AN: Hey guys. Quick recap:

Louise summoned Prince of Douchebag AKA Sheogorath/Theodore.

Insert generic daedric plot. Lazed about, follow canon railroad, blah blah Martin, blah blah, had fun with Theo's HAXX god status plot.

Mathilda beats her persona by pulling an impaler.

Obligatory CHEESE meme. Louise screws up big time but hey, it's okay, it's the Ball of Frigg and her Highness is there to party.

Sheogorath decided he's gone tired playing and decided to chuck a dancing plague to spice thing up. Sanguine agreed, contributing his own stuff in it. Azura floats in because she's Azura. Big forum debate happened.

Meanwhile, Shivering Isles, the Madhouse is destabilising for unknown reasons.

Colbert failed his speech check and has a deadly dance off with the Prince of Madness.

Sheogorath threw an icy temper tantrum, going full 180 all of a sudden. Azura told him to chill and took him to her realm.

Colbert was the only survivor and was blamed for the incident. Tries to find a way to save human popsicles.

Karin came and slapped the nonsense out of Colbert. Huge drama and mystery, Reconquista decided to up their game and send attackers for hostage and acquire the Staff of Destruction.

Church/The Eternal Champion ex Machina.

Pelinal was an asshole, like major (SUPER) fucking asshole. Louise keeps seeing/dreaming godawful shit for… reasons. Theodore thought he was a Dibellan but was really an asshole. Talin beats the shit out of Colbert because you don't try to insult and accuse a salty dad and get away with it.

And now here we are with so many fucking subplots that need to be tied up.

Also the Dragonborn is taking send to another world thing as a crappy holiday.

Chapter Fourteen: Worthless

Gods ain't gonna help you, son. You'll be sorry for what you done. Them gods gonna hurt you, son. When they find out what you've done.

They ain't gonna catch you when you're falling. You'll be pleading while you're bleeding.

They ain't gonna heal you, son. Don't care about what you done. They ain't gonna hear you, son. You'll be sorry for what you done.

You'll be sorry for what you done.

Tristain was bleeding and it was bleeding hard. When Tarbes fell, Reconquista gained a secure foothold onto the small kingdom and was gaining even more. Though married with Germania's Emperor and newly crowned queen, Tristain's economy was draining fast through this war despite its solid support. Its future was not looking bright as the threat of annexation was becoming a real possibility either from Germania through poor economic standing or from the Reconquista by conquest. It didn't help something happened during a ball of a prestigious magical academy that made the nobles suspicious of the Crown.

Outgunned, out ranged, out maneuvered, out wealth, Tristain was ready to fall. But that was expected since for two-three reigns of monarchy, it was technically ruled by the prince consorts through their marriage of Tristain's queens. Its current queen has inherited a country that expected nothing out of her and ill-prepared her of such future.

Hearing this news, Joseph de'Gallia, king of Gallia for three years just drank his wine bottle in multiple gulps then he burped loudly before he gave a distasteful dead look at the tomb of his father. For three years he had been avoiding this tomb, now he stood before his father, slightly trembling. Here within the catacombs of Gallia kings and queens, underground and musty, the current king of Gallia confessed to the white stone of his forefathers and father.

"You knew Albion was going to fall. You were right about its king and his compatriots being bigger idiots. You've build those airships, you made our military powerful. Eight… nine years in the making. I made it easier for us. Made Albion bleed itself. Gave them big guns, gave us big guns!" Joseph said at the tomb, his blue royal hair unkept and matted from rain. "Charles… Charles would've been leading the campaign to them, on that ship you've build for him. He would have delivered Albion on a silver platter and everyone would say… oh what a hero!"

He was forty-three years old but he looked like he was in his thirties, a handsome looking man with a beard that gave him a roguish look, making him popular amongst women. He was also the king of the wealthiest and second largest country of Halkeginia, many could say he was truly blessed for being born into such position, but blessed with good fortunes was the last thing Joseph would have thought on what his life was.

"Isabella comes here now and then, crying on your grave. Asking you back. Even my own crazy daughter has more heart in there somewhere than her dear old dad." Joseph laughed bitterly. "She grows more into a spitting image of her mother. A shame my part in her ruin that." He gave a pained look.

"Did you know that Charles bribed behind your back… no our back, your retainers, your royal subjects while you were on your deathbed," he began unhappily. "He was willing to risk civil war for the sake of the Crown. That's high treason right there! He was such a hypocritical snake with a perfect face, saying he supports me and everything when you chose me..." Joseph trembled and crossed his arms before taking a swig of his wine.

"I killed him, assassinated him, eliminated the threat to the throne. A poisoned arrow to his back, he smiled to me when I checkmated," the king said to the grave. "I drove his wife mad… I reduced his daughter into nothing, a fallen noble. If it was you… would you have cut off their heads? Or did you love Charles too much and would have let him get away with that?" He whispered at the sarcophagus that his father rested inside.

"If I gave him a fair trial… he would have gotten away. One of his supporters would get the blame instead," he continued listlessly as a hollow look fell on his face. "Was I supposed to do nothing, should I, the king, have let him get away with that? The Crown is the law, the king makes the law and must follow the law, else the law is nothing… isn't that right, father?"

The man hung his head, slouched enough that he rested his forehead on the stone as the tears began to spill and a crazy smile spread on his face.

"I was so caught up in my own self-pity and loathing for him I didn't notice he was suffering as well, and the funny thing is… I wouldn't have realized this if it weren't for my familiar. She pointed that weird grinning stick of hers, and whoosh, I finally woke up and realized what I've done," Joseph whispered and laughed. "Too late, I realized it too late." He shook his head vigorously.

"You told me not to do it… when my wife died, when you saw me reading about the Ring of Andvari, you told me it would only bring more pain. You're right about that, you were always right. I'm such an imbecile." His body trembled as he cried.

"The ring… it really brings back the dead, resurrects them… but as a living puppet with all the secrets and thoughts of the dead, loyal to the bearer of the ring." Joseph looked at the tomb, his blue eyes distant. "I told Ysmir to put the ring on his corpse, Charles or not, he would be his own master, following his own will. That counts enough as coming back from the dead, right? It worked, and we talked." He grinned as he recalled. "I was scared," he whispered.

"I thought he was going to kill me. I thought he wouldn't want to see my face," Joseph confessed. "To tell you the truth, I didn't have the courage until I learned a new spell, a useful one, from the Founder's music box. Whatever comes back, I would at least be able to put it down for Charles' sakes."

