in his bestial form. The Sanctuary could burn for all he cared; it was Astrid and the others he worried about. A burning support timber fell before the werewolf, forcing him to run through a cramped side passage. This was not supposed to happen, not on his watch. The Penitus Oculatus had found them, but he didn't know how. All the Nord needed to know was they poured oil all over the place, and one of the streams hit a torch.

A pained cry made him redouble his efforts, knowing instantly the voice was Astrid's. Crashing through an old, half-burnt bookcase, Arnbjorn skidded to a halt. His wife lay pinned beneath beam, motionless and too close to the flames, already covered in burns. The assassin tried to cry out, to beg Sithis or the Divines to spare her life, but the lycan's throat could only manage a roar of anguish. As easily as one might lift a stick, the werewolf tossed the log aside and nudged hi wife's cheek. Astrid remained still.

No. No! This was not supposed to happen! Astrid was supposed to outlive him, and not the other way around. In grief, the lycan gingerly cradled his wife in his arms, trying to protect her from further harm. A healer, he needed a healer. Surely, a Restoation mage could fix this; they could fix anything! The warrior charged through the Black Door, making the way for his Brothers and Sisters. Sunlight, freedom from the choking, black smoke, it was so beautiful. Astrid, barely marred by the flames, looked like an angel against the horrible background of broken bodies and Imperial corpses.

The scent of Oculatus agents caught Arnbjorn's nose.

One is Heading South, the Other is Traveling North

No one said anything as the carriage started down the road. The silence, for one pony, was pained with self-doubt and grief. Twilight Sparkle, apprentice of Princess Celestia and Bearer of the Element of Magic, had used her gift to take the life of another intelligent being. Reman and Lynette asked the others to be silent in hopes of drawing the student from her mind. Sadly, she was very likely replaying the death over and over again in an attempt to undo the deed. The signs of shock were seen as easily as her purple fur.

The clop clop of the horses' hooves against the cobbled road was the only sound that pierced the iron-hard silence. The carriage's slight rocking was almost hypnotic; bringing her to the precipice of lucidity, only to send her back. Actual sleep was likely out of the question; it would almost certainly bring only nightmares. If those dreams would be any worse than reality remained unclear.

“How?” Twilight asked after what felt like a small eternity. Her voice was small, shaky, and barely more than a whisper carried by the crisp air. For a brief moment, Reman thought he imagined it. The Imperial hoped she meant something other than the obvious, not really caring what else she brought up, so long as it wasn't that. “How can you just kill without thinking about it?”

Reman and Lynette shared a look, and Renoir shrugged his shoulders. The vampire couldn't give a readable facial expression, so the brachial movement had to suffice. The question was, in itself, better left to philosophers, and far too subjective to be answered by any one person. Imperials and Bretons had very different traditions regarding war and battle, though both cultures agreed killing was difficult, but similarities ended there. Equestrians, if only for their odd lack of warfare, were nearly except of the reality of Nirn, and only had traditions for loss and death by accidents and natural causes. The spellsword coughed oddly loudly for a man who had no need to clear his throat, drawing the attention of his fellow humans.

Renoir, being the oldest and a skilled healer, could probably offer the best input. On the other hand, he was motivated by revenge and the slaughter of his family, openly so, making him an overall less-than-stellar candidate. Lynette was younger, and had the unique outlook from her upbringing in Cyrodiil while retaining her race's influences. She empathized with others more easily than the group's two males, and that was mostly due to her experience dealing with merchants during her stint in the Silver Hand. However, she was still much a stranger to Twilight and the other ponies, which rendered her advice nearly moot.

Reman Tullius almost cursed as he realized he had been silently chosen for the task. He wasn't his brother, and had never attempted to console someone in shock. Imperials had a warrior-based culture, built from their rise from slavery and their history's numerous wars and conflicts. Death in battle was glorified by them almost as much as the Nords, though there was more of an emphasis on duty for the Cyrodiils. A man wasn't considered such until he had seen battle, and a warrior wasn't more than a man unless he had bested someone in mortal combat.

This would not be easy for anyone involved.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Arnbjorn cared not for the Emperor's dogs that surrounded him, only for Astrid. The woman was cradled in his arms, shielded from any harm as her bestial husband wracked his brain for any way to save her. Nothing immediately came to mind besides finding a healer, but Falkreath wouldn't take kindly to him sprinting into town. Perhaps one of the Oculatus had some medicine on him? The sound of a snapping bowstring made the world crash as the thought passed through his mind.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Sirius Cadia regretted his actions almost immediately. The beast was obviously a werewolf, one of Hircine's monsters sent to terrorize the hinterlands. Oddly, it held the corpse of the Dark Brotherhood's alleged leader, Astrid Frostcrag. The agent had readied his bow to kill the lycan, lining up an arrow with a nice tip of steel that thirsted for blood. He loosed the missile after carefully aiming his shot, hoping to bring Divine retribution for the abomination's crime of existence. Skill and luck would be what brought the foul creature to its knees, and the arrow would be the instrument of Imperial law.

Like time itself had slowed to a crawl, Cadia could see his projectile wobble as it sped to its target. Almost immediately, the man realized he had aimed too low. Instead of hitting the werewolf between the eyes, it would bury itself in the beast's torso. Fate seemed to have other plans, something the Oculatus agent understood as the bladed tip arced downward still. With an almost sickening shink, the arrow buried itself in the corpse of Astrid Frostcrag. The tan man slowly drew his gaze upward, already preparing his next shot before the monster could retaliate.

Sirius Cadia froze in place as his eyes locked with the beast's.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“It... gets easier with time.” Reman could only say so much after a brief time. It was also the best way he could put it. The Imperial had more than a few stories to tell, the sort of tales best left unrecorded and forgotten. “Eventually, the pain will fade.”

“But I killed somepony,” Twilight asserted, her voice barely more than a wavering whisper. The unicorn was still obviously wracked with grief, fear of her own power. Killing, even for survival, had a terrible effect on men and most mer, and now seemed to include ponies. “I don't want the pain to fade; I wish it never happened.”

“Twilight, you bear a scar that shall remain with you for the rest of your days.” Reman said nothing but the explicit truth. The knowledge he held was passed from his father, and his father before him; a piece to wisdom first spoken in the days of Saint Alessia. “Your scar, as well as those that mark every warrior and wizard to ever walk Tamriel, tells where you have been, but has no say in where you will go.”

“But can I ever forget it? Can I ever truly move on?” she asked. The Element of Magic noticed everypony was quiet, even the carriage driver. She felt, for the briefest of moments, that her friends may have thought less of her, or branded her a monster for having taken a life. Next to her, Summer Glade gently pressed a wing to her side, the equivalent a kind nudge of the elbow.

“Twilight, I'll be completely honest with you, but you have to agree to give me the same courtesy.” The Imperial stopped to wait for her reply. Upon seeing the mare's head shakily nod her consent and promise, the spellsword took a deep breath. “Cyrodiilic tradition holds that prowess in combat and sorcery are traits passed from generation to generation, that the son or daughter of a strong fighter will also be strong. Do you know how the noble houses test their children, Twilight?”

“No,” she replied, not certain she wanted to know. The Imperials she knew, even the elderly Titus Mede, were all oddly unaffected by bloodshed. The Emperor had read a battle report from the Markarth, a city the ponies had not visited, and hadn't batted an eye at the death toll.

“We are sent to an arena and made to fight the lowlifes and scum of our respective cities. Children no older than Spike are sometimes sent, and this is all expected. For House Tullius and House Maro, really any family deeply rooted in the politics and military action of the Empire, the prospects are expected to fight two or three criminals at a time.” Reman eased back, shifting to batter rest against the wagon's railing. The man actually had a few fond memories of his time in Kvatch's arena, most of which revolved around the handful of friends he'd made. “Twilight, I was fifteen when I took my first life, and there was no guarantee I would survive.”

“That's barbaric! You can't just send children to fight and die like they're trained warriors; genetics don't work like that.” Twilight had returned at least partially to her old self. A natural scholar, she quickly found a flaw in Imperial beliefs by applying Equestrian knowledge of medicine and science. There was surely no allele that said one could swing an axe or sword better, or use Destruction magic to a higher degree than Restoration; those things were left to the individual's talents and dedication. “How can your people even think that's okay?”

“We conquered Tamriel, so we need to be able to defend it. If our children are exposed to bloodshed at a young age, they won't shy away from their duty as adults.”

“That's psychological torture!”

“Yet we hold firm. Do you know why Imperials don't go starting wars if they would result in huge casualties but we were able to win? We know how precious life is, because our leaders are forced to end one to become adults.” Reman grew solemn in that moment, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “We kill, we even murder, but only the cruelest of us enjoy it.”

“You're saying I should only kill when necessary?” Twilight did not mean to sound as though she was going to kill under any other circumstances. In reality, she hoped she never had to kill again, but knew this was a fantasy. Equestria and Nirn were bound together now, and either she or her foals would be exposed to the world's politics. “I don't want to kill at all.”

“Many men have said the same, and done their very best to stay out of conflicts. But, Twilight, the life of a pacifist is a constant war.” Reman understood where she was coming from, having been there a handful of times himself. There was no joy in what he did, even the Dark Brotherhood contracts Arnbjorn sometimes sent his way were only done because it meant the target had wronged someone and he needed the money. The gold and jewels he stored around Skyrim were for a rainy day, funding for an army that would hopefully never be raised. “I find it is better to know yourself and what you are capable of, than simply say you will not do something.”

“But you're talking about ending life. That's something ponies don't do on a regular basis.” The purple mare frowned at the Imperial, filled with vigor she had lost. Twilight Sparkle knew exactly what she was capable of; she and her friends had saved Equestria on multiple occasions. “I can very easily never raise a hoof in anger if need be.”

“What of your brother and sister-in-law? What of your parents? What of Spike? Would you simply lie down and allow them to come to harm?” Reman asked. The questions were simple, and any human would say they would do everything they could to prevent their loved ones from danger. Still, they served to drive the spellsword's point home. The lycan knew Twilight held power, and was capable of protecting her family, but only is she allowed herself to. “That horn on your head says you have magic and can use it. A dead Imperial with a hole blown through her chest says you can harness you talents to a lethal end. You alone may choose what you do with it, if you wield your powers as a shield or sword.”

“As long as I never enjoy it, I can still be myself?” She was starting to understand, but still struggled with the details. Shining Armor would surely be told, then her parents and Cadence. What would they think of her? What would Princes Celestia say? “No, that's not what you're saying. You mean I can be normal, have a normal life, but I'll never be the same pony I was.”

“Twilight, normal is something no one wants to be. You and your friends, as well as the bond you share, are hardly normal, and that's for the better.” Reman smiled then, seeing a familiar spark light itself in the unicorn's eyes. “Though I don't speak for them, I am confident they will stay by your side and keep you from falling into the abyss.”

“Will you, really?” Twilight asked her still-silent friends. A few of the other ponies had misty eyes, and Fluttershy was close to outright weeping. There was no verbal answer, for words would only serve to dilute the matters at hoof. Pinkie Pie was the first to move, wrapping her forelegs around Twilight's midsection. Rainbow Dash and Rarity followed shortly, joining in the group hug with gusto. Fluttershy and Applejack were the last, but certainly just as happy to prove their friendship. A ball of pastel fur encompassed half of the carriage, emitting a mix of nonsensical squeaks and light sobs.

Princess Luna looked at the scene with a heavy heart. Twilight would recover, that much was certain, but the alicorn knew part of the mare was lost forever. While the Elements' hugging wasn't going to heal the unicorn, it was a step in the right direction. The ruler turned to her Imperial comrade in curiosity, wanting to understand a detail of his story. “You killed someone when you were fifteen?”

“Actually, that was a little white lie.” Normally, Reman would have chuckled a bit, or even laughed. Hiding information was something he did for the benefit of others or himself, but he was always upbeat about it. That was not the current state of affairs. “I was twelve.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Lieutenant Aretino arrived at the Sanctuary to provide reinforcement. He had twenty men under his command, and hoped to keep Lieutenant Scipio from from dying in the Divines forsaken land. He arrived to a burned-out cave and a veritable mountain of bodies. The ashes were cold, and searches of the cavern revealed the target, an ebony sarcophagus, was missing. Corpses of assassins and Oculatus agents littered the woods surrounding the hole, and the Imperial's colleagues were among their number. The Dark Brotherhood had escaped extermination for the time being, but the officer was confident they would be found and dealt with.

“Sir! I found something you may need to see,” an agent called. His voice echoed through the stone halls, but made him sound no less urgent. The Aretino had to find the man in the destroyed complex, but managed to find him with relative ease. The new recruit had found a book, partially burned, that contained some rather serious information. The Night Mother had been there, and must have escaped the purge. Whatever madman had written this was hardly credible, but every member of the Brotherhood had a tenuous grasp on reality according to Imperial records.

“Boys, we're heading to Dawnstar!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Arnbjorn, hold still; you're only making this harder on yourself.” This was far from the first time Babette had to chastise the werewolf, and it wouldn't be the last. The immortal child poured more of her medicinal brew on the man's numerous injuries, eliciting a hiss of pain as the regenerative mixture undid the damage.

“Thank you again for showing up when you did, Cicero.” Festus Krex dusted off his robes as he spoke his praises, genuinely glad the short Imperial provided the aid he did. If it hadn't been for the diminutive man, everyone would have likely died in the Sanctuary. The mad jester in question only hummed his little tune as he continued to clean the Night Mother's casket of soot. “Arnbjorn, do you have any idea when Nazir will be back?”

“I should be the one burying Astrid, not him.” Festus could only sigh at the Nord's stubbornness. At least the lycan had found the cave the Brotherhood remnants now resided in. Gabriela had made an excellent point about the Dawnstar Sanctuary being too obvious a hiding place, and instead desired to build a new Sanctuary in the Reach. They would still have to travel north and out of the Pine Forest, not to mention climbing the mountain roads to find a suitable location.

“We can argue later. Right now, survival matters more.”

Merriment's Might

Night came just as the group entered the Reach. The mountain pass had a small stream nearby, and sheer cliffs on both sides of the road. The carriage came to a stop an hour or so after sundown, to let the horses and driver rest. Forsworn crawled through the hills at all hours, but night made the rocky province infinitely more dangerous for the unprepared. The fire, as small as it was, gave the eleven something warm to crowd around. The numerous shadows would hopefully dissuade any possible attackers.

“Not too bad, for one day's travel.” The driver took a long swig from a bottle of Honningbrew mead. The Nord failed to receive any injuries, and that was fine in his book.

“I've certainly seen worse.” Lynette dipped a bolt in a small, dark green bottle. The Breton looted the cheap poison from one of the bandits. It wasn't like he would be needing it anymore.

“I, for one, could have done without the day's unpleasantness.” Rarity was still coming down, only now taking the time to fix her mane and properly clean herself. The unicorn wouldn't use the stream to bathe, not after what happened to Fluttershy and Glade after the first day, but her magic made a passable substitute.

“You're telling me.” Reman held up his arms, which were splinted and wrapped in cloth. He was left with little more than nubs, and would be nearly useless in combat until the bones healed. The Imperial admitted the injuries were his fault; he chose to block the Orc's mace instead of roll to safety. Twilight, Divines bless her, was holding the man's book in front of him, turning pages when asked.

“I've actually been meaning to ask what's in that thing,” Luna brought up out of the blue. The alicorn knew something was strange about the leather-bound tome, but she couldn't put her hoof on it. The regent knew it likely contained arcane knowledge, given the unreadable symbols and indecipherable, though legible, words. Which was odd, because she knew the notes weren't written in Reman's specific code.

“Research notes a friend had a courier bring me.” The Imperial nodded his head, telling the lavender unicorn sitting next to him to turn the page. The Element knew she was being taught the contents, that the spellsword expected her to read along. “You probably wouldn't be interested.”

“I thought wizards didn't share information; makes it too hard to be the big dog.” Rainbow Dash was drawing this from her rather extensive reading of fantasy novels. While she was partially correct on the secretive nature of Tamriel's mages, students of the College and Sinod usually hid their findings to prevent accidents. Renoir laughed at the pegasus's belief.

“I think you've been reading a few too many adventure books.” The vampire tossed the chromatic pony a toothy grin.

“You can read?” Reman asked, sounding surprised. Rainbow Dash knew he was joking, of course; the smirk he wore only improved the odds of her being correct. All in all, the day was coming to a calm and rather drab end. That was until Pinkie came to sudden realization.

“Has anypony seen Gummy?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“What is this thing?” Babette asked as she stared at the small reptile. Its eyes were odd, blankly staring into the distance. It resembled an alligator, though it was very much a dwarf, and seemed to lack teeth. To the alchemist, it was a miracle the cold-blooded animal was even alive with its lack of defenses. “It looks... stupid.”

“Too small to eat, anyway.” Arnbjorn couldn't avert his gaze from the animal's lazy eye, or was it lazy eyes? The dreadlocked Nord's blood was still boiling, but he was unable to take the fight to the Oculatus outpost in Dragon Bridge. Gabriella had taken the liberty of binding the man's legs, using both cloth and rope in hopes of keeping him still long enough for his wounds to properly heal. The werewolf would likely be immobile for the next couple of days.

“Many delicious foods are but morsels, honored Arnbjorn.” Cicero looked up and smiled as he spoke, having finished his task of cleaning the Night Mother's coffin as the sun set. He was sure poetry was to be found in such a coincidence, but that was not his job. For once, the jester did not feel like singing or dancing; too much tragedy for even the greatest motley fool to heal. “Perhaps Cicero could find a deer or boar for us?”

“Hardly necessary, Cicero.” Festus coughed the words out, catching a bit of phlegm in his throat. The High Rock native hacked a bit more before settling, a poor effect of the smoke he inhaled during the attack. Sadly, he would have to wait for it to develop into pneumonia or some other lung disease before Babette could cure it.

“Go right ahead, just don't draw attention to us when you kill it.” Arnbjorn, by right of marital inheritance, was the leader of the Brotherhood until a Listener could be found. The dreadlocked Nord knew the Keeper's pain, a murderous instinct that needed to be sated, preferably with the bloody slaughter of man and mer. The Imperial was just sneakier with his desires than most.

Cicero needed no further instruction, and was gone before anyone could get another word in.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The fire was down to mere embers, though its light went unmourned. Twilight stayed awake, alone in the darkness, save for the insomniac Renoir. For what is was worth, the vampire gave the unicorn her space, though he remained at an approachable distance. Princess Luna was perhaps the only pony other than the Element who remained lucid, though her tent was closed and the lantern extinguished. The lavender mare understood the regent would stay awake to watch her dreams, prevent them from becoming nightmares. The gesture was appreciated, even if Twilight had no intentions of sleeping for the time being.

The Element of Magic sipped on a bottle of Nord mead, chilled enough to make the mountain air seem tolerable. Alcohol was not her first choice, nor was it one she would make under normal circumstances, but there she was. For a brief moment, the mare realized how disappointed her mother would be if she was with her. The thought only provoked the pony to take an entire swig of the numbing liquid. She read in a book somewhere that drinking kept one from dreaming, kind of like the brain's little revenge for all the things its owner did to it, a refusal to entertain. If it let her rest, and kept her from seeing the woman she killed, Twilight Sparkle was all for it. Maybe this was why Reman always drank while he was in Ponyville.

The mare yawned loudly enough to Renoir to give her a strange look, mirthful smile on his face. The element waved a hoof at him before rising from her seat. She wobbled a bit, completely lacking any sort of tolerance for the drug that was alcohol. For the return leg, she was sharing with Reman and Glade, which, to be honest, may have been a risky move on her end. Meh, what did she care? It was nothing she hadn't seen before. An odd phenomena made itself known at that moment. It took Twilight, at most, eight seconds to reach the fire from her shared tent, but nearly three minutes in the opposite direction.

Thoroughly sure she would not be plagued with terrors of the night, she flopped down on an open bedroll.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

In Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora gazed across Tamriel, searching for information he did not already possess. There were, of course, the Skaal on Solstheim, but fate was beginning to wear them down. However, the Daedric Prince was not worried about the Nords at the moment, for a greater target had presented itself. Twilight Sparkle, student of the alicorn Princess Celestia and Bearer of the Element of Magic, contained within her a wealth of knowledge that remained untapped. Indeed, Mora had only probed her little mind to see how deep her ocean of knowledge truly was, and he liked what he saw.

Twilight was weakened then, grieving to the point of sickness over what she did. She would be an easy target, perhaps the easiest since Septimus came along. But, she had more uses than a mind to leech information from; as it were, she had the unique chance to acquire a compilation of notes on necromancy that had eluded Hermaeus Mora since the Second Era. In life, Mannimarco had hidden his notes, his very essence in countless tomes and books, waiting for a scholar to decode them. In undeath, the powerful wizard, one of the most powerful to ever live, had destroyed many of those very volumes, and distorted others to appear as works of fiction.

Now an abridged version lay in the hands of Reman Tullius, one of Hircine's lot. It was far from holding the entirety of Mannimarco's work, but it was more than the Daedra had, and Twilight was next to it. The tiniest influence, the most imperceptible of nudges, would provoke the mare's natural curiosity. But, she also feared what could happen to her, and what Mora would do even if she proved worthy. The many-tentacled Deadra growled through the very fabric of his domain, evoking fear from the many Seekers and Lurkers that inhabited Apocrypha. No, there was no need for impatience; fate would bring the lavender pony to him willingly, and the necromancer's notes along with her.

Manipulating Twilight was out of the question, but that left some very influential targets wide open.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Reman Tullius was not asleep. The lycan was too occupied with Mannimarco's notes to bother sleeping, though his wrapped arms made flipping pages difficult. The Imperial regarded the ancient necromancer with nothing less than disgust, a vile monster best left buried with the other curios and relics of the Second Era. Still, the mad Altmer was a partial founder of the Conjuration School, and practically wrote the book on summoning. Still, even with the professional understanding, Reman felt bile rise in his throat at reading the perverse tome.

The spellsword gave Twilight a small nod as she stumbled into the tent, drunk. Why the driver had recommended rotgut to her, he would never know. Still, seeing her drift to sleep gave the Imperial all the reason he needed to grab some shuteye. He dogeared the page he was on, glad to be setting the accursed book down, and rolled onto his back. Glade moved against him in her sleep, eager for more warmth, and the lycan could only chuckle to himself. Reman held one of his wrapped hands out, making sure to use the one least damaged by the Orc.

He managed to draw wisps of purple magicka to his palm, which then swirled together and held the shape of a sphere. It disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Cicero ran as though his life depended on it. He was not fleeing his Mother or his duties as Keeper, for that was unthinkable. Still, the diminutive human charged quietly across the rocky crags of the Reach, expertly leaping over steams and sudden drops. The skilled assassin needed some space for now, some air, time to think. The Sanctuary in Falkreath was compromised and purged in flames; the one in Dawnstar may have been as well. If one was found, who was to say the other wasn't? The motley fool shook his head as he ducked into a small crevasse, shaking from the day's stress.

Despite himself, Cicero smiled, bleak and dismal. How would the Jester react to this? He would certainly laugh, of that there was no doubt. Shakily, the assassin reached for his ebony dagger, his sliver of the night sky. It twinkled even in Masser's dim light. The sound of a stone's echoing crack was all it took for Cicero to begin searching for a target. The crevasse was deep, deeper than most would believe. The killer's body slid silently into the darkness, the void that held his prey. There was a cavern there, filled to the brim with lowlifes and society's scum.

Cicero dropped to the ground like the shadow of a ghost, quiet as the grave. The motley fool's eyes locked onto a receding figure, a man carrying a bottle in one hand. With agility and grace often associated with elves, the assassin followed. The sound of water, a single drop hitting the stone floor, rang almost deafeningly in his ears. The Dark Brother looked up, but saw no sign of a drippy ceiling. It came again, in the same spot. Cicero brought a curious hand to his face, and it came back wet; fingertips soaked, not with blood, but fresh tears.

The dagger's shaky hand steadied at that moment, for Cicero once more became the Jester, but he was no fool. Even as tears began pouring from his face, a smile spread across the man's thin lips. A little tune began playing in his head, one he'd last heard in Bravil, and modified to his own needs.

Madness is merry and merriment's might, when the Jester comes calling with his knife in the night.

Divine Divination and Dastardly Deeds

Twilight seemed to have been misinformed in regards to alcohol’s ability to remove one's dreams. Images fluttered through her mind's eye, showing her scenes she could imagine, glimpses of some far off land that might not exist. Snow and ash fell from the sky, both holding horrors her mind could only barely register. Another scene, one of green grass and ivory stone, a wonderland as beautiful as Skyrim, and no less dangerous. A man, sitting on a throne, head hung low as another man, this one in golden armor, hands him a scroll. The mare's eyes finally fluttered open after that.

She was instantly aware of Reman sitting next to her, and that the sun was a long way from rising. The spellsword nodded at her, then went back to polishing his sword. Twilight understood Imperial's treated maintaining their weapons as an almost religious obligation, and she had only the option of watching him work, or rolling over and trying to sleep again. She would have tried asking the Imperial why he was still awake, but noticed Glade was still sleeping, and wrapped in Reman's clothing to make up for the lack of warmth. The Element of Magic abandoned her pursuit of sleep for the time being, and instead focused on watching the Imperial, eager for a distraction.

Watching the man clean his blade would be boring under normal circumstances, especially in silence, but Twilight had few options. She noticed he had removed the bandages around his hands, but kept those on the splints tight, all to allow him the freedom to hold a rag. He was in a sad state, in her opinion. But, even in the tent's near-complete darkness, she could see a determined look in his eyes. Reman Tullius was a man on a mission, and he would not stop until he had completed his goal and repaid his debt to Princess Celestia.

Glade flopped over in her sleep, a half-snort escaping her as she settled. The two magic wielders had to stifle their own laughter at the undignified sound. Reman looked at the sleeping mare intently as she shuddered in her sleep, sheathing his sword the moment she came to a full rest. He nodded to Twilight, and stepped outside, into the night's cold air.

She, of course, followed, having absolutely nothing better to do. The Reach's brisk air sapped what little energy the unicorn managed to recover during her brief rest. The mare casually noted Renoir was still seated by the fire, which he must have stoked at some point, for it was much more than the embers Twilight remembered. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Reman removing his splints to reveal the terribly discolored flash beneath the wraps. She hadn't seen the injuries before then; she was far too shocked about killing someone to bother noticing.

The Imperial held one of the damaged limbs out, and hissed as Renoir wrapped his slim fingers around it. A look of concentration overlook the undead man's face as golden light began to glow through the cracks between his digits. The bruising gradually faded as the magic Twilight understood to be Restoration went about healing the damage from earlier that day. The entire process took about six minutes, but only affected Reman's sword arm.

“Want me to do the other?” Renoir asked, looking only slightly winded, but it may have been because he was incapable of showing many signs of exhaustion. He'd had a long day like the rest of the group, but it could only be seen within his eyes.

“Not really; I only need to be able to swing my blade right now,” Reman answered, not seeing the point in using more magicka to heal what he called his magic arm. He rarely used a shield, and was only just recovering the use of his spells, so unneeded strain on the party's healer was best avoided. “Everything else can wait.”

“You just can't stop being reckless, can you?” Twilight asked before she could stop the words, eliciting curious looks from the two males. In that moment, cold and tired, she felt very small beneath their gaze. The blazing fire seemed almost magical in its own right, rendering Reman and Renoir little more than silhouettes with twinkling, predatory eyes. Still, she did not feel she was in much danger.

“Well, I do suppose none of us here can say otherwise.” Reman hinted at something that escaped the mare. He and Renoir were dangerous to be near; it was practically part of their job description. But Twilight did not see how it applied to her, being the bookish type. “Confused, little pony?”

“Really, you shouldn’t be.” Renoir smiled at her, his fangs catching more light than the rest of his teeth. For a brief moment, the mare considered the possibility they were made of a different material than the other, but realized this was neither the time nor place. “The three of us have a single trait linking us to one another.”

In that moment, Twilight was completely stumped. She wasn't an adventurer or dungeon crawler, and she most certainly wasn't anything other than a unicorn. She looked back and forth between the two men, keeping herself in mind, and yet still failed to find the common factor. In a flash, her mind drifted to the day's event's, though both Reman and Renoir shook their heads before she could say anything in that regard. How had they known she was thinking that?

“Trust me, Twilight; you haven't done near as much as we have,” the Imperial, slightly losing the smile he had a moment before. The very shadows seemed to writhe with the fire's light, burning in their own dark flames. Snaking and slithering over everything in their reach, like inky blackness made material. Then, like a flashbulb went off, a clear image sprouted in her mind. Reman was a werewolf, one of Hircine's manbeasts; Renoir was a vampire, an unholy child of Molag Bal; Twilight Sparkle was the protege of Celestia, and an unwilling target of Hermaeus Mora.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Blood oozed down the cavern wall, as though Nirn itself was bleeding. Cicero cackled in delight of this day, for he was once more something other than Keeper for his Unholy Matron. Duty temporarily forgotten, he could do as instinct told him, skill bred over years upon years of faithful and unflinching service.

“Cicero is loyal; Cicero listens, but why won't Mother talk?” He asked the man clutched in his grip. This one was a Redguard by the look of things, and oh how he struggled against the Jester's grasp. He tried to gargle out some words, punch Cicero in his ribs to cajole release, freedom. “You wish to escape? Oh, Cicero will grant your wish, dear friend.”

The Redguard's eyes widened as he saw the assassin's dagger, poised for a downward thrust. He struggled against the hand clutching his throat, eliciting a look of unadulterated joy from the macabre murderer. The sliver of midnight sky, twinkling as though riddled with stars, plunged into the man's chest, slicing through his breastbone with ease granted from madness and a blade sharp enough to slice steel. Still, the Redgaurd fought against Cicero, the throws and throes of death. Like lightning, the dagger slid from from his body, and stabbed again.

Each pull forced an ever weakening gout of blood, dragged from within by the knife's hooked tip. Within seconds, the only movement was the shaking caused by the motley fool's gloved hand slapping against the slain man's chest with every thrust. Realizing he was doing little more than beating a dead horse, Cicero released his grip. He couldn't even enjoy the sound of the fresh corpse hitting the cavern floor. He looked around, half admiring his work.

There had been thirteen bandits when the Jester came calling, now none of the were alive to laugh at this comedy. Even now, Cicero could feel joy rising within him, only to be equally matched by a sinking dread. Yes, he had done Sithis's will and sent souls to the Void, but now he had to find his way to the others. The day's antics hadn't allowed much time for him to get his bearings, and now he lost somewhere in the Reach. The motley fool rubbed his bloodied, gloved hands together as he thought about his next move.

“No, no, no, no, this will not do, not one bit.” Cicero was slightly agitated, to say the absolute least. He paced back and forth for what seemed like hours, as midnight approached and the world was shrouded as though by the Night Mother's cloak. Masser, large and red as it always was, cast its glow across Skyrim, a crimson eye for all the world to behold. Craters were plainly visible on its surface, dotting the celestial body like someone spilled ink. Pale tracks of land filled the areas between them, almost resembling roads of some sort.

“Yes, I should find a road. Surely, my Brothers and Sisters will find me, or I them, if I use a road.” With goal in mind, Cicero skipped along his merry way. He may not have known where he was, but he knew north and south and every point of the compass in between. South, his Family was south, his Mother was south, right? The Falkreath Sanctuary wasn't the southernmost point in Skyrim, but it also wasn’t the northernmost point in the hold. Had Cicero traveled up or down? Northwest or southwest? “Stupid, stupid, stupid Cicero!”

How would he fix this? What remedy was he prepared to use? Divination seemed plausible, surely; all he needed was a branch or large twig. It wasn't an exact science, to be sure, but things rarely were in these turbulent times. There was a juniper tree nearby, dried and dead from lack of rain. A stick was easy to obtain, ready to be used for this ritual. With a burst of strength, Cicero tossed the limb into the air, watching as it spun and flipped. It landed with a slight clatter, pointing north.

It was as good a guess as any.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Oh, relax. A Daedric Prince with his eye on you isn't all bad.” Reman Tullius actually sounded convincing, but he had been free of Hircine's grip for may weeks now. Renoir sagely nodded in agreement, having had his own share of joys from his unholy existence. Twilight understood what the were doing; she couldn't stop Mora from watching and waiting, but she could use their advice to make the most of things.

“It's actually quite tolerable; we just like to mope sometimes.” The vampire grinned, tipping back a small bottle of something that made Twilight's nostrils burn. He was immortal, or at least eternal in his life. If someone set him on fire or chopped him up, he would die like anyone else, but he had all the time in the world if he could stay out of trouble. “I can tell you're the scholarly sort, Herma Mora is more than accommodating in that regard.”

“One of his agents told us how to get to Black Reach; we'd actually be there right now if Hircine hadn't sent me to Equestria.” Reman neglected to mention what it was he and Renoir wanted with the Dwemer ruin, but Twilight had an idea. The Imperial waved her over, holding a bottle of an alcohol she hadn't seen before. Its bottle was cut crystal, pink in the fire's light. “Cyrodiilic brandy, fine stuff. Glade would kill me if I drank any, so I figured you should have it.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?” She admitted her question was a bit dumb, but it was either very late at night, or very early in the morning.

“Drink it, wash your mane with it, stick the tip of your horn in the bottle, give it to you brother and his wife for all I care; all that matters is you have it.” Only after Reman handed the drink over did Twiight understand the significance of it. Imperials did not give personal gifts very often, though their celebrations were lavish and often had bags for ever guest, Cyrodiil's men and women were not fond of just handing things away, especially something as expensive as this drink surely must have been. “It's a vintage, older than my grandfather, and still the finest thing you'll ever sip.”

“I don't know what to say.” Vintages were costly, something Twilight knew from experience. A bottle of wine could easily cost four thousand bits if it was from the right year. “Surely, there must be something I can do to repay you.”

“Twilight, you, Renoir, Glade, Pinkie, and I are the lost and damned. The very best thing you can do is survive, and help your friend through her own troubles.”

“Pinkie's had contact with a Daedra?” Twilight had seen her acting strangely, but dismissed it as just Pinkie being Pinkie. Was it Mora? No, that didn't make much sense. Sanguine was a definite choice, being the Prince of debauchery and excessive partying, but Pinkie knew when enough was enough, most of the time. “Oh sweet Celestia!”

“Sad to say she's in a mess Reman and I can't quite handle. You see, she's been touched by the Madgod, and only her friends can help her out of this.” Renoir was solemn as he spoke, understanding the severity of the situation. For the Element of Magic, things were getting more and more complicated as time went on.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Summer Glade slept better than she had in weeks. Her belly was full, her body and mind at ease, and she was on her way back to Equestria. She dreamed, as well, something simple but grand. She was wearing silk vestments, crimson with golden edges, and the air was warm. She stood on the porch of a large mansion, an opulent estate that must have belonged to one of great wealth. Nothing smelled like home, nothing was truly familiar, but she felt as though she had spent her entire life there. Of in the distance, she heard steel crash against steel.

An armored man wielding a bladeless sword clashed against a pony wrapped in similar metal and wielding an identical weapon. The two were laughing, age visible in their voices. The man was obviously Reman, but the strange pony was a mystery. A slight breeze blew waves in the knee-high grass as the two, carrying the scent of the nearby rose garden with it. Roses were visible from the corner of her eye, obviously lovingly maintained, enough so to win one of those garden competitions that made Glade want to vomit.

“Hello again, mortal.”

Author's Note

I have been made aware of a simple mod one of you has made in honor of this fic.
For those of you who do not know, it is called Reman's Sword.

What is Black and Red and Dirty all Over? Cicero

“Don't be so surprised, child.” Rose, a pony who Glade and Reman knew as the Daedric Prince Azura, sat next to her on the manor's porch. She was white with a void-black mane, bearing a cutie mark of two moons and a star on each flank. “I've grown rather fond of the play you call life.”

“I assume you're responsible for all this?” Glade asked, waving a hoof in an encompassing gesture. She wasn't quite terrified by the god, but fear was a natural response. In truth, she actually respected Azura, at least enough to admit she liked the dreamscape this time. “I must say this is much better than endless fields of roses.”

“Trust me, child, this is all your creation.” Rose smiled dazzlingly, something that would have given her status as an immortal away if she was not already known as such. Her lycan companion, however, wasn't sure her words were genuine. “But you're imagining County Kvatch all wrong; this resembles County Anvil more than anything.”

“Why in the wide world of Equestria would I dream of this?” Glade asked, not quite putting all the pieces together in her mind. Reman was here, and they were somewhere on Nirn, living in a manor, with a mystery pony he trained with during the day. What was there to get? She could hear the two laughing in the distance as they practiced their swordsmanship, punctuated by bits of advice from the Imperial. The two kept mock fighting, taking full advantage of the green, grassy plains that stretched as far as the eye could see.

“Did you not want a family and quiet retirement?” The Daedra asked, still smiling her sweet smile. The werewolf wanted to say something, but Azura had a point; she just never imagined it would be like this. “It doesn't have to be; you're just imagining it as such. That stallion Reman is sparring with could just as easily be a mare. This manor could be in Equestria, even Canterlot, should you so wish.”

Glade was quiet then, absorbing the information. The dream felt like one of hers, far different from the ones Rose fabricated, but she was still curious about some things. She was never clothed before then, and had always either been naked or armored while dreaming, yet she was bedecked in vestments of unknown origin. The mansion was also of questionable origin, not of Equestrian styles, or even those she had seen in Skyrim, but there were pony and humans milling about within, perhaps servants who were part of the package.

“Late Imperial style, modeled after what is now called the Priory of the Eight,” The Daedra explained, having observed mortal men and mer for the better part of eternity. She felt almost like a mother as she watched uncountable lives play before her as time crawled ever forward. Azura always had a reason for doing something, and this was no different; she only needed a way to bring it up.“Built at the Emperor's personal expense; quite a sum considering you could choose to live in Equetria and still have this impressive home.”

“I thought the Tullius family was already loaded, though?”

“Oh, they are, I assure you, but Titus Mede felt – or rather, would feel – the need to pick up this tab himself.” Azura smiled in a maternal way as she spoke, arousing Glade's suspicions. A mansion, more of a clan compound really, of that size would cost a respectable fortune, enough to bankrupt most normal families and then some. “But, it's becoming of a ruler to keep his warriors in comfortable conditions.”

“This hardly seems like something he would do for every Legionnaire; too expensive.” Now Glade was getting it, perhaps even understanding where this was going. Reman Tullius was best described as a man of considerable martial and magical prowess, a child prodigy in Conjuration, and the former heir to House Tullius, but those were only the things he wanted people to know, the things he was proud of. “Imperials don't think highly of werewolves and vampires, so why would he do this?”

“Because Reman is an asset he can't afford to lose, so he kept the two of you comfy and docile until he was needed.” The black and white mare shifted from her earth pony form into an alicorn, the one shape she very rarely used, and maybe even disliked. This was how Glade knew this was serious, a reliable font of information from a god. Reliable may have been a poor choice of wording, but it was the best she could come up with. “Reman is but one man, one werewolf. How many could he kill in battle with his might and magic? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? That's fine in a skirmish, but Titus Mede is preparing for war.”

“Then why not focus on better preparing the rank and file troops instead of grabbing a hoofful of elites?” The pegasus asked, cocking her head slightly. She was familiar with the Imperial philosophy that soldiers win battles, but heroes win wars. She admitted her pack-mate was tough, but Reman himself was the first to admit there were better men to be found.

“Reman has an ability most other men do not, a little gift from Hircine that the Emperor wishes to exploit.” Sensing confusion radiating from the lycan, the Daedra's smile took on a melancholy tone. Azura herself could understand the backstabbing that mortals were so adept at, given her kin did the same in an industrial scale, but she also understood that every mortal was, to an extent, unique, just as much as individual, intelligent Daedra were. Mortals were an eternal mystery, doomed to failure and defeat, but capable of joys unknown to all but Sheogorath and Sanguine, as befitting of their roles. “Child, Reman can spread his curse.”

“He would never!” Glade was understandably outraged by the prospect, and she had her reasons. Titus Mede was going to work off Reman's desire to give his budding family a comfortable life, something the Emperor could provide, and would be ever so happy to do so if he would be so kind as to sign the dotted line.

“Ask Reman when you awaken if you so wish for your answer.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The rules were no longer being followed, not with the escorts dead. The humans wore their weapons openly on this last leg before reaching the portal. Their armor was hidden behind their clothes, forcing them to wear only the lightest they had. Weapons, however, were displayed openly, daringly inviting the foolhardy.

“Not much farther, maybe ten or so hours.” Reman's calculation was relative. For him, ten hours was a short time, especially when traversed by carriage. Ten hours on foot was, simply put, a terribly painful expenditure of time with few positive results besides ground covered.

“Ten hours?” Rainbow Dash asked, incredulous at the prospect. She didn't quite know how many miles were between the group and the portal, but he was certain should could fly much faster than any ground vehicle.

“Just be glad the skies are clear for the moment, not a cloud or dragon to be seen,” The driver said, chuckling at his own joke. The sun was beating down on them because of those same clear skies, making it hotter than the mountains of the Reach had any right to be. The air was still, and there was not an animal in sight, not even the odd bird or two that were to be expected. “Wish we had something to keep things interesting, though.”

“Let us try to make it to Falkreath without incident, shall we?” Luna implored, more to the world than the Nord driver. Conflict was the very last thing the party needed at the moment; the possibility of serious injury was too high at the moment. Even as Reman had somehow recovered the use of one arm, and Twilight seemed to be able to hold herself together, all it would take was a single skirmish to destroy what little progress was made. The two in question were engrossing themselves in that strange book, which the princess could only guess involved Nirn's magic in some way.

They continued for perhaps an hour under the glaring sun before anything unusual happened, and they at first attributed it to a hallucination brought about by boredom. There was a black dot on the horizon that constantly moved up and down, always against the carriage's rocking. It took a few minutes for the blot to gain shape, reveling a pair of waving arms as it tried to signal the wagon. Why this human or elf wasted the energy on such a hot day, especially at that distance, Luna didn't know. This figure gave her chills, not entirely unlike those she felt during the Winter Solstice Festival, though this dread was much more sinister than what heralded Reman's arrival in Equestria.

“Who in blazes would be out here alone?” The driver asked, looking at the same dot. The simple answer was someone who wanted to lure unsuspecting travelers to their doom, like a cleverly disguised highwayman. There was nothing clever about this man's appearance or his dopy smile at seeing the approaching carriage. Reman and Renoir, sensing some trouble, leaned over the side.

“Why in Oblivion would a jester be so far from a city?” Renoir did not call attention to the man's discolored clothing; he was sure Reman noticed the blood as well. Black and dark crimson, splotched with deep brown here and there, were hardly the uniform of a harlequin troupe. “Think he's up to no good?”

“No doubt.” Reman recognized the colors as belonging to the Dark Brotherhood, but he'd never seen this man before. Arnbjorn was his only contact, an acquaintance and fellow werewolf who occasionally had work for him. This could either go really well, or just absolutely terribly.

“Should we pick him up?” The driver asked, unsure of what to do. Sure, the guy looked creepy, but he was also stranded, and it always helped for one to pay things forward. There was obviously a dagger strapped to his hip, but then again, the driver had a carriage full of mercenaries and colorful, talking ponies.

“Why, certainly; Kodak said we should try to gain the support of the common man.” Luna popped her head over the Nord's shoulder, taking her first in-depth look at the stranger. She felt nothing but dread surrounding this man, like an oppressive aura of death, but she was confident her human allies could handle him. She looked over to Lynette, who was busy hiding her own knife in preparation. The two shared a nod as the wagon came to a halt.

“Cicero thanks you very much, kind Nord!” Reman looked at the Brotherhood assassin strangely. He was obviously mad as a hatter, but seemed to know better than to attempt to attack an entire carriage. The man, Cicero, paused as he climbed in, looking at the veritable rainbow of equines that occupied both benches to capacity. “What an odd group of passengers you have!”

“Yes, we've heard we're a bit odd,” Rarity said, waving a hoof at the little man. His name suggested he was an Imperial, though he was easily a head shorter and a fifteen years older than Reman, more along the lines of Antonius's age. She couldn't help but also notice Cicero seemed to refer to himself in the third person. She really hoped he wouldn't do that the entire way to the Pine Forest.

“Cicero just cannot believe something so colorful exists outside of tree frogs.” The quirky man cocked his head to the side as he really took in every detail about the ponies, pausing only to plop down next to Renoir. Pinkie snorted something under her breath, but kept her friendly demeanor as his eyes passed over her, though she held the Wabbajack closer to her chest.

“I imagine some families are a bit stranger,” Reman said, prodding the idea of Cicero being in the Brotherhood, a subtle hint that he knew something was up. His kinsman seemed oblivious to it, but looks were often deceiving. Cicero, however, merely nodded and started humming a little tune. A cough from the front shifted the man's attention back to the wagoner.

“Where're we headed to, anyway?”

“Drop us off at the start of the Pine Forest; we need to meet up with some friends.”

“Oh, so you and Cicero follow the same path, yes?” The small Imperial asked, leaning over Renoir to get closer to his kinsman. There was a sincere, totally not creepy smile plastered on his face, as though true joy filtered through his body for the first time in years. “This is the start of a wonderful friendship.”

“As you can see, we have enough friends,” Renoir said, eyes gleaming behind his mask. The stench of a serial murderer hung off the fool like fog in a moorland, and he was about sick of it. He was also dangerously thirsty at the moment, but hadn't had the chance to request a bite since leaving Solitude.

“But Renoir,” Twilight began, gaining confidence from the previous night's exchange. “Friendship is magic.”

"Oh, yeah, he'll be back."

It started raining just as they entered Falkreath Hold, normal for the Pine Forest in spring. It was cold, heavy, and inescapable as its weight alone was enough to over power the many needles that adorned the forest's namesakes. Reman scowled hard enough he was hoping it might force nature to stop. He was wrong. Skyrim, as beautiful as it was, would never compare, in his mind, to the calm climate of Cyrodiil and its warmer rain.

“Where are you lot headed, again?” The driver asked, knowing the Pine Forest was close. He didn't know specifics, only that the group, minus Cicero, was to be dropped off somewhere within the forest. Seeing as his original charges were a bunch of colorful ponies and their mercenary escorts, it would be a good idea for him to at least have an idea of what was ahead.

“We're being dropped off about six miles outside Falkreath,” Luna replied, looking at a map to be sure of her bearings. She knew they were two hours, at most, from the portal; there was little need to worry now. The forest was serene and beautiful, filled only by the sound of clopping hooves and chirping birds. “A better question is where our new friend is going.”

“Oh, Cicero doesn't mind; just take me to town.” The polite, eccentric Imperial had been an astoundingly wondrous addition to the party, entertaining everypony as one might expect of a jester, albeit a filthy one who smelled of blood and dirt. The other humans may have been uneasy around him, but Reman had made them uncomfortable at first, so it stood to reason he deserved a fair chance.

“Well, I'm being payed to go all the way, so it's no trouble at all.” The driver looked back at the group and smiled, not feeling even an ounce of dread. He had been in the business for years, and knew when things were going to go downhill, and none of those signs were presenting themselves.

“Yes; let's just enjoy the remainder of our trip,” Renoir said, sounding a bit irritated. It wasn't just the sun somehow finding him beneath his dark clothes; in truth, Cicero's clothing was making him thirsty, and not the sort of thirsty a canteen could remedy. He felt a slight tension in the air, a git from his long life. Something, at some point in the near future, was going to go to shit. A hoof on his shoulder drew his attention, and he saw Fluttershy giving him a reassuring smile.

“You seem kind of, um, mad.” She was as timid as ever, but hardly scared of him anymore. She, like the rest of the ponies, knew he was a vampire, and that he was subject to many of the weaknesses portrayed in fiction. It wasn't impossible for her to understand sunlight made him irritable. But she was probably focusing more on the fact that he hadn't had anything to drink since his night with Sybille.

“Not at all. I'm just a little tense,” he sighed, unaccustomed to going such periods of time in the sun while on an empty stomach. He could go weeks without a drop of blood back at the outpost because he was underground and busy; this carriage ride was the exact opposite. Right then, he had half a mind to drain the Dark Brotherhood assassin next to him dry, and toss the corpse in a ditch. “My throat's a little dry.”

“Ah, yes, I had you pegged as a vampire.” Cicero's voice was all too grating in that moment, even if he had the common sense to keep the driver from hearing. “That's fine though; Cicero is okay with vampires.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Renoir really didn't like the mad jester, but he wasn't about to put himself against the business end of his ebony dagger. In response, he received a curious look, but nothing else. That little feeling that things were going to go bad was intensifying. He tried to just ignore Cicero as much as he could, but he kept one eye on him at all times. He occupied himself by listening in on Glade and Reman, hoping they would at least be discussing something humorous.

“So this is some kind of wizard book?” Glade asked, looking over Reman's shoulder at the leather-bound tome in his hands. She didn't understand half the words in it, any of the anatomical diagrams, or even why anypony would bother with it. Then she remembered who was holding it, and realized this was probably the norm. “Seems boring.”

“To you, maybe, but this information is worth a small fortune.” Reman was not the sort of man to brag, not unless it was to outshine Uriel. That being said, he was reading Mannimarco's notes on necromancy, something the Imperial had a personal grudge against. Still, it would be the only Conjuration he would be able to use for a while, so he was going to make the most of it, as much as it irked him. “Men would kill for less.”

“Oh, so now I'm a liability?” She replied teasingly. She knew for a fact that Reman wouldn't kill her for any reason; there were too many reasons now. If, say, the mood had struck him about four weeks ago, that would have been a different story.

“Only if you were educated.” Reman looked up at her with a small smile on his face, showing he was joking. He wouldn't actually insult her intelligence in regards to magic, as it certainly wasn't something she was ever taught, being a pegasus and all.

“Ouch.” There was mock indignation coloring her voice, but she smiled and pulled a wing over her pack-mate's shoulder. It was to keep him from getting any wetter than a sign of affection, but that hardly stopped Rarity from letting out a small coo of satisfaction at the sight. Glade suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, understanding that however odd her behavior was, especially when related to things she had no involvement in, Rarity was mostly harmless. Still, she was getting the wrong idea about the two lycans. There was an odd moment of silence.

“Cicero still cannot believe how kind you all have been to him.” Lynette, Reman, and Renoir were equally stunned. None of them were quite sure why Luna had been so willing to allow the strange man onto the carriage, thought her false hopes of appealing to the common person were surely crushed under the assassin's boot. “There jut isn't enough kindness in the world anymore. Why, just six weeks ago, this kind Nord helped convince a farmer to fix my wagon's broken wheel. Such a kindly boy, that lad; helped me get Mother home.”

