Hey there, feeling insane yet? No? Well, let's solve that problem.

5.01 – thanks to Hvulpes

"Haskill! Come, quick!" called the Mad God, looking at his notes in apparent horror.

"What is it, Milord?" asked the monotone voice of the approaching chamberlain.

"I have created the world's most evil summoning spell!" explained the Anchor, pointing at a set of books he'd just finished editing. "A force way too terrible to give to the world! So I was curious as to where I should leave the books for people to discover. Any opinion?"

At that moment, the smirk on his face was downright terrifying.

"If it were me and the spell did happen to be so horrible, I would certainly destroy it. But given that Milord is... Milord, why not spreading it across Nirn?" provided the Breton, already knowing that answer to be the one his master expected.

"Nirn? Yes... yes. Gifting it to every newcomers to the Isles seemed acceptable enough but... this is better, much better."

And then, Sheogorath reacted exactly like his chamberlain had thought he would. He began to pump his fist in the air, his face split by a mad grin and his eyes positively gleaming.

"Yes, All of Nirn shall see the brilliants of my evil!" he claimed in a passionate voice, acting pretty much the part of every cheesy movies' main villain ever. "They will face the horror of the mighty... Summon Boys Band Spell!"

Daedric being or not, Haskill couldn't help but feel an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

Sometimes, his master was just way too mad, even for the Mad God.

5.02

"You made what?" asked the Dragonborn, a little uncertain whether he truly wanted the Hero to repeat or not.

"Business cards, to introduce myself when I meet a new looper. Wanna see?"

It seemed pretty harmless. But since it came from the Hero…

"Sure."

The Fourth Era Anchor retrieved the piece of cardboard presented by his colleague, and appraised it briefly.

7 by 5 centimeters, white 350gms card stock, high stiffness with a sober matte finishing.

Not exceptional, but pretty good quality nonetheless.

The text on it though, was rather… surprising.

– Hero of Kvatch, savior of Nirn since the year 433 of the Third Era.

HeroofKvatch at blackhorsecourrier .mu –

"Flip it over" advised the Hero, looking quite amused.

The Dragonborn, with a small feeling of dread growing in him, did as instructed and discovered the back of the card.

– Sheogorath, Daedric Lord of Madness since the Dawn Era.

"Cheese for everyone!"

MadGod at newsheot .si –

"Classy."

"Isn't it?"

"What's the catch?" asked the Nerevarine, retrieving a card for himself.

If possible, the Hero's smile grew even bigger.

"Flip it again."

They did so, and discovered that the first text had disappeared, replaced by a new one.

– Defeater of Umaril the Unfeathered.

DivineCrusader at prioryofthenine .mu –

Seeing that, the Dragonborn began to turn the card over and over again, the offending paper constantly showing new content.

Flip.

– Master of the Clever Craft.

Archmage at arcane-univ .mu –

Flip.

– Son of the Dread Father.

"If you heard a whisper right before dying, then it definitely wasn't me. I'm much stealthier than that, thank you very much."

Listener at dark-brotherhood .vo –

Flip.

– 34th best Tiber Septim lookalike! –

Flip.

– Masked master thief.

"I'm not the guy you're looking for."

GrayFox at mindyourownbusiness .mu –

The Dragonborn was mumbling stuff like "Paper doesn't work that way." and "It was much calmer when I was alone."

As for the Nerevarine, his only comment was "Amusing.", after which he passed his card to the as-of-yet silent Vestige.

"How many titles does it shows?" asked the latest addition to their little group of Anchors.

"One thousand five hundred and thirty-nine. Then the cards runs out and starts cursing randomly." replied the smirking Hero.

The Vestige could only shake his head and sigh. He was slowly getting used to the craziness of the loops, but understanding the Hero was still out of his reach.

He was pretty sure that he didn't want to understand him anyway.

5.03 – by Hvulpes

Armand Christophe was waiting to see the latest members to join the Thieves Guild, when after an Argonian and a Bosmer, another man arrived. One wearing what looked like the Gray Fox's Cowl.