"But we honestly talked. I shouted and screamed, I actually blew him up… killing him again didn't make me feel better," he added quickly with a helpless shrug while shaking his head. "He came back of course, since he has the ring… Even when dead, that fucker didn't raise his wand, saying he was sorry. I told him what I did to his wife and daughter, he still didn't raise his wand at me, but I think I broke his heart. He blamed himself instead!" Joseph hissed angrily.

"It's just a puppet that didn't want to go against its master. The real Charles, he would have killed me after coming back from the grave. But no no…" he shook his head with complete disgust. "He hugged me, father! I blew him up again, blood everywhere… it was gross."

The blood that spilled on his clothes and face that day, it moved with its own will and returned to the body. From shattered bones to shredded flesh and organs, it weaved back to the perfect little brother that he always knew. He expected a puppet of a corpse to be cold like the dead, but it was warm, even its heart beat strongly like the living. Yet, his little brother didn't raise his wand against him.

Charles the Beloved, Charles the young prince, Duke de'Orleans. At young age, he was genius in magic, he mastered all elements by thirteen, from then on he grew from line to square mage steadily over a decade. He was charismatic, he was well-liked, popular, easy-going. He was the true Crown Prince of the people's heart.

His elder brother, cursed with no magic, just failure of spells decades after decades, overshadowed, ridiculed, threatened by those who didn't like he was the Crown Prince. A noble was a mage and what was a noble without his magic? What would you call a royal prince, the future sovereign of all nobles, carrying holy blood yet with no magic for himself? People couldn't believe he shared the same blood his talented brother carried.

He had lived with this jealousy over his brother for most of his life because of this. He grew up disliking people that had labeled him the failure son of the king. Unpredictable and foolish, Joseph was no plaything of the court. He would not bow to the whims of the nobles and that made him dangerous, but he loved his brother truly, never had hated him and never went against him at all until… their father died.

"How could he be so kind after all I've done to him?" Joseph hissed, pounded the stone frustratedly with his fist. "He even told me about his abandoned daughter, said to make it right for her. He had twins, father! Twins! Isabella must have been two, and I was still mourning over my wife at the time! Did you know, he named her Josette… after me! He named a daughter after me and abandoned her! He really really loved me, and hated me of course." The king laughed hoarsely and drank a couple more gulps from the bottle of his wine. "I was such a fool, if I had been a better brother for him, he wouldn't have to sacrifice. He wouldn't have to abandon her. He wouldn't… he wouldn't have tried so hard to please people," Joseph whispered sadly.

"Charlotte and Josette," he hummed with a faint smile. "Charles and Joseph. Is that how you would imagine us, that we would stick together after you were gone, father?" He looked at the stone. "Both of us… must have disappointed you so much. I disappointed you. But I'll make it right… I'll step up, I'll be the kingdom's Charles. I will make Gallia great. A worthy battle fit for the Valkyries awaits."

Joseph stood up, his body shaking as he grinned. "I will finish your work. I'll take Charles place and lead our military. I know, I know… the king should sit back and not risk his head. I'm being selfish again, I could die on the battlefield… but I don't really mind. I'm the foolish king, remember?" He smiled a little bit pridefully. "I wonder what runic name they will give me after I show them my Void. I bet you know about that also, didn't you?" He pointed at the grave accusingly with that same grin.

"You made me summon when I was sixteen… though that blew up in our face." He laughed softly. "Ashy red-eyes demonic elf, that was the last thing you expected for a holy familiar. Ysmir is no elf though. Didn't have ashy skin or pointy ears. She's a complete barbarian and ancient." Joseph made a cringing face, preferring a much younger and prettier familiar.

"Big and tall, doesn't follow orders though, had punched me in the guts when I finished the contract with her, did you know? But she's a swell person and a fun fellow, the only one who could drink me down under!" He chuckled. "She's honest too, I needed someone like her to smack me in the head after you were gone. We're kinda kindred spirit, she's really bitter about something but she won't tell. Not like it's my place to pry considering I asked a lot out of her already. I think you would've liked her."

"She was the one who stood up for little Charlotte back then, told me in the face she won't tolerate any of my bullshit!" Joseph grinned. "I told her where else a twelve years old fallen noble could go? Who was going to feed her, put a roof over her, buy her clothes? Her father's supporters? Sure, sure… let them have the child of that man they stood behind and was willing to instigate a civil war. Let them feed their opinions, and bullshit and make her their pawn for the throne. Yes? Yes… She says she would pay for all of those and work for me! My familiar, she's really something." Joseph giggled, covering his eyes and resting his hand on his forehead briefly as he laughed.

"I gave Charlotte to her. To a total stranger! I had a feeling she would blow away a whole kingdom, wade through all the blood, crush even my skull, just to protect a little girl she didn't know. Not that I would mind!" He grinned. "Originally, I was thinking of letting Isabella deal with her, make her earn her keep or something. But now that I think about it, Charlotte would be bad for her," Joseph muttered.

"They used to be so close before… everything, Charlotte and Isabella. Isa would've called her little Helene, remember? They were like sisters, they had fun. Played around just like me and Charles." He frowned. "And then everyone plays favorite, and pick the two apart as if they were just dolls. It's just… bad."

"Because she has me as a no-good father, people compare her to Charlotte always. It's like me and Charles all over again. Who's the better princess! My Isa didn't like that, and she becomes completely insufferable. She's really like me in that way." He made a disgusted face. "Couldn't stand it. Lashes out, make things worse for everyone. You would have told her to knock it off and call her an idiot, saying how her behavior wasn't going to win her any hearts," he said to the grave before he looked down to the ground.

"My familiar send Charlotte away before my Isa gets really hurt," he confessed then sighed. "Whereas I didn't do anything. I couldn't do anything because I'm a no-good imbecile of a father, of a prince and now king… and a person too," Joseph said with a self-depreciative smile.

"You tried your best with me, told me not to cry, not to show them what they wanted. Hold your emotions, Joseph," he whispered.

Crush them, Joseph.

"Don't let them get to you, Joseph. And I would fail in some way with your lessons and did something stupid, or embarrassing or offensive. I hated it… why do I have to play by their rules." His teeth clenched together in frustration. "I'll show them. I'll prove it you didn't choose wrong."