“Yes, a truly inspiring story.” Renoir's voice was tinged with sarcasm as Luna gave him a stern look from across the carriage. He returned the look as best his masked eyes could.

“I can only imagine how surprised Arnbjorn and Astrid were when you showed up.” At Reman's words, Cicero's eyes bugged slightly, and his hand made an imperceptible twitch towards his belt. Out of the corners of his eye, he noticed Renoir and Lynette pull daggers from somewhere on their person, ready to kill him if he made a move. “But you can relax; Arnbjorn and I are... I suppose colleagues is the best terms.”

“No, you're lying.” There was an odd quality to the assassin's voice as he said that, and it hinted at some sort of pain, like losing a parent. Sensing danger, Rarity, Glade, and Fluttershy quickly hurried to the half of the carriage devoid of armed humans. “No one outside the Brotherhood knows our names, no one!”

“Calm down, Mr. Cicero,” Twilight pleaded, noticing her friends bristle at the sudden volume. Applejack and Rainbow Dash were particularly defensive, and primed for something that was probably going to get them hurt. She noticed Renoir's head jerk up at something, momentarily taking his eyes off the macabre jester. She heard a slight whistle, then a wet sinking noise, and finally a light thunk as something collided with the wagon's wooden wall.

“If you're so curious about my connections, ask him yourself.” As Reman said that, Rarity looked to see what the noise was. Her eyes widened and she tried to scream at the sight, but no noise came from her mouth. The driver was slumped back, head leaning over the railing, with a wooden shaft sticking through his eye. Three metal blades barely poked through the back of his skull, a slight twinkle against his thick, rapidly reddening hair. As if on cue, humanoid figures dressed in black appeared from behind the trees and foggy knolls. They were armed, and seemed much more skilled than any paltry bandits.

Cicero, sensing his moment to strike, lunged forward, dagger in hand. He jerked back as Renoir grabbed hold of his arm, and he looked to the vampire just in time for Reman's foot to slam into his cheek. He tumbled back, over the rail, losing his knife along the way. Luna's and Twilight's barrier flickered to life just as the two men jumped after the motley fool. He rolled off a steep embankment before they could finish him off.

“Your wagon is ours!”

“By the Nine, Arnbjorn! Will you give me ten seconds to think?” Reman yelled, giving one of the shrouded figures pause. It pulled back its cowl and looked around, confused. She was a young Dunmer, but still in the Brotherhood, so she wasn't beyond targeting.

“Pup?” A large, dreadlocked Nord asked as he popped his head from over the railing on the carriage's opposite side. The two shared what may have been considered a friendly wave between them as the situation fully took hold within the ponies. However, it was not one of them who called out how ludicrous the entire ordeal really was.

“What in Oblivion is going on?!” Lynette was in full panic mode as she noticed the armor the brigands were wearing. She recognized the patterns from the painting that hung in the Tullius compound's main house. If Cicero's mention of a Brotherhood wasn't enough of a hint, she was now certain she was dealing with assassins of the vilest order. “Reman, I can't even believe you right now!”

“What? I can't have friends in low places?” Reman asked, actually sounding a bit offended at the idea. He admitted the entire day was one big joke after another, but he was accustomed to the universe's brand of humor.

“Yeah, Lynette; nothing's wrong with having all kinds of friends.” For once, Pinkie served as a voice of reason, albeit one touched by the Madgod. The bubbly pony jumped from the carriage and stood next to Reman, even if there was still a wall of purple magic dividing them.

“Uh, Pinkie, being friendly and all's real nice, but Ah think yer takin' things too far.” Applejack looked around for a brief moment, assessing each of the trained killers for hire that surrounded her and her friends. “They kinda killed th' driver.”

“In our defense, miss, we've had a rather large series of unfortunate events befall us.” The man speaking was old, very old. Applejack thought he looked like an old miser who was too tired of everything around him to care anymore. She also thought he looked like a wizard, an evil, evil wizard. “Banditry is not something we usually do.”

“That still doesn't explain why you know Reman.” Lynette was being very adamant about the terrible, terrible consequences of him associating with the shady group. The Imperial in question groaned and squeezed the bridge of his nose; it was not his day. “It's not like he needs money.”

“Lynette, listen.” His voice was hardly amused, and he didn't look much better. “Being a werewolf is a crime in most provinces, Skyrim included.”

“Yeah, I sorta ran in the pup over here a while back.” Arnbjorn looked like he was about to say how, but Renoir cleared his throat, rudely interrupting. The vampire pulled off his mask, looking none too pleased by the entire situation. He huffed and pushed the driver's corpse from his seat.

“I have a massive headache, I'm thirsty, and the sun is burning me even with clothes on. Reman, make friends if you want, I'm getting out of here.” With that, he ordered the horses to move on, leaving the young Tullius in the midst of a group of rather confused killers. He looked back and forth, trying to get a feeling for each of the new faces he saw. Arnbjorn was his only contact with the Brotherhood, so he hadn't met anyone besides a him, Astrid, and a certain jester.

“Listen, before I go catch the wagon, I just have one thing to ask.”

“Go for it.” Arnbjorn crossed his arms over his chest, not really wanting to see the younger lycan leave just yet. He kind of liked the kid, but also didn't really want to break any bad news to him, seeing as he smelled like a female, and another werewolf at that. He heard a scrambling in the woods, which could only have been one person fleeing towards the Night Mother's sarcophagus, not that he really cared at the moment.

“What, in the name of all that is holy, is wrong with Cicero?”

Author's Note

Lynette:

Not Exactly the A-Team

Reman ran through the forest, not knowing the ponies' exact location. He could catch up with Arnbjorn later, and he wasn't particularly comfortable around the other members of the Dark Brotherhood. He didn't make it a habit to associate with undesirables, but, being a warrior by skill and a mercenary by trade, it was easy to find common ground with them. Being a werewolf didn't hurt in that regard, either. He looked around, turning his head in every direction he heard even a faint rustle. It wouldn't do to have Cicero finding whatever portal the ponies used to get to Nirn.

He kept at his pace as he saw wheel tracks leave the road. It appeared they were about six miles from Falkreath, just as Luna said. He slowed to a walk as he came across the carriage, empty and carefully unpacked. There were no signs of a struggle, and the horses were released, so they left willingly. Fluttershy was probably the reason the horses were gone; she didn't seem the type to abandon animals anywhere. A slight whistle hit his ears as a bolt slammed into the tree next to him.

“Why would even consider associating with those people?” Lynette asked as she stepped into view. Reman rolled his eyes, not really seeing the question. What he did was none of her concern anymore, not since their engagement was terminated due to his supposed death four years ago. “Assassins, Reman; you tossed yourself in with hired killers.”

“I seem to recall you being a werewolf hunter for some time.” The Imperial took a rather confrontational stance, only now seeing the crossbow his ex-fiancee still had at the ready. Part of his mind, however irrational, figured out that he could easily cover the distance between them and cut her down if she decided to use it. Just a habit he had developed over the years, one he admitted was terrible, but necessary. “Your lot did more to harm me than mine did you.”

“Reman, the driver is dead; don't you understand that?” She was pleading with him for some reason, and he had no idea why. She also ignored the statement about her time in the Silver Hand, much to his annoyance. He looked at her as one might a child who can't seem to grasp something simple.

“Right; the Dark Brotherhood killed him, but they had their reasons, just like us.” He scowled at her, though not out of anger at her personally, but the notion itself. He killed for gold, he even enjoyed it sometimes, but he always had a reason, always a justification for doing something he found so abhorrent. Like many in the world, he had blood on his hands, some stained in and some still dripping. “And do not claim innocence, because I know you'd have killed me that night last winter, just as surely as I would have killed you before I saw your face.”

“Arguing solves nothing.” Renoir dropped from his perch in a tree, looking none too pleased with the pair. To him, it was like hearing two children fuss at each other; a little boy who played a warrior-philosopher, and a girl who played the dutiful conscience. “In case the two of you forgot, we have a mission.”

“Belmont, this doesn't involve you.” Lynette looked at with a stare that could kill, if such a thing were possible.

“You're right, but what does concern me is the eight ponies we need to escort to their kingdom so we can help broker an alliance with the Empire.” Renoir was the more serious of the pair, mostly from experience. He wasn't exactly a no-nonsense kind of man, but he knew when things needed to be done, and had the ability to do so with a certain flair. “Not to mention one of the happens to be pregnant with the child of my best friend.”

“Would you three hurry? My sister would very much like us to return sometime today,” Luna called from beyond the fog, though it was likely she was only just out of sight. They had no idea how much she had heard, but they weren't exactly keeping their voices low. The others may or may not have been listening in as well, but it may have been best not to dwell on it. Reman, knowing he was being payed, started walking towards her voice.

“You're going to Cyrodiil, right?” Lynette asked, hurt by the sudden change in atmosphere. Right, that had been her mission, bringing Reman home so House Tullius could find a cure for his little secret. He nodded, knowing Celestia would need someone versed in Imperial culture and etiquette for her meeting and dinner with the Emperor. The meal wasn't mentioned, but it was one of the many things that went unspoken in such agreements. “Good, then I have a month to get to the Imperial City, and I'll drag you home after you get done buttering up the Emperor.”

“Go home to your mother; your punitive mission is complete.” Reman didn't bother turning to speak as he started to fade into the grey beyond the trees, and Renoir offered no comfort. When it came to them, the vampire would always choose his friend over a woman he knew for a couple of weeks. Lynette, knowing there was no help and no repairing a burned bridge while the flames still burned, turned and started for Falkreath. She wouldn't go home because her mother didn't need her anymore; she wasn't in need of any assistance.

“You handled that poorly.” Luna seemed to materialize from the mist, looking both mournful and disappointed. She knew the sort of stress he was under, but felt there was something she could do to remedy things. It wasn't her place to say anything beyond her simple criticism. Reman, despite how much he had matured since he crashed the Winter Solstice Festival, was still much the same man he had always been. Even under his guise or anger, there was a mass of guilt, regret for walking away a second time, pain for abandoning his own morals in an effort to survive.

“I know,” He sighed, fully understanding his mistakes. He couldn't exactly go back and chase Lynette down and make amends; there was a bit of resentment on both sides that was best left to settle for now. If she was really set on traveling to Cyrodiil, they could talk there. “In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly great when it comes to interpersonal relationships.”

“You have friends, a lover, and a foal on the way, not to mention helping Equestria stay peaceful with the Empire.” Luna gave him a long look, taking in every detail she could about his expression. Imperials, when unhappy, seemed to be conditioned to stoicism, and he appear to be made of stone. The disguise for emotional pain was painfully obvious, and he looked as though he was in need of a good night's rest in a warm bed, and a hot meal. “Perhaps we should take a break and let you cool off first?”

“What happened to making it there today?” Reman asked as they slowed to a stop. He rested against a tree as Luna found a flat rock to sit on, though neither spoke for minutes. A shadow passed behind the Imperial, and it could have only been Renoir on is way to the portal to await the two.

“That can wait until you calm yourself.” It wouldn't do for him to be so moody in front of Celestia and who knew how many others. If he had been such a feature in the papers, his return would have at least one unseen onlooker. “You aren't usually like this.”

“I don't usually find out a friend's wife has been killed.” Arnbjron hadn't said as much, but he smelled like smoke, and Astrid was nowhere to be seen. The Sanctuary, which he had never even seen, had been attacked, and they had suffered unknown casualties. “Oh, yeah, and I have your kingdom's safety resting on my back, Glade's pregnant, my father is hiding an illness from us, and I just turned away my oldest friend because of a little spat that could have been avoided.”

“You want to talk about it?” She asked, trying to smile. In reality, she was terrible at things like this, but trying almost never hurt. The corners of Reman's mouth turned slightly down, as though the very thought was ludicrous.

“I just did.” His words were plain, to the point, and completely incorrect. Imperials, at least in Luna's mind, were not well-versed in self-expression, and the nobles must have gotten the shortest end of the stick. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, almost like he was ready to go, but he stayed still. “Just give me a day or so to calm down, get everything straightened out.”

“These issues will take more time than that.”

“I know, but it's a start, at least.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The portal to Equestria was as welcoming as it had been weeks ago, when the eight first arrived in the alien country. The rain only accentuated the natural scents in the air, creating a brilliant bouquet of pine and wildflowers. Everypony seemed excited about returning home, though there were many reasons, each different, and every one of those had an equal and opposite anxiety. Renoir sat on a nearby boulder, keeping an eye on everything that happened below. His ashen hair was matted against his head and shoulders, but the chill didn't affect him.

Pinkie seemed to have shrugged off most of whatever in Oblivion Sheogorath had subjected her to, happily laughing and spinning on her hind legs as she danced with her alligator. The Wabbajack, arguably the worst-documented Daedric artifact in history, lay on a nearby bundle of soggy clothing, respectfully off the ground. Truthfully, Renoir had no idea if she knew keeping it off the ground was an act of respect, or if some compulsion kept her from desecrating it. Perhaps he should tell her soon.

Twilight was speed-reading through the notes she had compiled during the adventure, as though she actually needed every miniscule detail. She wouldn't be the one making sure Princess Celestia didn't make an ass of herself when meeting with the Emperor; that task belonged to Reman, and only Reman. Still, she seemed livelier than she had been since killing that bandit, so as long as she was recovering, it didn't matter how she did so. She looked up at Renoir and gave a small smile, which earned her one in kind, though his was difficult to see even up close.

Applejack, who had been perhaps the least-vocal of the ponies, simply sat on a log, munching away on a vegetable of some sort; she must have run out of apples at some point. There wasn't much to say, as she hadn't gone through any sort of emotional or physical change during her stay in Skyrim, or, at least not a visible one. Much the same could be said for the others, except, perhaps, Fluttershy, who seemed too frail to deal with he driver dying, yet she still seemed to be herself. Two of the Elements had definitely become new mares, but Glade and Luna were key points in everything.

Glade was a rather simple subject to cover; without her, most of this mess wouldn't have happened. One could argue she was Reman's only true attachment to Equestria, the only thing that kept him loyal enough to obey the princesses. Renoir's eyes narrowed a bit as he thought about it; he was being too negative about her. Glade was undeniably one of the few people Reman was ever happy to see, or, pony, as the case was. At least he was moving up in the world, moving on from the shame of self-exile.

Luna walked up the hill with Reman in tow, who seemed oddly chipper. Renoir could tell most of it was an act, but at least she seemed to have some sort of positive impact on the Imperial. Bad feelings had killed less-sensitive negotiations, so it was rather amazing for her to get Reman to think instead of act on instinct.

“Everypony, as soon as Reman dons his armor, we can head home,” She called out, drawing gaining what little attention she didn't already have. Renoir dropped from his perch and walked to the others, leaning against a tree when he came to a stop. The two men shared a look that, to outsiders, wouldn't have drawn attention, there was a brief message passed between them.

“Celestia wants me in armor?” Reman asked, curious about such a strange request. Celestia didn't seem the sort to want that; under normal circumstances, she would have requested the exact opposite.

“Actually, Reman, I thought it would look better than just showing up in whatever you happened to be wearing.” Luna smiled, looking to the Imperial for understanding. The Dwarven armor he had would look rather nice regardless of the weather in Canterlot. It wouldn't be a show of force; Reman had no intentions against the kingdom. However, it would look very, very impressive.

“I don't suppose one of you brought my armor up?” At Reman's question, Glade perked up, giving him a wolfish grin. Her wings beat once, and she used the boost to land next to him. She lightly jabbed a hoof in his thigh and chuckled.

“Nope; you're going to have to dress down at the carriage.” Luna did not look pleased with her teasing, and instead posed a wondrous idea.

“Then I'm certain you won't mind accompanying him, correct, Glade?"

Sunburn

“You seem kind of, I don't know, tense.” Glade was resting on the carriage, her head on her hooves, as she watched Reman armor himself. Usually a very boring process, she entertained herself by wondering why the Imperial seemed to have a stick up his ass, and failing to find a logical reason. Maybe it had something to do with Lynette's absence. Actually, Glade had no idea where she had gone, only that she stayed back with Renoir, but never came to the portal.

“Been getting that a lot lately.” Reman snapped his the final hitches in his greeves, which made his upper body appear slimmer than his legs, disproportionally so. Glade watched him shiver in the rain, almost laughing as parts of his skin either reddened or paled in the cold. His scars stayed a light pink, and stood out far enough for water to trail them. Two in particular drew her eyes, for different reasons. The larger of the two ran from his right shoulder and disappeared where his armor began, though she knew it ended just above his left knee. The other was rather... unique; it was a bite centered around his left collarbone, and Glade was rather embarrassed to say she was the culprit. “If you're going to stare, you could at least toss a compliment my way.”

“You totally don't look like a weird apple on two legs.” Glade smiled at him, flashing her altered teeth. Some ponies naturally had canine teeth, though the cause was unknown, often blamed on a distant ancestor, or used as a mark of savagery in one's bloodline. As a result, many guardsponies had them; members of Luna's Night Guard invariably possessed the anomalous tooth. Glade family didn't, making her the very first of her line to have fangs of any sort, and hers were usable as weapons in a pinch.

“Right, and you don't look like a drowned rat.” The two shared a slight smile as Reman donned his breastplate, snapping the front clasps to their counterparts on the suit's lower portion. As with all heavy armor, it needed either two, practiced hands, or an extra set to make sure everything looked right. He had one hand that worked correctly, but there happened to be a few hooves nearby that no one was using. “Don't suppose you could snap these locks into place, could you?”

“What would you ever do without me?” She asked, rolling her eyes as she fluttered around the man. In response, he grinned at her, turning his head slightly.

“Live a life of adventure and riches.” It was true, in a sense. Renoir would have doubtlessly stayed by his side, and he wasn't exactly going anywhere; Reman was too important for his plans against the Valkihar, and Renoir could patch up everything his old regeneration couldn't. Even if he didn't want to keep dungeon crawling and just wanted to focus on curing himself, he had more than enough money to live on. But, that was all in the past; he had more important things to worry about now. “But, things would get rather lonely without good company.”

“Oh, so now I'm good company?” Glade asked as she worked the armor's clasp, finding the task much more difficult than it had any right to be. Fingers would have made this much easier, but that was why Reman had asked for her help, so she was out of luck. “Since when did you become such a flatterer?”

“Since you prohibited me from drinking.” Glade laughed at his flat answer, not knowing if he was joking or not. Alcohol had been very important to him for years, though she couldn't imagine why; lycans were almost immune to its effects. She recalled seeing Farkas go through a barrel of mead and come out looking more sober than he started.

“What happened to finding something else to occupy yourself?” Glade finished snapping the armor into place, taking the time to admire the polished, bronze metal. She flew around to face him, and saw he was halfway through attaching his pauldron. With a loud clink, he finished, and looked at her with an unimpressed look on his face. “You might have an addiction, so it'd be good to do something to get your mind off it.”

“Only if you're willing, and at least we don't need anything,” He said sarcastically, slipping the bronze sleeve of his broken arm, wincing whenever the bandages caught on the metal. Glade looked at him in confusion, not quite understanding his meaning. He bolted the armor into place and motioned for her to assist. “It's not like you can have multiple pregnancies or anything like that, right?”

“Not unless you humans have something freaky going on,” She answered, laughing at him a little. Under normal circumstances, it would have been obvious, but sex was perhaps the one subject he never blatantly mentioned. Glade blinked before she remembered he was a noble, not to mention Imperial society seemed to be a bit stuffy and very violent. She admitted she was basing her judgments on a minority, so it was entirely possible he just didn't talk about it. “I'm surprised you picked this as the one thing you're even slightly subtle about.”

“We had sex once and actually ended up reproducing,” He started, looking at her as one might a parent who'd found one's diary. Glade, however, thought it was funny, seeing him stumble over his words. “Asking after something like that isn’t exactly in my repertoire.”

“Hey, Glade, care for a roll in the hay?” She asked in a crude imitation of his voice. She finished with his sword arm's armor in time to see Reman's face lose color, and not from the chilling rain. He mumbled something in his native language, something she had only heard a couple of times, but the message seemed rather clear. “Now was that so hard?”

“You enjoy torturing me, don't you?”

“Extremely.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Sister,

We are almost home, and I write as we sit around a campfire in the Reach, a region of Skyrim full of mountains. As you can imagine, they are quite beautiful, but that is not what I am writing about. There is much I neglected to tell you in regards to Reman Tullius, and I do mean our ally, that is merely his full name. We knew he was a noble of his home country before his self-exile, but only after meeting some of his family have I learned the situation's full magnitude. Understand that I originally chose not to write out of respect for Reman's privacy, but, upon further thought, I realize I have no choice.

House Tullius, as his clan if called, is large, wealthy, and influential within the Empire. According to the clan's patriarch, Marcus Tullius, the Great House, which is the title of the eight largest clans in Cyrodiil, has much sway with the Emperor and the Imperial Legion, as well as being allied with Houses Scipio and Maro, which play home to the Empire's most accomplished naval commanders and the leaders of the Emperor's personal guard, respectively. Marcus Tullius himself is a general, and oversees suppressing the rebellion in Skyrim. Reman's father, Antonius, is a legate, which seems to either be the equivalent of a colonel or major. Uriel, Reman's twin brother, is a captain, and physically stronger than Reman by a good bit.

Now, for the bad news. Twilight Sparkle has taken a life; there is no other way for me to put it. We were attacked by brigands, and acting defensively, she slew one of them. I can tell she is deeply haunted by it, and we are all doing what we can to console her. She also may or may not have been visited by a Daedric Prince, but I don't enough information to say without doubt. Pinkie Pie definitely has, as she now carries the Prince's artifact, as Reman called it. We may or may not have a serious problem on our hooves.

Before I forget, Reman has a vampire friend named Renoir.

Also, Reman and Glade have something important to tell you, and I must ask you not to tell Major Winter Tundra or Spring Valley.

With love,

Luna

Celestia read the letter again and again as she awaited her sister and the Elements. Her guardsponies refused to leave her side as she stood before the portal, eager for some sign of life. She knew everypony was okay, or at least physically well, but much of the news had been worrisome, least of all whatever secret she needed to keep from Glade's parents. Pinkie had been contacted by a Daedra, which meant another of her little ponies was in danger, or worse.

Twilight, sweet, innocent, studious Twilight, had killed someone in Skyrim, taken the life of a bandit. Celestia hoped with all her heart she would be fine, find a way to cope, and emerge from this stronger and wiser. She had friends to help her, more than she knew, a family more than willing to do whatever they could. She made a note to send for Princess Cadence and Shining Armor at once; familiar faces would doubtlessly improve her emotional state. Regardless, Twilight would be home soon, and that could make all the difference.

The swirling blue of the portal rippled and intensified, sending a light breeze and drops of rain from the other side. It only allowed things to pass through when somepony intended to cross, and that could only mean one thing. Celestia took a breath and shouted, “Guardsponies, at ease!”

A dark blue hoof appeared from beyond the portal, then another and another, until Princess Luna stood on Equestria's soil once more. Next came Rarity, then Applejack, then Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash, then Twilight, who looked no worse for wear. Fluttershy crossed over next, immediately followed by a pale human in black. He nodded to her, and she immediately knew he was Renoir, the vampire form her sister's letter. Celestia noted his eyes were different than those of the vampires that once inhabited Equestria.

The heavy clang of metal on stone shook her attention. A bronze golem the size of a man made itself known as it stepped through. It carried a sword on its hip, and Summer Glade on its back. Nevermind; it was only Reman trying to be funny. Glade stuck her head over his and waved at the princess, who halfheartedly waved back.

“Sister, it is good to be home.” Luna walked up to her older sibling, smiling at her return. Skyrim was lovely, but nothing could beat Equestria in her heart. Twilight was beside her, almost as giddy as the day she was taken as Celestia's protege. “And I believe this filly has something for you. Twilight, if you will?”

“Of course,” She nodded, reaching into her saddlebag. She pulled out a large book, obviously hoof-bound, and Celestia could feel a certain dread in seeing it. Evil, she could fight; villains, she could slay; Discord, she could survive. There was one thing, however, that was the bane of her existence. “I have with me a short version of all Imperial traditions covered by the books in Reman's outpost, but it is far from complete.”

“I'm sure it will be of much help, Twilight.” Celestia's voice was the very meaning of calm and caring, but she hated that book for everything it was worth. If the Imperials were anything like the griffins, that book was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny social graces that would make her look like a fool if she failed even one. “Hopefully Reman will be willing to provide some assistance.”

“Yes, sister; that shouldn't be an issue.” Luna excused herself shortly after that, having to raise the moon in an hour. The other Elements made their way towards the remaining two, looking rather happy with themselves. They spoke amongst themselves for a while, saying temporary goodbyes to Twilight, who would be staying in Canterlot for the next two week or so. While they talked, Celestia motioned for the vampire to come to her.

She broke from the small group, but stopped after about twelve feet, a suitable range for evading prying ears when everypony was making noise. He followed, keeping his terribly ugly eyes on her until she came to a stop. The swirling black and red stood out form his pale face, and were enough to give him an intimidating look. She was obviously stronger, but looking at maggots could be disheartening.

“I take it you're Renoir?” She asked curtly, using her diplomatic voice. Vampires had been a plague centuries ago, but they were all but wiped out now. If Reman's curse could spread to ponies, it only made sense for his to, as well.

“The very same,” He replied, just as disarmingly. He looked her up and down, as though trying to determine what sort of threat she would make. He also took notice of the many guards surrounding the garden. “I assume you have an ultimatum for me?”

“You catch on quick.” Celestia smiled with all the warmth of a glacier. “If you infect any of my little ponies, I'll throw you into the sun.”

Stony Lonesome

Canterlot was as Reman remembered it, though it held no truly fond memories for him. He immediately noticed the guards watching him, noticing none of them even looked at Glade when she jumped off him. Rolling his eyes, he lifted his helmet and shook his head, sending droplets of water over his pauldrons and the surrounding ground. Some of them recognized Reman from his stint in the dungeon; others only recalled seeing him in Ponyville or shortly before leaving for Nirn. Regardless, they weren't exactly thrilled to see him; in there defense, trouble seemed to follow him.

“What do you think the princess is talking to Renoir about?” Glade asked looking over at the two. The princess didn't look to happy, but also not anger. Reman remembered being the subject of such at some point.

“Probably has something to do with the vampires Equestria used to have.” Reman had a vague memory of Celestia mentioning them before they started planning for the battle against Hircine. Thinking of the Daedra, he had no idea where he was; he was supposed to be here to oversee everyone's return. That, and Reman wanted to give him a piece of his mind, with his fists. “Do you see Hircine anywhere?”

“Come to think of it, no, I haven't.” Glade herself was a little confused, as well. She didn't particularly like the Huntsman, but she noticed his absence. A gentle cough alerted told them somepony wanted their attention.

“I believe I can answer that for you,” The newcomer said, and it took a moment for Reman to realize there was a pony with slitted, yellow eyes talking to him. The mare was dressed in purple armor with a blue gemstone that looked similar to her eyes, and it took Glade only a moment to recognize who she was.

“Springs! You got transferred?” She asked her friend, happy to see a familiar face. Personally, Reman could only tell stallion guardsponies from the mares; there just weren't that many defining features that stuck out to him. Glade, he would recognize, but only because he knew her .

“Yeah; ever since the Festival, Celestia figured the Night Guard was understaffed, so she moved a bunch of us around.” For a moment, Reman wondered if Springs knew who he was, but quickly dismissed the question; she wouldn't have been here if she was going to overreact. “But I'm more concerned about you, Glade. After the Festival, you dropped off the map, then show up again out of nowhere, then you leave through that portal for a month. What gives?”

“It has a lot to do with Reman,” She answered, motioning to the Imperial in question. He halfheartedly lifted a hand in acknowledgment, but kept looking around in search of any sign of Hircine. In part, he recalled the name from somewhere, perhaps Glade mentioned her at some point, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Springs gave an odd look as she appraised him.

“This is Reman?” She asked flatly. She didn’t seem too happy when Glade nodded. However, it wasn't for any reason he could guess. “Damn, I lost a bet.”

“I don't even want to know.” Glade had some ideas, and none of them were good. She realized she hadn't introduced Reman and Springs to one another, which was probably very impolite, not to mention a little strange. Bitter Springs had been her friend since she joined the guard, and one of the few ponies she trusted without question. “Oh, where are my manners? Springs, this is Reman Tullius; Reman, this is Bitter Springs.”

“You know, Reman, I always figured Glade's special somepony was a griffin, if her dad's reaction was anything to go by.” Springs smiled up at him, and revealed she had some rather impressive teeth. Being raised around horses, he knew they sometimes had canine teeth, but those seemed a bit more practical than the ones sported by war steeds back home.

“Whoa now, you have the wrong idea,” Glade hissed at her, keeping her voice low to avoid alerting the other guardsponies. Reman's smirk turned into a barely suppressed laugh, and Springs looked a bit like a grinning cat.

“Trust me, Glade; a stallion can tell these things.” Reman's mind pulled a blank at that. Bitter Springs appeared to be female, not that he really payed much attention. Taking a slightly deeper breath through his nose, her, or rather, his scent finally broke through the layer of perfume he wore. Memories sparked through his mind for a moment, and he very distinctly remembered a stallion by the name of Springs. “If you're not dating, then you're hiding something serious.”

“How about we just go find Hircine?” Glade asked, failing to keep a straight face. Her friend gave her a look of slight amusement, and looked up at Reman, and saw a face about as expressive as his helmet. The effeminate stallion laughed to himself, then used his horn to point toward the gardens.

“Something... strange happened about three days ago; we're not quite sure why.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Well, that's quite the death threat, though I'm sure it's more of a promise than anything.” Renoir smiled at Celestia, who only looked at him like he was insane. She had apparently failed to take into account that he was cursed with eternal life, and did not know he had spent a lifetime as a vampire. The thought of being thrown into the sun was not entirely unpleasant, to be honest. He probably wouldn't suffer long, and it would be a rather interesting break from the norm, if nothing else. His eyes briefly flickered from Celestia to the smaller, yellow pony who had walked up behind her. “Oh, hello, Fluttershy.”

She must have heard most of what had been said, and it showed on her face. Renoir was unaffected; she, however, was not. Her mouth hung slightly open and her eyes darted between the two, like she was trying to figure out what could have possibly brought on such talk. Celestia realized vampires were mostly forgotten in Equestria, regarded as tales to keep foals from wandering away from home at night, much like Nightmare Moon. She herself wasn't sure if the similarities ended there or not, but she held out hope that she had killed the last of them many centuries ago.

“Understand I only said what I did to keep everypony safe.” The princess had gone from bitterness and bile to sweetness and smiles in under five seconds, a record in most of Tamriel. From the rather sparse information Renoir had on Equestria's old vampires, her worries were well founded and her threats easily excusable, but part of him felt rather insulted; spreading his curse was far from anything he wanted to do, perhaps the only thing directly opposing his goal of avenging his family. Of course, Reman was the same way, and it only took one night of lost control to infect Glade, and raving vampires were stealthier than berserk lycans. He could be very fruitful in a single night, especially in winter.

“She hardly offended me, so relax.” Renoir regarded Fluttershy as a friend; she was, in many ways, his opposite, and served as a nice metric to gauge his choices. It wasn't often he had contact with someone so radically different, especially one so unaccustomed to his methods. He realized he was putting way too much thought into this. “Really, no harm done.”

“As terrible as it sounds, he is correct.” Celestia tried to be a good ruler, a leader her little ponies could look up to, but that seemed to become more difficult as the years went on. With Reman showing up and adding an entire world full of cultures, laws, and peoples previously unknown, Equestria's political and social climate was rather difficult to foresee. The public was largely ignorant of Nirn's existence, and would remain so until an alliance could be negotiated. They would not miss a vampire they did not know ever stepped foot in Canterlot. “Now, perhaps it would be best if you went to a guest suite, Renoir.”

“And those would be where, exactly?” He asked, quirking a brow. Castles weren't exactly his specialty; he only managed to sneak out of the Blue Palace because he was familiar with its layout. Canterlot Castle, however, was a completely alien environment, and he easily get lost in its corridors.

“I can show you, if you want.” Fluttershy's voice was tiny, as always, but seemed to hold a sliver of confidence previously unknown to any but herself, or so it would seem. Celestia, however, wasn't so sure.

“Don't you have animals to care for?” She asked, knowing the answer. Really, she was just trying to keep her subjects out of danger, something she had regrettably failed in the past. The absolute last thing anypony needed was a second Summer Glade running around.

“Carrot Top volunteered to look after them until I get back, so another day shouldn't matter.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“That's Hircine?” Reman was angry, with good reason. He knew in the back of his mind that Hircine was responsible for Glade's pregnancy, though it remained to be seen if he was a direct influence or not. However, he would not have the chance to ask now.

“Afraid so; he just climbed onto the plinth, took a pose, and turned to stone.” Springs was remaining calm, possibly because he couldn't detect the aggression that permeated the Imperial's very being at the moment. Glade looked a bit miffed at the entire situation, not because she hadn't expected Hircine to become a glorified lawn ornament; she had come to expect the unexpected when it came to the Daedra as a whole.

“I've always wondered why the statue of Discord was right next to an empty plinth.” She made the observation in a casual manner, but internally, she pondered the oversight. Perhaps Hircine would still be flesh and blood had there been no empty space, or perhaps this was just something that happened to Daedric Aspects after a certain period of time. “Interesting pose, though; it's like he's ready to pounce.”

The newly formed statue was slightly crouched, spear in hand. Its headdress was on, and everything obscured by shadows was solid stone, though his eyes were easy to follow. Across the paved garden path stood Discord's prison, frozen in a state of shock from when the Elements of Harmony forced him back into his slumber. Were the two of them living, it would have been god fighting god, though the Aspect of Guile stood no chance against someone so powerful. Was there some reason for this, or was it mere coincidence Hircine was facing the greatest threat ponykind had ever known?

“I have a bad feeling about that chimera over there.” Reman didn't know the proper term do describe the strange creature, though he knew enough to know no artist would ever sculpt something so ugly, which meant it may have been in the same boat as Hircine, and that was something he did not want to deal with. He had no way of really knowing who Discord was, or what his chaotic magic was capable of, but his gut told him something was off about it. Still, he had the right first impression for only having seen him encased in magical stone.

“That's Discord, the draconequus. He's stronger than Celestia and Luna; only the Elements of Harmony can stop him once he gets going.” Glade took it upon herself to elaborate, seeing no need for Springs to bother. Both guardsponies had been in Canterlot during his revival, but had thankfully escaped the brunt of his fun. It had taken her days to get her fur clean after everything was said and done. “Thankfully, as long as there isn't much chaos in Equestria, he should stay frozen.”

“You mean like a civil war and enough political strife to choke on?” Reman asked with a groan. Nirn was chaotic and alive, a trait inherent to all of nature. This was close to the last thing he needed, and the fact he was only now hearing about this was unbelievable. If Celestia was wanting an alliance with the Empire, things like this needed to be known before anything was signed.

“Sounds about right, yeah.” Springs looked a bit pale, which shouldn't have been possible through fur.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“I'm really surprised the princess let you escort me,” Renoir said, unused to being escorted anywhere, though he could see why such a thing was needed. The castle's corridors were labyrinthine, designed to disorient attackers and keep foreign diplomats where they could be observed. Though it had been many years since he last saw it, he remembered his childhood home being the same way, for all the good it did when it mattered most. “She seemed rather adamant about having a guard do it instead.”

“Her heart's in the right place,” Fluttershy replied. “She's just not used to everypony from Reman's world.” Renoir still had trouble adjusting to them calling Nirn something like that; one would think they would adapt its proper name once it became known. Though, perhaps it served as an identifier rather than a real title, a code word of sorts used to prevent information leaks. Renoir doubted that was the case, but he pondered what he could when he had the chance. “She was alive when vampires were around, so she probably has some bad memories about them.”

“Why is this the first I've heard of them?”

Bloody Angel

Renoir sat on his balcony, listening as Fluttershy filled him in on Equestria's vampires of yore. The number of mistakes the vampire ponies made was laughable, the sort of thing that would have brought his family crashing upon them within a week. For one, they were easily identifiable, and functioned almost exactly like Cyrodiilic vampires; their coats were all pale shades of whatever it had been before they turned and their eyes were various shades of red, varying from pink to deep crimson. They were stronger and faster than their mortal counterparts, and the unicorns possessed more powerful magics, but they were not without their fair share of weaknesses.

“They burned up in direct sunlight unless they wore heavy clothes,” Fluttershy recounted, her voice filled with childhood fears. Other fillies at flight camp had told her the stories, and her parents explained they were just tall tales. Then she met Renoir and those words came crashing down. “And they got really weak if they didn't drink enough blood.”

“That's the opposite of Tamriellic vampires,” He replied, taking a sip from a small flask. Unlike werewolves, vampires were not entirely immune to alcohol's inebriating effects, despite it technically being a poison. He chuckled a bit as he recalled the experiments he performed with Reman on the subject and the information they pulled. They had opposite resistances to intoxicants; he could get drunk, but drinking skooma and smoking moonsugar did nothing. They caused Reman to transform and hallucinate. “We get stronger the longer we go without feeding, but the sun hurts us more.”

“But you didn't burn up earlier.” Fluttershy looked at him strangely, scrunching her nose up at the liquor's odor. Renoir noticed and laughed, but said nothing about it. Truthfully, she didn't care for drinking in excess like some ponies, but she wasn't going to complain to her new friend.

“No, but sunlight weakens me, and fire magic burns me more than most.” He tilted the flask to her, but she kindly shook her head and refused. He shrugged and took another drink; he only figured he'd ask. They sat in silence for a while, looking out at Canterlot. Renoir was amazed at its lights, which obviously weren't torches or candles on top of posts. Next to him, he heard Fluttershy's breath hitch a bit, then return to normal. He looked over at her briefly, and noticed she seemed to be pondering something. “Something on your mind?”

“Um, does it, um, hurt?” She asked, pointing a hoof at her own mouth. The vampire in question raised a brow, a smiled rapidly forming on his face. “When you bite somepony, I mean.”

“Not as much as you'd think,” He truthfully replied. He didn't actually remember if being bitten hurt when that vampire infected him, but Reman never complained any of those time he helped him out. Perhaps he wasn't the best subject. “Probably just like two needle pricks.”

“Oh; I figured it would hurt a lot.” Fluttershy averted her eyes, but kept glancing back at him. It may have been the alcohol talking, but Renoir thought she may have been propositioning him. It was odd; he'd never had anyone offer their assistance in something so... unusual. He gave her a skeptical look. In response, she shrunk a little, now looking directly at him. “W-well, it's just you seemed so, um, uncomfortable, s-so I thought I could h-help.”

“You're too nice for your own good.” Renoir resisted the urge to laugh at her, understanding that everything she said was out of goodwill, a genuine desire to aid him. He wasn't even sure he would receive any sort of benefit from feeding on her; men and mer were a vampire's diet, and while he could receive sustenance from regular food, it did nothing to sate him. “But I can see you're having a few doubts.”

Much to his surprise, both of her fore hooves dove forward and squeezed around the flask. In a flash, she raised it to her muzzle and started chugging. Renoir did not intervene, too enraptured by the sight. Part of him wanted to see what she was like with half a flask of hard liquor in her system; another half wanted to see her realize how deep a hole she had dug for herself, which would probably be a moment before she relieved her stomach of its contents. When her body realized what went into making that specific batch, she'd almost certainly have a reaction.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“So, that was the stallion you tried to get me to sleep with?” Reman asked, sliding into bed. Celestia had been kind enough to set the pair up with a diplomat suite overlooking the east courtyard. Personally, he would have preferred his old cell; he didn't want to spoil himself on luxuries, but he supposed it would happen eventually, especially once word spread of Glade's pregnancy. Speaking of such, Celestia would speak to them about what Luna told her was something important, which it was.

“Well, I didn't mean it.” Glade looked up from the saddlebags she was busy unpacking, a flat look on her face. She really hadn't meant it; for some odd reason, the idea of Reman even looking at somepony else made a nerve twitch somewhere in her head. It must have had something to do with being a werewolf, like actual wolves mating for life or something. “So, uh, what are we gonna do about Hircine?”

“Probably nothing,” Reman replied, shrugging his shoulders. Truthfully, now that he'd had time to settle down, he didn't really care if Hircine's Aspect of Guile was stuck in one place, encased in stone. More than that, he was glad to finally settle for a moment, even if it forced his mind to wander. To alleviate this, he stuck his nose back into Mannimarco's notes, using the dark arcana to occupy his time. “We have other things to worry about right now.”

“Like making sure Celestia doesn't offend anypony?” Glade asked, plopping down on the bed, unsure of what could really go wrong. From what she knew, Imperials weren't that easy to offend; one almost had to directly insult them to rile them. But, she supposed that was exactly what the princess was hoping to avoid, especially in such a formal setting. She rose and crawled next to Reman, resting her head on his shoulder. She couldn't understand a word in that book, but the anatomical diagrams were freaky enough to get her mind off Equestria's next political nightmare. “What's that? It looks like Frankensty's monster.”

“A skaab,” He answered quickly. The specific diagram was detailed to the extreme, on par with most medical texts, but sent a wave of uneasiness through anyone who didn't know exactly what it was for. The effect was probably due to the suture lines detailed over what was labeled a cadaver, and it certainly wasn't an autopsy. “It's a zombie pieced together from multiple corpses.”

“That's disgusting.” From what little she knew about magic, Glade still thought it made more sense to just summon things up instead of reanimate the dead. If not that, why not just use one corpse? It seemed so much easier than sewing a bunch of bodies together. “It's ugly, too.”

“Well, it's designed for durability, not looks; besides, they don't get stuck in places very easily.” Reman seemed to have poured over that section for a good while, and she could see his reasoning. Zombies weren't smart, at least not in the movies Glade had seen, so they probably couldn't follow anything beyond basic direction, let alone evade danger, and the stitched abomination seemed to do that quite nicely. If it got a leg stuck in a hole, a skaab could just rip it off and keep going; a zombie couldn't do that because it had too much meat around the joints and such because everything's connected by tendons and ligaments. “Besides, you can sew armor plates into them.”

Glade just rolled her eyes and nuzzled into his neck. As nice as it was to see him occupied with something other than keeping everypony alive and out of danger, it was creepy as hell that he was spending his free time looking at dead bodies, but as long as he didn't start killing ponies just to resurrect them, she wasn't going to blow the whistle on him. Equestria, for obvious reasons, had laws against necromancy, stemming back to the actions of King Sombra if anything Springs told her about magical law was to be believed. She wondered if Celestia knew about Reman's black magic, and if he happened to have taught Twilight any of it.

Just about everything in the book seemed creepy, evil, sadistic, or some combination of the three, and she was deeply uncomfortable seeing it. She couldn't just ask Reman not to read around her; it was his only way of occupying himself while everything settling for the time being. An idea formed in her mind, a rather devious one, but equally beneficial for both parties involved. He couldn't read that terrible tome if he was busy with something else, somepony else. If he couldn't ask her, then she would ask him.

“So, Reman, feel like fooling around?”

Summer Glade, one; creepy book, zero.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir held back Fluttershy's mane as she vomited into what she had called a toilet, which was some sort of indoor outhouse, complete with a connection to the sewers beneath Canterlot. He hardly had time to ponder the fortune he could make selling the idea to the Empire; the yellow pony he held took priority. She kept apologizing between bouts of nausea, somehow still filling the bowl with more of her stomach's previous cargo, even though she had been at this for a few minutes. That liquor had been a very special distillation, one Reman had helped concoct. It was potent enough to completely bypass vampiric poison resistance, but was rather difficult to make.

It was fortunate Fluttershy's body turned it back when it did; what little she must have absorbed would be enough to keep her plastered the entire night, and leave one wicked hangover in the morning. “I just wanted to he-” She began, but was cut off by another lurch, though no sound followed. She dry heaved for a few seconds, before her body started calming down. Fluttershy coughed for a bit, then started panting to catch her breath. “It's just, you said I was too nervous, so I tried to calm down.”

“Fluttershy, if you hadn't thrown up, that would have almost certainly killed you.” Renoir's words made her shrink back, or at least attempt to. He still kept her hovering above the toilet, just in case she had another attack. “While I appreciate the gesture, quenching a thirst that never goes away isn't worth risking your life over.”

“What was that,” She lurched once more, but settled without notice, “stuff, anyway?”

“Reman and I call it Angelus Sanguinum, if you feel like using fancy Cyrodiilic.” Renoir knew precisely why the liquor, which was more of a poison than anything else, was called such an odd name. Elf blood, and it didn't matter which elf one used, was added and refined during the distillation process; that particular batch used Flamer blood, the very same Falmer that interrupted the first meal Renoir shared with the ponies. “By the way, you probably absorbed some into your bloodstream, so it should hit you in a little bit.”

“Then how am I supposed to get to Twilight's room?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Princess Celestia walked through the halls of Castle Canterlot, in good spirits for the first time in a month. To be honest, there was one thing still nagging at the corner of her mind, something she felt needed to be cleared up, other than Hircine being frozen in stone for some reason. She hadn't had a chance to speak with Reman and Glade about whatever they needed to tell her; they seemed too tired from the journey to do anything other than reach their room. Those two seemed to have gotten closer in their time together, a thought that brought a smile to Celestia's face.

Twilight was in Canterlot, and her family, Shining Armor and Cadence included, would be there in the morning, shortly after breakfast. She wouldn't see them all at once; too much happiness might cause her some guilt over cutting somepony's life short. But at least Fluttershy would be staying in Canterlot for a while as well, so she had a friend around. The Element of Kindness also seemed to be friends, or at least friendly, with Renoir, the suicidal vampire. Celestia sighed and shook her head.

“Come on; tell me where Twilight is,” Renoir's voice came from up the corridor. He came into view, back turned to Celestia. Fluttershy's pink mane and tail were visible as he stood in the hall; he must have been carrying her. She resisted the urge to call to him and ask his business, deciding instead to see what they were up to.

“She's in the castle, silly!” Fluttershy sounded... off, somehow, a little too jovial. Her voice was slurred and she seemed serious when saying something so obvious. The princess's face went flat as she realized her little pony was drunk off her ass.

“I knew that much, but where in the castle is she?”

“In her room; where else would she be at bedtime?” Celestia resisted the urge to laugh, and instead started walking towards the two. Renoir turned and looked at her like a defeated parent, holding Fluttershy out to her like she was there to relieve him. She'd inquire why she was drunk after she was dropped of with Twilight, but for now there were more pressing matters.

Midnight Market

(Art by Bajanic)

“And, you see, ponies say Angel is mean, but he's just such a sweetie.” Fluttershy's voice was wavering back and forth, and her glassy eyes kept looking at every little detail as Renoir carried her to Twilight's room. Celestia was resisting the urge to laugh, and doing a rather amazing job; she'd spent many a night in such a state during her earlier years. She wouldn't want anypony laughing at her, but she had to admit Fluttershy was saying some rather humorous things, only some of which involved her animals. “He's just a little stubborn sometimes, is all.”

“Yes; I'm sure that's it.” Renoir felt like strangling someone, and he didn't quite care who. For one thing, he could practically feel Celestia's shit-eating grin from where he walked. He didn't care about Fluttershy's rabbit, and the princess was only agitating his nerves. Did Reman have to deal with this when he arrived in Equestria? Probably not, but Renoir was rapidly developing a need for the very poison Fluttershy had wasted. “I never should have had that stuff out around you.”

“What stuff?” Celestia asked, looking directly at him. She expected an answer, because no matter what she thought of the situation, the fact remained a man who could be very dangerous had an Element of Harmony under the effects of some unknown alcohol or tincture. Being a vampire certainly did not help Renoir's case.

“Fluttershy drank a special distillation Reman and I manufacture for our own use. It's a good thing she vomited most of it out; the stuff's poison to anyone not resistant enough to hold it.” His words made Fluttershy groan a bit, but she remained calm. Celestia realized she must have had an adverse reaction if the mere mention of it drew a such a negative response from her. Still, she laughed.

“Yes, a vampire and a werewolf making moonshine.” The pun was terrible enough to cause a nearby guard stomach pains, but funny enough for a rather inebriated Fluttershy to laugh until she had a coughing fit. Renoir shot Celestia a flat look, clearly unamused, and nearly losing his grip on a certain laughing pegasus. If she noticed, she either didn't show it, or didn't care.

“Moonshine,” Fluttershy whispered. Her glistening eyes looked at Celestia, then back to Renoir, her face scrunching up like she was trying to fake indignation or humor; he couldn't tell which. As they turned and started up a winding staircase, she started laughing like someone had told her the greatest joke in the world. “T-then I guess I-I'm Fluttershine.”

Renoir resisted the urge to punch himself in the face.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Bitter Springs knew his way around Canterlot. He knew who to talk to and how to talk to them; it was part of his job as a Lunar Guard. During his time in the Solar Guard, which ended four weeks ago, when he was moved to his current assignment, he was always on castle patrol. Princess Luna, however, had him out and about, as all Lunar Guards were expected on such a regular rotation schedule. It gave him some peace of mind, especially because his route was the calmest in town. At the moment, his partner was at the hospital, waiting for his wife to deliver, which left Bitter Springs alone, not that he minded much.

The Midnight Market, despite its name's unfortunate implications, was one of the safest places in Canterlot at night, though it was practically abandoned during the day. Patrolling here was basically walking around and making sure everypony got along fine, making it simpler than the normal market district. He usually had free time one his hooves, so he figured he might as well take care of some things while he was in the area; The Midnight Market closed at dawn and his shift ended just after. His eyes darted between the shoppers and the stall; actual stores were in the business district, but they usually weren't worth browsing when the Midnight Market was open.

“You, guard!” A vender yelled from her stall, pointing to him. He recognized this one, a mare by the name of Jubilant Jewels, who was Canterlot's little secret when it came to fine jewelry. She didn't like stuffy building, so she and her sister worked the markets, and made a small fortune. “You seem in thought; perhaps there is something I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes,” He replied after wondering how she knew he was looking for a gift that told Glade he knew she and Reman were hiding something, but that he was fine with it, within reason. If they were secretly serial murderers, then he would have to attempt to put a stop to it, but if they were planning to run off and start making fine cheese and live in some fancy villa in Prance, then he only asked they take him with them. “I'm looking for something for either a wedding or foal shower.”

“You're not the first, sir; I assure you.” Sir? That was the first time since foalhood somepony hadn’t mistaken him for a female. “Now, I assume this is for a friend and not a lover, yes?”

