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house of unquenchable fire
Lianda finds Dawnbreaker
Permalink Mark Unread

She hasn't been in Solitude all that long, in the grand scheme of things. Still, there's enough mercenary work - mostly filling bounties on bandits and guarding caravans - to keep her able to pay Malielle rent.

She likes the Museum of Solitude - it's old, and beautiful, and thrums with history. She's made friends here, too, first Malielle then Malielle's coworkers.

Like Sigaard, who said he'd show her some of their unidentified or in progress items. (Apparently her credentials in "Weird Shit" are enough for a consult. She did warn him she's more familiar with Hammerfell weirdness, but, well, if it's daedric, that'll be easy enough to pick up even with differences in local traditions.)

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"This for example is some sort of faceted stone," he says, holding up some sort of faceted stone.  It's grey, irregular, dull and opaque for an object of its shape, like an ordinary pebble cut and polished in imitation of a gemstone.  "Found with some bandits, probably stolen from somewhere very spooky.  People report all sorts of strange things from touching it, whispers and feelings of being watched."  He proffers the stone to her.  "Want to try?"

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"Any idea on dating? Or stone type? Most stones don't polish that smoothly, especially without specialized tools," she says, reaching out her hand to manually investigate its surface. (Which probably sounds incredibly stupid to anyone whose field doesn't include 'lick the strange glowing rock' as a legitimate diagnostic tool.)

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"Nnnot really," he says.  "Archaeologists would date something like this by where they dug it out of, but we just took it off a mercenary who looted it from a bandit camp.  No one recognizes the substance or the craftsmanship either.  There's magic on it for sure but I can't detect any ordinary structures of enchantment or signs of standing-spell degradation."

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It's as smooth as it looks, and cool to the touch, the color of a cloud occluding the sun, and -

- it sees her -

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"...Yeah I see what you mean about weird feelings."

She turns it around in her hand.

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can ̡y͝oư ̕he͘ar̀ m̕e

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"...I hear someone talking. Which is a yes," she says to the stone.

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"Whoa, what, it's talking to you?"

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t͠h͞ere ͘is s͡o͢m̕eth̢i̕ng̕ ҉o̢f ̡m̴y ́fire ̡in ͞you͢,̵ ̀į t̡hink

i ne͡ed you͟r h̸elp͜

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"I'm not sure it's the stone. The voice says they need my help."

"With what?" she asks.

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t̵hi̶ş st̷on̸e͘ ̶i̧s͡ my̨ ̴be̛a̧co͜n

̧its͏ l̨ight͢ ̧is͟ ̨me̶a͏n̵t̡ to̶ ͞i͘l͢l͢uminát͠e̢ my shr̶ine̷

and ̨t͏he̸ ͏da̢r͝kn̵es͢s ́t̢hat ͟m͘y̸ ̴ligh̡t ͟is ̸mea̸n̛t ̴t͝o͘ ͜bưr͏ǹ a͏wa͜ỳ ha̢s d̶efi̶leḑ t̴hat shrin͠e̴ ̴in͝ i҉ts ąbs̛ence͟

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"Who are you?" Lianda asks.

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ąt͠ ̴th͞is̨ ̵ḿu͟ch҉ r̀emov͜e ̷i ̡a͠m͝ ͜not sk͟i̛llȩd͠ ̕a͘t̴ ͏rend͏er͝i͏n̶g t͞hé ͞n̨ame͘s͟ ͜g̡i͡ven͞ ͡t̕o mȩ ͢b͟y b͘e̢i͠n̡gs̴ tha͟t͠ ̴s͏pe̕ak ̨witḩ sound̀

b̛ut

i ͠a̢m ́l̛ig̀h͞t a͏nḑ ҉f͘i͢r͝e

t͝ha̴t w̢h̵i͠ch ̨s̷eeķs ̵to h̵i̶d̀e it͞s͡e͜l͏f̢ ̧i҉n͝ ̷s͠ha͟d̀o͞w̧ ̧a͡n̴d ́asks c̢o͘mpla̕c̶e͢nc͟e͏ a̴n̸d ̀q҉u͟ies͏ce͞n̛ce҉ fr̷o̧m ̀its̛ ̧p̕rèy

i͜ ̡reve͢a͜l̵ ąn̶d͘ illumi̡nat͏e̡ ͠ąn͘d҉ se͘ţ ̕afla̧me̢

ànd͘ j̢ust as͠ t̛he̢r̷e̶ is̶ dark͠ness͘ tha͠t ̨cl̸o̷ak͢s ͏and s̀wa̵ḑdle͘s cr̛e҉at̕ures tha̡t ́y̢ou͟r͠ ̵ki͝nd fe͠a̡rs