He stood there with that wide goofy smile and distant eyes, arms crossed as he hugged himself in his slouch, he then placed the wine bottle on his father's grave. "I want to die, I want to die in a ditch amongst the mud and the dead. Because that's what I deserve after all I've done," he repeated these words that had haunted his mind. "But I'll hang on, just a little bit more. No more regrets…"

Joseph de'Gallia then bowed low and snapped back up with his backs straight. He then turned and marched towards the light at the end of the catacomb, his steps light and echoed the empty hall of the dead. The beating of rain slowly growing louder and he finally stepped out his family's catacomb.

She was waiting outside, her long silver hair drenched and reached to her hip lines. She had a worn pale face of an old lady. There she stood contemplative beneath the rain, he was eerily reminded the zeal he saw in his father in her. Her sharp gaze was oddly comforting in a way but she looked so tired. She had been with him for three years and she had not once grown any fondness for the palace. From the servants, to the ministers and the nobles, even the people, there was a certain dislike and distant she would place.

Joseph recalled the reason. This place is toxic. Bad for your head.

Even at her age, she wore fully fitted heavy armor with no trouble and could still beat his strongest knights in them. An emblem of a gold dragon eating a sword in the shape of an hourglass laid brazenly open over her armor. Joseph remembered she mentioned priest and priestess where she came from wore it as a badge of office.

"Are you done moping?" She said, her bright blue eyes narrowed down on him.

"I'm done," Joseph stated with a grin.

"Are you sure you trust your daughter with your kingdom?"

He snorted. "She's the one who's keeping the whole nobles in line and making sure ministers don't get away with using only that little group of knights I gave her. I say she's more competent than me."

"She's a terror," she mused. "But she does care for your other niece."

"I'll give back her mother figure I took away from her, just to make sure she really plays nice." The former Duchess de'Orleans was sure as hell won't thank him though, but that tune will change once he brings her abandoned daughter over. "If anything I know about my little Isabella is that she lives for other approval, especially from the ones she loves and will be willing to hide her fangs," he said softly.

"And your other niece?"

"She will probably want to kill me more… her father being an undead doesn't help, will think it's a giant joke from me. Can you imagine, surprise Charlotte! I brought your father back-ish!" Joseph laughed a little bit too unhinged. "But as far as resurrection goes, I think he's good as you can get."

"Would you believe me if I said the water spirits are the ones that cycles life in this world? Water is what makes life, it's what's inside you, what keeps your body going, it's fitting," Ysmir stated.

"It's heretical. But I'm not one to give a shit about the gods or the church," the king admitted with a scoff. "After all, heaven was the one who made me miserable by cursing me with this magic. Holy my ass, it made me the butt of a joke for forty fucking years," he muttered.

Ysmir slightly smiled. "You've come far. It won't make things right, but it's a step. Though I have to say aren't you worried about the elf? Doesn't his kind kidnap void users… and lobotomize them?"

"I don't mind having my brain scooped out after everything is done," he said self-condescendingly then he looked at the older woman. "You never told me why you helped me."

"Only you can save yourself, Joseph." She just smiled. "You're like my uncle, he likes to run away from his problems by hiding behind insane schemes and make everything a giant joke or a game."

"Oh, he sounds like a fun guy."

"He's not a good person, but he's a nice guy, Joseph. One way or the other, you'll regret something if you ever meet him." She then looked up and blew three words out of her mouth.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, his teeth buzzed slightly at the lingers of power. The rainy sky cleared within seconds, sunlight and blue sky shining down on them.

"I'll never get use to that." Joseph shook his head and walked past her. "C'mon, we've got a war room to attend, assassinations to plan and I've got a bunch paperwork to go over before the fun really starts!"

Dallin? No… no, it's…

It was a sight that made him sick in the stomach. A sight that he had once dreaded, that would've made a father broke down. He stared hollowly at the fourteen turning fifteen-year-old fool.

Valdrin dangled and stringed up for everyone to see, a sight that was hardly out of place at a public execution post. But he hung from an ancient tree. A giant old tree, blackened and burnt with rot festering in the inside, but sturdy nonetheless. Moss, lichen, mushrooms and tiny flowers and poppies riddled the tree.

The thick branch the ropes clasped on overhung the violently gushing river beneath. The tips of his black leather boots inches away from the water. If one would cut down and retrieve his body, they would have to dare to enter the sweeping current of the river.

His son's eyes were glassy and dead, but they weren't gray. They were yellow with black pupil slit. It would've been a Khajiit's eyes, but Khajiits don't have human eyes, especially ones that have its white part black. His boy stared at him.

A stirring soft sigh of the wind, the leaves rustled with glass chimes tinkled in the air, warding off bad spirits. A superstitious practice to ensure spirits wouldn't come back through the dead with vengeance in mind. What a serene scene.

"What have you done to my son?" Talin whispered at the sight before him.

He was just a boy. He was just a boy, he repeated the thought hollowly. How could he do that, how did he easily behead three experienced knights and cut through the limbs of their horses. It was inhuman. Except he was a battlemage, he would know spells that could cut armor like butter, that could weaken bones into sticks, that could give him monstrous strength and turn hides and flesh hard as oak. But the same could be said with the knights.

Valdrin Warhaft was a dangerous fourteen-years-old boy in the field of swordplay. A natural fighter with uncanny observing skill. He was truly battle-gifted, already on his way at becoming an expert with his blade and have yet to experience the wall that all young blademasters should have faced by now. A boy like him could easily be led into arrogance.

Duty, loyalty, and all the more important lessons was what he taught him first. Or so he thought. Talent and youth apparently produced a totally uninspired and unmotivated son.

He ended up with a son who was always seeking new thrills, finding new ways trying to get himself in trouble in the most creative manner. Always addicted to the foolish pursuits. He sought thrill like one would chase the wind. He would run after the stars and back, would even steal a scale from a dragon.

Would take a priestess-to-be on her first night.

A taste for senseless killing came next. Did he miss the signs? Was there something wrong with him? Did he give enough attention or did he overindulge to the point he turned rotten to the core?

"Why the girl?"

"You're not the kind who would brand the accuser a whore, ruin her name and all those beneath that temple's roof while I get a slap on the wrist, aren't you?" There was no vehemence, no anger or accusation within his boy's voice. Just plain resignation from the hanging corpse. "I guess I bit more than I could chew," the morbid boy murmured.

"What made you think it was-"

"Father, you and I both know there are sordid people in these day of ages who does those sort of things. Except it's the Temple who did the drugging. I was just the thief, not the lover she was promised," Valdrin mused with lazy half-smile.

It was like he was oblivious of his current situation.

"She was going to do it with a stranger anyway." He shrugged but laughed, a living fool. "I guess this is why Sanguines and Dibellans don't get along."