“Yes ma'am.” Again, she was on the money, though that one could have been attributed to some stereotype about his appearance, but it was equally possible she had seen him with his ex-coltfriend around town.

“Jeweled or not?” She asked, and Springs had to think for a moment. Glade never showed any particular interest in flashy things, least of all jewelry of any sort, but he needed something to go on. It was a safe bet that she wouldn't like anything more than metal.

“Not, please.” In response, Jubilant Jewels pulled out a display case full of tiaras, anklets, and necklaces, all made by hoof and stunning in their own ways. Some had intricate vines, others bore scenes of wildlife, and others still had intricate, geometrical patterns etched or woven onto their surfaces. She set down another case, this one containing similar pieces, but made of gold.

“Just tell me when something strikes your fancy.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“You couldn't pick the other shoulder?” Reman asked, pressing a wet cloth over the bite, which was right over its predecessor. He and Glade were in their suite's attached shower, cleaning themselves before actually going to bed. The smell of diluted blood was heavy in the steamy air, and it didn't really help anything. He wasn't angry, just mildly inconvenienced; there wasn't even any pain.

“I already said I was sorry about that.” Glade did her best to look serious, but it was rather difficult when a naked man was scrubbing her wings. The entire ceiling sprayed hot water on them, so they were both completely soaked. Reman had to keep himself from laughing when he really inspected Glade; she looked, in his opinion, like a wet dog. It didn't help that her features were slightly more canid than other ponies, especially in the face and ears. “I wasn't exactly paying much attention to where my mouth was going at the time.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” Reman pulled back the cloth and inspected his newest wound, which was still pristine enough to trace back to the culprit. He was worried her fangs glanced off his collarbone for a moment, but then remembered it hardly mattered. They stood in silence for a moment, enjoying their conversation's ebb, before Glade brought something up, something that could have waited until the morning.

“So, you know how Twilight's family is coming tomorrow?” She asked, knowing there was no way for him not to know. Celestia had said as much to all of them, whether she had meant to or not. Personally, Reman wasn't looking forward to seeing Shining Armor again at all, but Cadence was nice enough. Twilight's parents were unknowns in this situation, but if they raised Twilight, they were probably decent ponies. “Well, she might also contact my parents.”

Reman thought about this for a moment, filling his hands with the odd, liquid soap he found before going to work on Glade's tail. Really, he didn't see how that affected him; he'd be spending most of his time with Celestia, working on her Imperial etiquette. He was still working on her tail's base when it hit him, causing his hand to involuntarily clench.

“Hey!” Glade yelped, pulling away from him. She sat and wrapped both hooves around her wet, limp tail, balefully glaring at him.

“Shit! Sorry.” Reman's mind ground to a halt as the implication set in, not about him accidentally pulling her tail, but about her parents. He had yet to meet them, and he wasn't quite sure pegasi were very tolerant, not if he used Glade's initial behavior as any indicator. It wouldn't go very well if they didn't like the looks of him, and even worse once they found out he was the father of their future grandchild. Or maybe they wouldn't care so much, maybe they'd get along well, or perhaps her father would challenge him to a duel to the death for besmirching his daughter's honor.

“Relax; I'll make sure my dad doesn't hurt you too much.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Bitter Springs went about his rounds, gift safely in his pack. While he was not quite sure what Glade would like, he used the silver necklace she wore as a base for his purchase. It wasn't a necklace, of course; she already had that one, so he got her a rather decorative, silver anklet. It was nothing special, and lacked the necklace's wolf imagery, but there was something to be said about plain silver. He resisted the urge to hum a tune as he walked about the Midnight Market, thinking he had indulged enough for the night, and not wanting to draw too much attention to himself.

A bloodcurdling scream echoed from the row of houses just beyond the market's edge. Springs's ears locked onto the target, then his eyes, then his entire body readied for a sprint. He shot up a magical flare meant to alert other guards to the situation and call for backup. He threw himself through the house in question's door, which had been slightly ajar. Bitter Springs had been a guard for four years, and he'd seen a good bit, but he wasn't prepared for what he saw.

A mare, who must have been the one who screamed, sat by a loveseat, looking up the staircase. It didn't take a genius to notice the trail of blood that started on the ground floor and left a steady track going up the stairs; the pony-sized stain on the wall at the top didn't hurt, either. Springs drew his sword just as other Lunar Guards arrived, motioning for two of them to follow him, and for the others to search the rest of the house. The stairs kept quiet as they ascended, keeping an eye out for anypony who may be wielding a weapon, but devoting their minds to finding survivors. There was a loud crash from the room at the end of the hall.

They kicked the locked door open, and didn't quite know what to make of what they saw. Murders happened, Canterlot had about sixty per year, but this was something entirely different. A pegasus knelt over a unicorn stallion, who may have been either the husband or lover of the mare downstairs. The pegasus had a pale, orange coat, and his eyes seemed to glow a deep crimson in the light from a nearby streetlamp. Springs locked eyes with him, and felt a chill overtake him. The murderer opened his mouth, which had clearly been used to bite into the neck of his victim, and hissed, spreading his wings.

It took only a moment for him to jump through the window and dive to the ground. By the time Springs and the others followed, he was gone, probably using the many alleys to hide his movements. Springs cleared his throat.

“I don't care if we have to turn this entire district upside down; find that son of a bitch!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Bleh!” Fluttershy made the noise just before she tried biting into Renoir's neck, playfully. Apparently, she was imitating the vampires in the stories she'd told him earlier. Celestia looked like she was about to cry; her reddened face was puffing up from keeping air in her cheeks, which occasionally hissed out. She thought this was adorable, but Renoir's opinion couldn't have been farther from it. He used a foot to knock on the door, happy to finally be set Fluttershy down somewhere.

Twilight answered the door, yawning. She looked at Renoir, then Fluttershy, then Celestia, and very promptly woke up. “Is something wrong?” She asked, worried over her friend. She didn't know why Renoir was carrying her, but it must have been important. “Is Fluttershy okay?”

“She's fine, just a little tipsy.” Renoir did his best to smile, but failed anything more than a look of slight unease. It too only a moment for Twilight to notice where her friend’s mouth was, and then she heard a slight sucking noise.

“A little tipsy?” Celestia asked, looking amused. She had a better view than Twilight, and was perfectly aware Fluttershy was just imitating what she thought Renoir did. But she did seem to enjoy it a little too much. Renoir rolled his eyes and pulled her off him with a wet pop.

“Okay; she's wasted.”

Making a Splash

Renoir killed his lights as soon as he got a clear look at the vampire; it could do him no good to give her a bright target. As his eyes adapted to the near-total darkness, he could see more than before. From what little he could discern from equine facial anatomy and expressions, she seemed nervous, eyes darting between her three enemies. Neither of them made a move to attack, but both she and Renoir remained tense, ready to strike. He guessed they were only separated by about thirty feet, which, under normal circumstances, would have given him enough time to close the distance before a mage could cast a spell of an archer could prime a shot.

But this vampire pony was a unicorn, and that meant she was a little more dangerous than the common thug or rogue mage; magic was inherent for them, and it wouldn't take nearly as much time the ready an adept-level fire spell. He needed to be smart about this, but that would be very difficult in these tight corridors. He could always rush her, but that would leave him open for counters or barriers. He decided on his course of action rather quickly. He locked eyes with the vampire as flames started dancing around his fist.

She fell on her haunches, hooves out in a defensive gesture. “We're after the same guy, I swear!” Renoir kept his magic primed as Luna and Springs stepped forward, likewise ready to end the her unlife. A dark blue barrier flashed into existence behind the vampire pony, ensuring she had no method of escape. “I'm on his trail, but he's cleared out.”

“Why should we believe you?” Luna asked in a hushed tone, bitterly staring at the undead, thinking only of victims of ages past. The cloaked mare back away from them, moving until her back was against the barrier. Her eyes darted between them, trying to asses who posed more of a threat at the moment.

“We just want to live, not kill,” She answered, her voice lightly shaking. Renoir likened her to a warrior who has seconds thoughts before rushing into danger, though it seemed her moment of clarity came a little too late. He'd seen this a thousand times or more; it always left the sod's allies defenseless and alone. “Mandrake is a bastard, alright? He killed Pathos out of anger, not thirst.”

“His drained body does nothing to support your words, vampiress.” Springs took a step towards her, only to have Renoir's arm block his path. The two males exchanged a look, and eldest shook his head; it was a bad idea to approach her. The unknown vampire shook her head defensively.

“He was mad at how many rules we have about feeding,” She said, giving Renoir all the evidence he needed. She was a fledgling, meaning she hadn't been a vampire for more than two years or so, judging by her relatively erratic behavior. Most vampire weren't quite as emotional or impulsive after they'd been given proper time to adjust to their powers. “So, he killed Pathos and ran.”

“So you're here because... ?” Renoir asked, rolling a hand. He didn't have the patience to deal with her any longer than he had to. If his hunch was correct, there was no need to waste the magicka required to incinerate her, not that he was lazy enough to look for a way out. Truthfully, if vampires didn't make a nuisance or threat of themselves, he didn't have a reason to kill them.

“I already told you I'm after him, too.” She stomped a hoof down, splashing in the filthy mire. She quickly realized her mistake, pulling it out just as swiftly, dragging up a long strand of sewage. She quickly looked at Renoir to get her her mind off the foul slurry. “We live off old blood bags; Mandrake's attack was the first in centuries.”

“The first, or just the first detected?” Renoir asked, relaxing his posture. He didn't think she was a killer, just some kid who had the misfortune of being infected and trying to make the best of it. While not hunting for revenge, she also wasn't falling into the same debauchery and hedonism most vampires fell into, especially those who gathered in large groups, which seemed to be what she meant. If there was a clan concentrated in Canterlot, he could get the princesses to wipe them out rather effortlessly; he could do next to nothing if they were spread around Equestria.

She opened her mouth to respond, and Renoir caught the flash of a silvery stud imbedded in her tongue. Piercings like those were common in High Rock amongst prostitutes, but were catching on with the upper classes. They were by no means an indicator of character or social standing in Equestria, to his knowledge, anyway. He motioned for Luna to drop the barrier, and received an incredulous look in response. It wasn't a good time to present anything but a united front. With some hesitation, it flickered and died.

“If you don't mind, we have hunting to do.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Reman Tullius lay awake, thinking about nothing in particular. Glade had her head on his chest, lazily draping a wing over his body as she slept. It amused him to no end that she had a slight snore, though he respectfully remained silent, deciding it would be a bad idea to wake her. As much as he would have liked to rolled out of bed and read, Glade's wing did a wonderful job of keeping him still. Said appendage squeezed him against her, showing just how strong a pegasus's wings really were. He certainly wasn't complaining.

As much as he would have liked to sleep, and he really would have, an uneasiness in his chest kept him awake, though he had nothing to blame it on, or at least nothing he was aware of. It was a sort of cold anxiety, nothing like pre-battle jitters or a black-bordered letter arriving at one's door. Reman knew those feelings, but this was worse, and far too alien; he never valued his life before the reunion, and he knew people died, even his kin. This fear was far bigger than himself, or even House Tullius, but it didn't apply to Cyrodiil or Equestria.

He closed his eyes and rested his head, lightly huffing at the odd emotion. Some rational part of his mind wanted him to push it down and let it die, but a more vocal part shouted for him to dissect the issue until he found his answer. His gut, however, just told him to go kill something to get his mind off whatever was bugging him. Glade shifted in her sleep, burying her snout into the crook of his neck, snorting. Keeping his eyes closed, he pulled his arm around her.

“Reman, go to sleep, now.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“That's it?” The vampire pony asked as the group walked past her. Renoir didn't even pause as he gave his reply.

“That's it.” She wasn't worth his time, and he doubted Mandrake could have fled to sewers if other vampires were after him. It may take all night, but he would find him, and kill him. Afterwords, he would return to the castle, attempt to get blind drunk, remember Fluttershy drank his Angelus Sanguinum, the sleep. Luckily, he had just done all of those, save the last, so he would have more time for rest. “Now run along.”

With that, the three hunters continued down the dark, dank sewer tunnel. The vampire had gone along her merry way, though she was probably following them, if Luna's gut instinct was anything to go by. She resisted the urge to call Renoir insane, hoping he would have something planned. Neutral or not, vampires were fundamentally dangerous; the damage they caused, even if some was unintentional, was too great to allow them to exist. Even if it was now apparent Celestia hadn't done too good of a job, Luna felt mopping up the remainder was feasible, perhaps even necessary, depending on their numbers.

The winged members of her Lunar Guard, the bat ponies, were the result of multi-generational interbreeding with vampires. Originally, they were the only ponies allowed to serve in the Lunar Guard due to their resistance to the curse, and their natural gifts made them beyond excellent aerial troops and guards when the sun went down. Luna could see how a dozen or so vampires could be allowed to live, perhaps as many as eighteen, but that was more of a stretch than anything. They would be rather easy to hide from the public, though she could always say it was to create a larger breeding pool for the bat ponies, which she had truthfully been led to believe was dwindling, perhaps down to a hoofful of generations until inbreeding really became an issue.

Bitter Springs, trying to remain calm, realized how daunting a task he had before him. The news of vampires hadn't really affected him when he first put the pieces together, but now that he'd been given time to settle a bit, it was starting to take root. For one, vampires had returned, or perhaps never left in the first place; neither of those possibilities was good. This was only made worse when he realized he was in a filthy sewer, actively hunting down a vampire who had killed two stallions not two hours ago.

“Springs, seriously, relax,” Renoir whispered, keeping his voice low to prevent it from echoing down the lengthy, winding corridors. The very last thing he needed was for someone to start freaking out and running; that was the absolute best way to die in a situation like this. The fact Celestia would also have his head for it was just another reason to keep the effeminate stallion alive. “I've done this plenty of times; you're going to be fine.”

The loud crashing ahead did nothing to reinforce his words, but it did give them a target. In an instant, they started running to the sound, ready to end this task and get some fresh air. The tunnel opened into a large chamber, and two ponies were at the far end of a long catwalk, locked in combat. On of them was a pegasus, and he seemed to have the upper hand on his earth pony enemy. Said flier picked up the larger stallion, using his wings to balance on his hind legs, and slammed him onto the steel grating, snapping a few suspension cables.

“That's the one,” Springs said, pointing to the pegasus. He was sure of it; he wouldn't be able to forget those eyes for as long as he lived. He looked up at the vampiric human, and gave a stern nod, handing the responsibility of slaying Mandrake to him. Renoir looked to Luna and smiled, pulling his mask from his hip. For a brief moment, his swirling eyes looked almost normal in the dim light, and he seemed to be decades younger.

“If I get out of sight for more than four hours, send a search party.” With that, he stormed to the dueling stallions. About one hundred feet separated them, and it didn't look as though he had the time to cross the distance, not with all the damage they were doing to the steel support cables. With a quick glance, he realized he couldn't see the chamber's bottom, not even with his augmented eyesight. Mandrake slammed the earth pony again, snapping even more cables. Renoir charged his Incinerate.

As he lifted the stallion once more, the human fired his spell, aiming for one of the remaining wires. After the brief moment, the metal faintly glowed, and only then did Mandrake realize he had a new challenger. The moment he slammed his enemy into the catwalk, every support on that half snapped, leaving the rusty metal to hold the three by itself. He barely had time to lift himself before Renoir tackled him to the ground, further speeding the walkway's collapse.

Sinking his fangs into his victim's neck, Renoir Belmont went about squeezing his wings to his sides, knowing just how powerful they could be. A large pipe emptied into the chasm, leaving him little doubt that they would hit water at some point, but he also recalled Canterlot being at the top of a mountain. He started feeding, or the best imitation one could make when drinking a vampire's blood. It was bitter, acrid, and all around disgusting; in truth, it did nothing to sate his thirst, but he wasn't making it painless for Mandrake.

“You idiot, this pit is bottomless!” He shouted as he bucked and writhed in Renoir's grasp. He planted a firm kick in his groin, making the man bite down harder, but releasing the death grip on his wings. He responded by slamming his fist into his stomach, and bracing his other limbs against various parts of his body. With an upward pull, he tore a sizable bite from Mandrake's neck, and threw him further down, against a large crystal that jutted from the wall. He was shaken by the impact, and visibly injured, but he was also at his strongest. Below, Renoir could barely make out the faintest of twinkles from a lantern, which meant they were about to hit the bottom of the so-called bottomless pit.

Grabbing Mandrake by his neck hole, he flipped over until his wings were against his chest. Renoir, knowing how acute an aerial predator's eyes had to be, allowed his prey the chance to see the flickering lantern, now much closer than before. Purely on instinct, Mandrake started flapping his wings in an attempt to slow down. Renoir griped the appendages at their bases, and kept up with his rapid movements pegasi, like birds, had hollow bones because they weighed less, making it easier to fly. It also made them easier to break.

At one-hundred-fifty feet in the air, Renoir Belmont did just that. He exerted as much force as he could, crushing the hollow bones just about the joints in Mandrake's back. They hadn't slowed to a stop by any means before then, but now they accelerated into the reservoir below. Three seconds later, they crashed with enough force to soak the small pump station just past the shoreline.

The force of the impact, combined with Renoir's weight, snapped Mandrake's spine in multiple places. Official cause of death was severe cranial trauma, resulting from an impact he had against a large rock just beneath the reservoir's surface.

Renoir Belmont suffered multiple broken tarsals and metatarsals, two broken tibias, a broken fibula, two severely fractured femurs, a broken radius and ulna, and a minor sprain in his left ankle.

The red-eyed unicorn who fished them out only received a splash of cold, filthy water.

Leyawiin is not in Kvatch

Renoir coughed out as much of the filthy water as he could, hating the taste more than anything. The vampiress from before had used a large hook to fish him out of the reservoir, and she sat near him, holding a glass of fizzing water. Sniffing it once, he filled his mouth with it, swishing it around for a few seconds. He spat it out, not caring where it landed; the pump station he was in was dirty enough for him to know no one would be there to clean for a good while.

“We use that mint water as a mouthwash, but I figured it could get the sewage taste out just fine,” She said, smiling. She still wore her cloak, which Renoir knew was there only to obscure identifying features; it was much like his mask, though ponies needed to cover more if they wanted to be anonymous. She paused for a moment, looking over him. Frowning, she asked, “Doesn't that, I dunno, hurt?”

Renoir traced the line her hoof made as she pointed to his legs; specifically, she was pointing to his left shin, which was unnaturally twisted and looked rather severe. He'd probably be in pain, but he seemed to be in a slight state of shock. He was aware of his injuries, but was relaxed and incapable of caring about them. A golden glow enveloped his broken arm, weaving his bones together faster than he could ever work on another subject.

“Cool,” The vampiress said, watching the ethereal energy do its job. Her horn lit up as she lifted a bag of some sort over to Renoir; he noticed her aura was a light blue, similar to Rarity’s. “When you get done with that, have a drink; I figure you've earned it.”

“What in Oblivion is that?” He asked, looking at the strange material. He knew the dark liquid inside was blood, but the clear, shiny bag was new. He also focused on it solely to curb his thirst, which was gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Tamriellic vampires, as few knew, had two pairs of fangs: one replacing the upper canines, and a second pair disguised as the lower canines. They stayed within a normal size range until until the last stage of hunger, during which they grew until they matched the upper pair. Unlike the superior pair, the inferior fangs were hollow, used for transferal of blood from vampire to victim; that was the most effective way of spreading the infection.

“Blood bag, fresh from the good doctor downtown.” The mere mention of blood, the confirmation of his suspicions, was enough to make him forget about the pain in his legs, however severe it may have been. He could practically smell it, though he doubted it would taste as refreshing as a pint fresh from the source. “Or maybe you've ever seen plastic before?”

“You had my attention at blood.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Summer Glade felt powerful. Draped in polished armor and velvet finery, she reclined upon a throne, staring down at the man kneeling in her court. Reman sat next to her head, resting on one hand, looking rather disinterested. He wore a crown, made of what appear to be a single piece of carved bone, inlaid with shining silver.

“You may rise,” He said, never taking his eyes off the kneeling man. The young Tullius was far from the mercenary Glade knew; he was older, more regal, bearing the full authority flowing through his veins. Unlike the other Imperials Glade saw standing along the walls, he seemed feral while maintaining an air of culture. Was this how Imperial nobility went about their days, or did Reman now hold a seat of power? Either way, she had a distinct feeling that this room, this court, belonged to the two of them, and the men and woman standing to the sides were under their employ.

The kneeling man, who introduced himself as a seafaring merchant, went on about someplace named Anvil for what seemed like hours. Apparently, he was dissatisfied with their import tariffs, claiming they were much higher than Leyawiin's. Reman did his best to look as though he hung on every word but Glade could see he was bored out of his skull.

“My lord, you simply must do something about this injustice; high tariffs could ruin your entire region.” The merchant simply did not understand how Cyrodiil worked, how independent the Counts were. Counts inherited their titles, and it was rare for a new bloodline to take control; direct intervention from the Elder Council and the Emperor was required. Political alliances didn't change much, leaving old feuds a chance to persist.

“As close as Count Umbranox and I are, I have no influence over him,” He replied as kindly as he was able. “Now, as you said, Leyawiin's tariffs are much lower than Anvil's. If I were you, I'd dock there for the remainder of your career.”

The merchant looked outraged, and as he took a step forward, two halberds crossed before him. The guards looked rough, wearing their armor to maximize their mobility. The burning fire around the room masked a certain, familiar odor, and Glade realized why those two moved when Reman was clearly in no danger. Most, if not all of the guards were werewolves, but had different scents, meaning they were from different packs or did not belong to one. Given how large guard forces seemed to be, there was a small army under their command, which was exactly what Emperor Titus Mede wanted.

“Precisely, mortal.” Rose's voice rose from the nearest fireplace, something that could have passed for a statue plinth that was conveniently located next to her. The Daedric pony burst forth in a cloud of flames as the world seemed to slow to a stop. She shook the cinders from her fur as she landed, looking at Glade. She smiled maternally, blowing out a small fire that kindled on the expensive-looking carpet that trail from the thrones.

“So this is what happens when the Emperor builds the house for us?” It made sense for Glade to wonder that; everypony needed a job or hobby to keep themselves occupied, and ruling seemed to be something Reman could do, maybe even enjoy after a while.

“Not quite,” Rose giggle. She rather enjoyed her little talks with Glade; it was the main reason she even spoke to her anymore. She gestured to the frozen Imperial seated upon the throne. “What you have been seeing for the past few minutes is a day in the court of Reman Tullius the Beast-blooded, who serves as the newly-installed Count of Kvatch.”

“I can't imagine the locals were happy about their old Count being replaced?” Glade knew a good bit about Cyrodiil from what Rose had told her, Kvatch in particular. The current Countess, at least in reality, was a kind, old widow; her husband had died fighting in the Great War.

“Zelda was getting on in years, and her oldest child was unfortunately castrated in a carting accident.” Glade winced at the Daedra's words, having seen enough stallions take hits to the groin to know it was far from pleasant, let alone having them destroyed. “So, a concerned citizen wrote a letter to the Emperor, and Titus knew exactly who should sit upon the throne of Kvatch.”

“Nepotism?” She asked, fully aware of Reman's opinion on rulers. There was no doubt he could make for a fair leader, but it wasn't something he wanted. But, one does not simply refuse the Emperor when he bears such a gift, and House Tullius could make good use of the influence. Controlling a seat on the Elder Council and an entire County would give them an edge over House Maro, who had the Emperor's ear.

“Not at all,” Rose said sarcastically. “Who better to lead than a man who garnered an alliance between the Empire and Equestria, especially in such unsure times?”

“I'm really starting to wonder why you show me these things.”

“Child, this is but one future, and prophecy is within my domain.” Rose looked out over the court, taking a deep breath. She had seen countless lives play out before her eyes, understood every twist and turn their paths may have taken. Some were what she understood to be considered happy by mortals, but that was always subjective. “There are dozens, hundreds, of possible outcomes for the little tale you call life; it shall take great effort to truly choose how history shall remember you and your legacy.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir learned pony blood satisfied his thirst rather nicely, and he was taking advantage of the amount the unnamed vampiress had provided. Under normal circumstances, he would never have drunk six pints, but the empty, plastic bags next to him were proof enough that he was starved. He was working down his seventh as he mended his legs enough to walk with only mild discomfort; the eighth bag was being saved for his return to Canterlot Castle, a last drink before sleeping until sundown.

“I rather like the material; it almost feels like skin,” He said, slipping his fangs from the emptied pouch. He spit the limp pack onto the pile next to him, swinging his legs over the table as he did so. He felt a rush of discomfort as his feet touched the ground, but that was about it. He looked over to see the vampiress looking at him, her mouth open is disbelief.

“Dude, I've never seen anypony drink seven pints without tossing any back.” Her voice made it clear she was impressed, but she also sounded a bit worried. Perhaps Equestria's vampires didn't drink as often as he did, or perhaps they were just used to consuming a smaller amount when they did. Either way, Renoir was capable of killing a man if he didn't measure exactly how much he fed, even on a good day. “How do you even have room for it all?”

“I make room,” He replied, patting his abdomen. Truthfully, there wasn't much room left; his belly was harder than stone, meaning he was at capacity, and would be until his body worked through some of the blood he'd consumed. He partially surprised to see his stomach hadn't bloated as it had when he was a neophyte. He attributed it to age. “How long have we been down here?”

“About three hours, why?” She cocked head to the side, knowing her eyes were the only thing visible beneath her hood's shadow. Renoir coughed into his hand as he started buckling his armor back on, working from his boots and cuirass.

“Because I figured it'd be a good idea to let you know Princess Luna will be tearing this place apart in an hour.” He strapped the leather of his greaves on, pausing only to retrieve the fitting for his groin. With a few buckles and buttons, his lower armor was attached to is cuirass, leaving only his arms and head exposed. “I don't think you want to be caught in that.”

“As tough as it is to take advice from a stallion in fetish gear, I think you may be onto something.” Renoir had to bite back a chuckle as the vampiress went to the door. He finished with his armor and followed her, stepping into the muggy cavern housing the pump station. “I probably have some explaining to do with the princess, don't I?”

“I believe so.” Renoir was starting to see how Reman had gotten so involved in Equestria; the vampire hadn't even spent a day in its capital and he somehow managed to make contact with a group of ponies that had been hiding from extermination for centuries. “As much as I doubt Celestia will like it, you should drop by the castle after sundown.”

“Why?” She asked, looking up at him, then quickly turning her gaze back to the brightening sky. The sun would soon make the surface uninhabitable, and she would be caught with her tail raised if she didn't hurry.

“You'll need to make your case to Luna, and she'll talk with Celestia. If things go well, you might not be wiped out.” Renoir may have been a vampire slayer, but he did not enjoy the punishment of the innocent, if there were such individuals. If the local vampires really did as the vampiress said, then there was little reason to see them burn, save Celestia's experience with them many lifetimes ago. “I trust you have no issue with this?”

“Worst case, I die either way. Might as well take this shot.” She looked up at him, smiling cockily. Renoir could see the plan forming in her head, and he already had his own in the works. “Just tell the big guy to keep the guards off my back, and I can find my way around.”

Tower Touches Rising Sun

The sun had just risen as Luna descended the chasm, winged members of her Lunar Guard in tow. She had known of the derelict pump station, which had been abandoned decades before her return to Equestria. The village it once served disappeared overnight, taking even the buildings and roads passing through it. No survivors were ever found. Shaking her head, she touched down just before the large shed, wrinkling her nose at the sewage smell. The water was cleaned before it entered the river, but that did nothing to aid the stench within the small cave.

“Princess,” Renoir called as he reclined against the station's wall. At his feet lay the corpse of a pale stallion, most likely Mandrake. To the alicorn, he seemed more relaxed, less ragged for his near-death experience. The exposed areas of his skin had bits of decaying, organic matter splattered here and there and his hair was matted with the muck, but he was smiling.

“Renoir,” she replied, walking to him. As much as she disliked the fetid cavern, she made certain she stepped with certainty, throwing caution to the wind and letting her hooves get dirty. Three paces form the vampire, her hoof sank in the sludge. Her head turned to the side and she repressed the urge to retch. “You seem, ugh, to have handled this rather well.”

“As I said, I was bred for this.” Renoir nodded to the corpse, nudging it with a foot. He gave it a firm kick to roll it into its back. One of the stony, bat-winged guards quirked a brow, but quickly returned to his stoic self as Mandrake's neck wound became visible. It was, as the Lunar Guards noticed, a little larger than one would first assume Renoir's mouth could open. “His spine snapped on impact; killed him deader than he already was.”

“And the bite?” Luna asked, eying the wound. It looked more like an animal bite than what she thought a human might produce.

“I needed to hold onto something.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Imperials were, first and foremost, a people of conquerors. It was often said the greatest sight an Imperial warrior could see was his lover sleeping soundly. Reman did not believe this was the case, seeing Glade resting with her mouth agape, drooling over his chest. It didn't help that the small pool had cooled in Canterlot's chilly air, leaving little more than a wet mess slightly colder than his skin. He noticed sunlight streaming in from the suite's window, and knew Celestia wanted to speak to them.

“Glade,” He said, rocking the shoulder she had the most weight on. He wasn't the best at waking sleeping people, and this was his only option outside of yelling or throwing her off the bed. Rolling his eyes, he moved his hand from her side; he couldn't pull it completely from her as she was resting on it, but he could do one thing he knew would get her attention. The minute his thumb scratched behind her ear, her eyes shot open. He pulled away, his job done.

“I didn't say stop,” Glade whined sarcastically. Reman laughed and said something in Cyrodiilic, which he knew she was unable to understand. She swore to find out one day, because he'd said the very same thing on numerous occasions. “And do we really have to get up so early?”

“As tempting as the idea is, we can't stay in bed all day.” The Imperial sat up, taking the pegasus with him. She rolled out of his lap and hopped off the bed, shaking her mane as straight as she could. She still look bedraggled, but that was fine; breakfast wasn't for a good bit, so she had time to get everything in order. “Your parents might show up after breakfast, maybe before.”

“Right, then you have to start working with the princess on her Imperial etiquette.” Glade rolled her eyes at the idea. The Emperor seemed to be an upstanding guy, not the sort to throw a fit over minor details. Then she remembered this was a formal meeting, not some random encounter away from the public's eye. “Which of them should we tell first?”

“About the baby?” Reman asked before thinking. Glade gave him a flat look.

“No, about the Dwemer automaton we drive around like a carriage,” She answered sarcastically. She smiled and arched her back like a cat, trying to work out a kink she'd developed overnight. With a huff, she sat on the floor. “I just don't know how to break it to my folks.”

“Break what to your folks?” Princess Celestia asked as she poked her head in the room.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

They made it back to the castle shortly after dawn; breakfast was in one hour, by Luna's count. The princess planned on eating and then getting some rest. She had no doubt Renoir was either going to sleep soon, either before or after the meal.

“We haven't seen the last of them,” He said, yawning. He had Mandrake's corpse over his shoulder, wrapped in a dark sheet to prevent it from bursting into flames. He had long abandoned his mask, and even as his dark eyes looked over the castle grounds, he squinted to see in sunlight. “The vampires, I mean.”

“I was worried about that,” She replied. Truthfully, there were too many things going on at once for her and her sister to keep tabs on them. There was one international incident in the making, perhaps two, and now an ancient threat was rearing its ugly head. “Worried, but nonetheless prepared.”

Renoir wasn't going to ask; he truthfully didn't care about her plan. The vampire had his own thoughts on the subject, and his own goals. Whatever means he chose to use were his own, and he wasn't above trafficking them to Tamriel if they were peaceful, but being hunted down by those too ignorant or scared of the unknown was not somethign he would stand for. The two of them walked in silence for a good while, with Springs just behind them. Renoir turned his head a bit and saw the stallion carrying a small, brightly colored box.

“Princess,” He began, hoping she would acknowledge him. Technically speaking, he was off-duty until sunset, but he stuck around until he was directly relieved. He was exhausted, but as awake as he'd ever been.

“Yes, Springs?” Luna asked, stopping to look at him. It was not often she was in such a predicament, and she appreciated his devotion. She smiled. “I trust you wish to see your friend and retire for the day?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He stood stock still as Renoir and Luna stared him down. Both the immortals looked as though they would break their composure, like they were holding back a riotous fit of laughter. The alicorn put a hoof on his shoulder.

“You are dismissed, Spring; you've earned a good rest.” With a nod of her head, Luna sent him off. He trotted away at a respectable pace, neither a walk nor a run. With his effeminate looks, he appeared to be a mare in a bit of a hurry, and nopony dared stop a mare on a mission. “One more thing: get those two out of bed before Twilight's family arrive; they are our diplomats, however unorthodox, and I'd prefer they be presentable.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Princess Celestia knew something was wrong when she looked at Glade's expression. Reman was much better at lying than she was, and he had the same look of slight amusement he always had. Nothing good was coming of this, the princess was certain of that much.

“I'll ask again, break what to your folks?” She wasn't angry; to call her angry was like calling an erupting volcano angry. She was a force of nature, and like all natural phenomena, she had a cause that set her on her course. A volcano was a rather stellar analogy; they both erupted after being subjected to extreme pressure. The planet's motions and politics were not too dissimilar. “Is the Emperor offended by you two?”

“Not quite, no.” Reman cleared his throat as he explained. He was skilled, raised from birth to lie in such a way as to sound truthful, but he, like all mortal men and mer, had a tell, and Celestia knew precisely what it was. However, it wasn't showing; he wasn't being anything other than truthful, but he also wasn't telling the entire truth.

“Then he has bigger plans for you, I suppose?” She asked the Imperial, voice measured and even. She did not want any sort of incident, not with Equestria bonded with Tamriel as it was. The lycans shared a look then nodded uncertainly. “If that's not it, then what? Is he forcing you to marry as a guarantee of our alliance?”

“No, it's nothing like that,” Glade said, her voice wavering under her ruler's scrutiny. Celestia as, as she always tried to be, a kind and caring leader, but her presence was rather... awe-inspiring, especially to mortals who were unaccustomed to such beings. She was no Daedra, but she was corporeal, and that gave her an impact quite unlike the Azura's visitations. “I'm... I'm pregnant, about a month along.”

“So, exactly what I warned you about, Reman?” Celestia's features softened. She was still far from happy, but she realized she was dealing with a pair of scared foals, relatively speaking. They were not spies or subversive agents of any sort; they were just thrust from a carefree life and into parenthood. “Luna told me you were the grandson of a general, a powerful noble, and you weren't taught about basic contraception?”

“I started it; the responsibility rests on me.” Glade looked paler than her bleached coat should have allowed. In a sense, this was a way of finally admitting everything to herself. Her shoulders slumped, her wings drooped, and her eyes lacked a certain luster. “I hadn't exactly been prepared to survive much longer.”

“There's some irony to be found in that, I'm sure.” Reman was speaking sarcastically, which Celestia identified as a coping mechanism. He was just as terrified as Glade, but there was a different fear behind his eyes, something a bit more... visceral.

“Yes; the two of you were prepared for death and you created life,” Celestia said, the corner of her mouth wrinkling in thought. She had heard this story a thousand times over during her reign, but never were the roles played by actors quite like these. “At least you haven't destroyed our chances of alliance, though I doubt that give you much comfort.”

“Not quite, princess; the Emperor plans on... financing us.” Glade drew their attention very quickly with that statement. Reman had a sinking feeling about just such a thing; Titus Mede was no fool, and he must have had a reason for allowing him to keep his name and title. What the Imperial didn’t know was what his Emperor had in mind. “Azura has shown me things, prophesies.”

“Certain or subjective?” Reman asked. His family, House Tullius as a whole, was more or less given power because of the Daedra. Aurelius Tullius had been the son of a merchant, and lived on Vvardenfell during the time of the Nerevarine. She financed the young thief’s trip to Cyrodiil, where he met up with the Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood. Were it not for that stroke of luck, he would not have met Joan, and Reman would have never been so much as thought of. “Don't give me that look; my family beseeches more than the Divines when the situation calls for it.”

“As I was saying,” Glade began, giving her forebear a strange look. “One of the futures has you as the count of Kvatch.” Reman, in his defense, looked both amazed and disgusted at the prospect. He was once the heir to House Tullius, but one of the perks of living away from his family was a lack of future responsibility on his end. Personally, he would recommend he and Uriel switch places without anyone knowing. “The guards, at least in the court, were werewolves like us.”

“What?” A certain light of anger passed through the Imperial's eyes. Infecting Glade had been a one-off, and he hardly enjoyed thinking of it.

“They wouldn't be ours, mind you. The Emperor, at least according to Azura, would commission us to lead an army of werewolves.”

“I can't imagine what he would need with such a force,” Celestia said after a moment. Truthfully, she had a very good idea of what the Emperor could accomplish with an army like that. Reman, in a rage, could have inflicted serious damage had she not intervened during the Winter Solstice Festival. He was one werewolf, and certainly not the strongest of his kind. What could a dozen lycans accomplish? What about fifty? One hundred? “Perhaps this is best reserved until a later time. I believe breakfast will be served shortly. I hope the two of you are hungry.”

“Princess...” Glade looked to her princess with hope, and was met with a kind, motherly smile.

“Relax, child; we shall speak of this once we've had a meal and time to settle our nerves.”

Biomancy

Canterlot's dining hall was large, lavish, and stiflingly uninhabited as Reman and Glade stalked inside, making certain to stay unseen by anyone who did not work in the castle. While they were known entities on the grounds, the outside world, including Glade's parents, did not need to know where they were.

“I never figured you for an early bird, Reman.” A masculine voice came up behind them. They turned to see a white stallion with a blue mane and equally blue eyes. Shining Armor smiled at them, sincerely glad to see they were alright; he perhaps cared about Reman's well-being a tad less than he did Glade's. “However, there are more conventional methods of leaving your suite.”

“The window seemed like a good option, honestly,” Glade said, returning the smile. She looked around, but didn't see Cadence. The tiny detail didn't register much concern; Twilight was probably being awoken by her former foalsitter at that very moment. “We're trying to keep private for now.”

“The lovebirds finally came to roost?” Prince Armor laughed. He had never had a doubt about the two of them, not since they were so chummy the night before fighting Hircine. “Trying to avoid Major Tundra until you can explain?”

“Major?” Reman asked, looking at Glade. He was unfamiliar with the title, but guessed that Tundra was Glade's father. He also realized that was a rather odd naming scheme, but most ponies had strange names; strange by Imperial standards, at any rate.

“He's a retired guardspony,” She confessed. She hadn't told him this before, and was starting to have a slight bit of regret over it. Truthfully, it was something small, a minor detail, but she realized how important the Legion was for the Imperials, especially for House Tullius. “I'm sure he'll be thrilled once he finds out about your heritage.”

“Something I'm missing?” Shining Armor asked, somewhat eager to shed some light on the mystery that was Reman the Imperial. Glade grinned and jabbed a hoof into the man's thigh, more than happy to give away information he might not be willing to share otherwise.

“Reman's family has control of the Imperial Legion, his Empire's army, which means he's got leadership in his blood.” Glade had no idea how large or small the Legion was in relation to the Solar and Lunar Guards, which numbered just above two-thousand each, though they paled in comparison with the Royal Guard, what most ponies thought of as the stallions often seen around towns and settlements; apparently, seeing a bunch of ponies in armor was cause enough to identify them as one or another. Solar and Lunar Guards were more heavily armored than their Royal Guard counterparts, meaking them easily identified. “Half of the Legionnaires I saw couldn't fight a wild dog, but there were about one hundred training at any given time.”

“We're having to recruit from the locals to suppress a rebellion; most of them are farmers who've never swung more than an ax at wolves.” Reman was glad the conversation was heading in a direction he was comfortable with, especially with his nerves on-edge as they were. “A professional Legionnaire is worth a dozen of the recruits we've been getting.” He was accounting for all races of Tamriel, and keeping specialties in mind. An Altmer medic was, on average, a better healer than a Nord alchemist, but the average Nord was better with a two-handed ax or sword than most Imperials of similar strength. “But it is better to recruit locally than bring in strangers the locals do not know; holding ground is easier if the citizenry likes you.”

“Officer training school?” Shining Armor asked, his curiosity as aroused as it had ever been. Reman, as unorthodox as he was, never struck the stallion as a soldier; he was certainly a mercenary, one with morals and ethics, but certainly not a soldier of any standing. “A lot of ponies think you can just charge in and take what needs taken and not pay any mind to the locals.”

“Tactica Imperium Chapter Two, page five, paragraph two,” He rattled off with a smile. “Required reading in my household. But, yes, our officers are taught how to win the hearts of anyone we happen to occupy, with due respect to local customs.”

“A little goodwill goes a lot farther than most ponies think.”

“That reminds me of a story my father used to tell every chance he got when I was younger.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir Belmont went right to work on Mandrake's corpse, not even bothering to prep his suite for any sort of mess. Dissection was one of the first things he was taught growing up, a principal art amongst Restoration mages and necromancers alike. With it, he could identify exactly how the Equestrian vampires functioned, how they spread their curse, how they lived. There were a number of structures similar to what he would expect to find within a Tamriellic vampire, but for every similarity, there was a serious deviation. Their fangs, superior and inferior, were hollow, and led to two set of venom sacs. The venom, as far he could tell with the equipment he had, was a combination paralytic and anticoagulant meant to hold the prey still while it fed.

From an objective standpoint, it was fascinating; part of him wanted to use the vampiress in a live experiment, but the rational part of his mind understood she would be there for something very different. Equestrian vampires had essentially won the evolutionary arms race in regards to their weaponry, though their weaknesses were rather glaring.

“That's rather odd,” Renoir noted, jotting down a description in his journal. He was looking over the muscles in Mandrake's wings and noticed something rather strange. Rather than the flight muscles seen in most bird and flying reptiles, his were coiled like a serpent ready to strike. He could fly, yes, but he generated almost insane takeoff thrust; Renoir casually noted the force could theoretically take a man's head off with ease. “High cluster of nerve endings present in wings, possibly to detect changes in the air while in flight.”

Moving onto the chest, Renoir made a mental note to ask Reman if a pegasus's wings were an erogenous zone as well, though, as he readied his scalpel, he realized the question was rather inappropriate. Dragging the blade along the incision markings, he pushed the thought from his mind, and went right back to work. He pinned the skin and superficial muscles, likewise capable of powerful movement, to the table, and cocked his head in surprise that was rapidly turning into a mixture of fear and pure astonishment.

The ribs were fused into something resembling a clam's shell, with a small sliver of sternum between the two larger bones. Getting a bladed weapon through the armor would require impressive strength, especially if it was longer than the average shiv. Thumping his fingers against it, he sighed and resigned himself to using a bonesaw he borrowed from the castle's morgue. The shell was meant to prtoect the most vulnerable organ in a vampire's body, and Renoir Belmont was going to cut through it if it killed him.

A knock on his door made him realize it just might if Celestia didn't take too kindly to him using one of her guest suites as a morgue. The vampire swallowed a lump in his throat and cover the corpse with a sheet. He could stop for a moment to wash his hands; the delay would be suspicious. As he reached for the doorknob, he noticed how much blood he had on his arms. Dark stains extended a little past his elbows, making his previous deeds completely obvious.

“Renoir, it's time for breakfast,” Luna quietly called. He knew very well both of them were nocturnal, but he was only awake because he had a bit of work to do. He reached to pull the door open, keeping most of his body behind cover. “Oh, good, you're awake.”

“Yes, but I was about to lie down for the day.” Renoir did his best to smile, and silently willed the alicorn's eyes away from the table near his suite's center. He was at his weakest, having fed a few hours before, so his Vampire's Seduction was unavailable, not that he was sure it would have an effect on her. Much to his surprise, she stepped inside, flanked by a pair of Lunar Guards.

“Is that blood?” she asked, sniffing the air a few times. For all the time he'd spent in her company, Renoir had forgotten Luna and her kind were herbivores by nature, and therefore had senses honed to watch for predators; blood and rotting meat would stick out to them like a klaxon ringing in the night. It was by misfortune that he was hiding both of them at the moment. “It is, isn't it?”

Luna walked directly to the table, pulling away the stained sheet with her magic. The two guards bristled at the sight of the cut cadaver, readying themselves to protect the princess should the need arise. She looked over the body, pulling back bits of meat as checking Renoir's notes on them. “You've certainly documented vampire anatomy well enough.”

“I do my best,” he replied, trying to keep a straight face. In truth, his research was full of holes; one could only accomplish so much with a cadaver. He'd need black magic to understand more if he couldn't find a willing participant. “I was going to speak with Reman about this later today; he can extract more information than I can right now.”

“He's busy at the moment, but I'm sure he could make the time after breakfast if you asked.” Luna's plan was just a complicated way of getting the vampire out of the suite for a while longer. It would do well to keep him in her sister's good graces, especially if she was going to convince her to let the vampire ponies live.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Sweet Celestia, I've made a monster,” Glade sighed and slumped in her seat. Cadence and Twilight had arrived, but had remained silent and allowed the two males to discuss their respective lots in life. Apparently, Fluttershy had stayed in Canterlot, and was sleeping off a hangover, so she was unable to join them.

“I'm just glad they're getting along,” Twilight replied, smiling as she looked at her brother and the Imperial. For two stallions who were ready to kill each other when they first met, they were getting along famously now. Cadence admitted to bribing her husband, but Twilight wasn't about to ask with what. “You might not know, but Glade, when will Reman be able to teach me again?”

Glade thought for a moment and shrugged; what her forebear had planned was not clear to her. As far as she knew, avoiding her parents was the only thing on the day's agenda. “You'd have to ask him, though I'm sure Princess Celestia shouldn't occupy his every waking hour.”

“Perhaps she was referring to other things,” Cadence intoned with a giggle. She kept her voice low, though it was unnecessary as Reman and Shining Armor were unlikely to hear her for their own conversation. She gave a cheeky smile and looked at the lycan mare, confident in her knowledge of the heart's secrets. In response, Glade only looked at her as though she'd grown a second horn. “Oh come now, did you really think you could hide something like this from the Princess of Love?”

“Cadence, they really don't want anypony to know just yet.” Twilight put a hoof on her sister-in-law's shoulder, and the princess was suddenly aware of a stigma she might not have seen before then. Interspecies couples faced some prejudice, the amount often hinging on the odd partner's species. Griffins faced the least amount, but diamond dogs were almost a taboo, regardless of how civilized they were. Humans were an unknown element, and it was unlikely they would be received with open hearts if they decided to go native, as many griffin immigrants called it.

“Right, yes.” The pink princess was truly sorry to bring it up. “I can understand how an intimate relationship with an ambassador might be seen as inappropriate, especially a non-equine.”

“Oh, right that,” Glade said, drawing out the final word to stall for time. She was drawing a blank on how to steer the conversation from the direction it was headed. She needed someone capable of manipulation and her grasp on the subject was rather lacking; the only one she knew well enough to help her out was busy talking to Shining Armor.

“There you are, Glade!” Bitter Springs called form across the dining hall. He looked tired and was still in his armor, but there was a slight smile on his face. A box was suspended in his magic, bearing a tag with Glade's name on it. “I've been looking all over for you.”

“I heard,” she said, smiling back in earnest. She was glad for her friend's arrival; it kept the heat of her back and gave her a chance to talk to Springs while he was off duty. She waved a hoof to the seat next to her, beckoning him to sit. “We used the window to keep a low profile.”

Bitter Springs looked at her like she was crazy as he took a seat, unused to being one of the ponies at the grand table. He was more accustomed to standing near the wall, but he took the chance as it presented itself. He placed the present in front of Glade and looked at her expectantly. “Low profile or not, I've been running since midnight. I'm going to fall asleep as soon as you open this present, so please hurry.”

Visceromancy

Summer Glade looked at the anklet in stunned silence. She wasn't one for jewelry, nor was she one to enjoy showing off wealth or status, but something about the simple piece of shaped silver made her reconsider her position. Three roses were embossed on its outer surface, polished to a mirror shine that dazzled the eyes in the morning light. It was a little loose around her foreleg's fetlock, but looked no less marvelous for its slight flaw; if anything, the extra room improved its appearance.

“I figured it would look nice with your necklace,” Springs explained, motioning to his friend's neck. Twilight and Cadence looked as well, though they knew precisely what he was pointing to. The Ring of Hircine hung around her neck on a slim chain of silver, its mock wolf head staring at the ground wherever Glade went, keeping her inner beast at bay.

“I agree; it looks lovely,” Cadence replied, smiling. She knew Reman wore something very similar during his first visit to Equestria, which, in her mind, made her believe the artifact was a gift.

“I love it, Springs,” Glade sighed happily, looking at her friend. Truthfully, she couldn't help but equate the roses to Azura, and their number didn't help in that regard. To her, she was wearing symbols devoted to two Daedric Princes, and she couldn't help but notice Reman's gaze drifting to the anklet in question. “I'll find a way to pay you back, alright?”

“Nonsense,” the effeminate Lunar Guard replied. He looked at her for only a second longer before slumping forward in his seat, smacking his head against the table. A soft snore told the others he was quite fine, only tired from a night of running and strenuous labor. Cadence was already motioning for other guards to relieve him even as Reman and Shining Armor walked over to provide any assistance they could.

As Renoir Belmont walked into the grand hall, he couldn't help but wonder how Equestria managed to do anything when it couldn't go three hours without an emergency of some sort popping up. He finished wiping his arms down with a towel, cleaning off the water-thinned blood as he went. Luna followed him directly, trotting in such a way that gravity itself seemed secondary to her whims. To the casual observer, she looked giddy as a meadowlark; to those in her inner circle, she appeared nervous enough to vomit up her intestines.

The vampire casually noted Reman's appearance, and wondered for a moment how he managed to scale the castle's walls while in full Dwemer armor. At least he left the helmet in his suite, so he was courteous enough to keep the table uncluttered. He knew his friend's behavior was a show, a way to prove to any guests that may have joined them for breakfast that he was indeed human, living, beneath the bronze shell. Even when he was not required to prance about in the guise of a politician, he could only fall into old habits.

“Renoir,” Reman acknowledged as he looked up from the unconscious stallion. Another stallion, one with a coat and mane very similar to Glade's looked at him curiously. For a moment, he wondered if they were related, but he guessed by the stallion's lack of wings and Glade's lack of a horn that they were no closer than he and Reman. “Meet Prince Shining Armor.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Winter Tundra walked about the castle grounds with his wife, Spring Valley, at his side. He heard from a very reliable source that his daughter was back in town and staying at the castle. He would have words with this Reman, as he heard Glade's special somepony was named, and he would have everything brought into the open. He'd spent his entire life devoted to Equestria and Princess Celestia and he'd be damned if he'd stand for the same need-to-know bullshit he'd been fed since the Winter Solstice Festival. His daughter was missing for the best part of a month, and she'd been gone for a week before that.