Except...

"Hello there." said the man in the bright pink cowl. "I'm the Pinkie Pie, and I would like to join the Thieves Guild."

Meanwhile, the Hero was wondering what other ways he could modify his collection of Gray Cowls, as well as if he could place glue in one and put it over Lex's head.

5.04

Martin Septim was a decent guy.

Not just the kind that would hold a door open for you or wash the dishes by himself despite being a guest – though he would do those kind of things.

No, he was more like the guy who would sacrifice himself so that others could live. In fact, he'd done just so when Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction, had set foot on the mortal realm of Mundus.

Martin had been too late, he hadn't reached the temple in time, and the barrier protecting them from Oblivion had finally completely shattered. With the Prince now physically in the city, all hope was lost… except that it wasn't. If lighting the Dragon Fire was simply impossible, the Amulet of Kings was far from useless. By actually breaking it, Martin had freed the holy energies inside the ancient artifact, becoming an Avatar of the Head of the nines, Akatosh himself.

The Aedra, anchored and empowered by the last emperor's feelings, had brought his wrath down on the invading Daedra, banishing him back to his realm and recreating the barrier, this time irrevocably. His task done, this temporary form had turned to stone, blessing the Imperial City with one final gift, a statue of the Dragon God of Time.

It was ironic, really, considering that while the Aedra had just blessed them, he had doom them at the same time. After all, hadn't he killed Martin Septim, last of his line, last true emperor of Tamriel?

Becoming an Avatar was indeed a terrible ordeal… a lethal one. Channeling that much divine energy could very well destroy one's body and soul. In fact, it always did.

But a few were strong enough to actually merge with the god they'd impersonated. They thus became true Avatars, a brand new aspect of the god.

Martin Septim, decent guy till the end, was such a man.

And so, the Third Era ended, but contrary to popular belief, the Imperial line actually lived on through the God of Time.

The Fourth Era was something of a nightmare and disillusion for Martin Septim, decent guy and true Avatar of Akatosh.

With this last entry on his curriculum vitae, the former priest turned emperor turned divine was bounded by a set of rules ensuring minimal involvement from the Aedras in the lives of mortals.

It meant that despite his burning desire to do so, he couldn't warn his friend, the Hero of Kvatch, when said friend stumbled upon a portal to the Shivering Isles, realm of Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness.

It also meant that while he wasn't supposed to look at the Isles, or any other Daedric realm, he still had whenever he could, managing to get glimpses of his friend's life. It wasn't much, but it was enough to notice the changes. The calm and wise Hero was slowly disappearing, replaced by… something.

Powerless, almost blind to what was happening, Martin began to fear the worst, and the worst happened.

One day, the rules simply ceased to apply for the Hero.

Martin first believed that his friend had finally died. He quickly reconsidered and choose to panic instead, when the barrier usually keeping him away from the Isles vanished.

Curious and more than a little freaked out, the Avatar immediately incarnated himself, and what he discovered pleased and pained him at the same time.

On one hand, his friend was no longer human, and it meant that he could now drop by for a visit. On the other hand, his friend was no longer human, nor his friend anymore.

The Hero had mantled Sheogorath.

While Martin had previously become Akatosh's Avatar, the Hero was now a Daedric Prince, a genuine deity… the new Madgod.

Of course, the Hero of old was still here. He appeared from time to time, to share a memory or comment on something… then he faded away, and Sheogorath came back.

And it was Martin's fault.

Truly, it was.

He'd died first after all, and his death prevented him from helping his friend. If Martin had been alive, the Hero would never had ended in this situation.

Wait, no, his death had been necessary, Mehrunes Dagon had to be stopped. Yes, his death was inevitable… but what was the point of dying and becoming an Avatar if he couldn't even save his friends? It was the rules' fault. Without those stupid rules, the Hero wouldn't be –

"Excuse me, Brother Martin?"

The sudden voice startled the Avatar, but not nearly as much as the sight coming along.