śo̕ ͠i ͏illu͟m̴in͝a̢t̴e̴ ҉an͞d ̨s̷hi̢eld͡ t͟he͠ ̸th͝i͏n̕gs͢ ͠t̕h́at ͝dwe̶l͟l͘ in҉ ͞t҉h͠e day̶

ànd͘ b̸li̛nd a͟n͘d ̷bu͘rn ̡awa͏y̧ ͡th̀e̵ ͠s͞h͟a̸ḑow͘ t͟hat͠ ̀s̡eek͢s͜ to f͜e͜e̛d́ ̴o͏n̴ l̵i̸ght̵

Permalink Mark Unread

"Whaaaaat is the faceted stone saying to you?"

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̕do̧ you ̷kn̵ow t́h͠e͞ ̨nąm҉e m͝èr͟i̕diá

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"...I know that name," to the stone, and "The voice is Meridia, and says this is her beacon."

"What would you ask of me?" then, back to the stone.

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She sees a statue, a representation of Meridia, some distance west of Solitude.

this i҉s m҉y̕ s̶h̕rine

̢t͝h͢eŕę is ̴f͠u͞ry̶ ̨wit͢h͜iń ͘y͘o̡u ̀to͜ b̢ùr̷n ̀away̷ corr͡upti̸on̴

̕i͢ ͢n͢eed̀ ̶you͢ to҉ ̢ma̸k̸e y̢o͜ur way̧ ͏he̛re ̴and̶ ̵v̕is̨i̡t̸ that ́fùry͢ ҉upo̷n͜ ͜t̕h̵e͟ ́ínte͘r͜lope͞r͝s

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"I'll need to talk it over with my companions, to see about how long it might take," Lianda says, diplomatically. "Will I lose contact with you if I stop touching the beacon?"

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ye̴s

̵b̴u͟t̷ ͠tou̷c̸h̶íng͘ ̶i̷t͠ a͏g̷a̴i̸n ̢w̶i̕lļ ̵al͠lo̴w͞ ỳo̢u̷ ̷to ̀re̢s͜u̶me̡ co͢mmu͝n̨i͜cat͠i̸o͜n

ańd͠ ͜wḩen ̡ít͟ i̷s ̢r̷ęs̸t̢ǫred to ͢i͟t̸s ̕pro͝p̴e͏r̵ pla͏ce c̸òmm̡u̶nicatio͘n ͞wíll ́b҉e ͝ea͞si͝e͟r

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"I need to obtain permission to remove this from this room, and I need to go elsewhere to do that," she says. "I will return shortly."

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i̕ ̀un͢de̵ŗs͢t͏a͞nd

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She nods. "Thank you. I will now return the stone to where I found it." And she hands the stone off, then explains what Meridia says. "We need to discuss - what to do," she says.

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"Yeeeaaah this is a lot more than anyone expected to get out of that rock," Sigaard says.  "Let's go find Malielle - "

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She nods. "Yeah. I think she mentioned she'd be in the library - "

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Malielle is indeed in the library, working in a back room in the rare books section, restoring a damaged volume. "Something the matter?" she asks, absent-mindedly.

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"Yeah.  The little pebble that wanted to be a gemstone, it's apparently something of Meridia's that lets her talk to people who touch it, and Lianda had a conversation with her.  And now, you know, there's a Daedric prince after one of our museum pieces, so that's where my day's at."

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"...Why am I not surprised Lianda both drew a Daedric Prince's attention and decided a conversation was a good idea." She rubs her face. "One of hers how?"

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"She called it her beacon? Mentioned something about it enabling her to bring new light into the dark, and showed me a picture of a shrine."

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"We should have something about that in our stacks somewhere."

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" - We're not actually taking this thing back to her?"

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"It's important to consider our options, to know as much as we can before we act. And Meridia isn't one of the Daedric Princes widely considered evil - though she can be... Resolute. We can't put the stone on display. And there's that repatriation project I've begun... Returning an artifact to a Prince is a rather strange example, but it is in line with museum policy on legitimately claimed artifacts."

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"I think we can probably make an exception for literal demons.  I'm with you on not putting it on display but my first choice was going to be locking it in a safe in the basement, or maybe burying it on an island off the northern coast - "

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"We can't guarantee that won't anger her. And also an expedition to her shrine could uncover some quite interesting things..."