“Dear, please calm down,” Spring Valley said, resting a hoof on her husband's shoulder. She knew his pain; she'd put up with Tundra's erratic schedule for nearly thirty years, and it was just as tough on her as it had been on him. “Our little filly won't hide anything from us.”

“It's the princesses I'm worried about,” he grunted, staring at the castle's large doors. It had been a few years since he could freely walk through them, but even normal citizens were welcomed within the palace's grand halls; it would just take him a while to get where he needed to go.

“Winter Tundra, it's been a while,” a voice called from behind them. It was a voice Tundra knew from his younger years, before he joined the Solar Guard. Night Light and Twilight Velvet had gone to high school with the two pegasi, and they'd kept in touch as best as anypony could. Tundra and Valley had never met their kids, and vice versa. The major wasn't even sure if the couple had any children. “Still enjoying the retirement?”

“As well as anyone can, I suppose.” Truthfully, he was often bored out of his skull. The only time he ever enjoyed his retirement were those scant few mornings he was able to sleep late before his wife had him do things. “And what of yourself? Library still running smoothly?”

“I'd rather be retired; it's more of a hobby that pays, at any rate.” Yes, Tundra remembered a fair bit of Light's personality from their school days; he was a good pony, dedicated, but had particular tastes. The unicorn looked at him curiously. “Are you signing back up?”

“Oh, of course not,” Spring Valley answered for her husband, her voice dripping with more malice than would have been expected. She was hoping to live out the remainder of her life in Cloudsdale, and she was not going to allow Tundra any opportunity to change that. “We're here to pick up our daughter, Summer Glade.”

“You mean the werewolf pony?” a little dragon asked as he poked his head from Twilight Velvet's padded saddlebag. Spike was getting tired of being lugged around like a child, but he knew the two unicorns cared for him like a son, even if it got on his nerves. “Are you Glade’s parents?” he wondered aloud, looking at the two pegasi.

“Why yes we are, sweetie,” Valley answered, smiling at the little, green dragon. As adorable as the little guy was, something stuck out to her. “What in Equestria is a werewolf?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Good morning, auntie,” Cadence called as Celestia walked into the dining hall. All in all, she seemed to be the best rested of the bunch, without a single, ephemeral hair out of place. She smiled as she saw her niece, taking note of the clump of bodies around her. Shining Armor and Reman seemed to have cast aside previous hostilities, though there was still some animosity between them. The prince was still steamed over the crashed festival and injured guardsponies; the noble was purely reactive. “I trust everything is well?”

“I see everypony is getting along just fine,” Celestia replied, happy to also see her sister and Renoir had joined them. She didn't particularly like the vampire, but he was Reman's friend and therefore warranted some chance to prove himself better than his kin in Equestria. For most ponies, his restraint was enough to clear him at least partially of suspicion; Princess Celestia had not been as successful as she was by being most ponies. “Is young Fluttershy unwell this morning, Twilight?”

“Sadly, princess,” the Element confessed. There was slight tinge to her cheeks as she thought of why. “She's a little.. under the weather.” Renoir suppressed a snicker, finding it tasteless under such circumstances, though he knew Reman would have found it equally amusing. There was, however, a slight twinge in his otherwise stony facade.

“Something funny, Renoir?” the Imperial asked, leaning on his elbows. He had known his friend for all of a year and had grown accustomed to his sense of humor; it didn’t help that both of them had once been of a rather hopeless sort. “You didn’t tell her about your youth, did you?”

“Hardly,” he laughed. “She drank an entire flask of Angelus.” Reman winced at his words, knowing the effect it had on most living things. While alcohol was ineffective on his lycanthropic body, Angelus was another toxin entirely, and could drop him like a normal man after a few bottles of Nord mead on an empty stomach. “Relax; it didn’t stay down long.”

“I think I'm lost,” Shining Armor said, looking to the princesses and his sister. The pale human sent a shiver down his spine, but so had Reman when he'd first met him. The Imperial whistled and shook his head, laughing a bit to himself. He cleared his throat and tapped two fingers on the table to get the others' collective attention..

“Angelus Sanguinum is a special toxin Renoir and I distill for recreational use.” He flashed a smiled to accentuate his point, but knew that his nature was known to everyone at the table, and maybe even the guards who stood at the wall. “Ingestion tends to be rather fatal for anyone who does not have a sufficient resistance to poisons.”

“That seems like something you would make,” Celestia said after a moment. She knew more about the Imperial than anypony liked to admit, but she couldn't help but understand how useful it could be. “I don't suppose the recipe is available?”

“I'd be surprised if you had the ingredients for it,” Renoir laughed, leaning back in his chair. He wasn't much of an alchemist, but most mages trained in Restoration had at least some knowledge of medicines, both magic and mundane. In the right dosage, that which cures most certainly kills, and Reman's skills as a black mage made it rather easy to refine and concentrate the vile liquid. “I imagine it would be a tad unsavory for anyone with such... delicate systems.”

“Once again, I must inform you that it is rather rude to underestimate your hosts' capabilities,” Luna gave the vampire a look that suggested a challenge, one she was confident she could win. She was aware of how must unpleasantness seemed to permeate every corner of Nirn, and even more knowledgeable on how its denizens could adapt it to fir their needs. “I assure you that we are all adults and quite capable of tolerating anything you can throw at us.”

Renoir smiled and looked to his friend, who seemed just as satisfied with the conversation's turn. They did not partake in conspiracy as often as one would assume, given their reclusive habits, but they did enjoy the occasional practical joke when they visited the College. “We only get to distill a batch every now and again; Reman can tell you more.”

“Well, the process begins when a group of dungeon crawlers or bandits decides to see if our storehouse holds more than cobwebs and broken machines.” The Imperial smiled deviously, taking no small amount of enjoyment in finally speaking about his work. The alchemical and magical aspects that went into making Angelus Sanguinum were simply sublime, if one cared for the creator's opinion. “Now, it is important to know that this requires an elf of some sort, preferably a Bosmer or Dunmer; Falmer and Orsimer are too sour, and Altmer are far too sweet.

"We take them alive, but only after we've dispatched the other intruders.” Reman tented his fingers and smiled directly at Princess Luna, silently telling her that it was no one's fault but hers that this was being spread to everyone in the room. “First, we string the elf or elves up by their wrists and ankles, facing the ground. Then, while Renoir is using his Restoration magics to keep them alive, I make a few small cuts along the thighs and arms, just enough to get them bleeding at a decent rate, but not too fast so they don't bleed out before we've extracted all we need.”

“That's terrible,” Cadence said, putting the pieces together in her mind. She had grown accustomed to the Imperial's brash behavior, having seen more brutish ponies in her time as ruler of the Crystal Empire, but this business bordered on magics that were not merely misunderstood or abused as dark magic, but truly evil. “This borders on necromancy, which is very much illegal in Equestria.”

“Then I suppose it is very good that this is visceromancy, which falls under Restoration, and has since it was used to determine the cause of Red Death,” Renoir replied in place of his friend.

“As I was saying, we need a large vat of elven blood because much of it is lost during the refining process,” Reman continued, tapping a finger against his chin as he recalled the details. Shining Armor was looking at him like he was a psychopath, though there was a bit of apprehension as he also looked to his sister. Twilight, in many ways, was one of the most acclimated to Nirn's ways; she shared more with the humans than the blood on her hooves. “Now, after the blood has been collected, we add a number of servings of nightshade and Namira's rot, depending on how much we have.”

A guard walked into the dining hall as the Imperial spoke, heading directly for Celestia. It was neither unheard of nor unexpected for the guardsponies to first locate the princess on duty, only looking for the other if she was unavailable. He whispered something into her ear, and a look of relief crossed her features. “Reman, as nice as it is to hear all this, we must cut this short,” she said, trying not to look too happy.

“Princess, he was just getting to the good part,” Renoir added sarcastically, grinning at the alabaster alicorn.

“That will have to wait until after our guests have left the castle,” she replied, nodding her head to a guard next to the door. The stallion silently walked to the handles and pulled them down, refraining from using his magic as part of the reverence required of Solar Guards while on duty. Unfettered by the perceived limitation, he opened the tall, mahogany doors for Her Majesty's guests, relying on momentum to carry them as he quickly returned to his post.

“Reman Tullius and Renoir Belmont,” she began, smiling in a reserved and controlled manner, the sort expected of one with her status and responsibilities. “It is my pleasure to introduce Night Light and Twilight Velvet, the father and mother of my faithful student, Twilight Sparkle.” As the Imperial and Breton nodded their greetings, she continued to speak. “I would also like to introduce Major Winter Tundra and Spring Valley, father and mother of Summer Glade.”

Cultural Differences

On the surface, Reman appeared perfectly content with his current situation. Underneath this shell, he was exceedingly worried his hand would be forced against Glade's father; underneath the table, his hand went for where his sword should have been. He meant no aggression nor ill-will from the habit, but it was one of his few physical defense mechanisms. There was a certain air of aggression as the one he assumed was Winter Tundra's met his. Both males knew exactly who the other was, and it went without saying that, while there was little to recognize in either of them, some instinct made them connect the obscured dots.

Tundra was slightly taller than most stallions, but also a little slighter of build; Reman equated the look to a hunting dog primed for the kill. His coat was as white as newly-driven snow and his eyes were a muted blue that seemed to chill whomever fell beneath their gaze. His mane was a deep brown, like moistened, fertile soil. “Morning,” he said, sizing up the one called Reman, as he nodded his head upwards.

“Ave,” he replied, feeling the major's scrutiny as his chilling eyes swept over every feature of his face. Tundra was not pleased with what he saw; truthfully, he was rather perplexed, with a dash of anger thrown in for good measure. Those eyes, as he recalled from the Festival, belonged to none other than the monster that attacked his daughter, and now he found them in the skull of the one claimed to be her special somepony. He did not approve.

“Pleasure to meet you, mister... ?” Glade's mother, the one Reman assumed was called Spring Valley, began, pausing once she realized she wasn't exactly sure which of the odd creatures was her daughter's lover. Renoir, the ever-loyal friend, pointed to the Imperial, who nodded to her.

“Reman Tullius, grandson of the esteemed General Tullius, son of the noble Legatus Tullius, and third in line for patriarch of House Tullius,” he said in a friendly manner, smiling at them as though he'd just commented on some rather enjoyable weather. He had no desire to make enemies, especially not those precious to Glade. “It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

“Courteous,” she said, nodding with some approval, as she and her husband walked to the large dining table. They sat across from the lycans, politely exchanging pleasantries with Renoir as he scooted out of the way. “Though, Reman, I must say that most stallions compliment their partner's mother when first meeting.”

“I imagine your husband is angry with me enough as is,” the Imperial replied, returning the mare's smile. He was employing a tactic commonly used in Imperial negotiations: ignoring the more-opposed party in favor of the more moderate. Major Tundra, if Glade's temper was anything to go by, would fall right into the ploy, drawing back until his position more closely resembled Spring Valley's. The Dunmer had taken the bait twice in the past two centuries; the Dominion had laughed and pressed a blade to the Emperor's throat. “I'd rather work my way out of my current situation before I risk worsening it.”

“Son, the last time a colt tried to give me the cold shoulder, I smashed a whiskey bottle over his snout and bucked his teeth down his throat.” With Tundra's direct words, Reman realized he had taken the bait off the hook, but hadn't pulled the line. Glade had certainly inherited her looks from her mother, but everything else was was her father's. “Now the only thing keeping me from doing the same to you is the pair of guards behind you.”

With a wave, Reman told the guards to move. Celestia hesitantly nodded to them, wondering how this was going to play out. As they moved and took position in the corners of the room, Major Tundra looked a little impressed. Everyone else at the table, save Luna and Renoir, looked as though a ghost had risen from the table and turned into a bouquet of snakes made of roses. Glade, seemingly forgetting Reman was wearing his armor, elbowed him in the ribs. “Dammit,” she muttered as she rubbed the joint, wincing in pain.

“Sir, if you feel the need to prove a point, I've been made aware of a training yard not three minutes from here.” Reman leaned forward, keeping his eyes focused on the major. That was something he noticed: Tundra didn't like his eyes, or something about looking into them made his uneasy, but there was a clear, noticeable effect. He flinched as he felt the weight of his sword shift slightly, and he allowed himself a brief glance to Glade. He was not pleased to find her hooves working the strap of his scabbard. He whispered, “I'm not going to cut him down, Glade.”

“I suppose a bite would do then?” Tundra asked, showing the suspicions he had about the Imperial. The princesses and Glade flinched, but remained silent to see how this would progress. Twilight and her family watched more out of morbid fascination than anything else, though Shining Armor was ready to step in if things came to blows. “I was at the Festival, I saw you bite my daughter and damn near cripple her.”

“Dad!” Glade shouted, standing from her seat.

“Oh no! I'm tired of all this bullshit!” Tundra slammed his hooves on the table, making the guards stand ready. As much as it would pain them, they wouldn't show restraint just because he was a retiree; he was in roughly the same shape he had been during his tenure. “You bite my daughter, then she disappears for a week doing fuck-all somewhere, then right as she comes home, she's pulled out of the country.” He rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair, panting. Valley put a hoof on his shoulder, worriedly looking between her husband and her daughter’s coltfriend, not sure which one was going to snap first. Reman, as far as she could tell, looked rather calm, all things considered.

“Glade has been on a diplomatic mission to the Empire, and is perhaps the biggest reason the Emperor will be seeing the princess.” His voice was even as he looked in Tundra's eyes, allowing for no mistake in tone or meaning. “So, it would appear Glade doing fuck-all still accomplishes more in one month than most do in their entire lives.”

“Reman, you don't even know what fuck means,” Glade said, giving him a flat look. Truthfully, that was either the second or third time he'd even heard the word; Imperial profanity was not quite as versatile, or required some historical information to have any sort of impact. “And stop reaching for your sword.”

“It's a reflex,” he defended, looking almost hurt by her words. He relented, giving her a flat look, and placed his Skyforge steel sword on the table, still sheathed. Spring Valley nudged her husband, who very reluctantly placed his hoof-guards net to the weapon.

“Honey, maybe you two can get along after all,” she said, smiling at the Imperial as Tundra looked ready to vomit.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Fluttershy groaned as she woke, scrunching her eyes closed as sunlight invaded her blessed darkness. She was thirsty and nauseated beyond anything she had ever experienced, but the pounding in her head, the screeching whine every noise maybe as it battered her ears, and the infernal, stabbing pains that burned her eyes whenever she dared open them to gain even some small understanding of her surroundings. She wasn't quite sure where she was; her last clear memory was grabbing the flask Renoir had been drinking from, then... a blur.

Slowly, she cracked her eyes open, rolling as quickly as she could to avoid the harsh, punishing sun. she could honestly say she had never felt this way before; her only reference was a serious case of the feather flu, and even though it had many of the same symptoms, they paled in comparison to the pain raging through her skull. Her tongue stuck to the bottom of her mouth, drier than she knew her mouth to be, and her lips were hardly any better. She was dehydrated to the point of near-desperation, and had a gnawing hunger tearing through her gut, though it seemed too empty to even voice its desires.

She took one look at the pile of midnight snacks Twilight had munched on the night before and retched. Nothing came up, her stomach having emptied its contents the previous night. Food, as much as she wanted it, would only serve to sicken her more. The room seemed too bright to wander, and she just collapsed back to the floor, shutting her eyes. She convulsed again, and a small portion of the previous night became a little less foggy.

“Oh my,” she whimpered as her intentions revealed themselves. She had wanted Renoir to bite her, to alleviate his thirst using her blood. He was an eternally thirsty, magical creature of the night, who hated sunlight and had sense beyond mere mortals. Her mind screeched to a halt. Her eyes flew open, not caring about the burning pains that lanced through them. She scrambled to her hooves as best she could, desperately trying to find a mirror.

“No!” she whimpered, staggering to the nearest door she could find, hoping it was Twilight's old bathroom. Instead, she found herself tumbling into the hall, directly into a passing guard on patrol.

“Ma'am?” he asked, looking concerned. He had been in the castle for years, and knew the ins and outs better than most, so he knew this was Twilight Sparkle's old room, and that the little, yellow pegasus before him was the Element of Kindness. Seeing her with her eyes bloodshot, obviously panicking, and within his jurisdiction, he felt more than obligated to provide aid. “Do you need any help?”

“A-are my eyes red?” she asked, her voice small enough to strain his hearing. She was more than a little worried, so much so that he had a brief desire to rush her to the nearest hospital.

“Yes, ma'am,” was all he replied, looking at her strangely. Her eyes grew wide, and she leaned back, not sure of what to do. After a moment's pause, she sighed, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Is there something I can do?”

“Y-yes,” she replied, sniffling. Fluttershy didn't know what to do, but she felt she needed to talk to Renoir very badly, and it wasn't something that could wait. If he bit her like she asked, then it was possible she was a vampire, and she seemed to have all the symptoms associated with the blight. Reman said it took three days for him to turn into a werewolf, but Glade didn't even take five hours. Both diseases came from Daedra, so it made sense for their timetables to be similar. “I need to see Renoir Belmont.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Breakfast passed in relative silence, which was made plenty awkward once Spike crawled from Velvet's bag, and very quickly asked Major Tundra what the word fuck meant. Reman was curious, as well, but he at least knew it was some sort of profanity; he had heard it once before, but it had been meant as compliment. He and Glade ate the most, followed closely by Shining Armor, who packed away two plates of pancakes and half a plate of eggs.

“So, Mr. Tullius, what is it you do?” Spring Valley asked, hoping to break the silence with ore than smalltalk about the weather. Reman, who had finished eating a while ago and only remained so he could tutor Celestia, looked at her for a moment before giving his answer.

“I do whatever someone wants done, if they can afford my services,” he replied, being discreet about any ties he may or may not have had with any assassin guilds. Mercenary work was common in Cyrodiil, common for adventurers, common for dungeon crawlers, and common for werewolves. He fit snugly into all of those categories. “And it doesn't violate my morals, however lax they may be.”

“A mercenary, then?” she giggled, thinking of the commonly-romanticized occupation. The odds of finding a stallion who was devilishly handsome and had a roguish charm about him were equal to finding a prostitute in Fillydelphia who had more than eight teeth. “I bet you've had your share of adventure.”

“And then some,” Glade replied, chuckling. She looked Reman in the eye, and silently told him he had better not blow this, or she'd make sure he paid dearly for it. She turned backt o her parents, smiling. “We actually saw a good bit during our travels.”

“Any more of these... werewolves?” Tundra asked, not quite over his anger. It would take a fair bit before he would be anywhere near comfortable being around Reman, but he could tolerate the experience, if only because he didn't enjoy the idea of losing his daughter. “Most wolves run in packs.”

“Well, Major, I'm a bit of a one-man wolfpack.” Reman did his best to remain neutral as he said that, not wishing to smile or frown for fear of passing along the wrong message. While friendly, he and Arnbjorn hadn't exactly been the closest, and most of the other lycans he knew had gone feral. Only the Circle remained, and he wasn't about to betray their secret. “But, truthfully, friends have made up for my lack of a pack.”

“So you actually do?” he asked, stunned at the animalistic behavior. While everypony had their own group of friends, ponies didn't call their cliques herds, but he did realize it may have just been a difference in nomenclature. “You fight for the position of alpha?”

“Usually not, but members of other packs who are brought in are sometimes a little rowdy,” Reman answered, smiling as he recalled an instance of him being the rowdy pup. He could practically taste the mazte bottle that he'd gotten smashed in the face with. “Most newcomers are born into the pack, with the alpha male and female being their parents.”

Tundra looked from Reman to Glade, then back again, slowly putting two and two together.

He leaped across the table before anyone could react.

Bonding Blood and a Broken Face

“You son of a bitch!” Tundra yelled as he tackled the Imperial to the ground. He got in one good hit before Reman caught his hoof, but still managed to cut the punk's hand on his sharpened hoof-guards. The human yanked the offending limb away, before cracking his forehead against the retiree's snout. Renoir was on him in a flash, hooking his arms under the pegasus's forelegs before any more damage could be done.

The wizard did not expect to meet such resistance from a normal pony; even as Tundra struggled in his supernatural grip, his hold was slipping as fast as it had against Glade back on the frozen lake. He grunted and relented as the major drove a hoof into his knee, freeing the enraged stallion to take his revenge on Reman.

“That is quite enough, Major,” Celestia said, catching him before he could cause more harm. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Reman had already balled his fist, and didn't wish to find out what the bronze metal could do to somepony's face. Glade, she noticed, seemed conflicted about who to tell to stop; her father seemed the obvious choice, but it may have seemed like betrayal, while Reman may have perceived it as her calling him weaker than Tundra, which wouldn't have been good for anyone involved.

“Winter!” Spring Valley shouted, only now recovering from the shock of seeing her husband launch himself at the young mercenary. She looked at Renoir, the first to intervene, and saw his hands glowing with golden magic as he heal his injured knee. The skin on Reman's cheek has split along the bone, caused by a mixture of internal pressure from Tundra's hoof, and the hoof-guard's semi-sharp edge. “What-? I don't even know what to say!”

Night Light and Twilight Velvet were already moving Spike away from the brawl when Shining Armor took his place beside the fray, should things escalate. Glade rushed to help Reman, who only clutched at his face, but kept his eyes on Tundra. He was silent, completely still save for his breathing, and kept his unflinching gaze on his opposite. For the briefest of moments, Luna looked to the Skyforge-steel blade that rested on the table, and was glad the Imperial had put it there before Tundra acted on impulse.

Glade's hoof touched Reman's cheek, making him flinch before moving his hand out of the way and allowing her to see the extent of his facial injuries. “And you just finished healing the damage Uriel did,” she attempted to joke, but only succeeded in sounding concerned. Reman smirked at her, curling the split bit of flesh up in a crude mirror of his mouth as he did so, and did his best to reassure her.

“I've had worse,” he said as he rose to his feet. In truth, Tundra could have done a lot more damage if Celestia hadn't intervened, and he was factoring in his own resistance. Even then, he could feel bits of his cheekbone sliding back into place and mending the damage a single punch had wrought. Part of him, and it was no small part, wanted nothing more than to close the distance that separated him from Tundra, and finish what had been started, but he also knew there was a time for action and a time for thought. “Major,” he began, “I understand we have... shall we say differing opinions of each other, and I completely understand where you're coming from.”

“Oh, you do?” Tundra asked sarcastically. In his mind, Reman Tullius had done nothing less than steal his daughter away, and brought her back as something different. He still loved Glade, as much as any parent loves their child, but he was less than pleased to discover that Reman existed, and his mood only worsened when he learned he still lived. She was his world, and losing her to this bastard Imperial drove an iron spike through his heart. “Glade deserves better than some punk mercenary who thinks he's got the world figured out.”

“I've told her as much,” Reman agreed, eliciting a look of confused anger from the irate stallion. Glade gave him a sidelong look, silently asking him when they had discussed this and why she had no memory of it, but then realized he was putting on a show for her dad. “Personally, she could do better than me.”

Major Winter Tundra just looked at the man, silently mulling over what he had said and the sincerity of his words. The Imperial made it sound as though Glade had a choice, but if she was made part of his pack, then some curse or some other poison of the mind kept her with him. “No, she's only still by your side because you turned her into whatever in Tartarus you are!”

“Dad!” Glade shouted, looking more than angry. “That isn't the reason at all!”

“Isn't this how it works?” he asked, still shouting. That's how it always went in books, a recurring theme featuring a dastardly villain with a transmittable plague having complete dominion over those they infected. In his mind, Reman had turned her into a zombie puppet, with just enough cognitive functions to keep Celestia from seeing the truth. “He turned you, so you listen to what he says.”

“I am a living testament to the contrary,” Reman said, raising an annoyed brow. “I killed the werewolf who infected me, twice.”

“I killed him once,” Glade added, looking in no small part pleased with herself. Pack mentality may have made them a little more friendly than they would have been without it, but it could hardly account for everything. “I'm here by my own will.”

Tundra looked to be nearing the dangerous area between angry and furious, a place that looked calm to the unwary observer, where a man or stallion was liable to do the first thing that came to mind. In Imperial history, battles and cities had been lost to this irrational state of mind, and ponies could credit Princess Luna's first steps towards becoming Nightmare Moon with the half-sanity caused by conflict that could only originate from family troubles. Just as he opened his mouth to say another half-reasoned thought, Summer Glade interrupted him.

“I'm pregnant,” she said in a calm, even voice. Anyone looking into Tundra's eyes could see a mind screeching to a halt as the information processed. Glade herself was perfectly fine with how she broke the news, though given how her mother gasped and looked somewhere between happy and disappointed, she realized that it only prevented one parental outburst, and may have caused another.

“Congratulations,” Cadence said, drawing some measure of attention to herself. She, of course, had her suspicions, but now that they were confirmed, she felt rather happy for them. She also knew Twilight knew, and perhaps the other Elements, but she still felt elated to be among the first ponies to learn of the future foal.

“Right, yeah,” Shining Armor followed after a moment's hesitation. Spike nodded along, hoping, in his childish mind, to stop the violence before it could start again. He also thought it was a little neat how Glade and Reman had managed to reproduce, and briefly wondered, as only a young mind can, what said offspring would like.

Tundra, working out that the young Tullius had not only managed to turn his daughter into a werewolf, but had also impregnated her with his bastard child, tried working out how best to kill him before he or the princesses could stop him.

“Moving a little fast, are we?” Spring Valley asked, trying more to calm her own nerves than anything else, but her question still elicited a pair of bashful grins from the two in question.

Seeing his chance, Tundra lunged, aiming his sharpened guards for Reman's throat.

He was then able to appreciate the considerable skill of whatever Dwarven smith had forged Reman's gauntlet. He even saw a nick in the bronze metal, the possible mark of a dagger or some other small cutting weapon the Imperial had parried with a swat of his hand.

Everything went black for Major Winter Tundra.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Fluttershy skulked through the halls, following the steadfast guardspony who had been so kind as to lead her to the dining hall. As before, she was still an odd mixture of starving, dehydrated, and nauseous, so much so that she feared she would be unable to hold down anything she consumed. Surely, being a vampire wouldn't be this difficult? She'd seen Renoir eat and drink like anypony else, but maybe that came with age? However, that was a mere annoyance when compared to her heightened senses.

The sunlight, normally a welcome sight for the timid pegasus, burned her eyes even in the smallest of doses. She squinted to minimize the pain. Her ears had undergone a similar augmentation, enough to amplify even the smallest of hoofsteps into a roaring thunderclap that sought to destroy every ounce of sanity she had. She whimpered with every step, only continuing at the thought of Renoir being able to remedy her pains.

The guard, on the other hand, was wondering why the creepy biped he'd been informed was living in the East Wing's second diplomat suite had some ties to the Element of Kindness, and why she was hungover. He pushed open the door and gestured within. “Here we are, ma'am.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said as she scurried within, quickly catching sight of her lord's black armor. As quickly as she could manage, she trotted toward him, eager for counsel on her condition.

“Fluttershy?” he asked in a booming voice, far louder than she recalled, but she realized he must not have been expecting her to have turned so soon.

“Yes, master?” she asked innocently, awaiting the first of her orders as a creature of the night. Whatever thunderous conversation was being had at the table ceased in that moment, as all eyes drifted to the vampiric pair. Princess Luna threw her hooves in the air and walked out of the room, far too tired after her long night to care about whatever things Fluttershy and Renoir engaged in before Springs had called the on a vampire hunt.

“What in Oblivion are you talking about?” the Belmont asked, hoping this was all some sort of joke, and that Fluttershy did not have false memories. He looked to Reman, who shrugged. The Imperial recognized the symptoms of a Sanguinum hangover, having suffered a few in his day, but only snorted back a slight laugh as he took his seat again, being mindful of the medics tending to Tundra's smashed face.

“I'm thirsty and I'm hungry and I feel sick and my eyes are red,” she replied in a rapid-fire whisper, wincing at the noise of her own voice. “I remember how uncomfortable you felt last night, so I drank that stuff to help me relax so you could bite me.” Very slowly, Reman turned his head to face Renoir, while Twilight looked about ready to blast him into high orbit. “You must have turned me into a vampire last night.”

The others at the table, those not already privy to the knowledge of Renoir's undead nature, gawked at him. He was the stuff of legends, of nightmares and beyond, and yet there he sat, with the Element of Kindness's head resting in his lap as she said she was a vampire, and all but pledging her eternal life to his service.

“Fluttershy, I never bit you.” Renoir's words caught her attention as he placed his hands on either side of her head. A slight look of concentration crossed his face as he focused his magicka into curing the poison's lingering effects. The red, spidery veins in her eyes receded the pounding in her head and the sloshing in her gut subsided, leaving only a severe hunger and thirst. “You're feeling the last effects of Angelus Sanguinum, nothing more.”

Spring Valley, recovering from the shock of finding out her only daughter was pregnant out of wedlock, a shape-shifting monster, and found company with another shape-shifting monster who was friends with a vampire, came to terms with how odd her situation truly was. “Miss Velvet,” she began, looking to the author, “does this sound like a plausible book to you?”

“More like an eight-part series,” she replied, looking amazed as well. Somewhere in the chaos, amends were being made, and Valley found the idea of being a grandmother not entirely repulsive. Princess Celestia seemed rather pleased with how things were pulling themselves together, while Cadence couldn't help but stare at the new couple as they talked Fluttershy out of calling Renoir master all the time.

“So, Reman,” Valley began as her husband began to stir, after being unconscious for nearly enough time to warrant serious concern. “How about Tundra and I treat you and Glade to a nice dinner tonight to talk things over, after my loving husband has had time to calm down?”

Gonna Need a Steam Cleaner for That

Princess Celestia felt completely ridiculous. Draped in a bed linen Reman had pulled from a nearby closet, she practiced her Imperial posture. She knew the human spine had two large curves in it, but looking at Reman now, she would have had no idea. “Bear in mind that it is customary to sit up as straight as you can while meeting with the Emperor; it dates back to the days of Saint Alessia, when assassins may have been hiding weapons or armor under their clothes,” he said, motioning to his chest. He no longer wore the cumbersome, Dwemer-made armor, and now covered himself with a shirt and pants, and keeping true to the lesson, there was a small knife tucked in one of his sleeves; part of the lesson was for Celestia to find it, which she had done in stunning time.

“Is this about right?” she asked, straightening her back, but keeping her usual style of sitting on her haunches while her forehooves rested on the floor. Reman, noting that her back was, indeed, as straight as mortally possible, groaned as he realized just how difficult this was going to be.

“I could hide under you right now,” he replied. He walked around her, studying where the sheet clung to her body, and where it draped too much to be safe. “Robes and dresses would be too loose; we need something that will stay close to your fur, but allow freedom of movement.”

“I can't just wear the usual?” Celestia asked, meaning her shoes, necklace, and crown.

“Absolutely not!” Reman shouted, mood suddenly taking a turn for the sour. He seemed disgusted by the very thought, but quickly returned to something resembling normalcy. “This is a formal meeting with the Emperor and the Elder Council; simply going nude is out of the question.”

“I don't exactly own anything that meets the requirements, Reman.” Actually, she did. It was a Nightmare Night costume from a few years back; obviously, she felt it was out of the question. From what Luna had told her, Celestia doubted Emperor Mede would care for her to show up dressed as a devil.

“We can find something; failing that, we can commission it.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“So, this is a vampire?” Fluttershy asked, meaning those form Equestria. She and Renoir were looking at Mandrake's corpse, chilling on ice to prevent decomposition before Reman had a chance to revive individual organ systems to determine their function. “I imagine something... scarier,” she said, her voice lowering as she spoke, with the final word being barely above a whisper.

“Was, as the case seems to be,” Renoir replied, sliding his scalpel under the outermost layer of Mandrake's stomach. Like Tamriellic vampire, the organ seemed to serve two purposes; like those of normal individuals, it contained a reservoir of acid to digest consumed matter into a form usable by the body, however, vampires possessed a secondary organ near the opening to the esophagus. Commonly called the hemophagia organ, it converted consumed blood into the vampire's own, allowing direct utilization of nutrients and hemoglobin, the latter of which was necessary, as vampires had a diminished capacity to produce the oxygen-carrying protein. The hemophagia organ led directly to the circulatory system, a grace allowed only by the innate immunity to all disease present in vampires.

Fluttershy gasped as Renoir sliced the odd, bladder-like organ open, spilling its bright red contents over the plastic sheet that covered the table. He dipped his middlemost finger in, smearing a bit of blood on the tip, before dabbing it against his tongue, humming in thought. “As Springs suspected,” he mumbled before scribbling in his notes. Mandrake had completely ignored Wary Glimmer, and had instead focused on the younger, healthier Joyous Pathos. “It would appear Mandrake had discerning tastes; didn't even bother feeding on the older of the two.”

“He killed those ponies last night?” Fluttershy asked, amazed and horrified that Renoir and at least one princess had been so swift to kill the offending vampire. As nice as she thought Renoir and Reman were, she had to remind herself that they were killers, and seemed capable of ending life without remorse if they felt it necessary. Still, they had thoughts and feelings like anypony else, and while a measured amount of caution was probably needed, she felt oddly at ease around them.

“Unfortunately,” the Breton answered, completely honest. He despised most vampires for their habits, but he also acknowledged that, like it or not, he was among the undead as well, and was prey to the same desires and addictions that plagued the nocturnal creatures. He'd ended his fair share of lives in the pursuit of sustenance, especially during his time as a neonate, but he curbed his urges as quickly as he could. “But, from what the vampiress told me, Equestrian vampires usually don't feed directly.”

“Vampiress?” Fluttershy wondered aloud, understanding only that it was likely a feminine version of vampire. Renoir nodded, taking a bone chisel and a small hammer.

“A white unicorn whom Luna, Springs and I came across last night; she was friendly enough,” he said, striking the chisel's pommel and knocking off a sliver of the hardened bone around Mandrake's heart. As he worked more and more, the Belmont realized he may not need Reman's help, not if so many structures had analogues within Tamriellic vampires. A knock sounded at the door, signaling the Imperial's timely arrival.

“So this is the corpse you wanted me to look at?” he asked as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He took only a moment to notice Fluttershy standing next to the dissection table, and he immediately cast a look of displeasure at his vampiric friend. “You are aware that what you want to do isn't exactly within the constrains of Equestrian law, right?”

“Renoir already told me necromancy was legal in the Empire, and this is supposed to be for research purposes,” Fluttershy answered for him, smiling as much as she could. She saw the leather-bound tome in Reman's hand and realized that it must have been some manual on black magics. “I won't tell a soul.”

“You may decide differently once you've seen what's going to happen,” Reman replied, actually dreading the resurrection. When he was twelve, he studied under a more advanced tutor, a Dunmer from Vvardenfell, who had been exiled from House Telvanni. Necromancy was part of the curriculum, though it quickly led to the binding of Daedra and souls; Master Vevul had been sure to teach him all the consequences of biting off more than he could chew. Resurrecting a corpse without the proper spell could have damning, explosive, or otherwise disastrous results. “I'd stand back if I were you.”

Reman placed the profane tome of an easel, opened to a particular page that was half-covered by odd symbols drawn in the vague shape of a triangle. He pressed his hands together and closed his eyes, intent on using the notes only as a quick reference should things go awry. Raw, blue magicka began to swirl across his arms, turning purple as it reached his hands. It sounded like a gentle breeze at first, but as it darkened, it grew into the roar of a gust flying through a canyon. As the Imperial separated his hands, the dark purple energy swirled inward, forming a near-perfect sphere.

With a deep breath, he flung it at the cadaver. Mandrake's lungs inflated, visible only due to his lack of a chest, and his eyes opened to reveal the unfocused, whitened orbs they had degenerated into. His hemophagia organ sputtered back to life, and last bits of bone fell away from his heart. Blood, both his own and Pathos's, flowed from his undead mouth as he tried to speak, but only produced a wet gurgle. It tried to stand, but Renoir had taken the necessary measures and cut the tendons that allowed for locomotion, leaving the zombie little more than a heaving pile of undead, rotting meat.

“Mara preserve,” Reman said, staring at the abomination Mandrake once called a heart. It was a gnarled, malignant organ, darker than any flesh had the right to be. None of the major vessels were present, as two large tubes sprouted from either side and curled around the back, away from almost any avenue of attack.

“Mara has nothing to do with this,” Renoir muttered, looking equally taken aback and fascinated. The anatomy involved in this heart was just wrong, though not in a way that suggested Daedric influence, but also spit in the face of nature. There was something else involved in this, he was sure of it.

“Release me...,” it moaned, clearing the blood from its throat. The fact that it could even vocalize with half its face being cut away was amazing, but this was no time to be admiring the abomination. Fluttershy shrieked and jumped back, hiding behind Renoir. Reman shouted and rammed his sword through its heart, pinning it to the table and preventing it from escaping. A quick dagger to the brain stem, courtesy of the resident vampire slayer, ended its short. “Thank you...,” it murmured as Mandrake's soul was swept back into the afterlife.

The magic, the purple lines etched over its body that anchored the soul within, did not fade, and the corpse did not turn to ash. If anything, it seemed to be getting healthier, its fur and flesh taking on a bright, more vibrant hue. “Hit the dirt!” Reman shouted as he ducked behind a nearby loveseat. Sensing danger, Renoir grabbed Fluttershy and dove under the suite's bed. Mandrake's body started swelling, and not from gaseous buildup.

With a loud, wet pop, it exploded, showering the room with viscera and shards of sharp, bony shrapnel.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight looked at herself in the mirror, half-admiring her new look. With all the magical fireballs and lightning bolts Renoir and Reman hurled during training, the shorter manestyle seemed only practical. Besides, she'd seen a woman in Solitude wearing something similar and figured she'd give it a shot. “Not bad,” she said, turning to see it from a different angle.

“Well... it's new,” Cadence said, nodding in sage approval.

“My little filly is growing up,” Twilight Velvet said, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. She giggled and wrapped her daughter in a hug. “So, what's his name?”

“Mom,” Twilight groaned and returned the hug. They shared a laugh for a few seconds, before Velvet posed a very serious question.

“Really, though; what's all this about? You've had the same manestyle since you were a filly.”

“Magic practice,” she answered, smiling proudly. Both Cadence and Twilight Velvet ave her a curious look; as far as either of them knew, which was a considerable amount between them, unicorn magic didn't really have a limit on one's mane size. “Renoir and Reman are teaching me the fundamentals of their world's magic.”

“I knew the pale one could use magic, but not the mean-looking one,” Velvet said, trailing off as she thought about it. “How do they use magic without horns, though?”

“Reman always channeled it through his hands when I saw him using it,” Cadence replied, remembering the speed he could summon those glowing swords of his. Most unicorns had trouble making functional blades for basic utility work, let alone wielding them in battle; that was the reason they still used chisels and swords like everypony else. “But I'm not sure how that would work on a pony.”

“Hooves.” Twilight held out her forehooves, making sure Cadence and her mother were looking at their bottoms, as she channeled as much magicka as she could through them. Sadly, there was only enough to produce a small, blue aura, but it was still an incredible improvement over her initial amount. “The best part is that with enough practice, even pegasi and earth ponies should be able to wield Tamriellic magic.”

“That's incredible,” Velvet half-shouted, not believing her ears. While she knew her daughter was a prodigy, and that she could tackle just about any problem with her mind, the idea of earth ponies levitating things and pegasi transmuting items made her boggled her mind. “I think I'd like to watch one of these practices; for research purposes, of course.”

“You're always working on another book,” Twilight said in mock annoyance, motioning for her mother and Cadence to follow her into the hall. They didn't walk far before they were met with numerous servants bustling here and there, carrying bloody sheets and mops. “What in Celestia's name happened?”

None of the servants stopped to answer her, so they followed one of them to the scene of what they first assumed to be a horrible accident. Fluttershy, Reman, and Renoir sat outside Renoir's suite, covered in blood. Thankfully, they appeared unharmed.

“Are you okay?” Cadence asked, looking at the viscera splattered all over them, the floor, and the inside of the door. She also noticed a few shards of what looked like bone sticking out of the wood, but didn't think she wanted to know where they came from, knowing who was in the room at the time.

“I... may need some more practice before I try anything like that again,” Reman conceded, handing Renoir a few septims.

"Yeah; I think you do."

Rest and Relaxation

“What you learned so far?” Renoir asked, clean of the blood that had coated nearly every surface of his suite. He and the others, including Princess Cadence and Twilight Velvet, stood in one of the castle's training rooms. Twilight Sparkle thought for a moment, pondering not only the lessons she had learned studying under the humans, but also the grave reality of her situation.

“That Tamriellic magic in inherently dangerous, and without proper training, it will be the death of me,” she said, sharing a look with her teachers. It was one of sympathy, a mutual understanding that could only be had between the survivors of a great tragedy or those fighting cheek to cheek in horrific battle; whether they would live to see the light at the end of the tunnel was another story entirely. “With the eyes of a Daedric Prince on me, I will need to not only learn your world's magics, but master them in order to better defend myself.”

“Knowledge is the key to any endeavor,” Reman replied, nodding in approval. “The key to Conjuration and Alteration is focus, a methodical understanding of the energy with which one works.” He clasped his hands together in front of him, and pulled them apart to reveal a miniature maelstrom of purple magicka. He clenched one hand around an unseen handle, and the swirling vortex began to take shape, shrieking like the wind as it warped into the rough shape of a sword. In a flash, the weapon shattered, and the excess magicka left a trail of minor cuts up his arm, ending just before his shoulder. “Improper summoning techniques can be disastrous.”

“The waters of Oblivion are treacherous and full of unseen danger,” Twilight finished, recalling the line from a particular book. She knew too well that a mistake in summoning a familiar had alerted Hermaeous Mora to her existence. Because of her impatience, she now had to play the waiting game until the Prince decided to make his move, and hope she was ready by then. “Only through years of meditation and study can they be traversed.”

“The key to Destruction and Restoration, Schools whose very natures are in direct opposition to each other, is passion.” Renoir made his point by creating a ball of flames in one hand, while his other held a golden orb of healing magic. “Black and white, night and day, but beyond good and evil.” He slammed his hands together, dispelling the energies in a flourish of color, but leaving himself completely unharmed. “Magic is a tool, and can bring either great joy or unknowable suffering.”

“The hand that wields it determines how it influences the world,” Twilight echoed, already understanding the day's lesson. Training, at least according to the humans, meant paying equal attention to the mind and body; today was philosophy, meaning tomorrow would combat training, where she would be expected to use her developing magicka reservoir to defend herself against her teachers.

“Today's lesson shall be about Destruction magic that heals the user, and Restoration magic that can be used to subdue or kill,” Renoir announced, grinning. “Followed by making sure Reman can summon something without making it explode.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Fluttershy and Summer Glade were not what one might expect when thinking of friends, but as they began the two-hour flight to Ponyville, a route that would allow them to return to the palace before sundown, they kept at a pace that minimized difficulty for each other. “Remind me why we're doing this,” Glade shouted over the wind, hoping her yellow comanion could hear her.

“I've been worried about Pinkie ever since she got that staff,” the Element of Kindness replied, her voice straining to carry over the howling air. Pinkie hadn't been quite herself since she got her hooves on Wabbajack, as Renoir had called it. Apparently, it was a Daedric artifact with unpredictable powers, a quality it owed to its creator, Sheogorath. Fluttershy wondered if Glade knew the staff's true nature, or if Reman had neglected to tell her. “I've just got a bad feeling about it is all.”

“I'm sure she's fine,” Glade answered, fairly certain that no charm or curse could put a damper on the dynamo that was Pinkie Pie. Even as the town grew before her eyes, she felt no dread or apprehension, something she had come to expect when approaching danger. As such, she was sure Fluttershy's concern was unwarranted.

They circled overhead a few times to ensure there was no danger, but found the town empty. Ponyville was a fair-sized town, yet there wasn't a soul in the streets. The pair touched down on Sunset Avenue, the road branching to the northwest from the town's center, and still had yet to see anypony. Glade motioned for Fluttershy to stay close, and readied herself to transform if it came down to it. Windows were shuttered and some had planks nailed over them.

“What do you think made those?” Glade asked, pointing to a number of long, deep furrows torn through the boards blocking a door. Whatever made them must have gotten bored and stopped, but that left a motive to be discovered. Monsters were common in Equestria, and many of them had claws sharp enough to tear a fully armored guardspony to ribbons, but most of those were either aquatic or gigantic; the marks were too big to belong to anything smaller than a large manticore, but were too numerous to be a small basilisk, and the strength required to rip not only through the wooden door, but the brick surrounding it, was outside the range of most anything.

“Nothing good,” Fluttershy replied, getting as close to Glade as she could. Whatever it was, it was ground-bound, or it would have attacked the windows instead of the reinforced doors. She knew better than most that, while not on the same cognitive level of ponies and other sapient species, the majority of Everfree predators had a certain cunning about them, something that made staying in place to defend nearly impossible for any extended period of time.

They crept through the town, eyes darting about so they could at least see what else was skulking the streets. The veterinarian ran the possibilities through her mind while her lycan companion sniffed the air for any clue she could find. It was eerily silent, as though even the wind wished to aid in their search. With their nerves on edge, the sound of a trashcan falling over nearly made them leap from their skins.

“Fluttershy!” a female voice called in what could liberally be called a whisper.

“Rarity?” she asked, turning her head to see her friend. The white unicorn looked ragged and worn, though she had only been in town for, at most, a day. “What happened?”

“Oh, it's simply a nightmare!” she answered, before clamping a hoof over her own mouth. She quickly looked around, her nerves evidently frayed beyond the everyday stresses of living near the Everfree. “We can't talk here.”

“Then where?” Glade wondered, loosing the dagger on her her leg. She doubted it would do much against something that could rend stone, but it was better than nothing.

“Follow me.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“You're inviting a what to my castle?” Celestia asked as kindly as she could. Renoir stood before her, though it was hardly a formal setting. They were passing in the hall when he mentioned he had invited a vampiress he'd met in the sewers. The princess knew they existed, the murders last night had been evidence enough of that, but a shepherd did not invite a wolf into her pasture.

“In the interest of peace, I assure you.” Peace that went against everything the Belmont stood for, but peace was always preferable to prolonged bloodshed.

“There can be no peace when monsters lurk beneath our streets,” she all but shouted. The extermination had been carried out for the greater good of ponykind, a hoofful of bodies amongst the foundation of a safer world.

“I've checked your records,” Renoir retorted, pulling a stack of papers from his cloak. He'd broken in after Twilight's meditation session, which gave him plenty of time to access private information. “These are the first deaths fitting vampire attacks that have been reported in nearly forty years; they've been feeding bagged since the invention of transfusions.”

“A single death in a hundred centuries is too many,” Celestia calmly replied, hoping to use her royal presence to persuade the vampire.

“Then I suppose you'll be killing every large predator your world has, as well?” Renoir let his question hang in the air. A large deficit of higher predators would devastate the ecosystem, which could result in famine, or worse, as smaller creatures were allowed to flourish. “My family hunted vampires because they were a danger; these are not.”

“Then they are still guilty of taking donated blood.” In response to her accusation, he pulled another piece of paper from some unseen pocket.

“Let's say that there are one hundred of them living beneath Canterlot,” he began, though Celestia sickened at the prospect. “The average vampire of my size and age can survive on as little as two pints per week without feeling withdrawal effects.” He looked at the sheet in his hands before continuing. “Given the sexual dimorphism of ponies, we'll use the stallions to make the numbers a little more realistic. Most of your guards come up to about my navel, so they have a size roughly equivalent to me, though a measurable lack of weight. At most, accounting for celebrations and the occasional splurge, equals two-hundred-fifty pints per week.”

“Enough to save scores of ponies who need it.”

“Barring war, the donation rate still exceeds the rate of consumption to accident and crime. The system could take triple the vampires' weekly take before suffering a shortage.”

Beneath the surface, Celestia was conflicted. Vampires had been a terrible plague centuries ago, the spawn of some intangible evil. It was genetic, to an extent, and perhaps some abomination of nature instead of made for the purpose of destroying the living. Vampires, occasionally, bred with mortal ponies and created the bat ponies, who were completely immune to the curse, so it was possible to attribute the entire thing to disease.

It Renoir was telling the truth, the vampires were civilized enough to warrant citizenship. Their immortality would make them excellent teachers and scientists, with an eternity to learn and pass on their knowledge. Their strength and endurance made them ideal laborers, though the sun posed a very serious problem for them. From what Luna had hinted last night, they seemed to be living in the sewers, or possibly held night jobs around Canterlot, so it was possible they already had their own, illicit place in society.

On the other hoof, the same qualities which proved useful made them extremely dangerous. King Sombra, whom Celestia had originally thought to be the curse's source, was proof enough. He had nearly an eternity to study the dark arts of necromancy and mind-controlling magics, and enslaved an entire empire with the aid of his extensive clan. It has taken everything Celestia and her sister had to cleanse the Crystal Empire, and Sombra finally met his fate mere months ago, after a millennium of hiding in the shadows.

“The time to make a decision is upon you, princess; she should already be on her way to my suite.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Oh, it's simply awful, Fluttershy,” Rarity said, immediately hugging her friend. About a dozen ponies were crowded in the spa's front room, with more hiding out of sight. Glade didn't like the idea of being holed up until help arrived, if it ever did. “The monster came out of nowhere, burst from Sugarcube Corner's front. Everypony ran, but it got some of them.”

“We didn't see any bodies,” Glade said, confused for a moment. The only thing that would explain the lack of corpses was the creature in question eating them, but there would be blood if it had.

“It swallowed them whole,” a pink, earth pony mare said, stepping forward. She looked pale and nauseated as she spoke, but continued. “It look the Flower triplets first, then disappeared into an alley. Everypony hid after the first attack, and we haven't been able to get word to the princesses.”

“Spike's in Canterlot,” Fluttershy said, putting the pieces together and getting a horrifying picture. The attack was perfectly timed, with two Elements out of town and the quickest method of calling for help dozens of miles away. “Where's Rainbow?”

“Cloudsdale,” Aloe answered, sticking her head from behind the counter. “Weather command called her in as soon as she came to town; she missed everything.”

“Almost every pegasus is gone, and those left are either too old or too young to make the trip,” Lotus finished. This had to have been planned; there was simply no other way a monster could have just appeared, not when the town was the most vulnerable. Worried murmurs spread through the townsponies, none of whom seemed too keen on making the trip themselves.

Glade realized they needed a plan, fast.

Author's Note

Poll: Should Celestia kill the vampires, or allow them to live?