"The Goddess of Love does not tolerate dubiousness in her loves, son."

"Trust, consent and love are what separates them folks," Valdrin said quietly. "For the time, it would be called young love, short and bitter, but made all the more sweeter in the eyes of Dibella. Was it wrong? I loved her… she loved me, but it wasn't right. Not like that… anything but that."

"So why…"

You mocked a woman with no family name of her own and took her devotion to her goddess into mud! You invaded the sanctity of a celebration about passion and love into sacrilege!

"Misspent youths?" Valdrin offered weakly when he saw his father's look. "Y'know, the sentiment isn't uncommon amongst newly recruits."

"The Legion would've crush such crassness before they become a problem," Talin hissed angrily. "We're no pillagers from the days of old. We're enforcers and civilians, not vagrants and war-mongers."

"But that lesson was too late for me, I guess. I was the least suspecting idiot amongst idiots to do it… but I did. The price of my mistake is my honor and life."

Talin only looked at him with disgust, he shook his head at hearing this. Did he really understand his mistakes? Did he truly accept his crimes? Are you not my son?

This black stain Valdrin pulled on their life, when he thought about it, it was less about the girl and more to do with the blatant sacrilege, the slap in the goddess face, the Temple's face. It became a show of power, setting an example. If the Temple were not the punishers, then it would be the Legion, if not the Legion, it would be the Warhaft.

The General of the Imperial Guard, his father would've no doubt set an example to all youth that the Legion would not tolerate such foolery amongst their rank. Not even if they were protected by noble blood, their own blood.

Whatever the options, the day Valdrin dug his grave filled with those murdered knights was the day that sealed his fate. There was no way out of the Imperial Prison regardless of his age, his privileges, his parents. Was he charmed, did someone cast a spell on him? Talin didn't know, but he had tried to track him down to at least talk and find out how it could go so wrong so fast.

But the Dark Brotherhood struck and Valdrin vanished. They say he was murdered. Others say he was kidnapped. He feared the worse. He had seen victims who suffered a fate worse than death. Their body unrecognizable after years of whatever hell they gave to them. But no body turned up even after a decade of searching. But a daring thought occurred to him, Valdrin was recruited.

Old Rufio, an old Breton man who was on the run from the law and was supposedly hunted by the Dark Brotherhood due to the father whose daughter he had wronged committed the Black Sacrament against him, was found dead in the basement of Inn of Ill Omen. Drowned by the slit on the throat, Rufio went down slowly and painfully. It was the work of a messed-up individual, it was the handiwork that he would come to realize belonging to his son.

It made his blood boiled.

"Was it your friends. Your captain?! Did they pressure you into this idea that you have to do something stupid once in your lifetime?!" Talin snapped.

"What of those who criticize you for disowning me, they say you're not taking responsibility for having a son like me," Valdrin argued back quite calmly.

"I disowned because you didn't step up or accept your responsibilities. When you ran and thought of solving your problems with senseless killing!"

"So I was to accept a blade to my neck?"

"You could've gone home and I would have done everything in my power for that not to happen, but you didn't."

"Except the Temple would not allow that to happen, Talin." His son shook his head. "And this is the result they wanted. They take the pride of Warhaft and smash it into mud and dirt."

"Is this your excuse on your actions?"

"You tell me, father."

"Food! Food! Food!" Squawked the birds of the forest. "Food! Food! Nest! Chicks!"

Talin eyes snapped open and glared at the world around him. The giant trees stood tall and slumbering. Their canopies gleamed of dimming orange light between the lingering brown leaves as the wood groaned from the slight forest breeze, whispering and murmuring. This world eerily more alive and sometimes, if Talin listened hard enough he could almost understand what it was saying.

"Danger! Danger!" Twittered another voice and the sound numerous of feathers leaving in flights thundered.

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" Chirped another.

He groaned when he sat up, leaves falling down from his shoulder before a biting sharp claws dig into him. Talin snarled and tried to slap his pet eagle clinging onto him. Brown feather continued slapping his face.

"Talin! Talin!" Chirped his eagle as it flapped its wings all over his head.

"Yes!" He snapped back.

"Wake up!"

"I'm up!"

"Wake up faster! Higher! Faster!"

The old man gave a crossed look before grunting as he got up slowly in the middle of the forest, smelling the earth and decay as the twilight sky darken the shadows around them.

"Talin," the golden eagle called from the branch.

"What?" He grumbled as he tried to get his bearing.

"Snake."

He froze and craned his right ear, breathing slowly and softly so as not to block any rustling. He heard none other than the sound of the forest critters getting ready for night. His eagle couldn't lie nor could it understand the concept of a joke. It understood mischief, though, the elderly Imperial gave an annoyed look at the eagle.

How the hell did he get here? He exhaled, the cold damp air of Tristain forest aching his bones. Talin marched off as he frowned unhappily at the situation he was in. Hard to tell where west was considering the whole sky was cast in deep orange. Either he climb and get to higher ground or ask his bird.

"West, where is west?" He asked the bird.

"West?" It tilted its head.

He forgot animals didn't have the same conception of human direction.

"Uh… the sunset, where does the sun goes?" He asked again.

It turned its head, striding awkwardly up the branch before turning its whole body to face the other side. He wanted to laugh at the poets and priests who described eagles as magnificent creatures. As far as Talin knew, the bigger the predator, the stupider they are. Probably from the lack of challenge from being at the top.

Eagles were a bunch of awkward bundle of feathers, dangerous ones at least.

"The towers, the nest of two-legs closest to us?"

A creak of wood released by death-gripping claws, the eagle soared over his head, settling onto another branch with heavy wings beating the air near the end. The forest wasn't meant for an eagle to fly in; the trees were too close and the skies were closed off by the canopies. Talin slowly followed after, stepping over overgrown roots and onto moss covered ground. Dead leaves crunched beneath his boots as he strode onward, meandering through uneven ground under the dying light.

"Snake," the eagle chirped. "Snake."

Talin looked up sharply, eyes following the bare branches before resting his sight on a figure hanging off the tree.

"Do you even know how to get down?" Talin taunted the bald mage.

The lips on Colbert's face thinned. "I take it you remember what happened."

Rage. Irrational rage then climbed up so quickly up in his core. Talin covered his face briefly. Theo. Valdrin. Lunatic. Daedra.

"Your mother weeps. To hold a sword against your father, what's the world coming to?"

He winced and he slowly looked up from his recall.

