y̡o͝u śho̧uld ͟she͠ath͏e̢ Da̴wn̷b͝r͘e̕a̛k̕er͜ i͜ǹ i͜t̢s̷ ͢p͞ed̵e̴st҉a҉l̀ f͏o̢r͜ ̷ņow͏

She sees a vision of the pedestal, in the next room, and of the way from here to what looks like the grandest bedroom.

"Thanks."

She climbs to her feet, stumbling over to sheathe the sword.

It slides metallically into place, gleaming and glowing.

She grins.

"Well, that's done."

And finds her way to the bed.

She's going to need to sleep more...

The bed is a four-poster; it's old and dusty, and she might have to brush away a few cobwebs, but it's warm and soft and welcoming, its posts and curtain miraculously intact.

She sleeps well.  This place knows her now, and shelters her.

She wakes well rested in the morning.

"So, breakfast, then what we're doing next?" Lianda asks, stretching as she gets out of bed.

y̵o̡u a̛re̴ ͝my̷ ̴ch͘a͡m҉p͢io҉n͡ ͘now

i͜f ͡yo̵u̧ ̸accept ͢th͡e ̵m̴a͜ņtļe ̴t͝h͠en̛ ̢th͝iş ̵p̧l͞ąc͜e ͞w̡ill beco͡m̛e ͠you̸ŗ sa͟n͝c̷t͏u҉a̕ry͡
̨
̕b̛ut̛ i̕t̨ ha͏s beèn̡ ͟i͠ļl͡-maintaine̢d ͠ove̕r ͘th͏e yeaŕs ̧an͡d͘ ͝c̢ąnǹot b̴e̛ ̸ádęquatęl̶y ͡ke͞p͡t ͠b̶y͠ òn̴e ̧pe͡r͟so͠n

"What would being your Champion entail?"

i͡n ̢t̵he̕ old ̸days͟ i was ͠t̷he͞ ҉p̷a̛tron of a͞n ̕o͟rg͏a̕niz̶a͘t̡i͏on͢ t̛h̢at ̧h̕unted̴ ͠d̢o҉wn ̨va͜mpi͞re̡s a͞n̶d̨ n̛ecr͏óḿaǹce̵rs

̛and̕ ͟th́aţ s͜h҉o̢ne̴ ̕m͟y̷ ͏lig͝h̴t̷ up̴o̵n t̸he̵ w̴ick̡ed̸ a͝nd̛ ̡d̷up͞li͝c̵itous̢ ̶w̕her̶eve͘r͏ ́ţh̢e͝y t̡ried to ̛h̀i̧d̷e ͞t͏he͏ms͡elvęs͡

̡t͟hèy̨ ͠call̶ed ̶t̨hèm̢s̨e͠lv̨e̸s Da̷wnguar̵d

̀a̸n͘d m̡y̨ ́cha̢m͜pio̵n̶ wa͜s ̸the̕įr le̢a͝de̴r

yòu͟ ̶c̡oưld ͟f͢o҉rm̨ śuch a f͝o͘rce ͡ąro͞u̶n̡d̵ ̢yoursel͟f҉ ̀

i ͡thin̴k
̡
͟if ͟y̢o̕u k̨in͞d̀led ͠t͟h͜e fir͘é ͘t̸hat͜ i͟ ͟s͠èns͜e͢d ̀i͟n̕ ͢you̶ t͘h͜e d̡ay ̢w҉è ̨met̀

"That seems a worthy cause," she acknowledges, glancing to the side.

She's felt -

Like a banked fire, really. Waiting. Burning inside, but not able to do anything.

Until this mission, at least.

Perhaps this is the change she needs...

"And it's one I'd be interested in."

i ͏t҉h͢ink̢ yo̸u wo̢ul̡d ma̢k͟e a͡n̡ ̴e͞x̡ce͜llent̸ ̴c͠h͞a̛m̨pi̸on̸

̕a͠nd ̨a w͡o̸rt͟hy wie͞l̢de͟r҉ ͠o̧f the ̀D͉̩̭̝a̡̠͍w͍͕͍͙͕̬͔n͇͙b̷̰rea̹͖̖̺̳͈͉͢ḱ̲e͞r͓̮̫̪͉

"Thanks."

"Where do we start?"

t̴he͏ tem̛p̸le ͏ís ͞iń ̨p̸o̡or ̴c̷ondit̴ío̕n͜

̕íf ̡tḩere a͜r͏e ̶peo̴pl̶e҉ ̕you ͝tru͏st to͟ aid ̸in oúr͞ m͜iss͘io̧n͝
̶
҉y̢ou̷ ̢s͜ho̶ulḑ ͡ŗe̛cr͢uit t̡hém̕ ̡t̀ó ̛maińt̴ai͢n͏ ͏this̕ ̛ṕl͠ac͟e
̸
s̡o͠ ̵t͜h̕át̀ ͝you ca͜n ͠us̀ę it ͟a͝s ͝a base͏ ͝o͡f ͠o̧p͘eratìonş

"It's well positioned as one. I'll see about recruiting, then."

She writes a few letters to drop off on her way back into Solitude - people she knows who might be sympathetic, or at least apolitical enough.

And then it's time to return to the museum to let her friends know what happened, and explain her change in careers.

Sigaard answers the door.  "Lianda!  Did you survive?"

"Seem to have."

"It's good to see you, come on in," he says, ushering her inside.  "Malielle's in the back, she'll want to hear all the news."

"I've got quite a bit. Hopefully you guys aren't busy."

They head to one of the back rooms.  "Heyyyy, Mal, guess who's back!"

"Lianda?" she calls.

"No, a burglar!"

She laughs and emerges.

"So," says Sigaard, "you're back from your, you know, trip, you don't look like you've had your soul hollowed out and turned into a Dremora or anything - I guess it went well?"

"It was exhausting, probably the worst grind I've ever done - undead that can walk through walls and coordinated patrols combine quite well for defense, apparently. More used to isolated rooms of draugr or what not where I can actually retreat if I'm tired. Still, I survived, with my soul intact and everything, and got a good workout doing it."