Riding Radio Waves

Hunger was all it knew. The mouth it once had was fused shut, leaving its head a mere vessel for its other senses, and entirely useless for what it truly needed. It reared on its hind legs and clawed at its chest, trying, in some vain attempt, to tear away the gaping slit it once called a chest. A great maw extended from its neck to it pelvis, lined with meaty tentacles that served as both tongues and hunting weapons.

It scurried through the town, sniffing the air in search of prey, but found them to be hiding behind their little walls, where it could not reach them. Until it became stronger, it would be unable to consume the morsels, but it was growing with every passing hour, and it knew it had time on its side. There was a large cluster in one structure that smelled of steam and flowers, their scents half-hidden behind the thick odors, but they were their nonetheless, and they were scared.

Fear, as it learned, had a particular smell to it, and left a trail that exposed its prey's location. There were two new scents that lingered, both female, one of which was pregnant. If they were friends, they would both be moving slower to compensate for the weaker's ailment. Sadly, they both disappeared into the aromatic haze of the stone steamy building.

It would wait and see if anything changed, but it was hungrier than it had been that morning, and it did not know how long it could contain itself.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The vampiress had an easy time breaking into the castle, and reclined in Renoir's suite to pass the time. The room smelled of vampire blood and sported a numerous, odd stains. There were numerous things she could tell about the other vampire based upon how he kept his belongings, which were stowed neatly into various drawers or strewn about various tabletops. She knew he was older than her by a few decades, practically a day to an immortal, but given the few years she'd been a vampire, she knew better than to cross him.

She rifled through his pack, not really looking for anything, but was pleased when her nose bumped against a small, wooden instrument. It was a very old ocarina, and appeared to be of some sort of heavy, dark hardwood, and she was surprised to find it smelled of smoke. Thinking to the previous night, she realized it made sense, given his use of fiery magic, but it was something she hadn't expected. Pursing her lips, she blew into its mouthpiece, and heard what may well have qualified as the shrillest screech she had ever heard.

“I see you've found my old toy,” Renoir said, pushing the door open as silently as one could expect. Princess Celestia stood behind him, and studied the vampiress with a neutral expression, and she felt herself shying away from the older immortal, as though burned by her gaze as she was the sun. “Now, as luck would have it, we may yet solve this issue before the sun sets.”

“Yes; that would be best,” Celestia replied, stepping into the poorly-it suite without hesitation. “I assume you are aware of my previous actions regarding your kind?” she asked, looking to the unicorn, who nodded. “Then I must tell you that I took no joy in it. Looking back, my actions, while warranted due to the increase in attacks, were unreasonable, and I have made many mistakes in my time.” She sounded depressed as only one who had seen millennia of life could be, and for a moment, the vampiress had the urge to console her, but realized it may not be for the best. “Renoir claims that you said the attacks last night were the first in centuries, but you aren't even in your tenth year of unlife.”

“I wasn't attacked,” she answered, and was immediately aware of how closely Renoir was watching her. “My name is, well, was, Radio Waves, and I was a DJ for small radio station just outside Fillydelphia. About eight years ago, I met this mare who was simply amazing.” She recalled her first meeting fondly, and could practically hear the lounge music and smell the fancy cigars another mare was helping herself to. “We dated for a while, then, one night, the taxi we were taking slipped on a patch of ice.”

She took a deep breath before continuing, shivering at the memory of the cold ground. “We crashed into a ravine; the cabby was killed on impact, and I nearly broke my neck.” She scooted a hoof over the floor and looked around, only to see her audience were more living statures than flesh and blood beings. Whether it was her storytelling, or their feelings of pity, she did not know. “Jeweled Locket, my fillyfriend, bit me; she gave me every drop of her blood while help was on its way. She died so I could live.” The mare formerly known as Radio Waves chuckled nervously, unsure of what else to say. “I guess yours was like that, Renoir?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” he replied, his tone even as it had been when he first walked in. Evidently, he was unfazed by her story, however true it was, and looked objectively at what she said rather than account for the emotional aspect. “But that is a story for another day. I have already given the princess the empirical data, now all that remains is for you to convince her that vampires are worth keeping around.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Glade was the faster of the two remaining pegasi, so it fell to her to scout the town . From what the townsponies said, it had no wings, but its mouth contained a number of tentacles that could extend for several feet, though they didn't have exact measurements. Obviously, her first task was the most dangerous: seeing if Pinkie Pie and the Cakes were still alive, or if Equestria's greatest weapon was out of commission. On her hip was a small trumpet, which was more of a loud foal's toy than anything, which she was to sound if the monster was waiting around the spa.

She took to the skies and circled, not quite sure what she was looking for, but the locals had assured her she would know it when she saw it. Seeing nothing, she blew into the plastic toy, and filled the air with its annoying call. Ponies flooded the streets in an orderly fashion, filing into their respective homes with the efficiency Glade had come to expect only from her fellow guardsponies. Still, something in her gut said this was to lull them into a false sense of security, so she kept to the air, if only to give the ground-bounds a fair chance in case something went wrong.

When the last door slammed shut, Fluttershy made her way to her new friend, her eyes darting around in her usual paranoia. “I think we'll need weapons,” she said, in as sure a tone as Glade had ever heard her. “We'll head by the local guard station before we visit Sugarcube Corner, if that's alright with you, that is.” Glade almost laughed when she reverted back to her usual speech patterns, but kept a sober expression to avoid putting off the timid pony.

“Off we go then.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Doctor Cat keeps us supplied with old blood packs, princess,” Radio Waves said, trying her best not to look too relieved at being given a fair chance. She was, of course, the smallest in the room, dwarfed by both Celestia's alicorn body and Renoir's bipedal stature, so she naturally felt a little threatened by them. She knew there were no guards in the hallway, but also that they weren't needed, given the ease with which either of the other could kill her. “We're not that big of a drain on society, since they're close to expiring anyway.”

“Living in the sewers can't be too good to your sense of smell,” Celestia said diplomatically, sipping her tea. “Luna and Renoir came back reeking of it, so I can only imagine how much it smells to you all.”

“Well, the part most of us live in isn't really the sewers; it's more of an undercity,” Radio said, smiling. The vampire population in Canterlot wasn't that large, but it was the only known gathering of the undead within Equestria's borders. “Necropolis is more of a big apartment block instead of a city, but it's what we have.”

“Necropolis?” Renoir asked, his mouth turning into a wry smirk. He'd heard a few inventive names for ruins and caverns used as nests by the vile monsters he'd purged alongside his family, and Necropolis had also been the name of a settlement in the Reach some seventy years ago, where vampires, their thralls, and normal humans lived in near-harmony. That didn't stop the Belmonts from marching into town and razing it to the ground. “Honestly, that's like werewolves calling their gathering places dens.”

“Tom-may-to, to-mah-to,” Radio Waves said, scratching a hoof over her cutie mark. The pair of eighth notes glared from her pale coat like scorch marks on snow, drawing the eye of most and making them forget about her crimson eyes.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“We don't keep many weapons here,” Fluttershy said, looking at row upon row of well-maintained swords, axes, lances, and all manner of bows that lined the shelves; in the back were a dozen suits of armor. All in all, it was better protected than most frontier settlements. “The Legion base in Solitude was better, but this is all Ponyville has.” For a moment, Glade wondered why Fluttershy compared the Legion to the Guard branches, until she realized that they were indeed very similar. Still, the difference in scale was amazing, as she figured the Legion had a numerical advantage over the Guard.

“I think this will do just fine,” Glade said, hefting a lance. She couldn't wear the armor effectively, given that it was both steel and lacked slots for her wings. She supposed she could get in a decent first hit with the lance if she built up enough speed, then move in with a sword, but if the monster was as strong as it was supposed to be, she doubted it would do much good. Still, if she got to Sugarcube Corner, and it was inside, the lance would do about as much good as poking it with a sharp stick, which it honestly was. At least in the open it would have serious momentum behind it. “It's all we've got, but it should get us to Sugarcube Corner and back.”

With that, they broke into the skies once more, keeping high enough to get a good view around them, but low enough not to be seen all across town. The trip was a quick one, unburdened by anypony who couldn't fly, and they touched down on a rooftop across the street from the bakery. It looked clear, but there was still the off chance the monster was waiting just inside. The windows on the second floor were boarded from the inside, which lent credit to the possibility the Cakes were still alive, but left their only way into the building on the ground floor.

“I'll go in first to distract it if it's in there,” Glade said, unsheathing the sword she'd procured from the armory. Even from her perch, she could see the lights inside the store were off, shrouding the parlor in darkness despite the afternoon sun. she hopped from the rooftop and gently touched down on the dirt path, which was indented by claw prints and trail left by a long tail. Fluttershy decided not to argue, knowing that nothing she could say would sway the lycan from the task at hand, and silently wished her the best of luck.

Summer Glade stalked towards the shadowy storefront with all the determination she had, walking with a precision that combined her disciplined upbringing and animal nature in a way that hinted at hidden fury that was contained only by the ring hanging from her necklace. Something in the shadows moved, and Glade sheathed her sword in preparation. Hefting the lance off her back, she took to the air. “Oh, it's in there, alright.”

The beast burst from the darkness, more horrible than she had originally imagined it could be. A diminutive, vestigial head stared at here from atop a thick, muscular neck that extended into its trunk and tapered off to form its tail. All in all, she estimated it to be roughly eighty feet long from tip to tip, and as it reared onto its hind legs, she realized how something with such a tiny head could swallow multiple ponies whole. Its entire torso opened as it roared, calling its hunger to the heavens above, and shaking the earth to Tartarus below. As it returned to its crawling stance, Glade tucked the lance's handle under the crook of her foreleg, keeping bot hooves behind the guard to prevent herself from sliding up the shaft.

Aided by gravity, she flew at an angle, slanting downward into the point where the beast's neck met the beginning of its shoulder, where the ribs were open and the heart was vulnerable. A couched lance, properly wielded and carried by sufficient force, could penetrate the heaviest of armor, and Glade packed a lot of force in her wings. The pointed tip pierced the monster's armor hide with a gout of viscous, dark blood, and worked deeper and deeper until hitting something solid. Carried by the momentum, Glade's body snapped the shaft into two, and she slammed into its back, tumbling until she rolled off its tail.

She gripped her sword in preparation for what was to come just as Fluttershy sped up the stairs and into the Cakes' home.

Exitus Acta Probat

Fluttershy darted in the shop, leaping over a counter to put something between her and the monster while Glade bought her some time. The cellar door, she noticed, was broken off its hinges, so that ruled out the possibility of the Cakes seeking refuge there. She didn't want to think about what would have become of them had they chosen that as their salvation, so she simply told herself they hadn't. Hastily, yet cautiously, she crept up the stairs, trembling at every creaking board. She was no thief, and bumbled the entire way.

As soon as he head cleared the second floor, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air, quickly followed by a relieved sigh. Fluttershy looked to see Mrs. Cake and her husband hiding behind a makeshift barricade. Carrot Cake was laying on his side, a pained look etched onto his features, though he smiled when he noticed her. The twins, being themselves, were next to their father, sleeping like stones. “Where's Pinkie?” Fluttershy asked in a hushed tone, mindful both of the infants and the beast outside.

“Over here,” Mrs. Cake whispered back, motioning for her to follow. They crept around the overturned table and found Pinkie laying on her back, eyes open and unblinking. Were her chest not shuddering alongside her labored breaths, one might assume she was dead; a state of catatonia may have been just as useless at the moment, but infinitely better for her being alive. “She's been like this since last night, I'm afraid.” Mrs. Cake dabbed a wet cloth on Pinkie's forehead, choking back a few worried tears as she went. “It's that thing she brought home; it has to be.”

“The Wabbajack?” Fluttershy asked, knowing enough to understand it had something to do with Ponyville's misery. Seeing the older mare nod, she realized just how deep the danger was, and that the eldritch staff may be the town's only hope of salvation. There was no doubt in her mind that the Daedra were evil, and knew enough of history to realize that which is evil often provides the means of its destruction. But, however closely they may mirror it, stories have little to do with reality; though Fluttershy felt it was just, the universe, perhaps every universe, did not work on constructs such as justice or fairness. “Do you know where it is, if you don't mind me asking?”

Cup Cake looked pensive for a moment, perhaps weighing her options, before nodding. To her, the accursed, ugly thing was better left forgotten, but perhaps Fluttershy knew what she was doing. “Pinkie had it with her in the basement when it appeared,” she answered, jerking her head towards the window. Outside, the sounds of Glade and the beast fighting rang clear through the air, and the lycan dodged tentacles this way and that, but fatigue was obviously affecting her. “You have a plan, right?”

“Oh, I hope so.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Glade weaved around the incoming tendrils, dodging as best she could. All she needed to do was wait until Fluttershy could get Pinkie to safety; as much as it pained her, the nice couple who owned the bakery were secondary to the survival of two Element Bearers. She grunted and slashed at one of the meaty things, slicing through the surprisingly soft tissue. This must have been the tenth time she'd cleaved one of the beast's tongues in two, but more seemed to appear form within it gaping maw. A flash of yellow alerted her to Fluttershy's arrival on the top floor, where the Cakes, and Pinkie by extension, must have been; with nothing holding her in the engagement, Glade landed on the roof of a small business, hoping the height would keep the monster away from her long enough to catch her breath.

Glade gingerly stretched her forelegs, which were hardly designed for swinging a sword, and winced as her muscles burned. Like the rest of the guards, she wore shoes with clasps meant to hold the handle of any number of weapons, which worked well in theory; they chafed her fetlocks and made her wish for a better way, but none presented themselves. At the sound of breaking bricks, she took to the air once more, dulled blood in hoof, ready once more to fight or die. As she caught sight of the beast climbing up the side of the building, or at least attempting as only a dumb animal could, the sound of crying foals hit her ears. The Cake twins, Pound and Pumpkin, had been awoken by the crashing, and had no qualms about showing just how upset they were about being disturbed.

“Glade, draw it out front; I have an idea!” Fluttershy shouted from around the corner, either oblivious to the crying or to its effect on her friend. Somewhere, deep within the mind of Summer Glade, something primal, bestial, came to the forefront of her mind, and all rationality was cast aside in the name of senseless passion and hotblooded fury. Gripping the sword in both hooves, she roared and dove for the beast, hoping the outer edge of its mouth was just as delicate as its tongues.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“I don't think she heard you, dear,” Carrot Cake said, hefting himself up as best he could on a bum leg, keeping his voice low to avoid adding to the noise his children were making. Fluttershy, to her credit, was holding the very object of the town's pain without so much as paling in its presence; she was, of course, absolutely terrified of holding it, but it didn't do well to show such unpleasant emotions in such trying times. “You may have to use this window for... whatever it is you've got up your sleeve.”

Rushing over, Fluttershy pulled back the table barricading that particular window, tucking the Wabbajack safely beneath her wing. In a burst of strength only fear could cause, she lifted it with ease, revealing a sight she could have lived without seeing. Glade, for all her acrobatic skills, hammered away at the monster, relentless and wild, and just as animalistic as she was when she'd transformed on that frozen lake in Skyrim. But, clear as day, Fluttershy could see her white fur, and knew she was still a mare, only enraged by something she couldn't quite grasp.

In the time it took for the lycan to break away, she lined up a shot with the Wabbajack, amazed at how quickly the staff focused its energies without her having to think about it. She thrust it forward, cracking off a bolt of red magic, cocksure as a unicorn. Glade, being a masterful mistress of perfect timing, chose then as the best moment to strike, and came crashing down in tandem with the blast of energy. For a moment, Fluttershy stared in horror as they collided with the beast, impacting the same spot. With a sound pop!, the Wabbajack's magic took effect, engulfing Glade in purple smoke.

“What in Tartarus?!” she shouted, bursting from the smoke like a rocket, a bouquet of flowers in her hooves. She rested several feet above the beast's tentacles' maximum range, and shot a confused look at Fluttershy. “What happened?”

“I missed,” she replied, holding up the Wabbajack. Its head was wreathed in red energy, already charged for another shot, one that would hopefully fly true. “Please don't get in the way of this one, if you don't mind.” She thrust it again, and her hopes proved correct. The transformation energy slammed into its scales, turning a fair number of them to dust, but leaving the soft flesh beneath entirely unharmed. It turned that side away from Fluttershy, seemingly aware of the danger she posed.

“Guess this is going to be tougher than you thought, huh?” Glade asked, tossing her bouquet aside and drawing her reserve sword, just as sharp as her first had been before battle. That was the plan, unspoken but understood, that she should distract it while Fluttershy worked with the accursed weapon until whatever this thing was returned to wherever it came from. Preferably only in spirit, if Glade got her way.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Pinkie Pie, recent target of Sheogorath and the third pony to reach the attention of a Daedric Princes, floated as though a spirit on the breeze, seeing all her mistake had wrought upon Ponyville. Even as her friends fought, even as Mister Cake took a claw to the flank, even as the Flower triplets were eaten whole, she could only watch, unable to even scream, as her mind wandered the town. It felt too real to be a dream, some illusion of the senses; to her, it was another trip to Pelagius's mind, terrible and broken, but oddly earthbound and understandable. She felt, saw, heard, smelled, and tasted the fight happening outside Sugarcube Corner, a battle which brought her no end of pain. This was her mistake, her wrong to right; the Madgod said she was incapable of being more than mad, more than the hyperactive mare she was, but she was going to prove him wrong.

Floating on ethereal winds, she drifted to Fluttershy, who was doing her best to use the Wabbajack, and succeeding only in firing wildly-aimed snapshots that hit scales instead of soft, transformable flesh. She placed her ghostly hooves on the staff's shaft, and moved in time with her corporeal friend, using her own madness as a catalyst for the deadly aim needed to end the beast's rampage. Her mind followed the magic, guiding it on its course until it struck home, pulsing through flesh and sending some small portion back to the dark waters of Oblivion. The spirits of those it consumed, the Flower triplets, appeared around it, unseen by those bound to their mortal shell. They dance, sang, and wailed as they circled their doom, though they did not blame Pinkie, for they understood as she did.

Another guided bolt, and Lily vanished into a cloud of purple smoke, her essence trailing into the sky before arcing down to the stall she and her sisters ran. Though her ethereal body left, her physical self returned as surely as it had been lost. Fear still tinged her mind, but she lived still. Suddenly, understanding flowed through what may have been generously called her center of being, and Pinkie was made aware of a way out, a way to guarantee a happy ending for this sordid tale. She flew along again, striking another bald spot, and freeing Roseluck's soul while sending the Daedric beast even closer to its doom. Glade, her choleric aura permeating even the air around her with her passionate rage, flew while it was stunned, and slashed across the soft, exposed skin.

Pain unlike any she had experienced wracked her form, and she felt the real, material world fading as the other spirits came into clearer focus. In the back of her mind, she was reminded of Sheogorath's game in Pelagius's mind, as she had helped him against his self-hatred. When Fulttershy used the Wabbajack, it brought them closer to living against, but as Glade struck with steel, they plunged ever closer to death. Perhaps she could squeeze in two more blasts before the beast died? With every strike, its grip on this world grew weaker, and it didn't matter from what the damage came. If it died, Pinkie and Daisy would be released, one way or the other.

She only hoped she would walk amongst her friends, at least one last time.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Glade worked herself into a frenzy, but didn't fall to the temptation to transform. Though the Ring was secure around her neck, it had failed before she found out she was pregnant, and it didn't seem worth the risk of hurting anypony over the thrill. Instead, she lived for the rush of fighting something so powerful while her new friend rained magical hellfire from above; for a moment she wondered if Reman and Renoir fought as such often, but dismissed the notion in favor of driving her steel into the monster again. Meanwhile, Fluttershy fired her third, expertly-aimed shot, hitting the monster on the scaleless half of its face.

With every hit, from magic or sword, it weakened, and excited something deep within Glade. Her mouth watered at the thought of carving it to pieces as it stumbled about, moaning in some thunderous tone that hurt her ears. She dove in, feral grin plastered on her face, as she primed her second sword for the killing blow. A massive claw swatted her away, the only time such a counterattack had worked, and she slammed into the ground, sliding until she tasted dirt in her mouth. She leaped to her hooves at once, slashing in a pirouette to parry any followups the beast had planned. As she turned, meeting no resistance, she realized she was cutting a swathe through a cloud of dark smoke, the same she'd seen Reman use in his summoning magics.

“I got it again!” Fluttershy called from the window, sure this was the end. She kept the Wabbajack primed for another strike if she was wrong, but for the moment, she felt nothing but relief. Even as things wound down, there was a foreboding chill in the air, a twinge of something she couldn't quite place, that left a metallic taste in her mouth.

“Is it dead?” Glade asked, unsure if it was true. She took a few steps back and tried to calm herself, knowing a surprise attack could come at any moment. The smoke was slowly clearing, but even after only a few moments, she could make out a faint silhouette.

“Glade?” a scared, tired voice called from within. The mare in question's heart soared, overjoyed to see Pinkie alive and well, though a little worse for wear. Fluttershy, amazed at what she was seeing, looked to where her friend had laid mere minutes before, and found only empty floor. Even as her fellow Element burst form the smoke to hug Glade, Gummy laying on her back as fast asleep as a toddler, she felt tears in her eyes at the display.

“Just this once,” the bearer of Kindness whispered, eyes widening as the Flower twins came out from behind corner, looking as though they were covered in green jelly. Had the day gone any different, had even one thing changed, the day's bodycount could have been much, much higher. The only three victims and Pinkie were alive and well, something that would have astounded anypony accustomed to violence; it was both impossible and brilliantly amazing. “Just this once, everypony lives.”

Author's Note

Dinner with Glade's parents will be handle in the appropriate Untold Events chapter, but isn't one of my priorities at the moments.

Pinkie Status: Alive and Slightly Hungry

Author's Note

Firstly, I'd like to apologize for my lack of work on this fic.
Secondly, I haven't accomplished much in this chapter, and it's basically just a way to bring in the next story arc.
Thirdly, I'm a bit worried I've lost my touch, so bear wiht me while I get back into the swing of things.

Pinkie Status: Alive and Slightly Hungry

Princess Celestia glowered at the staff before her, disgusted at the eldritch energy pulsing from deep within the ugly thing. It was wrong on a fundamental level, something even vampires and werewolves seemed normal when compared against, and now something so vile had managed to wreak havoc in Ponyville. Reman, keeping true to his impeccable timing, had left for dinner shortly after the artifact, this Wabbajack, came into Celestia's possession. Renoir was similarly occupied with examining Pinkie Pie, who was given guardianship of the horrendous object, and may have borne any number of psychological scars from the experience.

“It says here that Daedric artifacts are small fragments of the Princes, and that only very specific rituals can banish them back to Oblivion,” Twilight said, reading one of the many books Renoir had in his possession. Of course, she would have preferred being by her friend's side, but her talents were needed to aid the princess in the Wabbajacks destruction. “While it goes on to say the Hero of Kvatch and Martin Septim destroyed a weapon called the Ebony Blade to open a portal to Mancar Camoran's Paradise in order to retrieve the Amulet of Kings.” She paused for a moment, before putting a number of pieces together. “This reads like a fantasy novel.”

“Perhaps myth and legend are the only things we have to work with,” Luna begrudgingly said, glaring at the Wabbajack in a mix of frustration and wonder. So far, it had resisted both impossible heat and chill, but remained not only intact, but cool to the touch. Likewise, incredible pressures, as far as any princess was willing to unleash this close to civilization, were ineffective; it would bend, bow, and warp, but always spring back into shape the moment there was any slack. “I doubt scholars would waste time with writing falsehoods, regardless of how fanciful they may be.”

“Perhaps Renoir will know something; this is his book after all, isn't it?” Cadance asked, just as perplexed by the eldritch staff as anypony else. Truth be told, she wanted it back on Nirn and out of Equestria's hooves, but knew that could not be until Pinkie was able to move with it; they'd tried throwing through the portal, but it refused to go without its current wielder. This thing was something primeval, tainted in the same manner as Discord's vile magics, but far, far older.

“Summoning and banishing are Reman's specialty, and we won't be seeing him until tomorrow,” Twilight replied, shaking her head. “Renoir only knew what the Wabbajack may be capable of, not proper methods of disposal.” Flipping through more pages, she sighed, and resigned herself to the mystery for the moment. “The Wabbajack is an artifact of Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of madness and patron of the arts; its effects are random, and the means for its destruction are possibly just as random.”

“Asking Renoir cannot possibly harm us in this pursuit,” Luna said, more as a general observation than a recommendation to interrupt him while he worked on Pinkie. She sighed and shook her head, realizing it was indeed a pointless endeavor to involve him in this, especially with him hard at work already. Truthfully, she was sick of not knowing what to do with this staff; Discord could be handled, as could every other threat Equestria had ever known, but this thing was a tool of a god of madness, and it had chosen one of their Elements of Harmony. Could the Madgod corrupt Laughter, render the Elements as a whole useless? “If we cannot destroy this Wabbajack, then we must remove it.”

“Unfortunately, it will not travel through the portal without Pinkie,” Celestia replied, having tested that possibility herself. There were no easy choices here, and everything had some consequence to it. Waiting until the possible issues with Discord, the barrier’s growing inability to bind him to stone, seemed viable, but the Emperor was expecting them, and it would not do to keep him waiting for too long. Similarly, leaving immediately would be troublesome; none of Canterlot’s nobility, indeed none in Equestria, had known life without their princess on the throne. “An alternate solution must be found.”

“We need to see how everypony is, first,” Twilight said, on the same page as her mentor. “We can’t get the Wabbajack out of Equestria until we know everything it did, some way to reverse its effects.” She was ever concerned for everypony’s safety, and wanted the very best for those affected by the accursed staff. Celestia smiled at the thoughtful unicorn, proud her apprentice had grown into such a fine young mare. “Then there’s the damage that needs to be accounted for, and the injured to tend to, not to mention the psychological effects it may have had.”

“That is all well and good, Twilight, but these can be handled by ours guards,” Luna replied, not too happy about her own ideas. “What needs to be done is for you and the other Elements, along with my sister, to travel to this Imperial City and speak to Emperor Mede, and the sooner, the better.” Luna was certain she could handle the throne by herself for a short while, especially if Celestia had managed for so long. It still pained her to think of her sister leaving for any amount of time, but she doubted anything too serious would happen on the road. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return, and with all that’s happening, it may be best to get back before things come to a head.”

Cadance, unsure of what side to take, and unsure if there was even a middle ground of compromise, bit her cheek but remained silent. There were dangers to both; if Celestia and the Elements went right away, Discord may escape before they returned, but if they waited, their opportunity to ally with the Empire would be lost as well. She resolved to not take a side, and allow her aunt to make the final choice; she didn’t know nearly enough about Nirn to choose, while Luna and Twilight had seen the land firsthoof.

Clearing her throat, Celestia made her choice.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir Belmont broke his concentration after repairing the minor damage Pinkie suffered, and realized that most injuries she sustained were of the mind, far beyond anything he was capable of mending. There was no imbalance of humors, no obvious issue his nose could scent out, but something was wrong, something small, but even as Renoir reviewed the handful of charts the doctors had handed him, his mind was on that small chink in her armor. “Spirit walking,” he said after a moment, letting Pinkie's words sink in fully.

“Well, that's what it felt like,” she replied, honestly convinced she had been, for intents and purposes, dead and trapped to Equus as a spirit. Astral projection was not unheard of, and was commonly practiced amongst Telvani wizards even in the modern day, but Pinkie possessed no magic, by both her own admission and his testing. There was nothing he was capable of doing, in all seriousness, so he let it lie. Pinkie, aside from a little dehydration, was perfectly healthy, and as terrible it made him feel to think it, out of his hands.

“It is not out of disbelief that I ask,” the vampire answered, mindful of the odd look Pinkie was giving him. “You’ve been put under my charge, so I have an obligation to keep you well.” It didn’t hurt that he had almost no idea what any of the doctors were talking about, attributing the lack of communication to differing thoughts on medicine. Pinkie seemed satisfied by that, and lay back on her bed to rest.

“They’re in here, sir,” came a voice from the hall. The speaker was a nurses, the same nurse who informed Renoir that nurses in Equestria weren’t apprentice healers studying under doctors. The entire ordeal was still a little embarrassing for him, honestly.

“Thank you, nurse,” a Solar Guard said as he walked in, before returning to his usual stoic demeanor. “I have news for one Renoir Belmont and a Pinkamena Diane Pie in regards to your diplomatic mission.”

“Oh, are we not going back?” Pinkie asked, hurt. There were so many wonderful things to see on the other side, good and bad, that she had yet to see. To her relief, the guard shook his head.

“Princess Celestia has altered the original timetable, ma’am.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Bitter Springs wasn't quite sure why the princesses chose him to pass on the changes to the diplomatic party's timetable, but he didn't question it as he stepped into the Stallion’s Barding, a small, formal restaurant that mostly catered to guards and their families. Given that he was in full uniform, by all appearances a Lunar Guard ready for battle, he drew more than a few looks as ponies noticed him. A few of the waitstaff noticed him, and a friendly waiter pointed him in the right direction, not that he could miss the four he was after.

Winter Tundra and his family were eating there; Springs had seen his name on the registry, so there was no hiding from him now. Though, as he approached the table in question, he was not fully prepared for what he saw. Glade and Valley were happily chatting, Reman and Tundra were content to mumble and generally avoid anything asked of both of them. A faint, pink line traced over the imperial’s cheekbone, and the retired major had one eye nearly swollen shut, bulging from its socket like an overripe fruit; at first glance, it looked severe, but it was truly nothing more than one serious black eye.

Everypony was dressed up for the evening out: Valley was in a comfortable gown, a number that surely made her the object of more than a few stallion’s imagination, and Springs was sure it would have affected him if he wasn’t after the same sort of partner she was; Tundra was in his old dress uniform, gleaming with his numerous medals and ribbons; Glade was clad in velvet, which was draped over body and clasped with bits of sculpted silver; Reman, far from his shining, golden armor, was clad in a quilted shirt and wool trousers, both dyed a deep red.

“Springs, how do you do?” the imperial asked without turning around. The restaurant was noisy enough to discount the guard’s steps giving him away; likewise, his scent should have been covered by the food on Reman’s plate and those around him.

“One of these days I’d like to know how you do that,” the unicorn replied, grinning as he approached the table. The tension he could feel in the air subsided, though he suspected it was more to save face in front of an outsider rather than any meaningful change in the general disposition of the resident alpha males.

“I think he just makes it up as he goes along,” Glade said, chuckling. She herself knew enough of her packmate’s tricks to understand the logic behind it, if not the mechanism. She eyed her friend for a moment, before easing into her seat; if Springs was there for something important, he would say it on his own time. “Pull up a chair if you’re going to be a minute,” she halfheartedly commanded, though her tone was nothing but friendly. Honestly, she was glad for a break in the tension.

“Honestly, I only have to pass on a message,” the Lunar Guard replied, refusing to move from his spot. Nodding, Reman looked to him and took a sip from his polished silver glass, filled with water as Glade still kept him from enjoying his drink; he only complied because it made a good show of solidarity, and he certainly did not want her risking anything, despite how low the odds of anything negative happening truly were. “Princess Celestia has changed the schedule, very abruptly and radically.”

“How so?” the imperial asked, setting down his drink to give the stallion his full attention. It was rare to see him visibly paying attention, but most ponies knew he was very capable of focusing on a handful of tasks at once, especially when one only occupied his ears. Glade sniggered at the face he was making; the way his muscles relaxed and tensed remind her very much of his transformed state.

“Well,” Springs began, unused to the attention he was receiving from the normally unresponsive man. His time vampire hunting with Renoir had enlightened him on the human condition, but seeing such a turnaround was still startling to him; most ponies were slow to change their mood, barring a few exceptions, so the flip-flopping the only two men he knew was somewhat amazing. “For one, you’re leaving at first light tomorrow, as soon as she raises the sun.” This drew more than a harsh look from Winter Tundra, who very nearly leaped from his seat, restrained only by his wife’s firm hoof. “You won’t be travelling on hoof this time, at least.”

“The princess is giving us a chariot?” Glade asked, now as interested as her packmate. It would be nice not to have to walk or fly everywhere, but there seemed to be a catch,a dn as famous in Canterlot as Celestia was for her jokes, it paid to be a bit cautious.

“And a guard from both rotations,” the effeminate stallion answered. He meant there would be a representative member from the Solar and Lunar Guards; it was entirely likely Glade would have no relation to those chosen, and being the messenger, Springs was certainly going to be passed over for selection. “The princess felt it best to cut on your travel time.”

“Then I suppose we’d best not keep her waiting,” Reman said as he rose from his seat. He gave a courteous nod to his hosts, smiling in a congenial way that seemed entirely at odds with his earlier image. “Sirrah, ma’am, I would love to continue when I am next in Canterlot.” His voice was kind enough for Tundra to miss the obvious insult, or perhaps the major simply chose not to lower himself by being offended; Springs honestly cared more for the brushed leather of the imperial's shoes.

“We’d love to have you again, Reman,” Tundra replied through a smile as fake as the gold chandelier above him. “But, maybe you won’t be gone too long, Glade?” He looked to his daughter for an answer, and smiled genuinely as she nodded; if nothing else, having her around made the imperial worth tolerating.

“We’ll see you soon, sweetie,” Valley said, embracing her daughter in a hug. As much as she wanted to pretend Glade was a little filly, she was very much an adult and fully capable of taking care of herself. “You take good care of my baby girl, Reman.” The werewolf in question nodded and slapped his fist against his chest in what his people’s standard salute.

“Bye, Mom; I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Glade replied, trying to keep her emotions under control. Her blood was boiling at the thought of missing the action, and as much as she wanted to stay and visit, she would only grow more agitated until she was able to relieve that tension with some old fashioned exercise.

“Stay safe,” Tundra coughed out just as the pair of lycans made to leave. He watched them walk out the door and disappear into the haze of Canterlot’s street lamps, unwilling to believe his flesh and blood was going away again after only spending a brief few days home. For a few minutes, the three stood in a wanting silence, the sort that screamed to be occupied by even the driest of conversation.

“Is something wrong, BItter?” Valley asked, using the stallion’s first name. He blinked and looked at her, before shaking his head; he huffed in a way that made the pegasus mare think he had a revelation.

“He saw me walking up in his glass,” he said, holding the bit of polished metal in his magic. “Polished to a mirror’s shine.” He expected no less of the Stallion’s Barding, but nodded his pardon to the married pegasi before he too made his leave. He checked a clock and grunted; it was his off night, and he was in full dress with nothing to do.

He shook his head and trotted back to the castle, wondering if he could catch Glade and Reman on their way.

Another Trip to Paradise

Glade shivered in the pre-dawn haze, despite the heavy velvet blanket she had draped over herself. The Elements of Harmony stood around her, as did the three princesses, resplendent in what could pass for formal regalia. Celestia seemed to be under the impression that the idea of the Pine Forest, and indeed Skyrim as a whole, being an untamed wilderness of harsh land and brutal people to be entire outrageous. Regardless of how formal she wanted to be, the Elements and Glade were sure to dress and pack appropriately.

Applejack was wearing fireproofed clothing, a black skin that entirely covered her body, leaving only her neck and head exposed; her hat was stowed in her bag to keep it from being damaged in the field. Rainbow Dash, fresh from her trip to Cloudsdale, was dressed in her padded, cold-weather flightsuit to maximize her aerodynamic properties and maneuverability in the event she had to get away from large, airborne predators. Rarity, in her supreme fashion sense, had created a few sets of camouflaged clothing, both for woodland and snowy environments; using Reman’s stories of Cyrodiil, she even managed to make temperate forest gear that passed his own inspection. Twilight was clad in layers of cloth meant to stop blades, and charms hung around her neck to help channel magicka for her to control; they were Renoir’s idea, a means to keep Mora from meddling with her. Fluttershy was nearly scandalous in what she wore, though it could easily be waved off as her needing something protective due to her poor flying skills; Renoir had refit an old set of his leathers and given them to her, and thought nothing of it when Celestia gave him a questioning look as she first saw the yellow mare in the dark hides.

“Pinkie, where did you get that?” Glade asked as she saw the bubbly pony wearing a nearly complete set of iron armor, shaped much like the simple plate found in Skyrim. The metal had a greenish patina that showed considerable age, but none of the other scars of time or previous battle to accurately date it.

“I don’t know!” she replied jubilantly, jingling her armor as she bounced in enthusiasm. For a moment, the two humans stopped what they were doing to look at her, before thinking better of it and returning their gaze to the portal.

“Hoc, quod perfecte elit,” Reman said in Cyrodiilic, his voice muffled by his bronze mask. He stood as a statue in his Dwemer-forged armor, immovable and indestructible; Glade knew he was a bit nervous beneath his metal skin, and tapped a reassuring hoof against his leg.

“Si sollicitus,” Renoir replied, turning his head a bit to look more alive than first appearances suggested. Fluttershy, in exchange for consuming his only alcohol, had purchased him a new mask the night before. It was in the shape of a wendigo skull, and his dark eye gazed from its sockets like an empty skull. The yellow mare’s reasoning was that he needed something to scare away anyone trying to harm him, but she also seemed to enjoy playing to his love of masks. Originally, the ceramic skull was meant to be a paperweight or an eccentric wall ornament; Fluttershy pulled off the lower jaw and gave the vampire its top half.

“Nam dum iterum ad officium de quo parum pegasus,” Reman grunted back, shifting on his feet. His voice was teasing, and though Glade did not understand most of what he said, she understood the word pegasus just fine. For a moment, she wondered who they meant, but realized there were only three pegasi they both knew. The vampire glared at him from behind his impassive mask, but his mouth remained fixed in a semi-serious frown.

“Nonne indicas princeps?” he asked, his voice hushed even though no one else nearby spoke the language. By now, the guards were looking at them in worry, unsure of their intentions. After a brief pause, the imperial shook his head.

“Non certe Donec ipsum,” he replied, in a tone that said he felt himself too good to stoop to whatever level Renoir had suggested immediately before. However, before they could continue on their unknowable sniping match, Bitter Springs, still clad in his armor, cleared his throat.

“Could you two please stop speaking in code?” he asked, looking at the two men who towered over him. Despite how personable they had been before, their masks made them seem entirely different, almost more alien than they truly were. “Some of the others are a bit unnerved by it.”

They complied with his request, in a matter of speaking. Both masked men now faced the stallion, as impassive as they had been before, but now utterly silent as they stared him down. For a brief moment, Springs considered recanting his statement, but he was a fully realized Lunar Guard, and a stalwart servant of Equestria; these men, no matter how powerful, would not intimidate him. Glade, upset her packmate would behave in such a way, gave him a very forceful nudge to the back of his knee, the only place he wasn’t armored.

“Would the two of you calm down?” Celestia question, rather annoyed with the entire display. She knew it was posturing, maybe even joking psychological warfare, but this was neither the time nor the place. “Honestly, it’s like you’re trying to ruin this mission.” She wasn’t truly upset with the humans; she understood they were nervous, as she was feeling the same thing, though taking it out on her subjects, especially the two junior officers she chose for this escort, was unacceptable.

“I just worry this may not end well,” the lycan said, entirely honest. When he woke that morning, his stomach churned with nausea he had not known in years. Divination was not his forte, but even he knew a few bad signs when he saw them; he growled as he realized his justification was not enough, and dropped his head a bit. His shoulders relaxed as he growled in defeat. “When do we step through?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Senna Tullius, wife of Antonius Tullius, mother of Julius, Susanne, Reman, Uriel, and Arriana Tullius, was in pain. She was not injured or ill; the pain was merely a side-effect of her craft. Unlike her husband, she was of Nibenay blood, and raised in its basin to her fullest potential as surely as the West Weald’s grapevines. She writhed on the floor in agony as her sensing perceived things that were not there, not real in that moment. The braziers puffed smoke into the room as she fullest lost herself. As her mother had taught her, and her mother before her, and so on for longer than anyone knew, Senna, a fully realized seer of the Niben, dreamed while awake.

There was a pyramid of glass, owned by a powerful sorcerer-king whose crown was twisted together of metal threads that gleamed with their own light, but not above his own aura. He was haughty, arrogant, so sure of himself; but in Senna’s waking dream, she saw what he could not. Through the glass walls, she saw the sea, and the storm looming over the horizon, the storm the king chose not to see. Barbarians, both feral and orderly, were at the door, bearing hopes of vengeance for some past misdeed. The world changed, and suddenly turned red by the churning sea and the death it spat upon Nirn.

Cities of glass burned from within as the warriors charged the orderganized streets. Men, women, and even children fell to their swords and axes as they howled like beasts. At their front, leading the charge, was a wolf as black as a moonless midnight; a jewelled collar was fastened around its throat, clasped with a red diamond that shimmered in the firelight. It led the maelstrom of death and fire and destruction as the armies blazed along the land. A dragon soared overhead, crimson and wearing a cloak of velvet; it screamed as a bear charged along and denied the dragon its right to lead the wolf and its barbarians.

The sorcerer-king fell upon the squabbling titans, his sword and magic felling them in a single blow; the wolf howled like a wounded child and lunged for the sovereign. It dodged the blade, it avoided the smiting magics, and locked its teeth around the king’s throat as they hit the hard stone of the pyramid’s foundation. The dragon and bear rose again, and were renewed in their vigor to slay one another, unable to see the king was the one who harmed them. Senna cried out for them to see, but her words fell short as a deafening roar filled the air.

Two dragons circled overhead; one was blacker than the wolf, and the other was a shining gold. They were children of Akatosh, and beyond the veil of the sky, they battled for the world. It was dazzling, and even the shadows from the burning cities danced in time, fighting their own war in darkness as others fought in the light. The golden dragon fell to the ground, and the wolf was upon it, ignoring the king it could have had in favor of this target. But no, the wolf nudged the dragon up, and guarded it from the king’s men as they speared at the glorious beast.

The black dragon stared down at the wolf, and the wolf slinked into the golden dragon’s shadow. The red dragon and bear and king fought, but the king pushed them to the water of the red-dyed sea. Without the wolf and golden dragon, they could gain no ground.

With a snap, the vision ended. Senna lurched to her feet and stretched her aching muscles. She knew the signs, the black wolf and dragons; war and death were on the horizon. But, she did not know the sorcerer-king nor what he represented; the glass pyramids, too, were a mystery, as were the howling warriors and their thirst for murder. Part of her wanted to dive back into the waking dreams, but she knew well enough that she needed to tell her husband of them.

Knowing it would take a few days to reach Antonius by hawk, she grabbed a quill and a few sheets of paper.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Spring was claiming Skyrim, as Celestia noticed the blooming wildflowers. However, a thin powdering of snow covered their petals, the last signs of winter’s grip. Her breath fogged in the air, and steamed from everypony’s faces as they took positions that afforded them the most protection. “Welcome to Skyrim, princess,” Reman said as he stopped beside her. “We’ll have to travel through the rest of Falkreath Hold, the Rift to reach the road to Bruma. Then it’s a straight shot to the Imperial City.”

“Will this weather let up at all?” the princess asked, gesturing to the frost-laden plantlife around them. A few thin flakes still fell from a slightly overcast sky. The imperial shrugged and lifted his helmet, shaking his hair loose from the cloth that kept it tied back.

“The farther north you go has little bearing on weather; elevation is the real killer this time of year,” he answered, pointing to a far-off mountain. “Even on the warmest days, those peaks are capped with snow. We’ll have to cross two mountain ranges to reach Bruma, then begin the descent to the Heartlands.”

“He means we might get lucky with the weather, and we might not,” Renoir explained, his visible mouth grinning under the ceramic skull. He’d lived in High Rock for all of his life, but travelled enough in his unlife to know how to judge nature’s plans for the sky. By his measure, if they continued due east, they’d hit a mild storm, maybe snow or rain depending on how high up they were. The vampire turned his attention to the portal just as an ornate carriage was rolled through; it was Celestia’s personal transport, and to Renoir, it looked like she had painted a very large target on her back.

“Princess, we may have a problem here,” Glade said, looking the golden carriage up and down for a moment. While the armored vehicle was sturdy enough to withstand most blows, as it was, it would accomplish very little.

“And what is that, Glade?” Celestia asked, leaning over the pegasus. She couldn’t see what the lycan meant, looking at her carriage, but also didn’t know what would be a good idea and what wouldn't in this world. Was it too brightly colored, too tall, to different from others used in Skyrim and Cyrodiil?

“We don’t have anypony to pull it.”

Author's Note

Next, we begin the action!

Welcome to Skyrim

Pinkie stared out the window as the wagon trucked along the stone road, bouncing with the padded seat whenever her side passed over a large rock. The fresh pine air was invigorating; the nip in the breeze as it filtered through the glassless viewing areas was doubly so. Even with such pleasantries, such a paradise, provided for her, she could not shake the weight in her mind. Pinkie Pie was a pony perplexed by her ponderous perturbation, taxed by her own dementation, though she was unsure if it was a byproduct of the same psychosis she’d had her entire adult life, or a creation of Sheogorath for his twisted amusement. Her mind, like a shattered mirror, seemed sharp but clouded, obscuring the truth behind a layer of reflections and bloody edges; she didn't know what she could see, or even if she saw anymore, but she knew what her eyes said she saw.

Her group of friends, each a marvelous statue of virtue, an amazing portrait of how ponies should have been, was alien to her. For moments, mere fractions of an instant, they were so different from how they had always been. Twilight, ever the smart one of their group, if a bit lacking in common sense on occasion, swapped from the robed mare Pinkie knew to be her, to a crowned princess, her nose in a book too terrible to describe. Tearing her eyes away, she turned her gaze to the demure Fluttershy, and immediately wished she hadn’t. The butter yellow pegasus was pale, her throat torn open as her life’s blood stained into her fur; she was moving, and yet dead, like seeing with blind eyes as her heart failed to beat. Pinkie blinked the phantoms away, and sighed in relief as the world was right once more.

“You alright, sugarcube?” Applejack asked, placing a comforting hoof on the pink mare’s shoulder. The Element of Laughter almost regretted looking to her friend with a smile on her face. A simple blindfold adorned her friend's gaunt face, stained dark crimson with her precious blood; her fur was patchy, and her ribs showed through coat, as though she was too sick to even try to eat, plagued with some unknown ailment.

“Oh, I’m feeling Pinkie keen,” she replied, laughing at her own pun. She was being honest, as well; she felt fine, emotionally and physically speaking, because she knew there was almost nothing she could do to stop the visions tormenting her. AJ looked at her for a moment, her visage returning to the kindly farmer she truly was, before nodding and accepting the answer. In truth, the Element of Honesty was just glad to have Pinkie back to her old self.

“Oh, I’m feeling rather keen, myself,” Rarity agreed, sighing happily as she nudged Pinkie to look out the window again. “Look at these flowers, Pinkie; aren’t just amazing?” The white unicorn was correct about the local flowers, and even Pinkie’s warped perception allowed her to see them for their beauty. The flowers helped get her mind off what she was seeing.

“Oh, yeah; Zecora would have a field day with them,” the bubbly pony replied, smiling at her alabaster friend. Rarity’s appearance, however, was not the sort Pinkie had expected. Her friend’s once pristinely white coat was ashen and thin; her hide was leathery, dried and wrinkled as a Falmer’s skin, torn where her mouth had move too much or too quickly. Around her neck was a string of dark gems, a midnight purple that seemed eerie in even the best of light; small gouts of dust erupted from her snout with every breath. Her patchy mane framed her chilling eyes like a shroud, and she craned her head with almost unnatural grace, straining her bones against her skin with every movement.

Pinkie kept smiling at her unicorn friend, wondering what that odd vision could possible mean, or even if it had any sort of meaning to begin with. As she looked to Renoir, Pinkie was terrified of what she may see; she was amazingly relieved to see the vampire was still lying on the seats, stretched out as he slept. It was the first time she had seen him sleep, maybe the first time anypony had seen the vampire in such a vulnerable position. Like before, his mask was off, securely tied to his armor by a strip of leather, and he seemed at pace with the world around him. A slight smirk touched his lips as Pinkie kept staring at him, sure his facade wouldn’t change into anything terrifying; he was as awake as everypony else, and merely reclined as a means to relax.

“Enjoying the view, princess?” the vampire asked, directing his voice to Celestia but broadcasting his question to the rest of the carriage. Pinkie, like the rest of the ponies, turned her attention to the regent; this was an amazing time to determine her opinion of Skyrim, and the hour or so they had been traveling. They had supplies, and would avoid Falkreath if possible, so it was important to get her feel for the flora and fauna rather than the locals, since their meetings may be a bit less than civilized.

“Very much,” Celestia replied, smiling at the undead sorcerer for what must have been the first time. “I haven’t seen a land this rich in many years, and I have travelled my world abreast and abroad.” In truth, she found the calm air, untended by pegasi, and the wildflowers, so unlike those she knew grew in her kingdom, to be marvelously refreshing, if a bit unorthodox. “Though, I am a bit worried of the news of dragon attacks.”

“Being handled, if the rumors are true,” the vampire said, waving his hand in a dismissing gesture. His grin fell a bit as his ears twitched at a noise, small and innocuous, barely worth most peoples’ attentions. He didn’t like the sound, and sat up as he prepared for the worst, as his gut dictated.

~-~-~-~-~

Reman and Glade, alongside Steel Morrow, who was the earth pony Solar Guard, and Bitter Springs, he himself representing the Lunar Guard and fulfilled the needed magic for the guard assigned to Princess Celestia for her jaunt into unknown territory. Skyrim, as the guards and drivers were finding, was hauntingly beautiful and untamed, though in a much more manageable sense than the Everfree or other such areas of horror that surrounded Equestria. There was very little in the way of conversation, as they had been instructed the Pine Forest, especially the leg so close to the Reach, was dangerous enough to warrant supreme caution. Forsworn were unlikely to be so far from their mountain lairs, but that never stopped others from preying on whatever scraps managed to evade those wildmen.

Trudging along, there was little wonder why Reman and Renoir had suggested much of the carriage be covered in dirt and most of its ornamentation stripped and stowed for when they were in more civilized regions; a golden chariot like that was sure to draw unwanted attention in copious amounts, and as trouble was wont to do, any issue they found would arrive at the worst possible moment. It was best for everypony if the carriage took a little damage, something that could be repaired before any official greetings, than to be delayed too much by brigands or whatever other ilk may have been hiding around the foggy woodlands.

“I feel like a sitting duck,” Glade grumbled, shifting in her seat. She did not like the idea of being on day watch, not if it meant being so exposed, but grounded; if she were allowed to fly about, things would have been different, but as she was grounded under the princess’s orders, she had to worry about marksmen in the trees. “I know you’re just as twitchy as me right now,” she added, looking to the others that sat about on the chariot’s roof. Springs had the decency to look a little offended at the idea, while Morrow and Reman grunted their agreements.