"There was no excuse for the violence I've brought onto you," he admitted grimly.

Colbert blinked as he sat awkwardly up the tree. He glanced away, uncomfortable at the sudden change. "Something went wrong in the room," he confessed. "We were discussing like civilised people. I don't know how, but I've never had a conversation turned ugly like that. I guess both of us were possessed-"

The battlemage held back another wince.

"-by some madness," Colbert finished, oblivious to the subtle twitch. Then he frowned deeply. "It felt unnatural," the Fire Mage added.

Talin's brows creased together.

"Like someone had cast frenzy?" He suggested.

"Frenzy?" Colbert looked down on him.

"It's a spell that mages use to get people turn against each other, real nasty since it's often use in causing chaos," he explained.

"You have a spell like that?" A distraught look fell on Colbert's face.

"I knew people who do," Talin said with a shrug. "But Frenzy is hardly subtle and more like a hammer. Whatever happened in the workshop took us like poison."

It took his tongue, it brought out the darkness within his mind, made him admit to it. Irrationality. He was so caught up within his own thoughts, about home, about his estranged son, the troubles and mess the boy had done, what led him to become a… murderer, assassin, miscreant.

A wanted man to be put down.

And now? Now who was this man that had his son's name and face.

A doppelganger? Another Daedra making a fool out of his fate. But how would they know he was here. Or perhaps they did know, the Lords at least. Perhaps it was them who had chuck him into this world and made him wander around in circles.

There he goes again, Talin breathed in sharply.

Possessed by some madness, how appropriate. Lost all senses…

"Wabbajack," Talin said this aloud when he came to a realization.

The Daedric Prince, of course. It all came back to the Prince of Madness. The mess behind the ballroom, the incident in the workshop.

The tiger had to enter the workshop with that cursed artifact!

The gods did not grace their presence in this world, the stars were proof of their missing presence. Even the constellations were missing. Nothing to hold the Princes back if their sight turned and gazed onto this world. Nothing to stop any machination or influence.

Nothing to keep their artifacts in check.

"We need to return now," Talin told Colbert urgently.

A rustle and a crush of leaves, Colbert straightened himself from his awkward landing and demanded, "Why?"

"The artifact, Wabbajack. It's never a good sign when a Prince's tool is close by considering the trouble and influence it has," Talin answered briskly before marching off, eyes glancing at the eagle that had flown ahead to the next branch.

"And the kind of trouble it brings?"

"Mad mischievous ones. Wabbajack has the ability to transform anything into… well, anything. But unpredictably. It can do more than that, though. A stone into bunny, a bunny into apple, a fruit into a demon, a monster into a kid, before throwing said kid into a cabbage and send it teleporting on the other side of the world," Talin said.

Colbert blinked when he heard this, following quickly behind the man. "How is it able to do that?"

"I don't know." The Romalian captain shook his head. "I like to say Oblivion magic, which isn't far off the mark, but I know mages can produce the most mind boggling results without Oblivion being part of the equation. It's a funny artifact, until one gets bash in the face when it turns something that could kill you." Talin huffed. "Or it turning you into something. I have a feeling that's what got us here."

"Seems like a useless artifact," muttered Colbert, though still could hardly believe such artifact exist.

"It is, their owners are penchant to be insane or will be insane."

"Like your…"

Talin turned his head and glared violently over his shoulder. Professor Colbert wisely stopped himself.

"Regardless," the older man continued on with a bitter tone. "It's the fact it will make its user insane is what makes it dangerous. A person with no qualms in causing havoc would make Wabbajack a perfect tool in their hands."

"Why not lock it up then if it's that dangerous?"

Talin gave a cynical laugh. "The knights of the temples at home makes it their job, but even then tragedy still fall to those who try to spoil the Princes whims. There is a cautionary tale, when Wabbajack was locked up, it brought ruin to the temple that it was kept at. A mass suicide and arson, they say. Though the other story had them all turned into furniture."

Colbert gave a startled look.

"Even if they had destroyed the artifact, it will come back again sometime in the future. It's the nature of the daedric artifacts, just like their Princes."

"Do these Princes do not care what they do?" He heard the professor say quietly.

"Oh they care alright, in a twisted sort of way but only if it concerns their sphere. They are inhuman, professor. Do not expect them to be like us," he warned him.

"The Madgod… Sheogorath."

"What about him?" Talin said with a deepened frown on his brow.

They walked on under the fading evening light. Colbert thought deeply. "I take it he's called Madgod because of his followers."

Talin stopped and turned around. He shook his head. "No. He's not called the Madgod because crazies took a liking on him. Amongst the gods, he's even mad to their standard, which says a lot. Gods aren't… understandable kind yet they perfectly could see through us, through each other. For them to label one of theirs difficult to understand, well… Sheogorath is said to be troublesome even for them." He turned back around and continued walking.

"He talked coherently for a mad being. He's more… eccentric." A powerful eccentric, because if anyone who had the same power as the so called Madgod, wouldn't they do the same as him? Cause mischief, send people into the throes of a dancing plague. Anyone could be a monster like that god. That kind of power would only lead to self-destruction.

"Madness of the gods should not be compared to that of the mortals," Talin muttered, recalling the words of an emperor. "You expect a gibbering fool like the ones you meet on the streets begging for food or coin. Or those who collects your bloody bones after you invite them for tea. The ones who gets locked in monastery or jail cells for the safety of the public. But no. He can appear as one but he can also appear... as sane, mostly a banker though. Perhaps to fool you. I don't know, best not to think hard about it. You should ask a Maran priest. It's their specialty considering they study the afflicted, and being priest, they are more attuned to the gods."

Mad ones, though, he wasn't sure.

"Maran priest?"

"Priests devoted to the Mother Goddess, Mara. She's the goddess you ask for good marriage and blessing to the family."

"I would've thought we would share the same gods, just by a different name," Colbert muttered and frowned at this.

"Who knows. Perhaps we do. There's nothing to stop the gods from weaving a different tale, a different face. It has happen before."

"We do have a patron saint of marriage and family, but not a specific god," the professor said.

The weddings they have over here gave patronages to all gods and, of course, Founder Brimir. If there was a specific god they would pay more deference to, then it would be the widow-queen Frigg and the grieving-wife Freyja but the two goddesses were prayed to for almost everything.

"But why would the priest of… Mara," Colbert said uncomfortably, "deal with the mentally afflicted?"