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"Sure, ancient magic artifacts, very exciting, lots of potential, but me personally, I draw the line at the direct attention of elder Daedra.  I vote we run the other way from this whole thing."

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"You don't need to be involved, but at least one of us already has her direct attention. Which is a factor that should be taken into consideration."

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"All right, well, on your own head."

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"I'll try and find some more resources on what's happened with her shrine, and what's known about her and her artifacts..."

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"I can help with artifacts, I know some background information - not so much local history."

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"Happy to hit the books, but if you decide to have another talk with Meridia I'm not gonna be in the room."

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"Fair enough." To the reference manuals?

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To the reference manuals.

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Lianda's not familiar with their particular system, but she knows the leader tomes on the Daedric Princes even if she doesn't have their contents memorized, and with Malielle's help she's able to narrow down on references to Meridia fairly quickly.

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Malielle, meanwhile, is focusing on historical accounts of the shrine - mostly traveler's journals.

Permalink Mark Unread

There are no unambiguously good Daedric princes; by and large, there are more and less frightening ones.  Meridia is one of the less frightening.  She has, historically, been associated with summer, high noon, droughts, the desert, the forge, exposing and punishing the guilty, certain types of restoration magic - and in almost every appearance, the destruction of the undead.  The clear through line in all of her aspects and interpretations is unforgiving light and fire - she has a mission, or perhaps she is a mission, and she seeks out mortals who will carry it out unflinchingly.

She's had plenty of shrines, over the years, but there's evidence of a fairly special one in Solitude - accounts going back decades, centuries, of adventurers trying to explore the shrine and being fought back by Meridia's worshipers.  Of labyrinths lit by threads of white light, thin as spidersilk and bright as the sun; of nameless warriors wielding flaming golden swords.

More recent histories talk instead of wraiths and specters and draugr, of necromancers and vampires and vile experimentation.  What happened during the switch is unclear.

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"She'd consider that defilement, I bet."

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"Yyyyep."

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"She's terrifying. She's relentless. She doesn't compromise. But she's not whimsical. She's not chaotic. She has her priorities, which can be assumed. I think our least dangerous option is not drawing her ire, at this point."

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"Okay.  Okay.  But that's how it always starts."

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"I'm fairly confident I can keep my head."

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"Best of luck."  He doesn't sound sarcastic about it, either.

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"Thanks. Any advice before I let Meridia know my intent and set out?"

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He shake his head.

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"Well. I suppose I should do this, then."

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When she returns to the back room, Sigaard doesn't accompany her.

The stone, the beacon, is sitting there on a shelf, innocently, still just looking like an oddly-shaped pebble.

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She'll pick it up.

"Hello," she says. "I'll take the beacon to your shrine."

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i̴ ̸am ͟gla͘d͏

are͏ you̧ ͜r͟e̵a͜dy̶ tơ ̷lȩav͏e

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"Yes."

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do̷ you͟ k͡no̡w̨ the way

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"I think I do - there's an indication of where the shrine might be - but some guidance wouldn't hurt."

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i wi̸l̢l ͞hel͢p ͜i̵f͜ ̡į ͏can

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"Thank you. I'll set out with the morning - which's soon enough."

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under̡stoód̛

Permalink Mark Unread

Having gotten permission from Malielle, she takes the beacon with her as she gets her things together, sets it on her bedside table while she steals a few hour's sleep, then sets out as the sun is peeking over the horizon.

"So," she says once she's out of the guards' hearing range. "I'm guessing starting out south-southwest?"

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y͞e҉s

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She nods, and starts walking, keeping an eye out for something that looks like the mountain in the vision. It's a three day walk to Dragonbridge, and there's two major turn offs before that - to the Thalmor Embassy about a day out, and a broad path leading to the northern coast, forts, and mining towns about two days out.

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The mountain is unfortunately not terribly distinctive.  But with a map and a little help from Meridia she'll be able to find, a few days out, a winding path uphill, feeble and long-disused, with a sign warning against following it where it breaks from the main road.

t͞h͞at is t͜hȩ ̀w͏ay

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She's good at cross-country hiking fortunately, and has the right gear for the long walk and the climate. She turns off the road, asks, "Anything I should be on the lookout for?"

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i̵ ͢d͟o͏ ͟n̨o͢t̕ ̢k͟n̸o͠w h͠òw ̧mu͡c̵h̡ ҉t͢e͝r͝ri͝to̧r͜y t҉h͜e͠ defilers h̀ave c̡l̸a̡im͞e̷ḑ ͢as t҉hei͠r ҉o͝w̵n

But the journey is quiet for a while.