In front of him stood a redguard woman dressed in a guard attire. The white tabard thrown over her armor bore a black wolf's head on a grey circle… the coat of arms of Kvatch.

"Berich Inian sends me to check on the refugees, now that the doors are safely barricaded." said the woman, designating peoples Martin hadn't noticed before. "They seem calm enough, you did a good job."

The ascended emperor would have liked to have something to say, but he could do nothing but gawk at the departing guard.

The woman, Tierra, wasn't dead, that much he could tell, so she hadn't just set foot in Akatosh's domain in Aetherius. Martin had somehow been transported to Nirn instead.

A quick look around confirmed that he was indeed on the mortal plane, more precisely in Akatosh's Chapel in Kvatch. He himself had officiated here as a priest, until the city had been attacked by the daedras.

The attack… it was so fresh in his mind, way fresher than it should have been… and Tierra had called him 'Brother Martin', instead of emperor…

She couldn't be unaware of his ascension to the throne. Thinking about it, she couldn't be unaware of his death either, yet she didn't appear troubled by his presence at all.

Martin was disturbingly aware now, that something was seriously wrong. In fact, he could feel it at this very moment. It was like a great disturbance on his soul, something felt… broken to his senses.

Time, time was messed up.

Yet it wasn't a Dragon Break, nor an intervention from Akatosh.

It was… something else.

Acting on an impulse, the Septim retreated discreetly behind a pillar and vanished from the realm, on his way to Aetherius. If a simple Avatar could feel it, then Akatosh himself most definitely could, and may very well have the answers Martin sought.

Akatosh didn't know.

Something had teared time apart, and the Dragon God of TIME didn't know what nor why.

The only thing the Aedra did know was that the situation had been happening since the dawn of time, yet somehow had only began in the Second Era, shortly before the end of Molag Bal's attempted Planemeld. He had always been aware of it, yet he never had before… strange.

Martin was a teeny-tiny bit annoyed, and still quite relieved right now.

He had traveled back in time, apparently thank to a potentially dangerous phenomenon that long preceded his own time, and was now forced to relive his life.

Doing things over again would be pestering, but it was an opportunity to set things right. With the memories of a future that wouldn't exist anymore, he could prevent many tragedies, including his own death… and his friend's fall.

Strangely enough, Martin had kept the abilities and rights of a True Avatar, but was somehow still considered to be mortal. He could now freely travel from Aetherius to Mundus… and Oblivion.

It meant that the Hero wouldn't have to become Sheogorath in order to stop Jyggalag. Martin would vanquish the Prince himself.

With a smile on his face, the ascended emperor returned to the mortal plane.

Only to feel a blade press itself to his throat.

"Move, and your head will roll." threatened a low feminine voice in his ear. "Guys, we have a visitor." she continued louder.

"What kind?"

"Teleporting priest."

"Ooooh, lemme see."

Martin had to blink as a clearly excited Altmer woman entered his field of vision by literally bouncing toward him.

The elf had barely seen his face when she froze mid-bounce.

"Martin? You can teleport? Wow, strange variant." said the Altmer.

She knew him? And what did she mean by variant? Who were those women? Where were the guards and refugees?

"Martin? As in Martin Septim?" asked his assailant in a panicked voice.

"Yes, Vestige." said a male Breton, joining their little group. "You're pointing your blade at the man we're supposed to save."

The man smirked as the first woman removed her weapon hastily.

"I'm sorry, your highness." apologized the revealed Khajiit, bowing low. "I perceived you as a threat and acted on instincts."

Said emperor felt quite overwhelmed, and only managed an "It's fine, I… I understand."

The bowing woman, still bowing, rose her head, her visage expressing a profound perplexity. Martin watched her exchange glances with her two companions, and nod at the Breton who immediately took the floor.

"My friend here just treated you as royalty and called you Septim, yet you don't appear as surprised by her words as you should be. You're not exactly acting like a priest either." began the man. "Would it be too much of a stretch then, to assume that you're not standing here as Brother Martin, priest of Kvatch, but as Martin Septim, emperor of Tamriel and Avatar of Akatosh?"