"Compassion," Talin answered simply. "The Mother-Goddess loves all, even those who aren't perfect. She's known as the goddess of love for her understanding and compassion. As for the temple's reason, well… it began with a love story, but it ended with tragedy to the couple simply because the Madgod was there attending their wedding."

"Let me guess, they went mad?"

"Yes." Talin laughed coldly. "The Knights of Mara took the wedding incident as an insult to their goddess. It was a collective madness, they say. So the primate took an oath that they would fight back against the darkness of men. Not by hunting down the followers of Sheogorath, but taking them in and giving them the help they needed."

You don't need the love of the Madgod to feel accepted by your fellow men.

"You know a lot of tales, Talin."

"It's a hobby of mine before I came to this land," Talin said.

"You said you came from beyond the Holy Land, your son is the same?"

The old man eyed the professor. "Yes."

"We thought he was a Germanian noble. His attitude, his attire," Colbert gave a bitter laugh. "He really had us fool with his jokes," he muttered.

"He may not be lying."

Jean stared at him. "And how would you know?"

"I lost contact with my boy when he was fourteen, Mr. Colbert."

"Right, the… accusation." Colbert frowned. "Fifteen years are a long time, Captain Talin. I'm surprised you recognized your son. Especially when you last remembered him in his youth."

The captain looked like he was in his forties, Theodore looked like he was in his thirties. Father and son would be the last thing on anyone's mind, but the moment Talin mentioned his old age and from the glimpses of how he moved his body with a grimace, it started to click. His reaction all the more made sense. It was hardly rare for men to have deceiving age when potions and salves with the most expensive reagents exist to stave off aging.

"Is that an apology, Jean Colbert?" Talin glanced over his shoulder.

The professor just grimaced, recalling the workshop incident. "To be fair, Theodore looked too much like you for it not to be true. But I concede… he might be a Daedra. I've heard they could change their shape."

"That's why I'm here, Mr. Colbert. I want to know," Talin answered quietly.

Was he really Valdrin, his Valdrin? Anything could have happened between fifteen years, though being summoned in entirely different world was a bit pushing. But it was the only explanation he had unless… he was spirited away. It would also mean he left those children behind, abandoned with their mother. If they were really his children, Talin reminded himself of the cart scene he had tracked down and found his son on.

A freeroaming alchemist, collecting ingredients and delivering medicine. A lower-rate healer, herbalist and apothecary in one. It wasn't a glorious job, but it was better for those villagers, for the citizens who lived in isolation and had no temple or shrine, or a village healer. Talin was sure… Valdrin was in his late twenties when he had tracked him down.

To found him there was disbelieving. From an infamous butcher of a death cult and a glorified thief, to a samaritan. He had made sure though that this wasn't some sick twisted means for him to take advantage of those people's trust. If he ever found him doing the worst… he would've ended him there and then. So here he was again, the same old situation he found himself when he finally tracked down his son, ready to deliver the verdict.

Valdrin was in his thirties now, if the artist description was right. But that… didn't make sense. He frowned, clutching his head as he marched. Fifteen years his son had been missing in Tamriel… but how long has he been away? How long has he been missing?

How long has Talin been gone? He only been here for a year in this world, but time in Nirn might go faster, or slower when compared to here due to how time interacted at different pace. The years were odd here as they were eight days in a week, a quirk he was very annoyed at their calendar system. Or perhaps his son also shared his Nibenean heritage, prone to age slowly from magick in his blood and being practitioner to boot. His mother after all was also amongst the old Nibenese battlemage clan.

"His name, it was one of his," Talin said quietly.

"One of his? How many alias has he been known by?"

"A handful, more than a man should have."

"Couldn't they take one of your son's many identities, then?"

"You have a point. But you have to ask yourself, why? Why would a Daedra take a form of my son and the name he goes by?"

"They're malicious spirit, do they need to explain themselves?"

"No, of course not." Talin laughed bitterly.

"You bring up a good point. If I were them, this would make it more personal to you."

"Are you asking if I had done anything to offend them?" Talin smirked.

"It would be the only answer we have if it were true," Colbert remarked.

Perhaps it was not a coincidence for him to be here.

"Well, I guess you could say there are plenty of reasons a lot of them would have a bone to pick with me," he answered honestly. "But, I'm afraid the Daedra that has a bone to pick with me are not amongst the party. Last I checked, I haven't done anything wrong to the Twilight Goddess, or Sanguine. Sheogorath though, I can't say since he's prone to do random shit." He then frowned. "Our troublemaker could be from a different faction though."

"There are more?" Colbert blinked.

"Yes, Sixteen Princes, but even then it's a lot complicated than that," Talin said quietly. "The matter of the Daedra are convoluted and difficult to understand, not to mention, always changing. Not all Daedra follow a prince. There are those who are independent. Free spirit, you might say."

Colbert mulled at this before Talin uttered his thoughts, "It does beg the question," Talin said slowly. "If it was truly a Daedra in disguise, then he would've been summoned. I doubt one would willingly wander amongst mortals unless to cause mischief." A grand scheme such as the ballroom incident. But that was caused by the Mad Prince and their missing suspect carried Wabbajack.

Talin frowned at the thought.

"He was summoned," Colbert admitted. "By one of my students, using the Familiar Ritual." But there was no witness, he could've entranced her into believing she did summon him.

Except the runes on his left hand said otherwise. Gandalfr was just a legend, a forgotten piece of knowledge tuck in a fading book. So how did a Daedra knew the runes if he faked it?

"That doesn't make sense," Talin muttered. "The Ritual only summon those who would be willing to serve their masters. One could say they were destined to help their master in some way. It's out of nature for a Daedra to do such thing for mortals."

"But you've said it yourself, captain. For mischief. Perhaps they can pretend in order to deceive," the professor pointed out. But to deceive the forces behind the summoning?

Louise's failing magic couldn't be the reason the summoning went wrong. To the point it would summon a malicious spirit instead of a familiar she deserved? To the point it could intervene with the forces behind the ritual? It couldn't be! He thought adamantly, especially when the runes made her a successor of the Void.

If it wasn't a simple mistake then what was it? That Theodore was meant to be her familiar, this Daedra! Truly the gods wouldn't go that far to gamble a child's life just to make use of a fickle creature.

"You are misunderstanding what I'm saying, Mr. Colbert. I'm saying because of their nature they would hardly be a candidate for the summoning. It's…" Talin struggled. "They will never be willing to help a mortal in heart and mind, not unless it serves their agenda."

Unless the summoner forced their allegiance. Conjuration was a dangerous art for this reason as the Daedra's spirits would forever be non-compliant unless one had a strong willpower.