“Better than the freezing cold of night,” the imperial replied, mostly to himself; Renoir and whoever else he could recruit into aiding him on night watch would have to suffer the chill, especially in the mountains. This time, both stallions nodded, while Glade, with her race’s resistance to the cold of high altitudes, seemed less than impressed. She would have raised a counterpoint, had her gut not crumpled into a knot; whatever was causing it certainly seemed to affect Reman as well, who donned his helmet in record time. The lycans trained their ears to sound out whatever may have been lurking in the brush.

“These woods shouldn’t be this quiet,” Morrow whispered, pointing out the forest Reman and Glade had failed to see for the trees. None of them knew how long the pines had been silent, but nary a bird chirped in the lofty branches overhead; the fog around them was dense, and the ground was impossible to see any farther than twenty paces in any direction. A dozen men could have been waiting by the roadside and none of the party would have known until the charged from their grey hiding spots. “Springs, mind lending some light?”

“Bad idea,” the unicorn replied, eyes shifting through the darkness of the forest floor. The midafternoon sun could do little to penetrate the foliage, and Lunar Guards knew enough about night fighting that any excess light would be a beacon, or perhaps a dinner bell, depending on what lurked just out of sight. “Think whatever’s shut the birds up is human?”

“Doubtful; birds pay men very little mind,” Reman said, hand inching closer to his belt with every word. “Not werewolves, either; we’d have caught scent of them by now.” He did not like not seeing his foes, especially not in an area he didn’t know very well. A heavy thud, following by loping, thunderous steps echoed from the southern roadside, before an inhuman figure burst from the murky fog. For a moment, everyone stood still, unsure of quite what they were looking at; the beast was humanoid, covered in shaggy white fur that blended into the fog, and had crude armor and weapons strapped to its body. In the back of his mind, Reman laughed; nobody had ever heard of an armored troll.

With a bellowing roar, the troll lunged forward, charging the carriage with the gleeful anger only animals were truly capable of; the crude axes strapped to its clawed hands bit into the soft metal of the carriage as it gripped the pony-sized door. It wrenched it from its hold with titanic strength, howling in simple-minded joy as it caught sight of its prey. It ape-like celebration was cut short as a roaring gout of flames spewed from the wrecked aperture, burning off its mangy white fur as its outer flesh turned to ash; it would heal from this damage in time, but for its weakness to fire, Renoir Belmont had scored a decisive blow in this battle’s opening moments. As the monster stumbled in a daze, the vampire launched himself feet-first into the its chest, knocking it the cold, wet ground. The troll roared at the temperature shock, screaming in primitive pain as its body revolted; Renoir ended its pain with a swift stomp to the skull, crushing its brain against the cobbled road.

The vampire hit the ground with a grunt of pain, his body crumbling underneath him as he clutched his gut. A short, thick bit of wood stuck through the leather of his armor, stabbing into his just above the navel; the bolt stunned him like nothing else, no doubt tipped with silver. The guards surrounded him to better shield him from any more crossbow fire that may fly their way; Reman was at the front, using his heavily armored body as a bulwark. Glade grabbed the vampire’s collar in her teeth and hauled him back into the carriage as the first of the human vampire hunters emerged from the fog. He was a hulking nord, hefting a shield in one hand and an axe in the other, plated in steel armor of strange design.

Reman swatted the axe aside with a fist, parried away the shield with a swipe of his sword, and slammed his helmet against the nord’s with enough force to fill the woods with the clanging. The imperial dropped to his knees and uppercutted the slayer’s groin; it was not the most honorable of tactics, but with an unknown number of attackers ready to strike, it made sense to dispatch foes as quickly as possible. He hefted the crumbling man over his shoulder, tossing him away as inertia forced Reman against the next hunter to enter the fray. This one was a woman, and a young one by the look of her face; a crossbow bolt slammed into the side of his helmet, stumbling the spellsword as the woman slammed a hammer into his chest.

Glade shrieked as she fell on the hammer-wielding woman, clutching the dagger she’d had since her first jaunt into Skyrim. The pegasus tackled her foe to the ground with blinding speed, stabbing faster than she thought possible as her anger filled her to the brim. A sudden crash and light filled the roadside meadow as Springs hefted the marksman with the crossbow into the air before flicking his head to the side and hurling the screaming man down the road. The archer landed with a low thud as he bounced along the small stones of the well-used road. The unicorn looked around, wondering when the next target would present itself.

The forest was once again quiet.

~-~-~-~-~

“Hold still,” Fluttershy said as she dabbed a bit of antiseptic on the gash splitting Reman’s face open. The imperial winced at the sudden spike of pain, but remained still; his friend had bigger problem and solved them without so much as a grunt of protest. A fractured eye socket and some bruised ribs were hardly worth bothering over.

“So, Reman, ready to swap shifts now?” Renoir asked, fastening his armor back into place, a bloodied crossbow bolt twirling between his fingers. He stuck his finger back on the harp, silver tip, unsure of what to make of such equipment. “We obviously met professionals today, people armed to deal with the unnatural.”

“Dawnguard, vampire hunters,” Reman replied. “Ran into some on my way to Whiterun; they were a bit less than cooperative when they realized I wasn’t precisely human.” There was no love lost between werewolves and vampires, but that certainly didn’t stop a number of overzealous purifiers from trying to lump them together for easier disposal. “You really know how to sew,” he remarked to Fluttershy as she finished stitching his face; Renoir could not be bothered to mend his wounds, so that had left the veterinarian, the closest thing to a medic after the vampire.

“I wonder how they found us in the fog?” Morrow asked aloud, still a bit surprised at how suddenly the assault began, and how quickly it ended. To him, it didn’t feel done; he felt they had not seen the last of this Dawnguard. “They could find us again, couldn’t they?”

“If that is the case, then we may not have time to rest before continuing,” Celestia declared, trying to look as unfrazzled as she could; she had not expected a group of vampire hunters, a group Celestia would have lauded had they been from her kingdom, to attack innocents. At first it appeared to be a simple mistake, a warbeast let off its reins and unable to be caught again, but when the Dawnguard had arrived in full, they had been just as quick to attack everything that moved as they were to shoot Renoir. “When you feel ready, Renoir, we will resume traveling.”

Falkreath Hold

The night was cloudy, blackening the forest like a mourner’s shroud. For Renoir, the blackness was a hazy blue, as clear as a sunny day was for mortals. His eyes flicked over the treeline, scanning for anything that may have posed a threat; aside from a handful of dangerous, wild animals, there was nothing much to worry about. He cast his gaze to his two companions, Steel Marrow and Fluttershy, and was not surprised to find they were affected by his hunter’s sight. Every major blood vessel glowed within them, giving them a wire frame against the blue background; if he looked down, he would see the same for each of the carriage’s occupants. Such was a vampire’s night vision, and precisely what made them such dangerous foes to hunt after sunset.

“Quite a nice night,” he said, blinking away the blue glow that haunted his eyes. Neither pony asked how he could see to judge the night, and he wasn’t telling; it was as good an arrangement as any. Marrow nudged a bottle to the vampire, who knew what he wanted and obliged, taking the glass flask in his hands and heating it with his pyromancy; apple cider, especially when warm, did wonders on long nights. “I wonder if our prisoners are doing well,” he said, passing the hot drink over to Fluttershy, who was bundled in a blanket that was slowly icing over. As if to answer him, the nord from earlier struggled against the chains binding him to the carriage’s roof; his other compatriot was imperial, and couldn’t handle the cold too easily, so he was stuffed in a luggage compartment held closed by a pair of sleeping werewolves.

“Settle down,” Marrow grunted, shooting the chained man a look he was sure could curdle milk. Honestly, the stallion was sure that if these Dawnguard were professionals, then they should have understood that if they were going to be killed, they would not have been taken captive. “Honestly, you whine like a foal at the dentist.”

“Maybe he’s just scared?” Fluttershy asked, knowing how she would feel in such a situation. If the Dawnguard hunted vampires, then they knew how the disease spread, and that meant they knew the precise danger they were in while captive. Almost as if to spite her, the nord shouted into his cloth gag and struggled against the chains. The touch of cold steel on his throat made him stop; Renoir had a knife pressed to him, and didn’t look like he was in the mood for games.

“Scream, and I’ll do more than gag you,” he said in an even tone that implied hidden anger; it didn’t take the others long to realize it was an act, and that he took no enjoyment from scaring the man. The nord nodded and whimpered a bit, like the fight he had made such a show of had left him. Scowling at the shamelessness of the act, the breton unwrapped the bandana holding the wag of old sack cloth in his prisoner’s mouth. “Now, you attacked this carriage because of me, and my friend inside was attacked by your colleagues a few weeks ago, so you’re going to answer me one thing, and I’ll make sure we let you go at dawn.”

“And what is that, sir?” he asked, spitting out the gag. With his voice, Renoir placed the slayer at maybe seventeen, old enough to be a man in Skyrim, but far too young to have the experience necessary to hunt the undead; he certainly didn’t have the talent for it, so that left a few disturbing thoughts about the Dawnguard swimming about in the vampire’s skull.

“Why the increase in activity?” he simply asked in response. “You’ve attacked a non-vampire and an innocent carriage, for what?” he asked again, this time louder. The young nord tried to make himself as small as he could, cowering as he tried to find the right words.

“There’ve been attacks all over Skyrim, and not just isolated settlements, either.” Now the boy had confidence enough to look Renoir in the eyes as he spoke. “Riften was hit by a few older vampires, right in broad daylight, and we’ve even heard of a few attacks Cyrodiil and High Rock.” Now, the breton was interested; he’d never heard of such activity, least of all from a species that needed stealth and secrecy to survive. “Is it really so hard to blame us when we came across your wagon and saw it covered by strange creatures? We thought they were daedra, or thralls of some kind; is it so wrong that we made a mistake in trying to help the world?”

“Help the world,” Renoir said back, an odd tone entering his voice. “Kid, you’re a warm body, meat to be fed to these animals while your masters try to find the root of the problem.” He spoke from experience, having grown up in a clan devoted to hunting the undead; his own family treated him as such when he proved to have little talent for certain magics or weapons. “At dawn, I want you and your friend gone, and I’d better never see you again, understood?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

_-_-_-_-_

Susanne Tullius tied her fiery hair back as stood in front of the mirror in her room. She’d received word from her mother that her little brother would be arriving in County Kvatch within two weeks, along with her father and grandfather; which meant she would need to do the same. Despite being married into House Aegian, she was still a Tullius through and through, and parading front of a looking glass made her feel a little less like the warrior she had been raised to be.

“Good morning, love,” her husband, Gregor Aegian said, wrapping his arms around her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “It’ll be good to see your family again.”

“Yes, it will,” she said, slipping on an undershirt to protect her skin from the next bits of her wardrobe. Gregor never liked seeing her put it on, not since she’d married into a family of jewelers and merchants, but he realized it was a House Tullius tradition that would not carry into his family, even though they shared blood now. Over the first garments, she slipped on a shirt of mail and buckled the plates of her greaves around her shins. The polished cuirass, thigh guards went on next, followed by the plates for her arms and gauntlets. She ended her dressing with a white, silken tabard bearing a crimson diamond on the front. “Did I ever tell you what I love most about wearing this armor?”

“I don’t think so,” Gregor replied, a bit sad to be cut off from the view of his wife’s body, but more than a bit proud to see her as she was meant to be.

“When I wear this helmet, no one would think this Whitestrake is a woman,” she cheekily said, holding up the winged, full-faced helm her family had own for over two hundred years.

_-_-_-_-_

With dawn came the release of the prisoners, as difficult as it was to let them go after all the trouble they caused. But, they had at least been gracious enough guests to donate their armor and weapons to the Equestrian government as a sign of good faith on behalf of the people of Skyrim. The two surviving Dawnguard slayers had been set free three miles south of Falkreath, where they made a speedy retreat to safety while the Equestrians and their guards made their way to the south, where they would use a mountain pass to cross into Cyrodiil just north of Chorrol. As the adventuring party rested in the morning’s light, they set about their camping duties; for Fluttershy, this meant filling the party’s canteens in a nearby stream.

It was peaceful work that pleasantly reminded her of home, of her cottage outside Ponyville, of all her animal friends. A pang of sadness ran through her, a brief worry the critters had thought she abandoned them, but she pushed the fears aside and focused on the moment, on her part in making sure the trip to Cyrodiil left everypony healthy enough to return to Equestria. She reached for the next skin, and was surprised to see they were all filled; she must have lost track of time recollecting. Still, loss of time or no, the forest was beautiful in a forlorn way; the little patches of light that filtered through the canopy danced with the shadows and played tricks on the eyes, but Fluttershy sensed no malice behind it, no fearsome predator lurking just out of sight. Then, she saw it, or perhaps it saw her and allowed itself to be seen.

A creature of some sort, nearly human looking, carved or grown from roots and branches in a way that made her seem like a plant. Buzzing insects surrounded her and she glowed with an inner light that blended into the green haze of the forest; she was breathtaking to behold, and moved with a fluid grace that was entirely too amazing to be mundane. For the briefest of moments, their eyes locked, and the strange creature vanished into the brush without a trace.

“That was a spriggan,” Renoir said, nodding his head to the area the creature disappeared from. “Guardians of the forest, or so they’re called; they’re usually aggressive, too, so it’s strange it didn’t attack you.”

“Maybe this one was friendly?” she asked, stuffing the canteens in her bags. As much as the spriggan had been a joy to see, there was a schedule to keep, and she felt it best to get on things. Renoir looked a bit puzzled behind the ceramic skull he wore, but nodded his head as if he hadn’t considered such a thing possible. Fluttershy bit her tongue to keep from reminding him that it likely wasn’t the strangest thing to ever happen to him; she just put on her saddlebags and smiled at him. “I bet the others sent you to check up on me, so we probably shouldn’t keep them waiting, right?”

“Perceptive as always,” he replied with a grin of his own, though his gaze never left the treeline. Spriggans were forest spirits, and represented untamed life in its purest form; they were the opposite of the unlife vampires suffered, and were much more in line with werebeasts. As such, Renoir respected the spirits that inhabited the wild reaches of Tamriel, but with that respect came the desire to avoid them entirely, or burn them; he wasn’t too picky about which came first.

They made their way back to the carriage in time to see Bitter Springs and Applejack strap themselves to the front to give the usual drivers a rest. Everyone stood around, checking equipment, keeping watch, and generally doing their assigned jobs. Princess Celestia, however, found the time to cast a curious look the vampire’s way; she didn't even look at Glade and Reman that way, so he felt a bit special in the most sarcastic of ways. Of course, he played the silent victim and bore the death glare he knew was in no way directed at the buttery pegasus who hummed as she distributed the water.

“I’m starting to respect you, Renoir, so please don’t do anything to jeopardize that,” the alicorn said, barely motioning her head in Fluttershy’s direction. “I can tell you two are friends, but I must ask you not feed on her.”

“It’d take a while for me to lose that much control,” he replied, removing the gifted mask and letting the scalding sun touch his face. “I’m not one to take advantage of kindness,” he lied, knowing completely that he had killed numerous people of dubious guilt by exploiting such a human concept. “Whatever you fear happening shall not come to pass, I assure you.”

Celestia looked at him for a moment, sizing him up, and realized she may have misplaced her distrust. Her age had bred contempt within her, contempt for Equestria’s vampires, for herself, and for her failings in both regards. She was a prideful mare, and had been for long enough to see a dozen empires rise and fall, but even she knew when she made a mistake, however long it took to realize it. Begrudgingly, she sighed, and looked the breton in the eyes as an equal for the first time. “When we get a moment, I’d like to explain a few things, and maybe we can reach an understanding.” It wasn’t the apology she knew Renoir deserved, but the vampire seemed about as interested in receiving one at the time as she was in giving it.

“Hop in, everypony,” Applejack called from the carriage, waving her stetson to make herself more visible. “Th’ map here says we can cross the mountains in three days at most, so we’d best get to it.”

The Warhound

Reman huffed as he struggled up the steep incline, the harness digging into his shoulder with every hard-won step as his claws dug into the soil for purchase. The rocky mountainside had proven too steep for the ponies to walk over, not while pulling a carriage in any case, and they needed to conserve their energy if Cyrodiil’s side of the range was just as steep. The wolf glanced up to see Glade and Rainbow Dash circling overhead; with the knowledge of pegasi being hyper-perceptive when in flight, they were the obvious choices to act as scouts while the rest of the group trudged on the ground. With a final grunt, the werewolf pulled the carriage to level ground; he shrugged off the harness and fell over, surprisingly exhausted.

“Boundless energy, huh?” Glade teasingly asked as she touched down next to him, hardly breaking a sweat from her scoutings. Admittedly, flying above mountains was a bit less difficult than pulling a weighed-down carriage for two days, but she had to make sure her forebear ate his words. She snickered as he looked up and shot her a death glare as best his canine face could muster. “I’m joking, you big lug.”

“Oh! Oh! The map says we’re just outside Cyrodiil!” Pinkie excitedly shouted, pointing at the red, dotted line that denoted Skyrim’s southern borders. At the rate they were travelling, they’d be hitting the downhill portion of their travels around sundown, maybe sooner if they didn’t stop much, or found a quicker way to move the wagon over rocks without exerting unicorn magics that were better used in defense. “You’re almost home, Reman!”

At that, the lycan leaped to his feet, still in his beast form, and ran over to her; he would only transform inside the carriage to avoid freezing anything he’d rather keep. Pinkie was, of course, entirely correct; County Chorrol lay just over the horizon, and the city not too far beyond that. He smiled a doggy smile and went inside to change, leaving the party pony with the map and a giant grin plastered on her face. She was excited, energetic in a way she hadn’t been in a long time, like the weight of Skyrim’s crisp air was finally leaving her shoulders and letting her breath again.

“So, this part of the journey should be relatively safe, I take it?” Celestia asked, peeking through the mesh screen to see how close Reman was to coming out.

“Quite the opposite if we don’t do things right,” the imperial replied, stepping out on the carriage’s opposite side. He, like most of the ponies, was dressed in simple, insulated clothing that sacrificed style for functionality; even Rarity only whined a little about the stuffy, hot fabrics, but that was just what she did. “Cyrodiil is no less dangerous than any other province, but where Skyrim’s dangerous were everywhere and mostly obvious, Cyrodiil’s climate lulls travelers into a state of security, then throws them for a loop.”

“More monsters?” Applejack asked, pulling her coat tight against the fireproof bodysuit she wore, though what she thought warranted such dress was beyond the others. Reman nodded to answer her question, waving a hand in a gesture that made it clear to everypony he was searching for the right words.

“Mostly bandits if we stick to the roads; the temperate weather means they have a wider range, and with Cyrodiil’s surplus of old forts…”

“They have plenty of places to nest,” Rainbow Dash finished, looking at the map. Many forts along the major roads were highlighted, but she knew there were easily dozens that were undocumented, either forgotten or written over as their importance dwindled. “Humans can walk, what, five or six miles in an hour? Even if they were loaded down, every fort between Chorrol and the Imperial City is within that range of the main road. If we take it directly, we’d be up to our necks in them.”

“Which is precisely the reason we have you and Glade scouting ahead, so we see trouble before it sees us,” Princess Celestia explained, checking the map for herself. Dash was, unfortunately, correct, and the entire road was more a minefield than a means of transportation. While receiving bad news was not in itself a bad thing, it did nothing to lighten the mood.

“Meaning we’ll at least know there’s nowhere to run before we’re beset from all sides,” Renoir cut in with a smile, but he meant nothing with his gallows humor. “What we need is a defensive edge to make up for our lack of maneuverability.”

“Well, unless you’ve got an army tucked under your leathers, we need to get creative,” Springs said, poking his head through one of the carriage’s windows. He’d taken to sleeping during the day so he could help at night, so it was a bit strange for him to be awake to so close to noon. “We could disguise the carriage with magic while inside each of these zones.”

“If we use our magic to armor the carriage so we can ride down the mountain, we’d be too tired to maintain an invisibility spell long enough to make it through the first hotspot.” Twilight held out her own notes on how much power each unicorn in the group could put out in a single day, and while she had most everything factored in, using both plans was entirely impossible. They’d be exposed taking a longer trip down, but would be unable to hide if they went as quickly as they could; there simply was no middle ground unless Princess Celestia used her own power, and that was reserved for any dragons who thought the carriage made a good meal prospect. “A magical disguise is out of the question, especially if we stand a chance of being swarmed if we used the roads to reach Chorrol.”

“Maybe we can make them think we’re bandits too?” Pinkie asked, looking a bit hopeful. “I have an eyepatch, and we can make peglegs easy.” She smiled at the deviousness of her plan, but very slowly, she realized she had bandits and pirates confused. She didn’t understand how; pirates were much cooler.

“Bandits, no, but we can make them think we’re too tough to hit.” Reman’s realization had begun to dawn on him as soon as Springs mentioned an army. They could not hide away an army, nor make it appear they had an army, but looking like they had connections to an army, or a number of armies, was easy enough to do. “All we need is a House Tullius banner, that way we’d look like a wealthy member of the clan travelling on business.”

“I was under the impression you are exactly that,” Rarity said, not too impressed with the idea. It seemed a bit simple to work, especially given how devious imperials were supposed to be. “The only banner we have is of the Equestrian royal family, and it doesn’t look anything like the ones hanging around Castle Dour.”

“Well, I never had a chance to have my own banner before I left home,” the imperial admitted, faking an embarrassed grin. As the second in line for clan heir, he needed a banner to unite his men under, and when Julius died, the need became much greater. Sadly, he was infected before the first design could be drafted, which was a lengthy enough process without having to change heirs.

“Dibs on making it,” Glade said, sticking a hoof in the air. For once, she wasn’t acting out of a desire to play a joke on Reman, but to see him carrying a banner deserving of a good breeze. “But, how are we going to make it if all we have is the Equestrian banner?”

“Oh, leave that to me,” Rarity interjected, eyes gleaming with visions of gold embroidery and complex heraldry. She had grand dreams for what she could weave into a genuine battle standard; she needed Glade’s help, of course, so with her leading the project, it gave her the best chance of making something striking, something that would endear her works to the Empire. “But, before we begin, are there any conventions we need to adhere to?”

“Glad you asked; I nearly forgot,” the imperial replied, running a hand through his hair as he laughed at his mistake. “Right, it has to include the family crest, and can’t be too grandiose.” He pointed to the intricate patterns on Renoir’s armor as an example. “It should look less like his,” he explained, before pointing to his own suit. “And more like mine.”

Rarity looked from the knotted designs the vampire had woven into his leathers to Reman’s near-blank, Dwemer-made plate, and nearly cried as she realized how little she could work with.

-_-_-_-_-

Princess Celestia was a creature often prone to introspection, a being whose millennia of experience allowed her to learn from lifetimes of mistakes; as she gazed into the book Reman had peered into so often over the last few days, she wondered if she was making another mistake in trusting him with so much. Each page was slathered with necromantic arcana, uncoded and free for any wandering eyes to read; the imperial didn’t even hide the book from her, knowing the laws in Equestria that forbade such study, let alone the experimentation recorded by this Mannimarco monster. Those research notes were the diary of a sick, diseased mind the likes of which she had only seen a few times in her memory.

“We’ve got a moment now, princess,” Renoir whispered, sitting down next to her. Unlike before, he wore no mask, and seemed nearly as human as anyone else, if one looked past the deathly pale skin and swirling eyes.

“I will never get over that you can sit in broad daylight without burning.”

Renoir chuckled and nodded his head, genuinely amused by the princess’s confusion. “If you see a Cyrodiilic vampire, it will not be during the day.” Truthfully, even he had no idea why different clans had different weaknesses; some vampires burned in the sunlight, like those of Vvardenfell, and some could stave off the burning, like the Cyrodiilic strains, but those of Skyrim, either the true or degenerate progeny of the Volkihar line, were only weakened while standing in the light. “The cause if more interesting than the effects, as I’m sure you’ll find Mannimarco believed if you delve deeper into those notes.”

“Your necromancers have interests in vampires?” she asked, her curiosity now piqued. In her experience, it was usually the other way around, but if there were mortal humans who delved into the darker magics, and did not turn into bloodsuckers, then perhaps her first ideas about necromancy were incorrect. “Now you have me interested.”

“Oh no, princess,” the vampire snickered. “You said you had something to tell me, and I intend to find out before I tell you anything that book you’re reading can’t.” His trickery was not malicious, nor was it entirely playful; Celestia found it was simply his way of initiating an agreement between them, a method she had used a number of times herself. “So, if you are willing to tell me, I feel we can both learn from this.”

The alicorn rolled her eyes and smiled, knowing she’d been had. “Alright, alright,” she began, shaking her head as she suppressed a laugh. “Over a thousand years ago, I knew a stallion by the name of Sombra; he was a king, well, technically an emperor, but he held on to his older title.” She closed the necromancer’s book and set it aside so she could better face Renoir, better speak to him as an equal. She had made a similar mistake with Reman, treating him as an underling or an outsider to be kept at a safe distance. “We were, and I’ll not gloss over this, romantically involved for some time, so I knew him better than most.”

“And he betrayed your trust somehow?” Renoir asked, a bit worried he knew where the story was headed.

“Oh, no, he never betrayed my trust,” she admitted, a tone of sadness touching her voice. “In fact, it was his loyalty to me that ruined things. I’m immortal, as I’m sure you may have found out, and Sombra was very much a normal unicorn, albeit a powerful one.” Now the vampire thought he saw where things went, how they played out, and where Celestia’s healthy fear of vampires turned into an obsessive desire to prevent them from preying on the living. “As mortals do, he aged, and as he aged, he looked into ways of prolonging his life. To him, vampirism was the most obvious option, and for a few years, it worked fine.”

“I’m surprised,” Renoir coughed out, thoroughly confused about what went wrong, and how. The little game of back and forth was now a little too far back for his liking, but even if he didn’t like it too much, he enjoyed the banter. “It wasn’t vampirism that drove you two apart was it?”

“No, but it did play a large part,” she confessed, her sorrow evident in her eyes. “We enjoyed spending time in the sun, long walks, picnics, everything we could think of, and when he became a vampire, we were limited to the indoors, or to the night.” It was clear she had been infatuated with Sombra, very dearly if one analyzed her tone. “We could not bear to be kept apart so much, so, rather than look for a cure and return to mortality so we could enjoy the rest of his life together, he sought an alternative through evil magics.”

“Necromancy,” the vampire whispered, and he wasn’t asking a question; he had learned of Equestria’s laws forbidding necromancy, as well as the curious fact that it was the only offense aside from assassinating a princess that warranted death. Celestia only nodded in response, before solemnly continuing her story.

“He experimented on his subjects, using only volunteers first, and I knew of those initial trials.” Her tone suggested she felt nothing but guilt over allowing him to continue after learning of his actions. “Later, he started using criminals in his dungeons, then street urchins, then political enemies, and things just kept spiraling out of control.” She blinked back a few tears as she recounted the last bit, but swallowed the lump rapidly forming in her throat so she could finish. “Eventually, he made himself, body and soul, into a creature of darkness, but he could once more walk in the light.”

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” he said, understanding her fears in full. “And, maybe when we get to Chorrol or the Imperial City, we can lay your worries to rest?” Unsure of what to do, he patted her on the shoulder; he hadn’t dealt with mourning in seventy-odd years, so it was a bit difficult for him.

-_-_-_-_-

“Well, what do you think?” Glade asked, beaming as she saw Reman’s stunned face. She took his silence as approval even before the corners of his mouth turned up. “The gem was originally in the wolf’s mouth, but Rarity figured it would give the wrong message.”

“She was right,” the imperial replied, a bit flattered if he was honest. He finally had his banner, and it kept with his family’s traditions. Emblazoned on the white cloth was a midnight black wolf wearing a spiked war-collar clasped with a red diamond, his family’s symbol. Anyone who looked at the standard would know a scion of House Tullius was on the move. Glade, seeing his appreciation, nuzzled against him and smiled. “Now that we have our protection ready, let’s round everyone up; we’re rolling down this mountainside in two hours.”

Tragic Slip

County Chorrol took up the majority of the Colovian Highlands, making it a hilly, mountainous region that bordered both Hammerfell and Skyrim; it boasted few areas for large farms, dense woodlands, and plentiful ore reserves. If one ignored the monsters in the woods, the bandits camps, and stink of roadside manure, it could be quite pleasant. For all its serenity, broken only by the endless games of predator and prey, the peaceful birdsong ended as one left the trees and stepped onto the stone of the mountains. The regions north and west or Chorrol, where the soil and air were thin, were mostly uninhabited; the borders between Cyrodiil, Hammerfell, and Skyrim were ill-defined there, full of territory all three provinces claimed, but did not use.

The shared mountain range was crisscrossed with hundreds of paths beaten into the ground over countless centuries; few of them received much traffic aside from the occasional merchant or intrepid adventurer, and fewer still bore people of importance along. That spring day, a path that ran mostly downhill carried twelve ponies, two werewolves, a vampire, and an immortal along their way, neatly wrapped in a wooden box that careened over the meaningless, drawn borders faster than any horse-drawn carriage had a right to. Wreathed in a magical barrier, the wagon smashed through brush, low-hanging tree branches, and small boulders alike as a new banner fluttered in the wind. A noble son of House Tullius entered his homeland with a show worthy of his ancestors.

Rainbow Dash and Summer Glade flew ahead of the carriage, tethered to each other and their friends by a length of strong rope. Together, they provided propulsion when inertia failed, provided direction where the road turned suddenly. Down below, Renoir Belmont and Reman Tullius manned a toothed steering wheel Celestia had brought along, commandeered from an old airship that had belonged to her for a number of years. At the speeds they traveled, it took their combined, unnatural might to keep control, as well as Bitter Springs to put them back on all four wheels whenever the pegasi forgot to warn them of a sharp turn. Behind the trio, Twilight Sparkle maintained the shield through every impact it sustained, powered by her desire to learn, to experience, everything Cyrodiil had to offer a mage like herself. Together, the six adventurers guided their journey relatively safely.

Rainbow flicked a hoof to her right, and the two humans steered the carriage in turn, popping up on two wheels as the massive carriage won a fight against gravity, only to be slammed back down as the need for stability outweighed nature’s desires. Looking ahead, the two fliers slowed and descended; this meant they were approaching flat land, the forests and grasslands Reman had described in detail. The laws of motion took hold and the gilded carriage trudged to a slow stop right as they entered what maps called County Chorrol, even if some of the more zealous locals said the border was much farther than that.

The imperial sniffed the air, almost unbelieving he was finally in his homeland once more; a scent on the breeze stirred his blood, a mixture of soil and wildflowers native to Colovia, smells he’d spent his childhood around. For Glade, she could only feel the vestigial nostalgia her shared bloodline allowed her; for a brief moment, she wondered if Reman would feel the same in Zenammu’s home, or even if it carried to her as well. “Glad to be home, big guy?” she asked, nudging his shoulder. For once, the man was out of his armor and wore open, breathable clothing that allowed him a full range of motion, and the added bonus of being able to sweat without becoming a beacon of stink.

“More than you know,” he replied, pulling her close. More than a small part of him wished to throw off his boots and feel Cyrodiil beneath his bare feet once more, but there were more important things to do than sate some urge.

“It’s surprisingly humid,” Springs said, looking a bit peaked under the bright sun. He was entirely correct; the soil was soft from a recent rain, and the air was muggy and sticky, if prettied up by floral scents. “We aren’t too far north in Cyrodiil, are we?”

“We’re around the middle, actually,” the imperial replied, shrugging. Personally, he loved the warmth, the wetness that clinged to the skin after a spring rain; imperials, like redguards, were made for the heat, not the bitter cold of Skyrim. “It gets a bit more mild around the Heartlands, but gets worse nearer to the coasts and Elsweyr.” Reman paused for a moment to look at his banner; he was quite fond of it, for all the things it implied. “In case you get to missing Skyrim, Bruma is to the far north, and it’s more nord than imperial.”

“I think we’ve seen enough of Skyrim for a while,” Twilight joked, hopping down from her perch. In truth, she was happy to be away from the snowy province, but at the same time, she felt there was more than a little unfinished business to attend to. She yawned as she reached the shade of a nearby tree, before sitting down to rest. “Magic takes a lot out of a unicorn, how about we stop for lunch before we head on?”

“Did somepony say lunch?” Pinkie shouted, sticking her head through a window. On her head was a little bundle of sweet smelling pastries. “These were meant to be cookies, but something went wrong, so now we have little cakes instead!”

“Yeah, I could eat,” Rainbow Dash agreed; her stomach growled in agreement as the smell of the cakes hit her nose. What she needed was calories, and sweets were a great way of getting them. “There’s a settlement just over the horizon, so we can pig out and resupply tomorrow.”

_-_-_-_-_

The merchant fell to his knees and whimpered; his guards, drivers, and assistants were either dead or long gone. This road was meant to be safe, regularly patrolled by the legion, but even in broad daylight, his caravan had been attacked; even as he cowered under the gaze of two brigands, his wares were thrown about. The bandits were professionals, skipping the heavier things for inconspicuous and lightweight items; they were incredibly organized in their thefts, snatching spices and precious stones before coming back for larger things. Everything they stole was tossed into small carts, even the caravan’s rations, and the trader knew he would be left with nothing of real worth when they were done.

He tried in vain to pull away as two of the bandits grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet; he went limp, but the dragged him in front of his personal carriage. The bandits’ leader was a scarred redguard clad in steel armor; he did not look like a pleasant sort, and the way he scowled would have scared the bladder control out of the merchant had he not lost it minutes before. “Please don’t hurt me,” the trader begged, lowering his head in submission. “I won’t tell anyone about this!”

“Keep your damn voice down!” one of the bandits in the trees grunted while looking off into the distance. “We got a banner a ways off, but you never know if they got scouts.” The lithe man hopped down from his perch nearly silently before sauntering over to his leader. “Now, you’re gonna keep your voice down while he boss decides what happens next.”

_-_-_-_-_

Lunch turned into an early dinner as the group relaxed in the shade; it was a rare moment when everyone was free of armor or protective clothing. Whether they relaxed in the sun or shade, they were at peace for the time being. The was no violence, no death, and nothing at all wrong with the world for those few hours; storytelling, magic lessons, and casual banter ruled the afternoon alongside full bellies and tired eyes. Fluttershy, Glade, and Rainbow found common ground as they sunned on a nearby hill; Applejack and Pinkie Pie used a nearby stream to clean themselves and swim, though not before checking for slaughterfish; Twilight convinced Rarity to sit in on one of her lessons, and both unicorns sat in rapt attention as Reman explained the process of using Alteration magic to turn iron into silver and then into gold. Princess Celestia sat nearby, flanked by her guards and the carriage drivers, happy to see Reman was not using a legal loophole to teach Twilight forbidden magic and instead focusing on more specialized, practical uses of spellcraft.

Renoir, as was his prerogative, was alone in the forest, searching for useful plants; he had plenty enough after a couple hours of foraging, but it never hurt to have a few extra reagents on hand. He learned a bit of chemistry while in Equestria, and wondered if he could use a flask and some poison or acid as a makeshift grenade, as the book had called it; if he wished to experiment, he needed a surplus of toxins, and the only way to get ahold of that would be personal collection. He was in a bit of a rush, and while he had no wish to miss anything potent, he knew he was expected back soon, and he wasted no time in making sure ingredients were harvested in a way that left the source unharmed. He reached under a boulder to grab a sample of stinkhorn when a particular smell hit his nose.

There was blood in the air, human, spilled within the past few hours; it set an edge to his appetite, and he wondered if she should investigate or return to the others. It was a lot of blood and it was possible whoever it belonged too was dead, but there was a chance for multiple victims with severe injuries that needed immediate attention. The logical part of his mind warned of a trap, but the part that had been trained as a healer said to offer his aid. He shook his head, stuffing the mushroom cap into his satchel as he found the direction the scent wafted from; there was a possibility he would grow to regret this, but he did not care overmuch. The vampire hurried along as quickly and quietly as he could; the closer he got, the greater the stench became, until it eclipsed every other scent in the area.

Eventually, he found the grisly scene: a dozen men and women, all dead, goods scattered around like a giant child threw a tantrum, and enough blood to lend credibility to a serious engagement. This was a merchant caravan, sacked by bandits, and professional ones if the meticulous nature of their raid was anything to go by. There were fewer signs of a struggle as he approached the middlemost carriage, where the owner and most valuable items were kept. There was a slight rustle inside, something larger than a dog, but quite enough to only be human. If there was a survivor, he or she needed help, and thinking nothing of the consequences, Renoir jammed his knife under the latch on the door.

A fat man tumbled out as the door flew open; he was the very image of opulence, dressed in heavy furs that seemed at odds with the bandits’ motives, but devoid of all jewelry, despite the piercing holes in his ears and dents on his fingers from wearing too many rings. Unpleasant smells hit the vampire’s nose as he realized why they left the clothes, but soiled or not, the merchant was a survivor of a brutal and efficient bandit attack. Renoir pulled the portly peddler to his feet, only to gasp as he fell down once more, screaming into a cloth gag he had not seen at first. The merchant's legs were broken at the knee, his arms were bound behind his back, and he was gagged to keep him from screaming; he must have cooperated enough for the bandits to allow him to live, but they certainly did him no favors in helping his odds of survival.

Tossing the man over his shoulder, careful not to smear anything over his armor, Renoir trudged up the road.

_-_-_-_-_

Not two hours later, the caravan was made into a campsite, the bodies were bagged and placed in a separate wagon several yards from the main campsite, and the merchant was drugged into a coma. The carriages served as a protective ring around their wagon, and had been stripped of most of their remaining goods; the trader had insisted they be compensated for saving his life, and no one turned down the prospect of luxury goods. At first light tomorrow, they would get the man to Chorrol, but for the time being, they hunkered down and pondered what to do.

“What if they come back?” Fluttershy asked in a hushed whisper as she placed more kindling into the firepit. It was nearly sundown, and while they were only a dozen or so miles from the nearest settlement.

“They already hit this place once,” Springs consoled as best he could. The stallion hugged the Element bearer before he continued. “Hitting the same place twice makes no sense if they already have everything they need.”

“No, they don’t,” Reman grunted, nodding his head over to the wagon they stored excess goods in. He was still unarmored, but had his sword at his hip again, so he was relaxed enough to speak freely. “They were in a rush; something must have had them spooked enough to clear out without the armors.” Despite the frequency one saw people wearing suits of metal, non-organic armor was expensive to buy and difficult to make properly, and there was a lot of iron and steel laying around. “The weapons are all taken, but with how much the average breastplate weighs, they couldn’t get away quickly if they took everything.”

There were cart tracks for hauling things,” Steel Marrow said in agreement. They probably could have taken everything, but stopped to deal with the merchant.”

“There is no need to scare everypony,” Celestia scolded, “and even if they did not, why would they come back if they see others here?” She was in no mood to allow her little ponies to sleep in fear, and threw tact out the proverbial window.

“SIlence,” Twilight answered, hating herself for knowing it to be true. Knowledge was better than solace, in any event; peaceful rest would do them no good if bandits sneaked into their camp, and there were only so many of them against an unknown number of robbers. “If we saw this, then we know about the attack, and we can tell somepony.”

“Houses Redding and Trevinici would definitely step in if this came to light,” the imperial added, looking into the shadows of the woods for any threat. Neither clan could take the shame of allowing such an outfit to operate for as long as this one had. They were led by an experienced veteran, if nothing else, and that made them a cunning, dangerous foe in the dark.

“Then we speak to authorities in the morning,” the princess resolved, allowing no arguments. She did not like the idea of doing battle so soon, especially not when it had the chance of attracting a noble clan’s attention. “They can search the forest for them and be done with it.”

“While the bandits get a warning and flee,” Reman argued. The others had since taken notice, and many of them looked on as the two defended their positions. “I’m not saying we fight, but we should at least find out where they are hiding.”

“You speak as thought you know their every move.”

“The first battle I ever led men in was against an outfit like this. They’re professionals, and they don’t do things by half.” The imperial leaned forward and looked the alicorn in the eyes. “This is not a matter of if they come back, but of when.”

“As much as I dislike agreeing with Reman, he may be right,” Renoir said as he poured water into a flask of plant extract. It was his first attempt at a throwing weapon, and so far seemed like it would work. “We need to at least find their hideout. No need for a full-on attack, but Clan Belmont used to keep vampires holed up while reinforcements arrived. One or two of us could stay in the forest and harass them too much for them to leave while the Chorrol guard moves in to finish the job.”

“Now you’re just arguing for the sake of arguing.” Celestia was not at all pleased by the turn of events. She did not have either human pegged as a fool, but even then, they were ready to rush off towards danger they could avoid. Even she herself would only send well-equipped soldiers to deal with a threat like this, and they were sorely lacking in that department all around. “Do you even have a plan for this madness?”

“Of course,” Reman said with a sarcastic smile. “Despite what you may think, I take no pleasure in this idea, but this simply must be done or we risk not only our lives but the lives of anyone using this road.” He shivered a bit at the thought of what he was doing, especially when he reminded himself of his previous attempt at Conjuration magic. “Twilight, if you can go against your teacher’s wishes, I’d like your help on this; it’ll be good practice, if a bit unsavory.”

The unicorn in question looked to the princess, silently asking if it was okay to want to say yes. She loved Celestia like a second mother, and in many ways, she was, but every child needed to grow from their parents, and this magic was similar to her friendship studies in that regard. Hesitantly, the older mare nodded, almost sad having to say yes, letting Twilight pursue her own goals in a land of different ideals and laws. The purple pony smiled in return, making a mental not to make it up to her mentor later. “Just tell me what we need to do.”

“We’re going to follow Mannimarco’s notes and perform some deep magic to give us an edge.”

Author's Note

I'm unsure if I should put graphic gore in the next chapter or leave it about as gory as Renoir's dissection.

Inmortui

Author's Note

Sorry for the delay, trouble on the home front, couldn't find my motivation to write this story for a good while.
This chapter was meant to be longer, and I regret that I cannot include the fight scene in this update.
I know you lot have been waiting, and you have my sincerest apologies.
I'll try to so better for the next update.

Inmortui

Princess Celestia knew carrion birds fed by picking at the softest tissues of a corpse, knowing they were the easiest to eat. She had assumed necromancers worked in similar ways, choosing a corpse they felt was in the best condition for their needs; skeletonized remains turned into minions while putrefied tissue was cleaned down to the bones as it was too weak to use, and fresh corpses were turned into sturdier ghouls and zombies. The art of turning multiple corpses into a skaab, insofar as one could consider it an art, was on the whole different from what she had seen Sombra do a thousand years prior. She watched in strange disgust as Twilight worked alongside the humans in their dark craft, and briefly wondered if they told the merchant what they were doing to his former guards.

Their theatre was hidden from the others by a thick, white sheet draped from three wagons; they needed to hide their work from sight at the very least, lest they risk alienating their pony friends. There were three makeshift gurneys erected in the middle of the space, each with two corpses laid out on them; Celestia sat in one corner while the three went about their magic. Twilight spent her time switching between observing Reman and Renoir, an apprentice dividing her studies between two tutors. The humans were precise in their ministrations, slicing meat from bone, careful to keep muscle groups intact where they could. They looked over every bone for fractures before setting them aside and continuing on; good bones were sorted based on type while undesirables were tossed into a pile to be properly disposed of. They pieced together a ribcage and reinforced it with leather straps; organs and fat were superfluous and dumped in waterproof bags.

The first part of the procedure to really seem out of place was Renoir producing a string of glass vials; he looped one end of the twine around the portion of spine that would become the skaab’s neck before tying the other end to a false rib. Next, Twilight moved the shoulder bones into place while Reman secured them; the skull was the next bit, flayed to give them access to the teeth. The lower jaw was pinned into place before being wired shut; biting was unnecessary for its intended purpose, and as such would be inhibited. The pelvis and spine were from the same donor, and as such they moved onto popping the femurs into place and could skip the tedious work of fusing bones. “Bring the plates over, Twilight,” Reman said; he and Renoir had not bothered covering their faces to prevent possible disease, but had not mocked their unicorn assistant’s decision to don a mask.

“Of course,” she replied, levitating a small iron cuirass over; it was, perhaps, the size of Renoir’s bare torso, leaving it fairly small. With the snaps of a few buckles, the armor was secured over the ribs. Muscle was next, picked from the bulkiest of the guards, each bundle sutured together according to Renoir’s instruction. The vampire would go over the sutures once more after every limb was attached. They slid the muscles over the arms and hips before placing the abdominals; they pulled them taut to affect a look of life. The forearms and shins had not been separated from their ends, and handled the issues of hands and feet quite nicely. “Um, explain why we made the stomach look like it was alive if the skin if going to be mismatched and splotchy?”

“We’re going to cover the skin in campfire ash to make it look uniform,” Reman explained, pulling a bundle of peeled, human hide to the skaab’s table. “When we get it put together, we send it off to track the bandits, find their hideout, and assess the situation.”

“And I’m to help with the binding ritual?” Twilight asked, looking a bit worried. This wasn't some practice session meant to exhaust her magicka reserves and force them to expand; binding the soul of one person into a skaab to control it was difficult, and with their inexperience and Renoir’s lack of skill at Conjuration, they would need to tap beyond their reserves to get everything right.

“You’re free to say no; there’s no need for you to feel pressured into this,” the imperial said, setting his tools down. He understood her fears, and knew that her emotions and ambitions worked against one another. Budding magi were some of the toughest and easiest people to sway, and Reman had no desire for any daedra to take hold of the unicorn; he rather liked her being the impartial mediator they needed to help Celestia understand humans, and vice versa.

“And if Mora returns?” she continued, still worried, and with good reason. She did not believe she could suffer a second probing, not when a small part of her mind warned it would be worse the second time.

“Then we break the spell and stop these efforts,” Renoir consoled, tossing a labelled bag of organs into the corpse wagon. Of the three of them, he was the most well-versed in the use of Tamriellic magic, and could snap them out of spellcasting if need be. “If it will help you rest at ease, Reman and I can take this from here,” he said, trying not to offend her.

The purple unicorn shook her head, but smiled. “I can’t ask you to pick up my slack; this shouldn’t be too bad if I have friends watching out for me.” She had her fears, but resolved not to allow them reign over her mind. For the rest of the night, she was not a student of the magic of friendship, and instead she was a mage-apprentice of Tamriel, and she could bear the heavens upon her shoulders if she must. “Now, we must mend the tendons before we can continue, yes?”

“Precisely right, Twilight,” the breton said, nodding to the table where the unfinished horror lay. The vampire began casting his healing magic, and the golden light slowly turned into a dark, sicklier shade as he changed it’s specifications to work on dead flesh. He took one line of dense fiber from the thigh muscle and bonded it to the bone of the shin like a weld; he then bent the limb to see if it held up properly. Satisfied, he motioned for Remain to join in, and Twilight followed his lead.

A bitter taste filtered into the air, unlike the semisweet taste of raw magicka being shaped, as Celestia watched the imperial and her student weave their wills alongside the undead medic. Necrotic tissue dissolved and melded together, creating a poor, degenerate facsimile of how they were in life, stitched with parts of other humans. Renoir sewed and welded while Reman forced muscle to move, testing his friend’s bonds while double checking the musculature of their creation; Twilight, unable to take a specialized task onto her own shoulders, mimicked one or the other, learning by experience rather than practice. The aura surrounding her horn wafted and wavered like a flickering candle flame or heat of stone on a hot day, never constant and ever changing in intensity and shade, as though her mind could not bend her magic to task.

Twilight struggled to find focus for a few moments, unwilling to open her mind beyond her primary reserves and delve into what lurked beyond the surface, a sea of magic with a predator she knew waited for her. She was afraid, and that fear was necessary for survival, but magic was just another facet of science, and science was not without risks. With a deep breath, she cleared her thoughts, and dived into her reserves, sure in her knowledge that there was no such thing as a painless lesson. The magicka flowing from her horn turned a deep purple as she locked onto Reman’s signature, copying his magic’s effects as she joined him in full. There was no pain, no probing tentacle scouring her thoughts for a morsel of information, and she surrendered fully to the ecstasy of magical release.

The skaab’s legs and arms were fully assembled, and struggled against their bonds; for a moment, the princess’s disgust outweighed her knowledge of the task’s necessity, and she nearly stopped the ritual. She knew the skaab’s constituent parts did not feel pain, as there was no connection to the brain or even much of a nervous system, but part of her felt the partial-revival was cruel. Everything up until the torso worked properly, but the muscle had trouble binding to the iron, making every contraction move most of the meat across the breastplate rather than tighten in a localized area.

“Should have figured that was too good of an idea to work,” Reman sighed, pulling away from the mismatched corpse. “I think some nails will work, but it’s a bit of a longshot.”

“Why in Equestria are you making this thing look alive if you’ll only be using it once?” the princess asked, moving aside so the imperial could reach a box of carpentry supplies; she didn’t question why there were carpentry supplies already boxed and ready to go in case they were needed, sure she did not want to know the answer in any event.

“Because it never hurts to have a durable bodyguard,” Renoir answered, done suturing the tendons together. The vampire reached for the roll of skin right as his colleague returned with a few nails and a heavy hammer.

“Hence why we’re making one skaab and not reviving each corpse as a zombie,” Reman finished. He was surprised by how easily the nails penetrated the armor, and had to take care not to damage the vials suspended behind the ribs. The imperial hammered another nail a few inches lower; he followed that with a jolt of magic to test how the pins aided the muscle movement. He repeated the process until satisfied with the chest; it was not the living anatomy he would have liked, but not much better was to be expected from his first attempt at stitching. “We’ll get more use out of one skaab than we would from ten zombies.”

“I’m not sure I want to know how you know how much use ten zombies are,” the alicorn dryly replied. She looked on as portions of skin were placed and sutured on, keeping in line with where they came from on the donor bodies. The thing didn’t even look remotely alive, least of all when in motion, and she was rapidly beginning to think Reman only insisted on making as close to lifelike as possible to unnerve onlookers even more; it certainly seemed like something he would do.

“Wow, you’re ugly,” Reman said, looking over the abomination. Twilight and Renoir were busy coating its skin in campfire ash while it gained full control of itself. It tracked the imperial’s finger and listened intently to what he said, but had no conscious mind to speak of: if the soul of one of the guards was bound into it, he or she did not make any move that suggested discomfort. A brief shiver ran down Celestia’s spine as she wondered if that was the real reason behind wiring the jaw shut. “Now, find the men who killed you.”