Martin's eyes almost popped out of his head.

"How do you –"

Know. How did he know? The last Septim would have loved to receive an answer, but alas, his words were cut short by the Altmer who glomped him enthusiastically.

No, enthusiastically was too weak of a word, desperately was more like it. The woman was completely crushing his bones, as if fearing that he would escape her grasp, while her own body was shaking softly. And was she… sobbing?

"You're here… you're actually here…"

"Wow, Hero's crying." sarcastically commented the Vestige. "I mean, she' actually acting like a normal human… never thought I'd see the day."

"Come one, don't be like that." replied the Nerevarine, voice quite disapproving "You know who she was before."

"Yes, was, past tense. That's exactly what surprises me."

The Nerevarine quirked an eyebrow.

"You do know that deep down, she's still the Hero, despite Sheogorath's influence?"

"Funny, I always see her acting like the Madgod." said the Khajiit.

"Then you clearly haven't spent enough time with her." smirked the Breton "Sheo is much easier to see, and she's usually just acting looper-weird when he's not around, but she does have her moments of normality, although they're uncommon. I'd even say that she's more of the Hero than she ever was in her baseline."

It was the vestige's turn to look puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that back then, she – at the time, he – was drown by the Prince' presence after the mantling. Sheogorath was at the front, and the Hero was just a tiny little spark, deep inside. But with the loops, the things she did and saw, she grew again, right until they basically counterbalanced each other."

"Wait a minute, didn't you just say that she was acting all Daedric Prince most of the time? And now you're talking about balance… you lost me."

"I never said anything of the sort, just that Sheogorath was more visible." said the Nerevarine, as he rose a single finger. "He's noisy, intrusive, you can't miss him."

Another finger rose.

"Then you have the Hero acting crazy, but loop-crazy. Mostly calmer than Sheo, but once again, you usually see it coming."

A third and final digit appeared.

"And then, you have the true Hero, the serious one. She's easier to overlook, being that much more discreet, but she's just as intense as the other two, though with a sharper edge, serener mindset, and a healthier relationship to her feelings and humanity."

The Breton, a little smile on his face, pointed at the still sobbing Hero and the perplexed emperor.

"Despite what it may looks like, she has no romantic feelings for him. She's just genuinely happy to see her best friend because, despite all the time she spends with us loopers, Martin Septim still beats us on that front… hence the tears. You weren't there at the time, but the Dragonborn did just the same when Lydia Awoke. It was quite heartwarming."

"Heartwar… you're seriously telling me that the most Nord of Nords cried too? Are you sure we talking about the same Dragonborn?"

"We are. He was stunned at first, then got out of his stupor and cried like a baby."

The Vestige could only nod dumbly, picturing the scene. It was strange, but he finally understood what his fellow Anchor had just explained. There was more to the Hero than what met the eye.

Then a strange image entered her mind, and she couldn't help but snort softly.

"What is it?" asked the Nerevarine.

"Nothing, I just realized… Sheogorath would have offered him cheese, wouldn't he?"

"Oh, she probably will… later on. For now, she must evacuate all those bottled-up feelings. Come on, there's still daedras running around and the captain can't handle them alone. Let's leave the two of them alone."

Martin Septim felt incredibly awkward.

There was a girl he'd never seen before in his life, hugging him like her life depended on it, and soiling his robe with tears. And if it wasn't strange enough, the woman's friends had just left, leaving him alone in this embarrassing situation.

He didn't know what to do. He'd never been that good with women's feelings before.

So he did the first thing that came to his mind… he hugged her back and waited.

The Altmer somehow knew who he was, as well as what he'd become. And with time broken as it was, he couldn't rule out the possibility of her having been close to him in another life.

Time flew by, and the woman's sob slowly disappeared. Soon enough, she was breathing steadily, and Martin would have believed she had fallen asleep, was it not for the pressure on his ribs that hadn't lessen up in the slightest.

"Sorry for that." came the muffled voice of the much calmer woman. "I just… really missed you."