"Willing to deceive is not the same as willing to serve. Besides, why would your heaven pick a demonic entity?"

Colbert grimaced. This was a question he had been wondering about. To question the summoning was to question its holiness, the gods and Founder Brimir themselves.

"Perhaps he is a mortal who share their affiliation?" The professor suggested quietly.

He waited for a vehement glare from the captain, except none came.

"He had Wabbajack," the captain muttered.

Maybe the captain wasn't wrong to be angered by his quick accusation on his son. Theodore Aegis might have been a victim if anything about Wabbajack's history being true. He could have been used by force greater than him. But willingly? That was the question. It was hard to say with the crazies, and Theo was much more an eccentric than crazy. A mean-spirited eccentric, though.

"You said your son might not be lying," Colbert said quietly.

"Yes, he could've been summoned from here in Germania," Talin pointed out. "Or from there where I came from."

The professor frowned when he thought about it. "Since you're here, I take it it isn't impossible for your son to travel to Germania in the last fifteen years."

It was not like the man knew he was summoned and from an entirely different world.

Though… how did Valdrin end up in Germania in the first place if he didn't come from Tamriel? It wasn't entirely impossible,

For all he knew, Halkeginia was in the slipstream between Oblivion and Mundus, the untapped and untraveled path that mages could spirit away. But an entirely different world with its own mortals? Brimir was said to have brought them here from another world, not from the Holy Land that the mages believed their ancestors came from. But it wouldn't explain the natives of this world being here before them.

It was better thinking the alternative, how they could be in Oblivion. It would definitely explain the difference between worlds, entirely different cosmos even. But… it was strange they haven't heard about Daedra or Princes if they were truly in Oblivion.

It also face the same problem, where did the mortals come from? Once, Talin thought this was an afterlife, some playground of a Prince collecting the mortal souls. But there was a problem with that thought besides the obvious. They could have children here.

The cycle of birth and death was specifically meant for Mundus, began with it. It was what separated the mortals from the spirits and Daedra, what made Nirn special. The fact those concepts exist here meant one thing, the dreamsleeve was connected to this place and something must be maintaining the cycle and the connection.

That they were still in Mundus somehow.

Except Talin tried to make contact with the dreamsleeve, and for the life of him, the dreamsleeve had nothing to say. He dared to delve his mind deeper into its state, into its unnatural emptiness but just when he felt like he had found something, he would hit nothing.

This wasn't Nirn anyway, it didn't make any sense for the cycle of life and death to even exist here. But something must have blessed the mortals here.

Talin said nothing merely asked, "Who summoned him?"

The Fire Mage took far too long when he answered, "Louise Valliere. I'm sure the reports mentioned her. She… her magic has always been strange." Then he clamped shut.

Talin only raised an eyebrow.

Vittorio was interested with this case for one reason and one reason only. The missing suspect, the familiar. The only special familiar that the Pope of the Church would be interested were the Founder's. If anything about the legend being true, the Void Mage would have the power to get rid Reconquista and prove the fraudster they have been following along.

If he solved this problem Tristain has, the Pope could ask for their Void Mage in return under the justification of protecting the girl from the so called contamination of the malicious being she had summoned, and of course, potential heresy. Talin couldn't deny due to the fact his could-be son was missing raised suspicion.

Interesting time waited ahead. He wasn't sure if he liked that thought.

"Where do they come from?" Colbert asked suddenly. "The Daedra."

"They came from between the stars." Talin pointed at the sky.

"I meant their origin."

"I thought you're not interested in myths, Mr. Colbert?"

"I'm just trying to understand the land that you came from, captain. We've never heard of your gods and Princes and you've never heard about our Founder Brimir, I take it?"

"Well, it makes sense. Your Founder Brimir have never stepped outside the Holy Land and this continent. He never had an interest for the world beyond this land," Talin told him.

"True, our Founder was busy shepherding our ancestors, the Markeys," Colbert admitted. "I would've thought the gods would at least speak his tales even to the far off lands."

"Hah." Talin laughed. "Our gods are dead and distant, Mr. Colbert. If the dead gods do speak, it would be for important reasons. Not to reminisce the deeds of old. That's the mortal's job, not theirs."

The professor blinked at this. "Then why pray to dead gods?"

"Why pay respect to the dead, Mr. Colbert?" Talin turned to look at him. "It was the dead gods who bleed, it was the dead gods who created the world and us mortals with their own flesh. When we drink water, we drink our ancestor. When we eat the fruits of the land, we are eating a gift from the dead. We revere the land because that's what left of their graves. Death is but an eternal slumber for the gods. Perhaps in our prayer, we hoped our dreams would be their dreams as well."

"Why not pray for their awakening, then?"

"You ask the end of the world, Mr. Colbert." He looked behind him with a smile. "When they wake up, then the dream would end."

"You view the world as a dream?" Colbert was perplexed. The more he dug, the more the difference he found. So how in the world Talin became a captain for the Church?

It would've made sense if Talin was a believer at least. But the way he spoke of where he came from, Talin was very much a man that the Church would frown.

"Well, that's what our creation myth say."

"Do you believe it?"

"Does it matter?"

"It should if you are a man of the Church."

Talin laughed again. "You sound like Julio."

"The boy priest?"

"Yes. I'm quite surprised the Church tolerate those without magic amongst their priesthood. I would've thought the mages having their gods-given right to rule, intolerant at the idea of the common mass being enlightened as them," Talin remarked drily.

"The sentiment is not uncommon," Colbert said quietly. "The gods are unbiased when it comes to enlightening the people with wisdom. Why shouldn't those without the gift of gods be barred from it?"

"Hmm. For me, I think priesthood is hardly a glorious job for a mage. Not to mention, the demands to spread the Church's messages requires more mages than there are. Even then the mages would suit better in the military, fits the enforcing heaven's wills."

"Do you not like the Church?"

"I don't but it doesn't mean I don't understand where they are coming from. Who am I to deny the gods will on this land. What the Church say can be very true," Talin said lightly.

"You are a strange man, captain."

"So they say. Though, I am a bit biased. I disapprove of this familiar business you mages practice."

"It's not a common practice, nowadays. But I have to wonder, why is that?"

"We have a saying back at home when it comes to this, the morals of a necromancer."

Colbert stumbled then stared at the man ahead of him. "What does the raising of undead has to do with familiar?"

"What is acceptable is not acceptable for others. Isn't that right?" Talin spun around and stared at him.