_-_-_-_-_

Renoir stared into the inky, cloudy night, fully able to see the ruined fort in daytime detail. The circulatory systems of the tower’s sentries were lit like twinkling stars as he scanned over them; he saw Reman hiding near the western wall, and Twilight crouching under some dense brush. The vampire himself was perched in a tree, but he was not the only undead about; the skaab heeded its masters order to stay put until given the command. They would not move while the ponies were in danger; Rainbow Dash was set to fly over and serve as the signal of the group’s safety.

Resistance was mild, though seemed to comprise the entirety of the outfit; there were only about eight bandits above ground at any given time. While Renoir could see their lifeblood, he could not discern individuals very well, so their actual number was a mystery; while he had no doubts they could handle eight bandits, any more would prove problematic, especially if Twilight had a chance of cracking under the pressure. He cast a glance over the the purple mare and pondered just how much of a risk she posed if she lost control. The vampire steadied himself with thoughts of the night’s plan; this was not an extermination, but a harassment meant to keep them pinned in place until guards could arrive to deal with them.

Rainbow Dash flew overhead, leaving her namesake in her wake as she crossed the sky; purple burst of magic filled the air courtesy of Twilight. Quietly, the vampire nocked an arrow and grinned as he found a target within his range. He loosed it a little ahead of his mark, allowing him to walk into death; from his distance, Renoir saw the arrow pierced the target’s gut, and heard him shout as he tumbled from the wall. Reman unleashed his abomination just as the camp came alive. The three mages were against an unknown number of enemies, and they had to hold out until help could arrive. They would give it their very best.

Splicing

Author's Note

It's been, what, a month-ish since my last update?
The good news is I'm bursting at the seams with ideas now.

Splicing

Twilight’s purple flare lit up the sky, illuminating the forest and highlighting every brigand outside the fort’s walls. The little unicorn creeped along, half-hidden by the dense brush, as she watched the humans make war; she knew it was expected of her to join in once the main camp had been engaged, but until then, she was to provide emergency support and light. Reman and Renoir skulked in the sides of the clearing, using the distraction the skaab provided to sneak unnoticed. It did not take long for the reprisal to come, a few archers firing at the loping abomination in a vain attempt to kill it. One of the braver fighters hopped over a low barrier and charged, eyes wide and teeth bared as he ran. He held an axe in his hands, the same sort Twilight had seen warriors heft with ease; she realized whoever he was, he was young.

The skaab had no such worries as it swung, fingers bent into talons; she heard a pained yelp as the wind was knocked from the boy’s chest, a heart-wrenching sound that changed as the monster’s nails dug into his skin. She nearly leaped from her position to save him as the zombie threw him to the ground, but she did nothing; she watched as the young one flinched with every hit, shuddering under the force of impact until there was no reflex. Even as others screamed and burned, or died under force of arms, she could not take her eyes off the still body as the skaab skulked away. It was worse than Twilight’s own kill; her mind raced as she puzzled over why there was a boy in this place, why he had been thrown in with this lot of bandits.

Renoir pulled a man over the lip of a rampart before pulling himself over the rim as Reman and the skaab cleared the ground. The vampire whistled, the all-clear signal for Twilight to move in; there were few people in the camp, perhaps six on the surface if one counted the archers on the walls. It was as safe as it could be, for the time being; the bandits had been caught by surprise and fled underground, so until they regrouped and planned to remove the magi, they were as good as routed. The purple unicorn felt it had gone over a bit too smoothly, too cleanly, for a such a rushed job. She stood by the campfire and shivered as Reman sat down on a bedroll next to her. It was cold enough for her breath to fog in the air, but as wrapped as she and the humans were, it had little effect.

Renoir joined them soon after, unmasked with his pale skin shining in the firelight. He was devoid of his usual armor, and like Reman had adopted simple, dark garb suited to their clandestine actions. The vampire let out a deep sigh as he sat down; Twilight noticed his breath left no trail, as cold as he naturally was. It was far too quiet for her liking. She opened her mouth to speak, anything to break the silence, only for Renoir to hold up a finger. He made a chopping motion over his voicebox before pointing towards a ruined section of wall; he pointed to his eyes, then the wall, before repeating the gesture while focusing on his ears instead of eyes. Somepony was listening in on them? Watching?

Twilight focused on the section the vampire pointed to, squinting as she tried to ignore shadows that gave her companion no trouble. There was a pattern in the masonry, a square section of bricks that made a defined opening, a darker spot in the darkness. In a flash of understanding she realized it was a vent to allow air into the fort; it was a primitive method, using the air duct to listen to the surface, but it was undoubtedly effective if the adventurers knew and respected it. A cold pang ran through her gut as she realized they may have been on both sides of this setup, but she remained silent, even as the skaab took a sudden interest in the vent, hobbling over to it like a crippled minotaur. A subduing gesture from Reman was all that kept it from rummaging through the dank little hole; he lacked his spells, but his control suffered little from lack of practice.

Renoir was the only one able to sit still for very long, looking at his friends as they rummaged around the campsite. Already they found a few basic things that gave them an indication of how many outlaws operated from this fortress: medical supplies, bedrolls, dried rations, and parcels of loot divided up for eighteen people. A journal seemed to hint at them having a hedge wizard - probably the owner of said healing supplies - who appeared to have the leader’s ear, much to the writer’s chagrin. The vampire nearly jumped as Reman tossed a bag his way; by weight and sound, it was full of small, metal instruments. The two shared a smile as Renoir unrolled it, revealing the delicate, shiny-sharp tools snuggled within; they were not the best ever made, far from it, but they would be fine for anything save extremely delicate work. He could not help but notice that Reman had secured another such bag for himself and Twilight; whoever ended up dead during the raid that procured these no longer needed them, and by law they belonged to whomever took them from the bandits.

There was precious little left that was of any value to them on the surface, aside from gold left in the loot parcels, but everything else must have been kept down below, behind the heavy, secure doors. Twilight had the power to break down those doors, but it was hardly worth it when so outnumbered; as antsy as they were, they settled in for the long haul. Reman plopped down next to the fire sent the skaab to the door to await further command; it occupied its simple mind by pawing at the ground before falling into torpor.

_-_-_-_-_

Twilight experienced her first Cyrodiilic sunrise on the cold, hard ground of County Chorrol. It was not her most luxurious morning; she was tired, cold, hungry, and had spent most of the night wide awake and worried about bandits rushing from underground to attack in the haze. She looked over to see Reman awake and staring at the small path that led to the main road; he looked a bit curious, but not frightened. Quickly, she looked, and failed to see what had his attention until she heard the hoofbeats in the distance and realized there were humans approaching. She was giddy with excitement at the prospect of handing over the situation to the proper authorities, a mood she kept until she saw the proper authorities skulking in the brush along the path, bows drawn and ready. They wore light armor, mail of chains or rings, covered in a dark blue, quilted tabard with a tree patterned into the fabric. Women and men with stern faces were circled around them, moving almost silently as they took position; the hoofbeats had grown closer, and Twilight had sense enough to realize they were important.

The beats died down just as the sources came into view; two carriages came around the bend: a stark, spartan workhorse of a wagon, and Princess Celestia’s choice of group transportation. The soldiers burst from the undergrowth in perfect time as the horses stopped, completely surrounding the camp in the time it took Twilight to flinch. The armored warriors ignored her and her friends as they set up outside the fort’s heavy, wooden doors; Reman and Renoir stood and moved to meet them, walking slowly so as not to threaten anyone. “The zombie is full of poison, so put on masks if you have them because it explodes if someone damages it enough,” the imperial said, gesturing to the arrow sticking through the skaab’s left cheek.

The spartan carriage’s door swung open just as he finished speaking; a man dressed in fine clothes stepped out, sword on his hip, and inspected the soldiers before him. “Your friends found us just outside of Chorrol, and here we are,” he said in an accent Twilight could not place, but she noticed Reman perk up a bit. “Quite fortunate, given the trouble these bandits have been giving us.”

“Happy to be of service”, Renoir replied, tying a cloth around his mouth; it was all he could really do to look human, and those around him followed suit. He had not been around this many professional soldiers in quite a while, and it was a refreshing change for him to see truly disciplined ranks, even if it was a bit of an insult for them to be led by a noble rather than an experienced warrior. At least, he assumed the finely dressed man was not a warrior, judging by the way he carried himself. “I trust there were no issues with our friends?”

“Hardly,” the man laughed, “I had some worries at first, but they are hardly the strangest sight in Cyrodiil.” He stepped away from the carriage as a second figure stepped out. Clad in gleaming armor, he was taller than the noble, taller than Renoir and Reman, and armed for serious battle. “I am Gregor Aegian, and this is my wife, Susanne Tullius.”

“Forgive my manners, please.” The vampire bowed and gestured to himself. “I am Renoir Belmont,” he explained before waving an arm towards the purple pony by the fire, “and this is Twilight Sparkle.”

“A pleasure,” she squeaked out as Susanne walked towards them. The unicorn looked over to Reman, only to find him still facing the door, frozen in place. He pulled the skaab off its knees and awakened it before turning, face down a bit and mask on, but he did not look overly scared. She was unsure if she was meant to introduce him, if there was some custom she did not know of, so she smiled shyly and waited. With a wave of his hand, the imperial sent his abomination to wait by the fire, eyes wrinkling as he smiled beneath his makeshift respirator.

“You know, Gregor, it’s been a very long time since we last met,” he said, strutting towards the pair from the spartan carriage. “I do hope you’ll forgive me for not introducing myself sooner, but you must understand the principle of the matter.” He came to a stop just before the nobleman and the knight. “And sorry for the mask, but that zombie’s chest cavity is full of poison, like I said to the guards, so precautions had to be taken.”

“I can’t say I recall meeting a man with yellow eyes,” Gregor replied, sizing up the half-feral man before him. “No offense, but the color is rare enough that I believe I would remember you.” He was a little tall for an imperial, but his accent hinted at Colovia, so that was to be expected; aside from the eyes, there was nothing remarkable about the mystery man. “A jeweler for my House? Perhaps a merchant one of my cousins works with?”

“Gregor, I am offended,” the knight said in a voice that did not at all match the armor she wore. “My brother returns from the dead, and you do not recognize him?” She grunted and pulled off her helmet, entirely uncomfortable having her head covered when her family was so close again. “Guardsmen, this is your day, do not wait for us,” Susanne shouted to the soldiers in blue. “Come, Reman, uncover your face and let us go, Mother will be happy to see you again.”

“I’d love to see her again, everyone, but we’ve an appointment with the Emperor,” the werewolf said, pulling the cloth from his face and motioning for Twilight and Renoir to come along.

“The Katariah is not due back in Anvil for another week,” Gregor interjected, trying to be helpful. When Susanne had revealed the scruffy warrior’s identity, memories came rushing back; he and Reman - and Uriel - never agreed on much, given their differences in upbringing, but they knew efficiency when they saw it. For imperials, especially the gentry, business and warfare were not dissimilar. “A quick stop to the Tullius holdings would be good for everyone, I’d say.”

Ahead of them, the door to Celestia’s transport opened, and a little white head popped out, looking a bit curious. “Is everything alright?” Glade asked, before eyeing the now obviously feminine Susanne; she actually noticed a family resemblance rather quickly, and it wasn’t long until she realized the Tullius brood favored their mother in the looks department. “What are they feeding you?” she joked, before laying her ears flat, worrying she may have offended somepony.

Susanne chuckled at her, much to the pegasus’s relief. The woman was head and shoulders taller than anybody around, breaking the usual dimorphism found in humans, and especially impressive when the average imperial woman was a head shorter than the average man. Behind the humans, there was a clammer as the doors were forced open and the Chorrol guards burst into the ruins. “Reman,” Susanne began, turning to face her brother. “Please get rid of the zombie before we depart; the stench of dead meat is hard to clean out.”

“Yes, please,” Princess Celestia grunted in an entirely undignified manner; she was the very image of Equestrian class and elegance, but she had an ever-shortening tolerance for Cyrodiilic shenanigans.

“Why did you not send ahead that you were on a diplomatic mission?” Susanne asked, as if remembering that was a valid point; she knew any correspondence from her brother would be dismissed as petty insults from an enemy who did not mind speaking ill of the dead. She took a brief moment to wonder if the rest of her family knew of Reman’s survival, but knew that must have been the case. The question remained: why only now come out of hiding, wherever he had gone? She could smell the stink of daedric influence on him, as well as the horse with the blue mane; with the vampire called Renoir, she saw that her little brother had thrown his lot in with undesirables.

“Been too busy having fun,” the younger man laughed humorlessly. “But, in all seriousness, things have been hectic since we began.”

“I can certainly imagine,” Gregor added, leaning against his carriage. “If you’re coming from Skyrim, then you were probably affected by the war. I hear things will escalate soon, but I don’t know enough to really say much.”

“Enough talk of bad things; today is happy!” Susanne said, hugging the two men close. “There will be much celebration at home, so we must make haste.” The warrior woman looked to Glade before smiling wide enough to make onlookers’ cheeks hurt. “Mother will be glad to see you’re alive, and even happier to meet your friends.”

Chapter 70

To call the main stronghold of any House a mere house was a mistake; within House Tullius’s walled perimeter blossomed a village like many others within the province. The citizens paid their warlord his or her dues in exchange for protection from starvation and any other nastiness Cyrodiil contained; they farmed and maintained the land, serving as laborers when needed and militiamen when the garrison failed. Within the palisades, peasants were safe, and their safety was guaranteed so long as they continued their work; walls, as confining as they could be at times, were better for the average man than the dangers that lurked in the hinterlands.

As the group traveled down an old path, worn over many years of travel to and from County Chorrol, they saw the first of House Tullius’s perimeter walls; they were thrice a man’s height and made of tempered hardwood logs, sharpened at the tips and kept uneven to make ready-made siege equipment ineffective. Guard towers rose above the walls every few hundred yards, the sentries manning them dressed in leathers bearing a red diamond; a number of them saluted as the carriages passed by, paying respect at least to Gregor’s banner. They came to a halt at a large gate, easily wide enough for four wagons to pass through side by side; long, white banners hung on either side of the portal, bearing the same red diamond as Susanne’s armor and the guards’ leathers.

“The road to the village is about three miles long,” Reman said, looking out the window. He felt very odd to be coming home again, and wondered if Kvatch was still his home or not; he had spent so much time away from Cyrodiil that even the very home of his race felt foreign. Several of the militiamen stared at the black wolf on the banner and some wondered aloud at who could be travelling within, as it matched none of the banner House Tullius used, but still bore the telltale diamond on the wolf’s collar.

“All of the land belongs to House Tullius?” Princess Celestia asked; a demesne of that size was not unheard of, and in fact rather small for as powerful as Reman had made House Tullius out to be. “I expected something more in line with a castle than a preserve.”

“The manor is more of a castle than anything, and the rest of the compound surrounds it,” Reman elaborated. “Like I said, we’ve got an entire town here, with about seven hundred people last time I was here.” He briefly recalled how few of the peasants he knew by name and wondered if that meant he was detached from them even before his infection; was that necessarily a bad thing? He doubted he was any better or worse than others in his position, thinking of the heir of House Mortus and how much of an ass he had been.

The massive doors opened and they were waved through under blessing of the gatekeeper; a large gazebo stood next to the road just within, pelts of animals dangling on long strings and moving in the breeze. A man sat on a bench nearby and started skinning a large deer; Princess Celestia was both intrigued and disgusted seeing a human foal carrying off the entrails in a wooden bucket. On the other side, towards the wall, a few other foals played hiding games in a copse of trees, stopping their fun only to wave at the new visitors; Pinkie, amazed at seeing healthy young humans, waved back with all her enthusiasm.

“That’s a lot of little imperials,” Rainbow said as she looked out the carriage windows. “We saw more people on the road in Skyrim but almost none here.”

“Cyrodiil’s population is more dense around the towns and cities, not nearly as many houses off by themselves, and there haven’t been since the Oblivion Crisis,” Reman explained, nodding to a small section of scorched soil near a recently-plowed field. “A lot of the towns are off the main roads, but we’ll see a few between here and the Imperial City.”

“Morbid,” Glade murmured as she pointed at another gazebo, this one draped in dark pelts ready to be stitched into coats for the next winter. “Are those wolf pelts?” she added, mostly to herself. Was that an omen of things to come, or a mere coincidence. Was coincidence even a possibility on Nirn, or was everything orchestrated by higher beings? Had Lynnette stayed angry and forewarned everyone about her lycanthropy? About Reman’s? What if this was House Tullius showing their disapproval over their child? There were too many possibilities, too many unknown variables; it made her teeth feel like she was chewing aluminum foil. Reman, sensing her inner turmoil, nudged her with his elbow; it was a simple, physical gesture that meant more than casual observation conveyed, a show of solidarity and camaraderie. It was oddly comforting, despite having a metal-covered elbow jabbed in a kidney.

The village proper was not a village at all, but a small town that had sprung up around the imposing stone structure in the center; it was a castle town that did everything it could to not be called a castle town. Soldiers in the white and crimson colors of House Tullius marched along the road as a training drum rolled off a battle cadence, a blacksmith hammered out a piece of hot metal into some weapon or tool or rough armor plate, all while a scullery maid was hanging linens on a line behind a luxurious cottage. Peddlers hawked their wares and waved at the carriages, sure they spotted an important guest or a deep coin purse. In short order, the carriage came to a halt before the manor’s garrison house, the final checkpoint before anyone was allowed within the warlord’s hall.

“Time to pile out and check in,” Reman said as he popped the door’s latch. “The guards will look at us and decide if we have any sort of reason to enter the great hall.”

“No searches or anything like that?” Twilight asked, stuffing her old book under her cloak. The other Element Bearers did the same, collecting their personal effects and situating their gear in as nonchalant a way as possible.

“We’ll be under guard the entire time we are in the hall; most assassins don’t get a chance.” Reman had little enough time to finish before one of the sentries pulled the door open; without needing to be told, he stepped out and made room for the others. The guards, normally a stern and reserved breed of warrior, looked unimpressed as the ponies joined him, but they were curious to the point their facades crumbled.

“Send us through, gentlemen,” Susanne chirped from within her helmet, eager to end any conversation before it could begin. The pair of guardsmen bristled and stepped back, none too eager to make a decision between following their orders to the letter and upsetting the regent’s oldest daughter and her husband.

“Lady Susanne, there is the matter of your company,” the older of the two guards grunted out. “Traveling with a member of the House or no, all nobles must have their names and heraldries registered.” He brought out a large, leather bound tome and set it on a small dais. He threw it open and flipped through the aged, yellowed pages before finding a blank place. “Now, name and county of origin.” His question was obviously directed at Reman, the only imperial in the group.

“Celestia Del Sol of Canterlot, Equestria,” the princess answered, only to be met with disapproving looks from the sentries. “We are here on a diplomatic mission,” she murmured. It had taken her a moment to realize that perhaps she was not supposed to answer them; it was the most indirect method of ignoring anything Celestia had seen humans employ.

“Reman Tullius of County Kvatch,” the imperial corrected, cringing on the inside at the princess’s faux pas

“Sir, enough joking; Reman Tullius has been dead and in the ground going on four years now,” the younger guard said, puffing his chest out to look tougher. “Now, who are you and where are you from?”

“He is Reman Tullius, son of Antonius and Senna,” Susanne insisted. “He has been missing, not dead, for some time now.” She braced an armored fist on her hip and loomed over the two men. “Our mother will be most happy to see him again.”

“Ma’am, we simply cannot allow him through unless he has some means of proper identification,” the older man asserted with a brave face, though the mask was rather thin; were he a stallion his ears would have been pinned back in every attempt to appear smaller.

“You can, and you will,” the knight affirmed. Not liking the lack of a reply, she shrugged her shoulders and motioned for the ponies to follow her. “We are going up; you may unlock the gate for us if you so please.” With that, she strutted off, Gregor and Celestia hot on her heels. The Elements followed suit, then Renoir and Reman came behind them, and Glade, Springs, and Steel Morrow brought up the rear.

“Open the portcullis,” the older guard stammered out, flagging down a man on the wall. He sighed as they disappeared into the manor; it was never a good sign when a member of the House exercised their gate privileges.

Senna Tullius sat on her throne and stared at the crowd gathered before her. Foremost to her right side stood her oldest daughter and her husband, a place of honor amongst noble courts of Cyrodiil, a place reserved for heirs and visiting dignitaries. She was none too pleased with the remaining guests, a multitude of unnaturally colored beings that appeared to be of equine origins and a pair of armored men who reeked of inhuman nature, of corruption. One was a vampire that stared up at her with lifeless, dark eyes sunken into their sockets and the other had the stale yellow irises that spoke of lycanthropy. The only thing that kept her from locking the young man in the deepest, darkest hole the estate was that, barring the eyes, he looked every bit like her lost son, down to the subtlest slope of his cheekbones.

“Susanne, explain these once again,” she said after appraising the rabble for a moment more. She raised herself in her seat, back rigid as she reached her full sitting height. The guests remained silent, as they had been instructed; their time to speak on their own behalf was later.

“These ponies,” the young woman began, her words near enough to send a laugh through her mother, “have need to see the Elder Council and Emperor Mede on behalf of their kingdom.” She pointed to each of the so-called representatives in turn as she named them. “Princess Celestia is the tall one, the leader of her nation as the others say, and Twilight Sparkle, the purple one, is her apprentice. The rest are Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash, her friends and allies.” She came to rest on a small group next flanking the main herd. “They are escorted by Steel Morrow in gold armor and Bitter Springs in purple; the smaller white one is Summer Glade.” Finally, her hand pointed to the men, who stood statuesque since she had begun. “The breton is Renoir Belmont, a native of Daggerfall, and the imperial is Reman Tullius.”

“Claims to be Reman Tullius,” Senna corrected. She looked the young man up and down as she wondered just who he really was, silencing the joy she felt at the very real possibility he was truly her son. “Rather odd, claiming to be a dead man.”

“Mother, he is not claiming anything; he is Reman!” Susanne tried to reason. “We never found his body, not at the Jemane house and not in any of the fields nearby; all we found were Gaston’s remains and a dead werewolf.” The fiery redhead remained calm even as anger tinged the edges of her voice, the sad byproduct of dealing with a woman as impossible as anyone else in her family. “He wasn’t some child when he went missing; it was entirely possible he could live on his own, and he did.”

“And it is entirely possible he is an imposter from another House,” Senna replied, mouth forming into a hard frown. “This rebellion in Skyrim has taken the head of House Tullius and the only living heir; there is no precedent for an heir returning from the grave.” She rose from her throne and stood straight, dwarfing the other men and woman standing around the room as her impressive height was boosted by the raised ziggurat her and her husband’s thrones sat upon. “If Reman were to come back, enough support may come from the other members of the House to depose me and put him in my place.”

“Mother, they would never remove you,” Susanne tried to defend, sure that she was correct. She smiled and took a step towards Senna. “You’ve brought so much to the House, so much we would not have without you.”

“And I am still an outside influence.” The matriarch stepped down and stood next to her daughter; she was quite tall, standing a bit higher than even her oldest child. “The other Houses view that as weakness, and while you are an excellent candidate as a temporary matriarch, your duties to the Knights of Eight and House Aegian exempt you from that.”

“And Arianna is too young,” Susanne agreed. “It’s a shame that you’re right, mom.” The knight pulled her mother in for a hug, something she was certain the older woman had far too few of in recent years; familial intimacy was a terrible privation the upper classes suffered, only exacerbated by their respective high-born duties. “Come on, this man really is Reman; Gregor and I ran into him near Chorrol.”

“It’s true, ma’am,” the jeweler added, remaining a respectful distance from the pair.

“Oh, Gregor,” Senna began, letting Susanne go as she walked over to him. “You’re a good man, but even if I can truly believe that, unless I have actual backing within the House, I can’t risk even a slight chance of handing power to someone who would abuse it.”

Glade jumped from the line and puffed her chest out; the guards at the door leveled their halbergs and readied to strike. Senna raised a hand to hold them at ease. “Cut the crap!” the white pegasus shouted, growling as she stomped a hoof against the polished stone floor. “You’re happy to see the daughter you know has been alive and well, but the minute your son who’s been dead for four years walks through the door, you’re ready to turn him down because you think it might be a trap?”

“Glade!” Reman barked out to stop her, only for her to flash the underside of a hoof at him.

“Doesn’t your family mean anything to you at all? So what if he might be the rightful heir, he doesn’t want it!” She circled around and bared her teeth at the guards before locking eyes with Senna. “Are you really so absorbed in politics that your son can just be tossed aside because he doesn’t fit in anymore? What happened to blood being thicker than water?”

The expression that crossed the older woman’s features was almost the same as every other time an imperial had been angry. Her lip quivered as she tried to maintain a neutral line, her face reddened and her pupils dilated, and finally, she took a deep breath and lost any semblance of rage. She took another shuddering breath, and stared back at Glade. “I can assure you that I’ve been certain this Reman is my son from the moment he walked in, and I can certainly assure you that blood is thicker than water in Cyrodiil.” She snapped her head to the side and looked at Susanne. “Escort our visitors to the guest lodge near the smithy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Susanne replied with all the speed she could muster as she motioned for the others to follow her.

“That’s more like it,” Glade added as she strutted towards the door, only to be barred by a pair of crossed halbergs. She looked back at Reman and tried to ask him is she had misinterpreted something, but he just shook his head and looked rather disappointed.

“You, little one, will be staying with me.” Senna extended a hand to Princess Celestia, who held out a hoof in turn. “I will have her along in about an hour or so, none the worse for wear,” the matriarch added as she shook respective appendages with the alicorn.

“I apologize for anything she may have done or said that was out of line.” Princess Celestia held her ears back and tried her best to look sorry; she felt about as awful as she had when she first sent Luna to enjoy her first Nightmare Night back in Equestria. Senna held up a hand to let the ponies through, but did not relinquish her grip on the princess’s hoof.

“I understand that mistakes happen, and while I am mad, nothing bad will happen to her,” the noblewoman whispered. “We just need to reach an understanding, especially about idioms.” She smiled with actual warmth, the first she had displayed in any way that had not felt forced or played out in the time Celestia had seen her. “I may be mean when I have to, but I am truly happy to see my son again.”

Author's Note

After spending time with my old pal Depression, falling out with my girlfriend, and generally spiraling into a vicious cycle of self-loathing and disgust for a good few months, I finally polished this off.

... And Into the Fire.

PLEASE NOTE: this is the sequel to The Equestrian Bloodmoon, you need to read that, otherwise you will have no idea what half of the things in this story mean.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Princess,

It is my pleasure to inform you that I have made it to Whiterun, after a day and a half of travel. While Jarl Balgruuf owes me a favor, Kodlak will be difficult to sway, given the Companions' rule about staying out of politics. Nevertheless, I will do my best to bring him around, as per our agreement regarding my debt. I'll write again after I have received any news, You will likely hear from me again either this afternoon, or tomorrow morning.

– Reman.

Celestia read the letter again, just to confirm what it said. Despite half-expecting the Imperial to ignore her request, he was adamant about completing his assigned task. However, that wasn't what held her attention, rather, the monarch's eyes kept drifting to a small collection of dark splotches near one of the margins. There was no doubt in Celestia's mind about what it was.

Blood.

The Princess knew that Nirn was dangerous, but she hadn't thought that Reman had been presented ample time to get into trouble. Shaking her head, Celestia realized that the man would find something to mess with, even when there wasn't another living organism in sight. Well, at least Reman was in good enough health to write. Besides, he took to the spell required to send the letter like a fish to water, even if he had forgotten every other enchantment.

With a sigh and smile, the Princess went to eat her morning meal, where she would inform everypony in Canterlot of the update.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Summer Glade was enjoying her time off, though she was uneasy about certain things. Her parents were overjoyed to see her again, alive and well, especially after news of the Festival reached them. The two pegasi lived in Cloudsdale, and they had raised the lycan mare in the floating city, so Glade was right at home. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, like things were about to take a turn for the worse.

Actually, the mare knew things were going to go downhill in the future, especially when Reman comes back to Equestria. A loose word from Pinkie had informed the gruff Major Tundra that his daughter was seeing somepony, though the stallion quickly learned of the suitor's non-equine nature, courtesy of Captain Shining Armor. While the Royal Guard retiree had been angry, Glade's mother, Spring Valley, had swayed him against the warpath, much to the lycan mare's relief. Well, Glade never thought staying with her parents would ever be more stressful than life in the Equestrian military.

“So, what sounds good to you two?” The lycan was currently hanging out with the Elements of Loyalty and Kindness, she had grown to enjoy their company over the course of her quest.

“I hear that there a new exhibit at the Museum of Pegasus History.” Actually, the idea didn't sound that bad, though a little boring. Then again, Fluttershy had been the source of the group's previous endeavors, planning a number of amusing activities to pass the time until they heard more about the trip to Nirn.

“The Wonderbolts are having a stunt show later, we could go there after the museum.” While Dash wasn't a fan of dusty relics, her love of the Daring Doo series had inspired a slight interest in history. Besides, with Glade's status as one of the Princess' personal bodyguards, they'd get a huge discount at the gate.

“Why pay for the show, when I can get us into the practice for free?” The mare giggled as Rainbow stopped in her tracks, well, hovered in place. A look of disbelief was plastered on the cyan pony's face.

“Royal Guards can do that?” The prospect awe-inspiring to the Element of Loyalty, who now wondered about the other perks of he job.

“No, but a friend of Soarin' can.” Glade wasn't lying, the stallion had gone to school with her cousins.

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight had opted to stay in Canterlot, shacking up with her parents. The Element of Magic had all ready sent for Spike, and her mother and father had agreed to look after him while the mare was in Nirn. The unicorn was currently pouring over books regarding negotiation and deal making, trying to cram for the test of experience that surely awaited those traveling to the strange realm. In addition to the political manuals, Twilight was also reading about legendary flora and fauna, trying to find any creature that may exist in Reman's home. Despite the fact that the lycan had never mentioned any of the wildlife of Nirn, the mare was confident in her abilities to find anything that matched Equestria's native creatures.

With a sip from her drink, Twilight went back to work.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Rarity's current stay in Canterlot could hardly be described as a vacation. In a rush of panicked motions, she unpacked and repacked her bag, just one! That was all she was allowed to carry! How was she supposed to bring her sewing supplies with just one bag? Maybe she could get Applejack to carry some of her things, the farmer wouldn't bring much, so it only seemed natural to offer her friend a helping hoof. Or perhaps she could negotiate with Princess Luna about the carry limit, the Element of Generosity needed to bring her regular kit, how else was she going to take a note of the fashions of Nirn?

Just the thought of every lavish dress and intricate bauble made her head spin. Even if she had to carry a thousand pounds across a thousand miles, Rarity would not be denied her chance!

@#@#@#@#@#@#

With her hat, a few extra lengths of rope, and a saddlebag full of apples, the Element of Honesty felt that she was prepared for her trip. A mare of simple means, Applejack wasn't for packing every little thing and fussing over the tiniest details. Really, all she had to take care of was filling in her workload during her absence, and Caramel gladly accepted the position. With a content smile, the mare went to play with her sister, something she might not be able to do for a quite some time.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Ingredients for cake? Check.

Balloons? Check.

Party hats? Check.

Banners for every occasion? Check.

Portable Party Cannon? Check.

Gummy? Check.

Gummy's favorite punch mix? Check.

Pinkie checked and re-checked her list, making sure that she wasn't forgetting anything. While she had packed winter clothes and food, well, candy, for herself, she put the utmost priority on her party supplies. If Equestria was going to open relations with a foreign government, then it was up to Ambassador Pinkie Pie to ensure that things went off without a hitch.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Princess,

The coast is clear at the moment, though I regret that I will be unable to meet the group coming through. However, I have enclosed a map of Skyrim, marked with every major city, settlement, and camp, whether bandit or of the parties involved in the civil war. Even if the map is too difficult to follow, Whiterun is easy to find, after all, it's just a city with a fortress built on a hill. The hill itself is located in a plain with sparse trees, like a tundra in the summer, nothing simpler than finding something that sticks out that much.

While I have no doubt that entering the city through normal means will be impossible, the eastern wall isn't patrolled regularly, and it would be a simple matter to fly the ponies over it. Just inside the wall, there will a a wide, wooden building, that's Jorrvaskr. Don't ask how to pronounce it, I'll take care of that when Luna and the others arrive. Inside Jorrvaskr, the group will find a number of people dressed in heavy armor, myself included, the oldest one there will be Kodlak Whitemane, if anything, he must be shown the utmost respect.

One more thing: the portal doesn't let out where I came through the first time. The diplomatic party will emerge in the Pine Forest, in the southwestern area of Skyrim, very temperate climate, but watch out for spriggans, sabercats, and bears, they are extremely dangerous to anyone who hasn't had much experience dealing with Nirn's wildlife. My recommendation: travel during the day, stick close to the roads, but don't actually travel on them. If anyone sees a human or elf wearing any sort of uniform, DO NOT APPROACH, he or she is a combatant in the civil war, and will be very jumpy.

– Reman

Celestia read the letter aloud, and her audience listened intently. Everypony wore an expression of excitement and seriousness, each for her own reasons, but all were practically shaking. This would go down in history as the first diplomatic mission to another world, Summer Glade and the Elements of Harmony would have their names echoed throughout history for their actions. But there was no time to stand and ponder the effects of this momentous day.

For the shimmering portal beckoned for them to enter, and the ponies were eager to accept the call.

Renoir is a Bit... Off

“Well... I suppose I should get back to my studies.” The masked man was strangely nonchalant about everything, including the two ponies that were ready to blow him away. Renoir hadn't gotten as far as he had by freaking out about every little thing that came his way. With a simple turn, the Breton began his way to one of the four doors of the subterranean chamber.

“Why change attitudes like this?” Luna was fully charged, a single bolt was capable of turning most structures into a pile of rubble. She would prefer to subdue instead of kill, but with the close proximity, she may not have any choice. “First you attack those people on the surface, and now you're acting like you're our friend.”

“I'm hurt, princess, I was only looking out for you ponies.” The masked face tilted to the side, a childish display of displeasure and sarcastic humor. However, the man's abrasive joke wasn't what caught the alicorn's attention. The dark blue pony sputtered her question as a group of butchered syllables, though the experienced mage knew her meaning. “Relax, your good buddy Reman sent ahead, got the letter about six days ago, actually.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Rarity deflated, her body's instinctive fight or flight reaction geared down as the day's stress slackened. She was still scared of the armored man, but not so much that she was ready to run for the hills, that would just be unladylike of her. “No offense to Reman, of course, but he has the tendency to find trouble.”

“How do you two even know each other?” Dash tilted her head, the two males seemed worlds apart, even their quirks were opposites. Renoir seemed to have a flair for the dramatic, an acrobatic and fluid method about him. However, to be blunt, Reman was a tank, in more ways than one.

“Long story.” The Breton chuckled behind his mask, skipping the tale of how the two spellcasters met. At least the man found the story humorous, if a bit morbid in its content. Suddenly, the black-clad human turned on his heels, facing the ponies once more. Renoir reached behind his back for something, into the large bag that hung from his belt. “Before, I forget, I think this is yours.”

“Gummy!” Pinkie nearly flew at the man, eager to retrieve her lost pet. The toothless alligator was unharmed, a veritable miracle given the earlier situation with the meany mcmeanypants on the surface. “Thank you thank you thank you!” The pink party pony displayed surprising leg power by hopping to Renoir's height and wrapping the armored man in a friendly hug. The Element of Laughter quickly retreated back to the group, leaving the masked man both confused and slightly worried.

“Reman's quarters are through the doors behind you.” The Breton was practically gone, the door he had used was barely cracked, leaving the ponies to their own devices. If the stranger had any ill intentions, he wasn't about to put them into action. The lack of hostility wasn't enough for one pony, and she did what Renoir couldn't have planned for. Rainbow Dash flew towards the doors at the chamber's far end, but was unable to complete her planned actions.

“There's a tree blocking these!” The Element of Loyalty was half right, the doors were locked by a wooden pole that easily weighed more than the cyan pegasus.

“That's the lift to the city below, full of Falmer and Chaurus, you don't want anything to do with them.” Renoir's voice echoed from the cracked doorway, though he was a fair distance from the opening. “Just use Reman's side of the outpost, he's cleared everything out that might be harmful.”

To say the ponies were conflicted would be an understatement.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Five thousand septims later, Reman Tullius was a free man. He was given what little of his armor was serviceable, his Skyforge steel sword, and his bag. Despite being more or less suited for battle, the Imperial was reclining inside the Blue Palace, listening to Jarl Elisif with rapt attention.

“General, as much as I agree with your plan, I simply cannot supply any more troops for it.” The High Queen was referring to Marcus' plan to assault Windhelm directly, a risky move, but it had a fair chance of killing Ulfric Stormcloak, and severing the head of the rebellious snake. “Skyrim has lost too many sons and daughters to just throw more at the problem.”

“I understand, your highness, so I have prepared an alternate solution.” Reman smirked as his grandfather spoke, it seemed that everything was coming up Tullius lately. This was a wonderful way to conscript the young lycan, without actually having him on record as working with the Legion. “I'm certain that you're aware of the dragon attack on Whiterun.”

“I think that's your cue.” Lynette was sitting on the next bench, allowing the lycan to stretch out on the relatively comfortable wooden surface. The woman was still wondering what her friend was planning with this performance, and why he needed her to bail him out of jail. Moving quietly, Reman started up the stairway, trying to listen in on his elders chat.

“Yes, and the supposed emergence of the Dragonborn, what of it?” Normally, Elisif wasn't this rude, but she had been under a considerable amount of stress as of late, so she was easily forgiven. Reman was halfway up the stairs when Marcus made his next point.

“The Dragonborn was at Helgen, and was seen fleeing to Riverwood with a known rebel.” The aged Imperial's memory may not have been perfect, but the general could recall important details. “The only reason he hasn't officially joined the rebellion is that he hasn't had time to get to Windhelm.”

“While that is troublesome news, I fail to see what can be done.” This was the sort of royalty that Reman had a problem with, the type that couldn't understand the grand scheme of things. By this point, the lycan had already made it to the top of the stairs, and was patiently waiting for his grandfather to motion him forward. Not like he had anything better to do.

“Ulfric Stormcloak has found an operative that can freely move about the country, I propose that we do the same.” Marcus tapped his foot twice, the signal for Reman to approach. Jarl Elisif's eyes darted between the two Imperials, she quickly noticed the resemblance they shared.

“What the general means by all of that is you need a man with strike range.” The lycan crossed his arms, trying to look both intimidating and approachable, if those two weren't mutually exclusive. “I have strike range, and the flexibility to use it.”

“Your highness, meet my grandson, Reman.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

It was Applejack's turn to watch the door. The seven mares had carried their sleeping comrade deeper into the strange structures, and had laid her on what most resembled a bed. They locked Glade inside, of course, wouldn't want her attacking anypony. But, the lumpy mattress was hardly worth noting, and only three things really stuck out as odd to the equines. The strange gears didn't warrant a second thought, and their whirring lullaby had long faded into the background. Still, the orange pony kept her eyes firmly locked on the bronze-like metal, ready for any sign of entry.

Rarity was shocked by the number of gold bars that littered Reman's half of the outpost. While some were obviously stacked and organized, the vast majority were scattered on the numerous tables and across the floor, as though their owner hadn't cared for their value. Gems, however, were almost unseen in the chambers that Reman called home, and must have been even rarer in the alien realm. Rooting around through some dressers, the fashionable pony found a number of ensembles, ready for her appraisal and modification. The Element of Generosity produced her sewing kit, eager to get started on her pet project. “I suppose a little work never hurt anypony.”

Twilight Sparkle was taking her time sorting through Reman's personal library. Most of the books were of a scholarly nature, a few even seemed to explain some of the more obscure bits of Tamriel's magic. One tome, however, was different, even in the collection of strange books. It was hoofwritten, likely by Reman himself, and detailed the library's original purpose and the Imperial's attempts to recreate the magic used there. The library was in the chamber that once housed the outpost's animonculory, which Twilight understood as a place where the Dwemer built automatons. With a joyous squee, the lavender unicorn began to read over the man's notes on animating magics.

Rainbow Dash was doing her best to fly in the subterranean location, and only stopped her buzzing around when she noticed a familiar shape in one of the many rooms that comprised Reman's quarters. Two columns of fourteen rectangular shapes were pressed against opposite walls, and the blankets draped over them left little to the imagination. With a winning grin, the cyan pegasus launched herself at the bed, ready to drift off into pleasant and proper sleep. However, she underestimated the Dwarven ability to use stone in everything, and firmly crashed into a slate of rock. Well, at least she was asleep, sort of.

Pinkie was off somewhere, playing hide and seek with Gummy through the complex's many passageways and corridors. The toothless alligator was very good at the game, and made use of debris that filled many of the hallways. All the while, the pink party pony was smiling, happy to have her pet back, safe and sound after the day's traumatic experience. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Pinkie chimed as she wandered in search of the reptile.

Luna and Fluttershy were watching over Glade, gazing in on the transformed mare through a slot in the door. The lycan was snoozing soundly, not a care in the world, though she had yet to return to her true self.

“At least she's sleeping well.” Fluttershy was seeing the glass as half-full, she may have been shy, but the Element tried to find the best in every situation. However, she was worried for her unconscious friend, the werewolf was likely panicking in her own mind, and there was little Fluttershy could do about it.

“Like a brown, bloodthirsty baby.” The voice caused both mares to whip around, only to see Renoir sitting on a table, leather bound book in hand. The Breton was flipping through the books pages, like he was searching for a certain section.

“How did you get past Applejack?” Luna was stumped, but on guard. The alicorn's horn hadn't flared, but she was ready to defend herself and the Element of Kindness if things came to it. At the princess' question, the masked man raised his head.

“There's more than more door to this side of the outpost, I just used one of the others.” More page flipping, Renoir was almost out of sheets to search. Growling in frustration, the mask wearer set the tome down, before picking up another. “If it makes you feel better, I didn't come here for any of you.”

“Then why come to Reman's half of the ruins?” Luna noticed Fluttershy hide behind her, not ready to speak to the stranger. The dark blue pony couldn't blame her for it, the black-clad human set off a few red flags for her, as well.

“For these books.” Renoir motioned to the two stacks of leather bound volumes. How the acrobat could read in that mask, Luna didn't know, but the talent seemed useful. “They're Reman's notes on lycanthropy. I swear, he knows more about the disease than just about anyone else.”

“Why read them here? Couldn't you just go back to your quarters?” The princess' questions weren't out of anger, just sincere curiosity. The Breton huffed and changed books again, he hadn't found what he was searching for it that one, either.

“Our mutual friend asked me to look after his newest pack-mate.” The acrobat cracked the book, and seemed to like what he found. The Breton read every page in detail, though he still read very quickly, and was ready to absorb the information provided. “Seemed like he was worried about her.”

“You think you can help Glade?” Fluttershy spoke to the black-clad human for the first time, only motivated by the prospect of his usefulness in this situation. The masked wizard nodded the affirmative, Renoir was fairly knowledgeable when it came to remedies and curative magics. Though, he was better at blowing flesh off, than sticking it back on.

“I've traveled a lot, and picked up quite a few things in my time.” The Breton chuckled at his own humor, a joke only Luna could understand. The alicorn blinked a few times before everything set in, and she didn't like what she learned. The acrobatics, the strength, the mask that hid Renoir's eyes and mouth, it all made sense.

“You're a vampire.” Now Luna was more on guard than ever. The undead had wreaked havoc in Equestria's formative days, and now one of Tamriel's bloodsuckers had made itself known. The living corpse chuckled, nodding his head the entire time, as though he found the alicorn's accusation to be the funniest joke in the world. Renoir lifted a hand to his mask, and swiftly removed the covering, allowing his face to be seen for the first time.

“Right you are, little pony.” The vampire's eyes were a swirling mass of crimson and black, but twinkled with a friendly energy. His fangs were exposed by his laughing smile, the long canines seemed comical on the grinning face. “Who better for a werewolf be be friends with, than another creature of the night?”

“It sounds like the premise of a bad romance novel.” Luna's attempt to dissolve the tension failed, and netted her a blank stare from a pair of undead eyes. The princess returned the flat look in kind, and she had much more experience staring others down. “Can we get back to Glade?”

“Of course, where was I?” Renoir perked immediately, ready to return to the issues at hand. The vampire smiled as he began to explain his job in helping the lycan mare in the next room. “I know a few diagnostic spells, Bretons have a natural affiliation for Restoration, you see, and I should be able to determine what's ailing the poor thing.” The man lifted the book he had been reading and tapped the cover, as if to say along with this.

“You can go in, if it's alright with Luna.” Fluttershy looked to the Princess of Night for confirmation. When the Element received it, she practically jumped for joy, and hurried to unlock the door. The vampire wasted no time on pleasantries, and simply entered the small closet containing the sleeping werewolf.

“Reman owes me for this, big time.” Renoir knelt by the unconscious mare, and silently cursed his Vampire's Seduction power for it's strength. Unbeknownst to him, Luna was readying a bolt of magic, ready to incinerate the undead nightmare should he try anything suspicious. A golden glow enveloped the vampire's hand as he swept over the sleeping pony's body, searching for any hint of illness, injury, or poison.

“Anything?” The alicorn had her eyes on the kneeling man, whose face was scrunched in a mixture of curiosity and scholarly discovery. The vampire blinked for a few seconds, before he returned to the pile of books.

“Just one oddity, but I need to check something to be sure.” The undead man flipped through the pages quickly, before landing on the correct ones. After a few moments of reading, the mage made a strange noise, a combination of epiphany and deepening mystery. Very calmly, he set the tome down, and took a seat on the stone table.

“Well?” Luna was getting impatient, the man obviously knew something, but he was keeping quiet about it. The pale creature's skin seemed positively ghostly in the Dwemer lighting, Renoir looked as though he'd discovered something that deeply unsettled him. The princess knew that vampires were immortal, and it was possible that the man had seen a lot in his time, so what could have scared him so much?

“I... I think I'll wait until Reman gets back.”

Not His Time to Die

The pressure wave slammed like a fist, and nearly sent Reman to his knees. Jureg was fast, for a man wrapped in steel, but Lynette was slightly faster on the draw. With the press of a trigger, a silver bolt flew into the face of the Nord's steel battleaxe and while the projectile wasn't that big, the impact was enough to make Jureg flinch for a split second. Which, coincidentally, was just enough time for Reman to get in a solid punch to the jaw. The magicka-charged fist sent a jolt of electricity through the taller man's central nervous system, a short paralysis that wouldn't last more than an instant.

Jureg swung his ax with one hand, a blow meant to put distance between the two melee fighters. Of course, he completely ignored the archer, but more importantly, the Nord gave no mind to the bolt Lynette had already loaded. The sharp missile imbedded itself in the warrior's upper arm, but Jureg had definitely had much worse. With a mighty battlecry, the blonde berserker launched himself in full force at his Imperial foe, swinging his ax with bone-shattering strength. It was all Reman could do to block the powerful attacks with his sword, the Skyforge steel held marvelously well against the assault. But the lycan was hardly perfect.

A powerful swing went in below the Imperial's reach, and the two-handed weapon crushed the side of his breastplate. Nords were the strongest of the races of men, and second only to Orcs if one factored in the elves and beastfolk, the force Jureg put behind his ax lifted the comparatively small human off the ground. Reman crashed into one of the shallow pools around the walkway, unhurt, but stunned, and it took a boot to the ribs to wake him from his daze. Lynette launched a third shot, this time it was aimed at the back of the Nord's knee, though it only punched through the armor of his calf. It was then that the Stormcloak supporter realized that the woman was a serious threat. The spin Jureg put himself in was enhanced by the hand that clamped to his shoulder, causing him to do a full three-sixty.

A steel-wrapped fist crashed into his cheek, courtesy of the werewolf with the winning smirk. The Skyforge blade came around, and landed under a junction in the Nord's armor, creating a shallow cut between two ribs. Reman slammed his forehead against the taller man's nose, and shoved as hard as he could. Given the power boost of lycanthropy, the Imperial only slightly weaker than Jureg, physically speaking, and the Nord was sent to the ground. The werewolf was on him in a flash, pummeling without regard for his hands or his victim's life.

Reman's beating was stopped by a dagger in the neck.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“So Glade is... ?” Luna didn't really know how to react to that revelation, it wasn't really something one expected.

“Pregnant, yes.” Renoir, however, had seen a fair number of strange things in his time, not as many as the alicorn, but the relative harshness of Nirn made up for the quantity. This wasn't even the first lycan pregnancy he'd worked with, but it was the first case of inter-species breeding involving a werewolf that he'd heard of.

“Is it a foal, or a human?” Fluttershy was amazed by this, being an animal lover, the complexity of the situation was very intriguing. Whichever the offspring turned out to be, it would be well cared for, that much was certain.

“Too soon to tell, I only knew what was going on by the thing's magicka signature.” The vampire had no trouble referring to his friend's unborn heir or heiress, it was his default term for anything he couldn't identify. The mage wasn't that uncaring of an individual, even if he was a bit off the deep end.

“The baby already has magic?” The thought confused the Princess of Night, most unicorns didn't develop the use of magic until after birth. Then again, it was sired by one of the strangest allies Equestria ever had, so it may have just been a prodigy.

“Not quite, all living things have some amount of magicka, even plants, but thought is needed to use it.” Renoir was back to his nonchalant self, he even relaxed on the stone table, casually waving a hand through the air as he spoke. “It felt like a mixture of Reman and the local magicka reservoir.”

“Will it be a werewolf, too?” Fluttershy was a bit worried, though not about anypony being hurt by the growing embryo, rather, she was concerned for its future. Transforming once a month would be very damaging for the baby's social life, and children need friends their own age.

“Yes, unfortunately, but symptoms won't present themselves until it reaches pubescence.” It was one of the things Hircine was thankfully merciful about, the Huntsman let his hounds have a normal childhood, well, normal enough. For a moment, Renoir wished that Molag Bal would take a lesson in mercy from his fellow Princes, but the King of Rape was set in his ways.

“Will it be... infectious?” The Element of Kindness also knew about lycanthropy's vehicle of transmission, and only now would she have any fears of it. It gave the yellow pegasus a bit of relief and an equal amount of worry when the vampire shrugged.

“There aren't any records of someone being turned by a born werewolf, but most people don't know such a thing even exists.” Renoir didn't really know what unique trait made lycans transmit their curse, but there may have been some mutagen in the saliva, or some magical curse that casts when someone is bitten. But, in truth, there wasn't enough to go on, not even a real hint to it. “But, I think we're getting ahead of ourselves her. Will the two of you keep it under wraps until Reman and Glade know?”