"I'm sorry but, who are you?" asked the Avatar in an equal tone.

It definitely wasn't diplomatic, but he just had to know. She knew him, but he didn't know her. What was he to her, and her to him?

The Altmer looked at him, but it wasn't with the gloomy face he'd expected from his arch question. Instead, there was only understanding, and a small smile.

"Right, you never saw that face before. Don't worry, even I have trouble keeping up with it."

More question marks formed in the man's head.

She knew that he didn't know her, but had still reacted this way? Also, she had trouble keeping up with her own face? How was that even possible?

All his questions vanished from his mind though, with the Altmer's next words.

"But seriously, you can't even recognize a friend who went to Oblivion and back to save your sorry imperial ass. Sad, really. I expected more of you, highness."

It may have been her voice, or the small spark suddenly shining in her head… he recognized her.

"Y… you are..."

"The gal you left at the altar… you know, that one with the giant dragon statue?"

That smirk…

"Hero?"

"Hello, Martin. How are the loops treating you?"

"He's troubled." observed the Nerevarine from atop his Saber Cat.

"No shit Sherlock!" replied the Vestige, riding her Senche next to him.

A few meters ahead, Martin Septim was absently holding the bridles of Weynon Priory's chestnut horse. He seemed completely lost in thought, entirely disregarding the Hero's presence, not to mention their own.

"Someone should talk to him."

"Yeah, but sending the Hero is doomed to fail –" said the Khajiit, pointing as the other Anchor, riding a glowing spectral elk ahead of them and scouting for aggressive wildlife and bandits. "– and I'm not much of a diplomat either. So good luck with that."

The Breton would have wanted to argue, but knew that she was right. Sighing, he guided his mount to the emperor's side, and spoke up.

"Your highness? May I have a word with you?"

The addressed man turned a heavy look toward the Anchor. He didn't look just concerned, he looked downright lost.

"You seem troubled. Did you perhaps though of new questions regarding the loops? If that is the case, I'll happily answer them to the best of my abilities."

"I…I… What?"

The look of confusion on the emperor's face intensified for a moment, before he finally recognized his interlocutor and shook himself out of his daze.

"Excuse me, Nerevarine, I… I was… contemplating this whole looping business. Do you want something?"

"Yes, I want to let you know that, shall you ever have new questions or be in need of advices, I would be most happy to help you."

"Oh… well, thank you."

"You're most welcome."

A short yet tense silence fell on the two riders.

The Nerevarine hesitated, but finally decided than his own discomfort wasn't important at the moment and began to speak again.

"You know, you shouldn't judge her too harshly."

A second flew by, and he received no answer.

"I understand that you remember a different Hero, being yourself from the true baseline, but disregarding who she became since then is, and I'm sorry for the disrespect, pretty stupid. Yes, she mantled Sheogorath, and no, there's nothing you can do about it… but she's still that Hero who never falters and would gladly sell her soul if innocents' lives were at stakes."

The Anchor saw actual doubt in the Avatar's eyes, and knew that he would at least consider his words.

But he had to do more than just consider them. And so, as he began to steer his mount back to the Vestige's side, the Nerevarine spoke one more.

"You're like a brother to her, Martin… please, don't treat her like a stranger."

From the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the emperor almost falling from his saddle, visibly shaken.

Good.

Now he just had to wait and hope that the new looper's ultimate decision would be the one he expected… for the Hero's sake.

Putting yet another arrow in yet another rabid wolf, the Hero couldn't help but smile.

Martin had been acting gloomy all afternoon, but Ghosty had finally managed to calm him down by making him think of something else than the first Hero's sort of death during the mantling. The Martin of old wasn't back just yet, but it was just a matter of time now.

With renewed vigor, the Anchor guided the Spirit of the Hunt, an Aspect of his brother Hircine, toward a fleeting member of the pack. The hunted succumbed to the hunter, and the beast was promptly trampled.

Yep, this loop was great.

5.05

The Vestige blinked Awake in her old cell, and immediately emitted a ping. The dozens of responses she received back caused quite the headache, and she groaned in pain.