"Well, yes," Colbert said.

"Raising the undead is actually legal and… a common practice where I come from. In some culture, a family virtue." Talin looked behind him with a tight smile before walking off in his brisk pace. "The dead as servants for the rich and entitled. Why bother with the living? You have to feed them, pay for them, give them sleeping quarters. With the dead, they don't need any of that. Granted, I rather have the nobles keep their dead than have the living serve under them. Those people make poor master for the living."

Colbert grimaced. Poor master for the living, some nobles do fit the description despite their education and blessings they were given.

He remembered dear old Osmond frozen in that accursed ballroom. A good man and master of the Academy. The Headmaster didn't tolerate when his staff was being coerced into something they didn't want. He was a pervert, a little bit senile but he had respect for those who served under him. To the point he was willing to bite palace politics just to get rid of an annoying palace messenger who thought the Academy was some brothel.

He smiled fondly, the old man would have enjoyed the all female musketeers presences.

"Raising the undead is profane to the gods and disrespect the once living, captain," Colbert said quietly.

"Not all necromancy are," Talin told him, remembering the sanctified guardians that wander in the temple's croft and gave him the crawls when he was a child. He wasn't sure if it was necromancy that made them stay around. "But isn't it selfish to let a good body to rot when it could serve to make life easier for others. Besides, it's not like they are enslaving the souls, especially if they are willing. The rich just want the body, that's all."

The undead serving like some golem? Colbert couldn't help but be upset at this.

"Captain Talin, I've still yet to see how heaven's gift to the mages be the same as necromancy," the professor said coldly.

"The dead cannot complain. Mr. Colbert."

"But the living would."

"Oh, would they? Profit have been made out of this. People could sell their dead children and relatives if they are that desperate. The living would be compensated. But it has become uncommon for that to happen. I guess I've lived in good times." Talin gave a cynical laugh. "The practice of using the dead as servant hurts no one, Mr. Colbert. In fact, the necromancers respect the dead more than a priest would. They are meticulous, did you know? In treating the dead."

"Are you saying just because it does no harm, it should be acceptable?"

"That's what they say. To take those creatures from their places and reduced them to pets and servants. Perhaps you treat them well, give them a life of luxury better than they would have lived out there. It does no harm, right? Though, where I come from, a temple would have condemn all you mages for upsetting nature. Wild beasts are not to be owned nor branded, but to be respected. I would have agreed with that sentiment if I didn't know the fact your summoning ritual only summon those that are willing. Granted, do those beasts know better?"

"But we do respect our familiars, captain. It would only serve to spit in heaven's face if we mistreat these creatures!"

There were stories of mages who misused their familiars, ended with retribution from the familiar themselves as Founder Brimir had allowed them this right. It was said when a mage die, they would be judged by not only the Founder, but by their familiars and how well they had treated them.

"Serving heaven, huh," Talin muttered.

Professor Colbert continued to glare. "I still vehemently disagree with the unfair comparison you gave us. You would have a point, captain. But you cannot compare the lives of beasts to that of men. Even dead ones."

Captain Talin was an outsider, misunderstanding of their culture was to be expected. For that, he couldn't judge him harshly as this wasn't a simple matter of dealing an ignorant. He wondered how the Church tolerated this man or have not corrected his thinking.

"What does your heaven say if a noble was summoned then?"

"Well…" the professor relented. "I had this argument when your son was summoned."

If a noble was to be summoned as a familiar, it would've opened the same moral conundrum.

What is acceptable is not acceptable for others.

Colbert sighed. "It would mean the noble was destined to serve under another as you've pointed out." It would go against everything they were taught of what made them noble. The professor though disagreed, "But don't we all? Don't we serve the Crown, don't we serve the land and its people by protecting them from dangers as the Markeys had done to the savages. Kingdoms and prosperity would not have happened if we all don't serve our purpose." And in turn serving the gods and the heaven above, he recalled the sermons of the church he grew up in.

"I'm not against the familiar business as I know it is anything but slavery, I just find it shady. It only reminds me the problems I had back at home however minor they were."

"So necromancy isn't as acceptable as you'd like it to be."

"I'm very happy it stays that way, Mr. Colbert. Don't misunderstand me," Talin corrected him. "It was a hot topic back in the Empire. The banning of necromancy has come up again and again despite the benefits it brings onto the society. Its dangers have been compared to the other school of magic, Destruction and Illusion. Why should necromancy be banned when other colleges practice the art of harming others and commanding man and beast, and everything in between. Necromancy compared to them is basically harmless."

"The morals of a necromancer?" What an odd saying, and a bit crude too. Distasteful. "Perhaps our culture differ too much," Colbert muttered.

"That is true. Ours is a bitter history."

To own, to brand another just reminded the Imperials of the past. The Daedra, the undead, and enslavement, serving under another or being put down or used as an amusement, knowing no better. The Nedes were a sorry lot. Then the gods turned it around and made the descendants one of the most powerful nation. A sick twisted joke on the elves who were the children of the gods to be brushed aside by the creation of the gods.

"But to be fair, a human being as a familiar is rare, am I right? Perhaps the gods are aware of the moral conundrum," the Captain humored. "Which begs the question under what special circumstance would they ignore it?"

Colbert only stared uncomfortably in silent at that.

What did the heaven want with a Void Mage? What was Founder Brimir's will? What and who was Theodore Aegis, and why would the heaven want him?

What did it mean for Louise?

And he entered the Temple of Dibella and cast his eyes downward at what Umaril had done to the followers of Love. Their blood a message, their body a mockery of an offering, his eyes though caught a woman, unjustly displayed with her beauty that haunted him since his youth butchered beyond recognition. He kneeled down in answer before her, his hands hesitated when they reached out. The silence of the temple roared into his ears, and he said the only words that he knew was spoken far too late,

"I'm sorry."

There was no forgiveness, nor redemption awaited him, not for sinners, let alone a thief and murderer like him.

AN: The original concept of my Champion was based on Bethesda's vanilla hero, the Imperial Legion in the trailer. Because holy shit, Mister Knight heroic as fuck, fight hells and stuff was kinda of my thing (Dat silver longsword…) I'm a sucker for knights. He was supposed to be like a nice guy, a GOOD person. A fitting hero.

And then I dug deeper in the Lore and found out about Sheogorath. And I dug even deeper in the Lore and read up the Dark Brotherhood and the Grey Fox. Especially the Dark Brotherhood part…

Martin Septim: He was a GOOD friend.

Last Dragonborn: …