“I don't see why, but I won't say a word.” Fluttershy was able to understand the need for discretion, but she didn't know why it was important to keep a mother from knowing that's she was pregnant.

“Fine, but don't delay for a moment after Reman arrives.” Luna could feel a headache coming on, things were definitely going to get more complicated.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Pinkie Pie was having a lot of fun playing with Gummy in the ruins, the many hallways made hiding easy, and the game so much more satisfying. But, running through the same dozen or so corridors got boring after a while, and the alligator found a way to make things more interesting. At the first chance, with the Element in sight, the toothless reptile climbed into a large pipe, and disappeared into the murky darkness. Seeing her pet go in, the party pony stuck her head inside, and called to her cold blooded friend.

“Gummy, you know better than to crawl around in dark places.” Seeing no other way to reach the alligator, the Element of Laughter did what she did best: the unexpected. With a slight hop, the pink maned mare launched herself down the bronze tube.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Reman would have made a noise of pain, if his windpipe hadn't been closed by the iron blade. On instinct, the lycan pulled the dagger from his neck, and immediately applied pressure to the bleeding wound. He jumped off Jured, his heart pounding from shock, and every pulse sent a fresh rush of crimson liquid between his fingers. The Nord was quick to make use of his newly found freedom, and attacked in the way that maximized damage.

“Fus!” Another burst of wind knocked Reman's hand from his wound. A small river of blood ran from the lycan's neck and over his armor. In the time it took for Jureg to stand, Lynette had already prepared her next bolt, and the Imperial was focused on unsettling his enemy. The werewolf collected a handful of his own blood, and used it to slick his hair back, leaving a scarlet streak over the top of his face. All the while, Reman hadn't taken a breath, but his windpipe was rapidly regenerating. When the Stormcloak supporter was on his feet, a silver bolt punched a neat little hole through the back of his armor, right next to his spine.

The Imperial charged his target, one hand grasping a sword, the other full of his own blood. The lycan adopted a new tactic, and favored thrusts over chops or slashes, but he was only using it as a means to get near the Nord. Jureg slammed the shaft of his ax into the Skyforge blade,knocking it from any position to attack. However, that did not stop the smaller man's bloody hand from landing on the only injury that was made by him, that shallow cut on the warrior's side. When blood touched blood, a charge jolted through the Nord's body, and being this close to the heart, it was enough to cause a full system reset. A throaty yell ripped through the taller human as Reman threw both of them into one of the pools, and was muffled by water overtaking his face. The magical electricity was amplified by the rush of conductive liquid, and was able to fully envelop the Stormcloak wannabe.

“That's enough.” Lynette put a hand on the Imperial's shoulder, enough to make the man stop. Reman pulled his hand back, static cling made his victim's neck stick to the inside of the lycan's palm, but the Nord fell beck into the water with a loud splash. Jureg's chest rose and fell slowly, the so-called Dragonborn was still clinging to life, just barely. With a rush of magicka, the lycan shot out a hand, and a bolt of lightning exploded an urn next to a wall.

“That felt too good.” Sparks still arced over the man's arm, but his magicka backup was cured, a pleasant haze was settled over his mind, a battle afterglow. On a deep level, Reman was relieved that Lynette had enough of a heart to stop him from finishing the Nord off, even if it may have been a mistake, the Breton wouldn't stand for torture.

“Let's just get out of here.” The archer didn't like this room, it just felt wrong to be here. With a nod, the Imperial followed his lightly armored friend.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight really didn't know what to think of the book, partially due to the fact that the first thing the book did was deny its own existence. In fact, the opening lines claimed that all that is, was, and ever will be is just an idea, a thought. The tome also claimed that one could permanently alter the fabric of space and time, all by making a convincing argument to the unknown forces that govern what is, for want of a better word, real. After the, rather confusing, introduction, the book calmly went about destroying everything Twilight had been raised to believe, and worse, it provided reasonable evidence to support its claims.

Just as it was trying to teach her to do, it had altered her perception of the world for a few moments, if ever so slightly. At that eureka moment, Twilight fully understood that she knew absolutely nothing about how Nirn functioned, nor anything about its magic. If basic textbooks on the subject were confusing, how had Reman been able to move so far? Of course, the Imperial had used summoning magic, not spells to alter the world, so the practices would be worlds apart. But, Twilight quickly decided that to use Nirn's magic, one had to insane, or a prodigy. The Element of Magic smiled to herself, she was ready to show this book who was in charge, and there was one solid fact that supported her claim.

The lavender mare was nothing short of a prodigy, with a tiny hint of crazy for flavor.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Summer Glade wasn't a mare that wanted much from life, just a career, a family, and a nice, quiet retirement. However, she did want to know why the Ring of Hircine failed her earlier, why she had been asleep for so long, and why she was still transformed. Those didn't have to be answered in order, but it would be appreciated if they were. The werewolf had actually tapped her claws on the ground in boredom, closets didn't have much in the way of entertainment, and she had just opted to stare at her hoof... claw... paw... thing. Yeah, just call it a thing for the moment.

A growl overtook her stomach, she'd skipped breakfast, and her internal clock said that it was close to dinner. That knowledge would do her no good, not while she was locked in this room, and it wasn't like she could ask for food. Or... maybe she could, the werewolf merely had to be clever about it, think outside the metaphorical box. There was a slot in the door, she'd seen Luna look inside two separate times, but she quickly shut it behind her. Glade wasn't chained or bound in any way, so she could still reach the door, not like her clever plan needed much effort. The lycan tapped her claws on the bronze door, and heard somepony's hooves approach.

When a pair of eyes appeared in the slot, Glade motioned to her mouth with a claw.

How Long Has it Been Since His Last Meal?

Real life has been kicking my ass, hence the delay.
@#@#@#@#@#@#

When Glade's hoof slammed into Reman's face, the Imperial didn't know if the blood he tasted was from the teeth he had likely lost, or his pack-mate's claws slicing through his cheek. It was probably a bit of both. Another hoof came, and again, the impacts knocked the lycan on his back, the pregnant pony loomed over him. Reman looked into those angry eyes in apology, but he knew that saying sorry wouldn't change anything, being used as a punching bag might work off some of Glade's aggression. The Cyrodiil native kept his arms at his sides, knowing full well that the pegasus would tire before she could inflict lethal harm.

Fluttershy was the first to try and stop the violence, but when the pregnant lycan snapped at the shy mare, she had to pull back. As much as she wanted to help Glade, instinct kept her far away from the werewolf's business end. Tears welled in the transformed pony's eyes, an obvious mix of emotions swirled in the yellow orbs, clearly she was under a great amount of psychological duress. Glade's eyes darted around, she knew she was surrounded by friends, but she could hardly breathe, the room felt much too small. Luckily, Renoir Belmont knew exactly what to do.

He opened a door. It was simple, and had an elegance all its own, if only in the events it set in motion. Sensing freedom, Glade launched her entire body through the opening, her large wings gave her speed unmatched by any possible pursuers. By the time any of them could even try to catch her, the lycan pegasus was at the end of the hall, and quickly making her way to the exit. Reman jumped to his feet, nearly taking off in a dead sprint when he touched solid ground. Just as the Imperial took his first step, a strong hand grabbed the collar of his armor, and stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?” Renoir was stumped by his friend sometimes, not that the werewolf made things easy for him. The vampire knew werecreatures were dangerous in the extreme, especially when under stress, which was just how Glade was at the moment.

“She's angry and scared, I'm going to make sure she doesn't get herself killed.” Reman only had an idea of his pack-mate's emotions because he was feeling them as well, if to a lesser extent. The Imperial was having trouble believing the news, too, but that was a moot point now, there were more pressing matters at hand. Almost by magic, the back of Reman's armor came undone, the two halves of his breastplate fell to the ground with a clatter. Actually, it was just terribly forged, probably by an apprentice, but at least it gave the lycan the chance to run.

Before he knew it, his booted feet were slipping as he crossed the frozen lake, following any hint he could get about his pack-mate's direction. There was nothing to be found. The predawn was too dark to see more than twelve feet ahead, clouds obscured Masser and Secunda from view, the biting cold settled in the man's bones nearly instantly. Werewolf or not, Glade would need to find shelter quickly, and if she was flying in any direction, she'd need to land after a few minutes. With that in mind, Reman began to shift his form, his steel armor was reduced to scrap metal in a matter of seconds.

With his nose in the wind, the black beast ran into the darkness.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

This was certainly awkward, if one wished to put it lightly. Lynette Jemane was warming herself by an incinerator, surrounded by pastel equines. At first, she'd thought Reman had tried to make chimeras again, but when she heard them speak, reality came crashing. For the second time in her life, the Breton was scared of horses, at least these weren't trying to bite her.

“Hi, I'm Pinkie Pie!” One of the small horses, ponies may have been a better term, was whispering loudly, she was taking care not wake the white one next to her. Lynette blinked at the pink equine, somewhat surprised that she had noticed her. “What's your name?”

“I'm Lynette Jemane, from Cyrodiil and High Rock.” The archer was still stunned from the ponies' ability to speak, but she was managing just fine. The Breton extended a clammy, shaking hand, and Pinkie shook it like they were making a business deal, it was frightening how human the small equine looked. The pink party pony looked like she was about to say something else, but a voice from down the hall caught them both off guard.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Idiots, both of them.” Renoir was sick of everything his roommate did, especially when it came to stupid decisions. The vampire knew how cold it was, and werewolf or not, neither Glade nor Reman would get very far in the deep snow. The crimson and black of his eyes were swirling faster than usual, possibly a sign of anger or annoyance, but it only made him look funny.

“Would you honestly act differently in their situation?” Luna did not enjoy the Breton's attitude, the sarcasm and cynicism was a grating combination, and the immortal was growing tired of dealing with it. The alicorn's headache was rapidly worsening, she felt as though her brain might start leaking from her ears, and the vampire did nothing to help it.

“The last I checked, female vampires were as barren as the winter tundra.” However, Renoir would have chased his lover across Tamriel if it would keep her safe, not that she would need it. The Breton could understand Reman's desire to protect his newly founded family, even if the matriarch was less than thrilled by the prospect of parenthood. Actually, his friend was likely just as frightened as Glade, but at least he was making the effort to try and make things work. That may have been a poor move on his end.

“You're impossible to deal with.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Glade almost missed it, and it would have cost the lycan her life. It blended into the snow with startling accuracy, though that may have been aided by the moonless night. Wicked fangs curved from its mouth, its white, speckled fur rippled with every movement of the muscle beneath it. The snowy sabercat was a fierce and territorial predator, and given the season, it may have been over a week since its last meal. Too bad the pegasus was angry and more than willing to wreck her prey's life. The two opponents circled one another, ready to kill their respective challenger.

Glade kept her wings out, an instinctive attempt to appear larger than she truly was, though it seemed to be completely ineffective on the beast. With nothing left to do, she threw herself at the overgrown cat, leading with her face. A paw slapped her, but no claws cut the mare's skin, and Glade's teeth sank into the tough meat of the sabercat's foreleg. Warm, coppery blood flowed into her hungry mouth, spurring the pregnant werewolf further. In the heat of the moment, the pegasus slammed her fangs home, and they thunked against hard bone. The cat's wicked namesakes came crashing down, the oversized canine teeth pierced the pony's relatively soft flesh.

Despite the eight inches of tooth firmly lodged in her back, the pregnant lycan was thankful for the distracting pain, for reasons that needed no explanation. The werewolf ripped herself free, and took a sizable chunk from the beast's foreleg as she went. She would have swallowed her bit of food, but its previous owner seemed to take offense, and tackled Glade to the ground. Only one other being had used that much force to pin the mare, and that had been during a friendly sparring match, actually, that gave the lycan an idea. The transformed pony kicked into the sabercat's abdomen, her claws tearing deeply until the chinked into its pelvis. With a satisfying gout of blood and the falling of entrails, the large feline breathed its last, leaving the pregnant pony with a source of food that was twice her size.

Glade had to disentangle her clawed hoof from the ropey internal organs before she could enjoy her meal.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Reman followed the scent of blood like a trained hound, and the irony of that statement wasn't lost on him. The shifted Imperial found his pack-mate eating from the opened midsection of a sabercat, but stayed in the treeline for the time being. Given the black of his hide and fur, the werewolf had to use the shade as a means of camouflage, even though it was still very dark. With only an hour left until sunrise, he and Glade needed to find a place to duck their heads in, any shelter would do. Reman's yellow eyes stayed trained on the mare, he'd rush to her protection at the first sign of danger. The larger lycan had to admit, not that he minded, the transformed pony looked cute when she was covered in blood.

Just thinking of food made the Imperial's mouth water, while in his human form, he didn't need to eat much, but he consumed more than any normal man could hope to when he took the shape of the wolf. Actually, he hadn't eaten in a few days as it was, so Reman was long overdue for a good meal. Maybe Glade wouldn't mind sharing, even if she was mad, she couldn't be that cruel, right? Unfortunately, he was denied the chance to ask when the Imperial noticed a shadow move from across the clearing. A snowbear, the second strongest of Skyrim's ursine population, was doing its very best to ambush the feasting mare. The transformed pony may have been fast, and strong in her own right, but a swipe from that bear would be enough to break her spine, and kill the two most important things in Reman's life.

In a rush, he ran to meet the powerful ursa.

Ebony and ivory clashed in a flurry of force, the very snow that made Skyrim so famous seemed to stop when their forelimbs slammed into each other. The werewolf was about the same size as the snowbear, but the ball was in the beast's court due to its strength advantage. Out of the corner of his eye, Reman could see that Glade was looking up from her meal at the two combatants. Like a punch from a berserk Orc, the bear slapped the distracted lycan upside his head hard enough to make him see a few spots. It was on now. While the Imperial couldn't form a fist, he had a backhand that could break a man's ribs in one swing. Using the downward momentum, the lycan spun around and slammed both of his hind paws into the snowbear's chest, there was enough force to knock the powerful beast on its back.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir Belmont was nearing his first century, and he still had yet to be perfectly prepared for what he knew was coming. He and Fluttershy were in a heated exchange, an ancient and powerful display of passion and grace. A gasp sounded from the yellow pony as she neared the act's blissful climax, her heart fluttered in her chest, and a euphoric smile spread across her features.

“Checkmate.” Fluttershy moved the rook into place, ruining every possible move from the vampire's arsenal, a wonderful victory. The old Breton looked between her and the board, before smiling and nodding his head.

“That's the first time anyone's beaten me in over twenty years.” Renoir had to hand it to her, Fluttershy had plenty of skill when it came to games of the mind, even if she was a bit timid. When it came to a world like Nirn, one needed confidence in something.

“Thanks.” The Element of Kindness had a feeling that she'd shocked the man, and for some reason, she felt good about that. The two continued to speak for a few minutes, before they packed up the game and joined their companions in sleep. It was late, or early if one looked at it that way, the barest hints of sunlight were peaking likely to be peaking over the horizon, were Princess Celestia in charge of Nirn's sun. Even Luna had passed out about an hour earlier, which, given her nature as Princess of the Night, meant it was time for most ponies to actually be waking. Well, it wasn't like they had a schedule to keep on, besides, vampires weren't diurnal, so at least Renoir would get some restful sleep.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Passion was one of the defining characteristics of lycans; love, hate, and lust were the most prominent of emotions, and often the first things that came to mind when one thought of werebeasts. At the moment, Reman was a wonderful example of those characteristics as he hacked and slashed at the snowbear. The shifted Imperial swiveled around to the rear of the powerful ursa, the only real way to dodge the snowy animal's attacks. Curved claws ripped across the bear's back, staining the white fur a deep red, not that it would have the time to worry about its new lack of camouflage. In a mirror of a lunge from the past, Reman bit into his prey's shoulder, and held fast against its thrashing.

Using his unnatural strength, the Imperial wrenched the snowbear to the side, enough to send the heavy beast to the ground. The lycan pulled back, cutting a head sized chunk from the bear as he went. The Cyrodiil native actually had enough time to swallow his food before it started to fight again, but its will was obviously being drained, and the snowy ursa had lost the use of one of its forelegs. Reman brought his head back down, jaws widened for the next taste of blood, and quickly nipped off portions of his quarry's hide, not unlike a giant bird pecking at the ground. The shifted man was so caught in the moment, he didn't know how long he went about the act, and only returned to reality when her felt his teeth hitting vertebrae. When Reman looked up from his impromptu breakfast, he noticed a set of prints walking away from the dead sabercat across the clearing, Glade had used the fight as a distraction to make her escape. At least she left an obvious trail to follow.

After ten minutes of following the tracks, Reman Tullius had finally found where his pack-mate had gotten off to, not that she had been difficult to trace. Apparently, Glade had discovered her heightened sense of smell, because she had somehow followed the cavebear's scent back to its den. The Imperial ducked inside just in time for the first ray of sunshine to break over the horizon. The light of dawn beamed through the den's entrance, and signaled Glade's body to revert to her normal form.

At least now they would both be able to speak, maybe they could start to ease things between them.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Comments decide how it goes.

The Aging Process, How Does it Work?

Pinkie found herself quickly led inside the castle, away from the prying eyes of any undesirables that may spread rumors of the ponies' Imperial ties. The normally-bubbly mare wound her way through the halls in search of her friends' rooms, hoping somepony would be able to console her in her hour of need. Sheogorath likely left permanent scars, but talking might help, if only to dull the blade. The Element of Laughter found herself in an area she had never seen before, its winding corridors decorated with extravagant banners displaying a red, diamond-shaped dragon. Four doors had a similar design, but the diamond was solid and a blazing crimson; Pinkie remembered Reman talking about it, meaning those were quarters assigned to the Tulliuses.

A small giggle came from the nearest door bearing the family crest. That was obviously Glade, and it was understood that Reman was with her. The Element briefly considered knocking, but refrained in order to avoid seeing anything that might offend her eyes. But declining the only ears she could easily find may prove a poor choice, especially in regards to the Wabbajack. The two lycans might be in the middle of carnal activities, but the fear of a Daedric Prince was just as horrifying as the thought of interrupting the couple mid-coitus.

“Might I ask what you're doing out here?” A polite but impatient voice came from behind the pink mare, sounding both foreign and familiar. As the Element faced the newcomer, she was more than reminded of her first time seeing an Imperial. The man was identical to Reman in almost every way, the only real difference being hairstyle and the prominent scar on his cheek. “I don't believe we've been acquainted, madam.”

“Oh, sorry, my name's Pinkie Pie.” The straight-maned mare extended a hoof in greeting, and was quickly met with the doppelganger's own hand. The Element almost giggled at the human's rigid courtesy; it was almost like he was forcing himself to be nice to her, but that didn't make any sense. After all, there was no way an illusion that looked like Reman would be different from the genuine article.

“I'm Uriel Tullius; the pleasure is mine, I assure you.” The fake lycan chuckled in his imitation of the true Imperial's voice. Pinkie remembered the changelings from Shining Armor and Cadence's wedding, so shape-changers were nothing new. She'd never seen anything that became a biped, though, so maybe it was a trick of Sheogorath that this human appeared to her. A part of the pony considered using the Wabbajack on the deceiver. “Perhaps you've met my idiot brother.”

“Yeah, we go way back.” Pinkie sounded genuinely happy to speak to somepony, even if she still wasn't certain of the man's truth. Part of the mare realized it was funny that she, of all ponies, needed to know the reality of where she was. The Imperial nodded, before returning to his room without so much as a good night. While the Element had every right to be offended, she was still glad to have spoken to somepony, even if he was rather rude. This left the bubbly mare with a dilemma. While she could always wander the halls for Celestia knows how long, she now had the option of venting to Uriel.

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Night flights were always a challenge, even for the most experienced pegasi. Skyrim's frigid air sliced through Rainbow Dash's fur and bypassed her natural resistance to the cold far worse than anything she'd ever seen. Every few seconds, she glanced at her wings to make sure ice wasn't building up on them, something that only needed done if she were three times as high in Equestria. Once, she heard a dragon roar in the distance, and shuddered to think of the lives it would likely end, knowing fully that she would be unable to do anything even if she was there. The Element of Loyalty touched down close to the trap door she'd used to get her flight in, hoping the guards wouldn't tell Princess Luna she'd disobeyed the no-flying rule.

Even though the action was disallowed, the polychromatic mare needed her exercise. It helped that flying also cleared her head, something that she desperately needed in the foreign land. It wasn't that she was scared or anything, Skyrim was just weird. Earlier that day, Dash had tried to explain the concept of cool to Lynette, and the Breton couldn't understand why a lower temperature would be a pleasant trait for a person. Humans may have been able to understand ponies, but that didn't mean they spoke the same language. It was like when General Tullius called a boring ship awesome. Apparently, in Cyrodiil, awesome meant beautiful and scary, like a dragon roaring to the sky.

The Element of Loyalty made her way through the dull passageways of Castle Dour, her mind filled with the glaring differences between Equestrians and Imperials. A flash of silver in her peripheral vision caught the mare's attention, the sound of metal slamming into wood rang from the training room's door as somepony practiced their deadly art. The well-oiled hinges hid the curious pony's inquisition from the soldier. Rainbow Dash was treated to the sight of Antonius Tullius brutally slaying training dummies. A heavy shield knocked a wooden target several feet as a steel sword wedged into the throat of another, only to be dislodged by a powerful kick. The pony almost started applauding when the legate split a dummies head in two so he knock it out of the way and hit the target with a bucket for a helmet, effectively ending the training session in a decisive victory.

The Imperial's sword clattered to floor as he groaned in pain. Antonius clutched his sword arm as the hurting limb fumbled for an amulet around his neck. The strange bit of jewelery looked like a bow tie with a little tail, and it took the Element a few moments to realize it was a religious emblem, a sign of faith in at least one of the Divines Reman had mentioned. Dash looked on from the doorway as she realized the legate had once been a proud warrior, surpassing his sons in his youth. Those days were long gone now; age, genes, and perhaps even disease prevented him from keeping pace. The mare had no way of knowing exactly what was wrong with the greying man, but Antonius would surely deny any such infirmities should he be questioned.

Rainbow Dash crept from the training room, hoping te ailment wasn't too serious.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight Sparkle sat in her shared suite, contemplating what could have made Reman act like that. While the Element of Magic understood the dangers involved in trafficking with Daedra, or at least as much as she saw when the two lycans fought Hircine, Tamriel was protected from invasions from Oblivion. Besides, Hermaeus Mora was supposed to be the most neutral of the Princes, devoted solely to the pursuit of knowledge and information. The Imperial didn't seem like the sort to worship the Daedric Lords, being a staunch believer in the Divines, so there was the possibility of religious indoctrination. “Fluttershy, have you noticed anything strange about Solitude?”

“No, nothing sticks out.” The usually soft-spoken mare was busy caring for Gummy while Pinkie remained missing. The animal caretaker believed her energetic friend had simply gotten excited and was taking a break from the hustle and bustle of the diplomatic mission. The absent Element would likely return within the next twenty-four hours, in any event; Pinkie wasn't the sort to abandon anypony for any reason. “Why, if you don't mind me asking?”

“It's just that everypony seems to be acting a little unusual.” Twilight counted off the reasons on her hoof, using fingers that didn't exist. “Rainbow Dash has been obeying the rules, Pinkie's gone off to Celestia know where, Rarity's been in the local sauna since we arrived, and Applejack turned down a local apple.” The Element of Magic had the utmost faith in her friends, but there were more than a few inconsistencies surrounding recent events. “Not to mention Reman's started acting like a spy, and Renoir is probably off killing somepony to drink their blood.”

“I doubt he'd be so cruel to kill just to satisfy a nonessential hunger.” Fluttershy had her own feelings distrust around the humans, and she would call them humans until they proved to be monsters, but there was no need for the Element of Kindness to jump to any conclusions. Besides, Renoir was a very nice man, for a century-old undead pyromancer. “And you know this is Reman's first chance to be around family in years. Can you honestly say you don't act differently around your parents and brother than you do in Ponyville?”

“It's just that nothing makes sense anymore.” Twilight was ready to punch a brick wall, the frustration was too intense to avoid any other outcome. The lavender unicorn longed for the simple days before Reman and lycanthropy, before Equestria even knew about Nirn and Oblivion. The little filly in her just wanted to go home and curl up with a book, not fight for survival in a land that made the Everfree Forest look like a calm meadow. “I know things change with time, but this is just too much data for anypony to put up with.”

“We'll be back in Equestria soon, maybe you can sort your thoughts then.” Fluttershy was probably the most maternal of the Element Bearers, given that she nurtured more infants than her friends. They were animals, but that was neither here nor there. “Until then, relax and try to get some sleep.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Dawn arrived quickly for everyone, but Reman Tullius and Summer Glade barely noticed the shining sun. The two had stayed awake after their initial conversation, and both had been too occupied to care about the blazing star. The sky was ablaze with the new day, and it was mere coincidence that the couple left their quarters with daybreak. Lycans were able to go roughly four days without sleep before suffering any ill effects, a fact that was seen as compensation by those afflicted wit the Huntsman's curse. The two werewolves barely made it out the door before someone had to point out a deficiency in the Imperial nobleman's attire.

“Reman, put some clothes on!” Uriel was being unreasonable in his twin's eyes. This was an example of values dissonance of the highest caliber. While the lycan had to go weeks at a time without a scrap of clothing or armor, the younger twin was kept dressed in the garments befitting his status. After spending four long years of his life as s part-time nudist, Reman had come to view the human body as a beautiful thing, unless one had certain insecurities.

“Can it, Uriel; you and I both know there's nothing to be embarrassed about.” The still-naked man was a little miffed at his younger double's disrespect. While the feral human understood the need for decency, Reman had no wishes for his freedom to be suppressed. It would be easy for the spellsword to claim his nudity was to ease the tension the unclothed Equestrians were doubtlessly experiencing.

“We're in a hall, not some bathhouse!” The slightly-younger twin was still shouting, as if he was trying to draw attention to his naked brother. All the while, Glade stood to the side, mildly amused at the siblings' banter on about the finer points of clothing. “We're having breakfast with the Emperor, the least you could do if put on some damned pants.”

“Well, negotiator, are you really so blind that you didn't notice the lack of clothing on Glade?” The lycan motioned to the bleached pony, who waved to the muscular man for emphasis. The legionnaire raised his middle finger at Reman, a gesture the nearby pony had yet to decipher. The werewolf seemed to take offense at that, and donned a hostile posture in response.

“Brother, we don't have time for you to act like a fool.” There were some serious issues between the twins and Glade really wanted to get away from the conflict before it escalated. There was a small sliver of fear in the younger Imperial, which could likely be attributed to superstition and suspicions regarding his elder's condition. The mare almost found that offensive on a personal level. “Have you grown that savage in your time from society?”

“I know more than you ever could, Rocky, so don't even try to call me savage.” Uriel's eye twitched a bit at the childish nickname, dating back to a bit of roughhousing that resulted in the younger twin cracking his head against a boulder. It was torture when Reman and Lynette had called him a stone-head for months after the scrap. But those days were ancient history, and the roles were reversed now. After all these year, the negotiator finally had the upper hand, and no Daedric influence would be able to match his hard-earned strength. A boiling geyser of anger ruptured somewhere within the captain, and it threatened to ruin the healing family as Marcus and Antonius entered the hall to investigate the shouting.

“Listen to me, you narcissistic, Daedra-praising horse-fuc-” Uriel was cut off by a rather well-aimed fist, having stepped on his short-tempered sibling's nerves a bit too far. The first and last thirds of what he had been saying were correct, but the middle and how he spoke had grated Reman in a way that made eating glass seem pleasant. Antonius and Glade held back one of the twins, with the pegasus keeping her forebear aloft and away from his bulky sibling.

“If you two are going to fight, save it for the yard.” Marcus was the family's oldest male, and the head of the house until he passed the title to his chosen successor. The general had a way with words that left no room for debate; the sort one had to be born with, an unteachable ability that Imperials prized in their nobility. “Reman, get some damned pants on; Uriel, take a walk, now.” The twins removed themselves from their bindings with shocking ease. The lycan landed with a muted noise and swiftly entered the suite, while the captain briskly walked outside for a spot of fresh air.

“I should have known better than to leave those two alone.” Antonius shook his head in disappointment, equally aimed at his sons and his own mistake. A consoling hoof patted the greying man on his shoulder.

“How could you have known they'd try to kill each other?” Glade was actually pretty mad at Uriel, if only for calling her a horse in such an insulting tone. The future uncle could at least act like he was fine with her existing when she was within earshot.

“I'm sorry you had to hear that, Glade, but they've been at odds since birth.” There was a cultural matter involved in this, but it would be far too difficult to explain to her. “Tullius twins have that going for them, it seems.”

“Guess I should hope for a single foal then, huh?” The pony laughed as she prodded her own belly. That went over much smoother than it had with Reman, probably because they two men had made their own decisions regarding the interspecies offspring. It may have also been due to the Emperor's acceptance of the child, but that seemed a bit too political for the level-headed noblemen.

“You're using humor to hide how terrified you are, aren't you?” Marcus looked at her like she had tried to juggle and failed miserably. It made sense for the experienced soldier to see through such a defense, given his racial predisposition to negotiations and mercantile pursuits.

“Yep.” Despite the barriers that popped up when using everyday language around the Imperials, Glade was certain her meaning was well-conveyed. In reality, she was seriously worried about fratricide occurring between the twins, with the obvious hope that Uriel would be the one to go if the situation called for it. “They won't resort to murder, will they?”

“They'll probably come to blows soon, but it won't be too serious.”

Renoir Belmont: Scholar, Healer, Vampire Hunter

“I'm rather impressed you didn't feed on her while you had the chance.”

“There's a compliment somewhere in there, I'm sure.” Renoir rolled his eyes, not that Celestia would be able to fully appreciate it. Much of his eyes were crimson and black swirls, which made it very difficult to determine where he was looking, and almost impossible to detect any sort of movement. “Really, you think I just bite every drunk woman who offers herself to me?”

“Either way, you have the beginnings of a hickey.” Celestia tapped a hoof to her own neck to show Renoir where his was. He gave her a flat look, but ran a hand over the area, which was still wet. He pulled out a polishing rag and went over the mark a few times to finish drying it. “But, seriously, our vampires wouldn't have passed up such a chance.”

“For Tamriellic vampires, myself included, feeding is nothing short of euphoric, though sadly suffers from diminishing returns.” He looked half-dead for a moment, remembering how long about his last rush had been. For most vampires, it doesn't take long to develop a tolerance, which meant they had to drink more and more to get any satisfaction. Eventually, it goes form something enjoyable, an unparalleled joy, to fending off pain. “But I'm not going to risk hurting someone when there's no guarantee it'll stave off my hunger.”

“And here I thought blood was blood.” Celestia allowed herself a nervous chuckle, seeing how irritated Renoir looked as he made his case. She recalled, long ago, how vampires acted when they went too long without indulging their abhorrent nature. Many could not go more than a month without reverting to raving beasts in equine form. “My little ponies seem to be somewhat like you humans; I figured there'd be at least some temptation.”

“Not for another few days, there won't.” Renoir was going on a month without feeding, and it felt like someone was twisting a large knife in his gut. His age helped him, having the better part of a century under his belt; a newly transformed vampire would have found that time insufferable. It would be another week at best before Renoir would be willing to bite a pony. At worst, he would snap sometime the next day, which was almost a guarantee if he had to go outside. “Though, it almost sound like you want me to head back to Twilight's room, hold Fluttershy down, and drink until I'm only slightly thirsty.”

“That could not be farther from the truth!” Celestia seemed outraged at the thought, but the way Renoir delivered his words made it obvious he was joking, albeit in a rather grim manner. She shot the man a death glare as he started laughing. Neither of them had the chance to keep up their little game; both felt a slight chill as a pair of Lunar Guards ran past. A straggler followed the duo, and broke of to speak with them.

“Your Majesty, we have an emergency in the Midnight Market,” She said, huffing. This one was female, with bat-like wings. She was obviously winded; the Market was halfway across Canterlot, and she must have been flying as fast as she could. “There've been two murders.”

“Reports for serious crimes are every six hours, and midnight was twenty minutes ago.” Celestia looked worried, and she looked at Renoir like she expected him to know something about this. When he shrugged, she returned her gave to the smaller mare. “Are the changelings involved?”

“Your Majesty, I'm afraid it's what you've always told us to keep an eye out for.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Springs kept staring at the pair of sheets, wondering what in all that was holy what had happened to them. It took a moment to find the other body; from what he could gather, the second victim was the first's father-in-law. Both bodies were where they had been discovered, though only one's sheet was any bloodier than it had been when first placed. “What the hell did he do to you?” Springs asked the corpse, sincerely hoping he didn't respond.

The first victim, a stallion by the name of Joyous Pathos, didn't have a drop of blood left in his body, and seemed to have been killed either by blood loss or the neck injury. Whatever the case, two pinpricks on his neck were the only indicator that he had done anything other than pass in his sleep, if one ignored the fact his head was on backwards. Springs shivered, but didn't know why. Was it fear? Disgust? Grief? He couldn't tell, but he knew he felt some combination of those three.

Murders happened in Canterlot, just like in Manehatten and Fillydelphia. But this was unheard of. Pathos may have been killed cleanly, but he wasn't the first to die. Apparently, the second victim, an older stallion by the name of Wary Glimmer, had gotten between the killer and his son-in-law. What was left of him was dragged into the bedroom before Pathos was killed, but the confrontation happened at the top of the staircase, which nicely explained the stain on the wall. Springs shook his head again; nothing, nothing about this could be summed up nicely.

Three voices came from downstairs, very faint, but two were recognizable. The princesses had arrived, and brought somepony with them. Hopefully, and Springs was really hoping, this newcomer would be a specialist at this sort of thing, despite the odds. Princess Celestia was the first through the door, followed by Princess Luna. The newcomer, who was the other biped from across the garden portal, was the last to enter, his face concealed by an ivory mask; Springs could only tell it was him because of his black armor. He looked around, tracing the line of blood up the stairs, and settling on the large stain on the wall.

“I already don't like the looks of this,” He said, sounding tired. He seemed to scan the entire area, but his mask thoroughly hid his eyes' movement. “Where's the wife?”

“At the hospital,” Springs answered from the second floor. Sweet Caramel was her name, and she was understandably indisposed, having just seen her father and husband murdered. His words gave him the newcomer's attention, and he could practically feel his eyes burning holes thought him.

“I take it you're the one in charge here?” He asked, actually needing the information. He needed to know who he was replacing, and get any leads he or she may have had on the vampire's possible location.

“More or less, yes.” Springs's eyes stayed on him as he started up the stairs. That mask of his was creepy enough, but when added to his silent walking, it was unnerving. Even the third step from the top, which had creaked every time somepony climbed the stairs, stayed quiet for him. He stopped just a few steps from Springs, and looked to the princesses on the first floor.

“I can handle this from here, princess; this is what I was raised to do.” With a flat look, Celestia complied, but Luna remained where she stood. She stamped her hoof twice, dismissing the other guards. Springs, having been the first to arrive, was exempted, and was required to remain. With a beat of her wings, she cleared the entire floor, and landed across form Renoir. “Well, as long as Celestia is gone, I can work.”

With that, he pulled of that creepy mask, and Springs immediately wished he'd kept it on. His eyes were what first drew his attention. For the short moment he observed them, they seemed to look everywhere at once, and lacked every feature used to discern where his gaze fell. Then, in that instant, he took notice of Springs's inquisition, and smiled. It looked much the same as the murderer's scowl, but marginally nicer.

“I take it the victims are this way?” He asked, already stepping into the master bedroom. Once inside, Renoir ignored the nearest body, the one belonging to Wary Glimmer, and instead focused on Joyous Pathos's. He pulled the sheet back just as Luna and Springs approached, hoping for something other than what he saw. He used two fingers to part the fur around the punctures marring his neck, and inspected them as a hunter might a print in the dirt. The corner of his mouth curled up, revealing a fang that was not unlike those Springs had seen on the killer.

“So, it is as we feared,” Luna said, sounding worried and resigned to the truth. Vampires were either back, or had been in hiding for a very long time, and she knew her sister had supposedly purged them during her absence. Regardless of the answer, this was a very dire situation, especially if they were to spread their taint. “Are you ready to hunt your kin?”

“My kin are dead, and it was vampires who killed them.” Renoir's face went from a scowl to a sick, predatory smile. This was the sort of thing he lived for, what he had devoted his life and undeath to, and now he was on unblemished hunting grounds. “I was raised to be a vampire slayer, and becoming a vampire hasn't changed that.” He turned his head to look at Springs, knowing he wouldn't be able to tell otherwise. He extended a hand. “My name is Renoir Belmont.”

“Bitter Springs,” He replied, shaking the offered limb. Vampires were stories, but now everything was coming together. The fangs, the eyes, the unholy strength, it was all starting to make sense. He was eager to defend Equestria, but that didn't mean he trusted Renoir, despite the obvious faith the princesses had in him. “Let's get to work, with your blessing, Your Highness.”

“Of course.” Luna looked stern, but her voice remained kind. This was going to be a long night, perhaps longer than she could accurately anticipate. Renoir stood and walked over to the broken window, scanning the alley for anything he could possibly use to track the mystery vampire. His eyesight shifted from what he considered normal, to the more brighter vision his eyes granted him. Everything kept much to the same pattern as the rest of the district, though one thing immediately stood out to him. It was a dark disk imbedded in the ground, a manhole cover like those found in larger cities.

“That leads to the sewer, right?” He asked, pointing to the metal plate.

“Yes, but you'd need a bar to open it.” At Springs's words, Renoir jumped through the window, landing softly. He walked to the cover, and as he suspected, saw scratches on the ground. Obviously, the vampire had opened it, climbed to the surface, walked around for a bit while checking doors, killed his victims, then fled back down the hole, pulling the cover as he went. He saw the hole meant for the bar, and stuck two of his fingers in just as Luna and Springs arrived.

“Need a bar, eh?” He asked the stallion as he pulled the iron cover up, tossing it to the side. The air that wafted from the sewers was just as one might expect: awful. It was hot, wet, and smelled like a thousand burning diapers, but that was just Springs's humble opinion. “Next time, remember that a pony who can rip someone up like that can probably lift a manhole cover, too.” Catching a whiff, Renoir waved a hand in front of his face, trying to get rid of the smell. “Gods, that stinks.”

“You're telling me,” Luna agreed, looking at the dark, dank hole in the ground with uncertainty. She wasn't scared of the undead that may have awaited them below, but rather getting the stink out of her coat once all was said and done. She looked to Renoir to be the first to go in, and he looked back with an unamused expression on his face.

“Alright; see you on the other side.” With that, he jumped into the murky abyss, perfectly capable of seeing. He landed with the splashing of water and the shouting of profanity. After a moment, it appeared as though he lit a torch, showing just how deep the hole was. Springs, swallowing the lump in his throat, followed suit. After a moment of hesitation, Luna took the plunge, her larger frame only barely slipping through the narrow opening. She assumed it was oddly narrow, anyway. “You two certainly took your time, didn't you?”

“Neat fire spell.” Springs took a moment appreciate the lighting, courtesy of the small, bright flames wreathing Renoir's fists. He did not know they were for anything but illumination, but reasoned they could also prove deadly melee weapons “But, no, we took as much time as we needed.”

“And with all that, you're still a little late,” A feminine voice echoed from down the long corridor. There stood a pony, wrapped in a cloak that only allowed them to see her semi-glowing, crimson eyes.

Chapter 69

It was not the place of mortals to puzzle the actions of the Divines, but as Susanne sat in quiet meditation, she could not stop her mind’s wandering thoughts. Her brother, nearly certainly a dead or half-crazed by lycanthropy in the best of situations, was alive and had a mind as sound as a Conjuration-user’s mind could be after years of study. Reman was looking healthy, if a bit unkempt, but he wasn't starving and seemed to be sleeping enough; if she was being honest with herself, his companions were perhaps the worst thing about his return. She did her very best not to judge him; it was better for him to be on the wrong side of the law and seemingly doing well, as happy as he looked and acted with the small, white pony with wings, than for him to be perfectly lawful and miserable.

It was ironic that she felt such, that she allowed her brother to be such a perversion not of only of mankind but of Kynareth’s creations. Reman was warped and corrupted by Hircine, in much the same way their mother had trafficked with Azura, but that did not make him any less of a just man, a merciful man. Perhaps, as rough as the others he travelled with appeared, they too were just, righteous in their actions. Azura fit perfectly within the worship of House Tullius, brought in by Senna Corvidae and spread through the wise women of the House; Susanne herself had been taught some of her mother’s tricks for divination, a tradition in her Nibenay blood that all womenfolk needed to understand at least a little of witchcraft, to be clever in ways men did not suspect.

Senna had not liked it when Reman had shown such magic talents, certainly not at first, but as the boy grew and learned she eventually came to love that he was to be a battlemage. Was Reman’s vampiric ally a mage? He was a breton, certainly, so at least he had some magical talent, and if so, what did that make of the purple pony with them? Was she a spellcaster as well; did she weave magic while others fought? Did that mean that her horn designated her a wizard? The winged ponies flew, so did the horned ones use magic? There was too much to think about, too many possibilities to really delve into the strange creatures. All she could say with any certainty was that the little white flier, Glade, was also touched by the daedra, just like Reman.

Susanne’s carriage was in front of the ponies’; she was leading two werewolves, a vampire, and several unknown creatures into her family’s estate. It felt nice to be doing something so out of the ordinary again.

_-_-_-_-_

“Your sister is rather odd,” Glade said, sunning herself on the carriage roof. Next to her lay Reman and Springs, likewise enjoying the warm day; the human himself was half-asleep after the long night on watch. He grunted noncommittally and shifted a bit, weaving his arms around the ponies next to him. The little mare giggled quietly and leaned over him, snuggling up and catching a glimpse of her friend on the other side. She shared a look with the unicorn, who smiled at her even as he wiggled in the unexpected embrace.

“Is he always like this?” Bitter asked, trying to find a comfortable position; he dared not leave the human’s grasp lest he risk waking the warrior and ruining the day’s lazy mood. Opportunities to unwind were rare in such times, and if relaxation meant cuddling up to a werewolf, then by Tartarus, Bitter Springs of the Lunar Guard would do it.

“Yep!” the mare chirped as she stretched a wing out, making a feathery blanket over Reman and Bitter. She wiggled a bit as Reman traced a hand over her belly in his sleep, feeling the slight bump that had already formed; she was not exactly large anymore, and had slimmed into a more streamlined figure that allowed her to show a little even this early. The spring sunlight shined gently as they fell asleep on the carriage roof. They would arrive at the Tullius compound some time the next day, and the nap did them all a little good.

Hours passed by without incident. Renoir occupied himself by reading Mannimarco’s notes while Fluttershy inspected the bow he’d used the night before; its barbed arrows were meant to cause far more damage that the double-bladed tip usually did, consummate weapons of terror that left anyone not able to heal themselves via potion or magic crippled or dead. Rainbow Dash and Applejack invited Pinkie to join them in a card game, using bits and septims as they gambled for fun. Rarity and Twilight discussed magic at a depth the seamstress found understandable. Princess Celestia, calmed since the previous night’s horrors, smiled at the day’s lazy feeling.

“Princess Celestia, could you please pass me the snifter?” Twilight asked, holding a bottle of amber liquid, either some sort of whiskey or brandy. The snifter in question was one of cut crystal, a favorite piece of Celestia’s collection, having been a gift from Sombra before his fall; it was large enough to hold the entire bottle and then some.

“I had no idea you enjoyed drinking,” the alicorn replied before passing the crystal to her student. A taste for alcohol itself was not a worrisome thing but it was so far from what the princess knew of Twilight that it seemed odd; Celestia understood her student was an adult, but after having taught her for so long, it was hard to resist the maternal instincts that called out whenever she saw her little ponies.

“Well, we’re here in Cyrodiil, soon to be making arrangements with the emperor, so I figured a little celebration was in order,” the little mage explained as she uncorked the bottle and gave it a sniff. It had a sweet, fruity aroma that belied its high proof; whatever grapes went into the brandy must have been delicious, but she did not know enough about wines to guess beyond that. “Reman gave me this bottle after I… defended myself on our return trip, and he said I could do whatever I wanted with it, and I want to share with my friends.”

“It smells like a fruit pie,” Pinkie giggled, leaning over to get a better whiff. “Get it? Fruit Pie?” She laughed a little longer as Twilight poured the brandy, swirling it in the snifter before passing it to her bubbly friend. The baker graciously accepted, smiling as she raised it and took the smallest of sips, sure to save enough for the others. She shivered as the warm taste spread through her mouth and left a trail to her belly, the perfect heat for a lazy afternoon; she blinked back some tears as she thought about the Cakes, about home, about everything she had lost since starting this crazy adventure. “Here you go, AJ,” she sniffed, before smiling again, optimistic about her life, even after being so far for home.

“Thank ya,” the farmer replied in her usual fashion. For her, the sip did little, save bring a few memories of her parents back to the forefront of her mind. Her father, rest his soul, used to enjoy hard drinks like this; she had vague memories of downing a shot when she was sick to clear up her sinuses. As she lowered the glass, she resolved to find a tobacco pipe or cigar, and maybe another bottle of whatever this was, so she could share the memories with Big Macintosh and maybe tell Apple Bloom a few more things she did not know about Ma and Pa Apple. Wordlessly, she passed the snifter to Rainbow Dash, who nodded her thanks.

With her usual lack of tact, she gulped down a mouthful, and wretched as the drink bit back. She remembered why she hated hard liquor, the same reason her mother hated it, and her father could not seem to put it down. Rainbow Blaze, for all his redeeming qualities and amazing parenting, was a hopeless, violent drunk who eventually sabotaged every relationship he ever had. Her mother took Dash away after one particularly bad night, one she really did not want to think about, but it taught her that the family she chose mattered more than the one she was born with. With a bitter taste in her mouth that almost certainly was not from the sweet brandy, she passed the snifter to Fluttershy, who was looking on with interest. Rainbow return to the game after she got rid of the accursed drink, but found she did not feel like continuing. “I fold,” she grumbled, putting her cards down as she started to think. She resolved to pay a visit to her mother the next time she was in Equestria.

The little yellow pegasus, previous hangover still fresh in her mind, gingerly took a sip before passing the glass to Renoir. The heat reminded her of her fireplace back home with all her little critters, and there she was, in a nice, warm carriage with all her friends close by. The drink was stronger than she expected, especially with it having such a sweet smell; it reminded her of the angelus sanguinum she had mistakenly consumed. Fluttershy smiled a bit as she recalled her hungover actions, before shaking her head to dismiss some of the more embarrassing thoughts that crept in. She leaned on Renoir’s shoulder, content to enjoy the strange dichotomy of sensation as her insides warmed while she rested against something cold; honestly, she could sleep right there, but roused a bit as Renoir passed the glass to Rarity. Fluttershy quickly bolted upright as Pinkie giggled at her, before sticking her hoof against his leg and seeing just how cool he felt.

“You should rent yourself out during warm months; you’re like a walking air conditioner!” the party pony provided, hoping to ease some of the embarrassment of her dear, yellow friend. She looked around the room and realized that nopony was actually paying Fluttershy much mind, and that she had interrupted the quiet contemplation everypony was in.

“Cheers,” Rarity said in dismissive tone, hoping to avoid the can of worms that Pinkie seemed to want open. She sipped a bit, careful not to shiver or show any sign she was affected by the shocking proof. She simply smiled and hand the snifter back to Twilight, thinking only of how nice her home was, and how glad she was to improve her business’s selection by studying Cyrodiilic fashions. Gracefully, never betraying her actual thoughts on the too-sweet drink, she levitated the snifter back to the only other unicorn in the carriage before reclining and preparing for another magic lecture. “It’d be wrong of me to have any more without you having some first, darling,” she said, not wanting another sip for fear it would hurt her teeth.

“Would you like some, princess?” the purple mare asked her teacher, who merely shook her head with a smile.

“This is your celebration, not mine,” the alicorn deflected. In truth she was never a big fan of alcohol; it took a lot to affect her and usually tasted terrible if it was strong, which the brandy Twilight was passing around certainly was. Everything she knew about her faithful student said she had never so much as touched anything harder than slightly spoiled juice, and with her jumping to something as strong as brandy, it was her own mistake to make.

“Alright then,” the purple pony said, tone somewhere between embarrassment and apology; there had been a slightly maternal twinge in the princess’s voice that brought back a lot of memories for her. While she had hoped her teacher would partake as well, she was not overly disappointed; it would have been rude of her to attempt to force the drink upon anypony, so she instead decided enjoy it as much as she could, with or without Celestia’s approval. She sniffed the glass once more, reacquainting herself with the bouquet, before pondering what in Equestria had gone into making such a drink. This brandy was as foreign to her as Tamrielic magics. Panic ran through her as she recalled her first experience with Conjuration, the probing tentacles and pain in her very mind, the fear as she felt her very life draining away.

The sudden thoughts nearly broke her hold on the snifter, but she remained steady. There was no need to fear, no need to worry; she had her friends all around her, and they would help her as she helped them, because that was precisely what friends did for one another. Bravely, she lifted the cut crystal to her lips and sipped at the sweet liquor within. It burned a trail to her belly, burned like her magicka did as it flared within her for the first time, burned like the sun on a hot day, burned like home. The second sip was cooler, like a warm breeze, Ponyville’s springs, Canterlot’s summers, her mother’s homemade cobbler on Hearth Warming Eve. The third sip was cool, somehow chilled within her warmed mouth, soothing like Skyrim’s twilight air. She felt at peace with herself and all she had done, sighing as she lowered the crystal; her eyes were closed in quiet reflection.

She was Twilight Sparkle, student of Princess Celestia, bearer of the Element of Magic, daughter of Night Light and Twilight Velvet, sister of Prince-Consort Shining Armor, friend to everypony she met. Right now, she sat in a rocking carriage with her closest friends and mentor; tomorrow evening she would see House Tullius’s holdings; some time after that she would help Reman prepare Princess Celestia for a meeting with Emperor Titus Mede II; beyond that was uncertainty. For once, in that uncertainty, Twilight found no fear, no matter how much she searched or wondered. Hermaeus Mora and his tentacles gave her no pause; he was simply a challenge to overcome, an impossible intellect that could be outmaneuvered, out-plotted, even if it would nigh impossible.

“Lovely,” she whispered as she poured the brandy back into its original bottle, now barely a third full. “I see now why Reman wanted me to have it; it’s quite relaxing.” She smiled at Celestia, then Renoir, before turning her head to the ceiling and hoping Reman could also feel her gratitude. She coughed once, then emptied the contents of her stomach all over the carriage’s floor boarding.

Author's Note