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Still, she'll be cautious as she walks, paying attention to her surroundings, looking for signs of ruins or habitation or enemies.

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The road winds through chilly mountainous woods.  The days are still.

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But one night, she may perceive something lurking outside her tent.

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She'll put her hand on her sword, climb gently to her feet, and listen for a moment. 

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There is something that is not entirely unlike wind, and something that is not entirely unlike whispers.

 

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She steps out of the tent.

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Two pinpricks of red light, like glowing eyes, stare back at her -

- whatever it is that's outside her tent, it howls, rasps, rears back -

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She throws up a soft glow of candlelight to hover over her head, and readies her sword.

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A skeletal human-shape of shadow shrinks back from the candlelight, then lunges.

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She steps to the side, thrusts her sword into its center-mass, then slashes to the side and thrusts a fire blast at it with her other hand.

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Her sword slides through it like mist, but the skeletal claws with which it was about to rake at her catch fire when her spell hits -

It flows away from her like smoke, dissipating once again into mist and shadows, then billows forth to slash at her again with claws and teeth -

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She drops her sword, notes where it lands, raises a ward spell with one hand while she continues blasting with the other. If she can get it to retreat, there's a silver dagger in her boot, might be worth switching to.

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Its talons and its jaw catch fire, and the surge of smoke breaks against the ward.  It seems like any part of it solid enough to hurt her is solid enough to be hurt

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She'll keep the ward up while she ducks down for the silver dagger in her boot, slashing at it with that.

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It screams, and smoke coagulates into the shape of fractured human bones around the path of the dagger - arms and jaw coalesce for a desperate lunge -

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She'll duck to the side and lunge in again, swiping just below the jaw.

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It shrieks, and rushes backward - it's trying to billow, but the silver seems to have disrupted it's ability to discorporate.

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She'll press the attack, then, focusing on her silver dagger, offhand ready with flames.

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It's not skilled at fighting if it can't turn to mist.  It tries to dodge, tries clumsily to deflect her strikes with its wounded arm, and, after a few moments, tries to flee.

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She'll aim a bit ahead of it with her fire, and pursue it.

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It does not like fire when it can't dissolve away from it.  If she keeps this up it'll go up in smoke in moments.  Inanimate smoke.

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Good.

Any others around?

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Doesn't look like it.

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She'll return to her tent, then, and evaluate the sky (and her own exhaustion) to see if she feels like she has more time to sleep.

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There's a few hours of night left yet.

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She can go on this little sleep, but more rest won't hurt, so she settles in - though she keeps to a half-awake state, in case another monster comes wandering.

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It's a peaceful enough night, now the wraith's gone.  Morning comes soon enough.

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She'll keep looking for the shrine, then - and for any signs of somewhere she can resupply. There's streams, here, for water, but edible food's becoming rarer and rarer, plants getting tougher and most of the animals either thin and sickly or too big for her to want to bother going after herself. Plus, there's assorted other minor essentials that're harder to gather on her own - salt, replacement ties and thread, a new utility knife...

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She'll run into something soon enough.  Not a proper settlement, but a few tents and a fire pit, surrounded by a few humans and a bosmer all dressed in animal skins.

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She'll approach them, glad at least of this much. She doesn't have much immediately useful to trade - there's a few assortments so far she's needed less than she'd planned, but she might need them on the way back - but she has a moderate talent at healing magic, and has a small pouch of coins.

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One of the humans waves.  "You don't look like a hunter," he says conversationally.

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"No. I'm investigating rumors of some ruins in the area. Working for a history-type."

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They glance at each other.  "That old Daedric shrine?" one woman says.  "Best leave it be, I think.  Supposed to be haunted."

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"I've dealt with haunted areas before. But thanks for the warning."

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"You have?"

"Got any tips?" the woman says, a bit impishly.

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"Don't sleep inside. That's the dumbest thing I've ever seen new explorers doing in a large ruin. If it's draugr, you can avoid most of them by stepping soft and hugging the walls - they can't see as far as I can tell, seem to go by sound and proximity. Ghosts don't like fire or silver, but most of them won't attack if you don't startle them or get too close. Would expect anything around a daedric ruin to be pretty aggressive, though."

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The woman whistles.  "Looking for a job in between archaeology trips?  We could use a bodyguard."

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"The museum keeps me busy, unfortunately. Can do trips, I always have some kind of business somewhere, but not really hanging around."

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"Ah well."