"What the heck?" yelled a stumbling Imperial, catching herself against the wall.

A tattooed Dunmer replied with an equally eloquent "Dammit!"

"Haaa, too loud!" complained an Altmer, rolling on the floor.

"Huh, my head!" said a horned Bosmer, dropping to her knees.

"Stop yelling!" hissed an Argonian.

"This one needs earplugs!" stated a Khajiit.

All around the cell, other prisoners of various races and genders were similarly falling to their knees, holding their head, cursing or simply calling for calm by shouting, which was rather counterproductive.

A few minutes of great confusion followed, until a blissful silence finally fell on the strange scene.

But as soothing at it was, the Vestige ultimately decided to break it. She had visitors after all, introducing herself was the least she could do.

"Welcome all to the Elder Scrolls branch. I am your host, the Vestige, Anchor of the current sub-branch. While I've ever received so many visiting loopers at once, I'll do my best to answer your questions and –"

"Wait, you can't be the Vestige, I am." interrupted an Argonian.

"Hey, I'm the Vestige too!" added an Nord.

"Same for this one!" continued a Khajiit.

"Yup!" chirped the horned Bosmer.

A second Bosmer, this one male, nodded.

"So what? We're all the same person?" asked the Altmer.

"Looks like it." answered the Imperial.

"Mikasa Glitch." remarked the until now silent Redguard.

Another long silence stretched, this one a little more awkward.

"So… what are we doing?" finally asked an Argonian.

"Dunno." shrugged a Breton.

"Let's deal with Molag Bal, we'll see from there." proposed the Redguard.

"Hey, wanna bet?" smirked a Dunmer.

"On what?" asked an Altmer.

"Who can kick his sorry ass the fastest."

"You're so on!"

"I'm in." exclaimed an Orc.

"Same here." added a Nord.

"In-loop abilities only?" questioned the Altmer.

"Obviously." answered the Dunmer.

"Fine."

"And our gear?" asked the Orc.

"Baseline stuff. Variants and fused-loops are excluded."

"Quality limit?"

"None, but be quick to choose, we don't have that many legendary items yet."

And to prove his point, the Dunmer threw his hand into their currently shared Subspace Pocket and grabbed one of the few Legendary Voidsteel swords they had.

"Hey, no fair." complained an Imperial.

"Put that back in."

"Nope." smirked the Dunmer.

"Well then, I'm taking this." said the Nord, accessing the Pocket.

"Hey, that one wanted this axe."

"Sorry kitty, not today."

"I'll take that bow, thank you." said an Argonian.

"Why you little…"

"If nobody wants those daggers, I'll just take them."

"You do that, Imperial. I'm fine with an ice staff."

"Well, I'll myself stay out of this messy bet." suddenly said the female bosmer, causing her male counterparts to raise inquisitive eyebrows.

"Why, you're scared?"

"Don't want to break a nail?"

"No, I'm just more evolved than you lot. Plus I don't have to display my testosterone to the word to stroke my own ego."

"I'm with you, sister." hissed an Argonian.

"Me too… but I'll handle the healing, if it helps." shyly proposed a female Dunmer.

"It will, thank you." smiled the Redguard, grabbing a scimitar for himself.

At that exact moment, the Dunmer who'd caused this mess had another brilliant idea.

"Hey, once we're back on Nirn, who's up for going against Sheogorath?"

"Bonus points if he turns himself into a cookie again?"

"You're reading my mind."

And thus began the craziest and most suicidal series of bets in Tamrielic history. It would also lead to the most destructive crusade ever recorded and upset the very balance of the universe, but that's another story.

5.01 - Sheo is a real monster sometimes.

5.02 - Poor Dragonborn. Also, I so want a business card like this.

5.03 - Mmmh, the guard captain running after himself... so much potential behind the Gray Cowl.

5.04 - Welcome to the loops, Martin Septim. Please, do try to stay sanner than the Hero.

5.05 - Well, TESO is a MMO, isn't it?