"Looking to buy?" says another hunter.  "We'll take coin, or barter for healing if you know any.  One of our hunting dogs got gored pretty bad by an elk."

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"Yeah. Could use some supplies, and I'm a decent healer."

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Hunters show off their supply of fish, and cuts of deer and elk.

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She doesn't need much, though she might swing back by after finishing delving - all in all, it's a very reasonable trade.

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"Have fun storming the castle!" the woman says as she departs.

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She laughs and calls an "I will!" over her shoulder.

Onwards towards the ruin, then.

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It's another day's travel up Mount Kilkreath before she reaches the shrine.  It's a raised stone platform, perhaps 25 by 25 feet, with a towering stone statue of a luxuriously robed and winged woman looking sternly down across the landscape.

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And that'd probably be Meridia.

She goes before the shrine, takes the beacon stone in her hand, and calls out, "Meridia, do you have guidance for me?"

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place͡ t̷hę ̶bea͏c͠o͠n̡ ̡wit̸hin ͝t̷h̛e̢ ̵a̸lt́a҉r͏

The altar, presumably, is the smaller statue at the foot of the image of Meridia: two robed women, mirror images facing each other with their hands stretched forward.

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She'll do so - confidently, caution might annoy the Daedric Prince and also nothing about this situation involves one iota of caution anyways.

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The beacon comes to rest in midair, between the stone women, and rises, slowly, to take up station between Meridia's upstretched hands.  As it does, the edges of the beacon begin to glow with a white-yellow light, precisely the color of the sun.

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Huh. Makes sense, it being called a 'beacon.' Also that is probably highly visible from a ways off now...

"You mentioned a defiled temple, too?"

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th̀e̵ te̵m̛pl͝è is be҉ne͟ath͏ the͢ sh͢r̀in̨e

͠th̸e͡r̵e҉ is a hidde͜n͠ ̀ent͜ra̶n͠ce, ͡b́el̢ow

She sees, the same way she saw the temple, a little unobtrusive door built into the left side of the stone platform.  Meridia's left, that is.

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"Alright. Any instructions for what to do inside?"

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Meridia shows her a vision of the inside of the temple - a complex of gleaming white marble and glass, enormous mirrors set on pedestals being rotated into place to reflect a thin white thread of sunlight through thick glass windows and prisms set above doors.

In the center of the temple, a room lit by gleaming golden bowls of fire as well as that same thread of white light.  A black-cloaked human form, surrounded by more wraiths like the one she already killed, looming over a golden sword.

k̬̬̭͉̤͇il̫̱͙̖̖͝l̟̣ ̠̞͍̺̳͇ͅh̪̦i̡̪̭̻͉m̲̯̰̲

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"That's what I'm here for. Do the pedestals need to be rotated by me?"

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y̧e҉s

 

h́e ḩa̶s̶ co͜r̀r͝u͞p̡te̴d th͟e po͜wer͜ ͘o̸f m̷y ͢ḩolỳ swo͘r̷d, Dawn̨br̶eak͢e̸r͘
͜
̶k͢i͢l̛li̶n͠g h̛im wíll ̛remov̷e̷ ͠the ͡corru҉pt̵i͢on ͘a͝nd̢ dis͢pers͡e͏ t̸h̡e ͞w̵rai҉ţh̵s͟

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"Good," she says, voice decisive. "Anything else before I set out?"

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n̸o̡

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"Thank you." She bows - just enough to be polite, not enough to be subservient. "I will cleanse your temple, then." And she turns, and goes to find the door.

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The door is easily found, and it leads to a dark, cobwebby marble stairway down to an antechamber.  It resembles the visions she's already seen of the inside of Meridia's temple; the familiar thread of sunlight descends into the room through an aperture in the ceiling.  But the marble is dingy and cobwebbed, uncleaned and uncared-for for a long time.  Roaches and beetles and tiny black insects skitter into the corners of the rooms and cracks in the walls as the thread of light enters the room.

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She's seen spookier.

She'll keep her silver dagger in her dominant hand, her sword on her waist and the crackle of a held fire spell in her off hand as she enters.

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The door swings shut behind her.  It's quiet.

She's not halfway to the vast mirror-pedestal in the center of the room before it's not quiet any more: a hollow wail presages the appearance of a wraith, and another, and yet more from behind pillars and shadowed corners of the room - six in all.  They rush her.

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She keeps to her dagger, moving quickly between the wraiths, striking decisively - her fire's deadly, but she doesn't want to use the magicka if she doesn't have to. If the wraiths can't pass through each other, she can use that to trip them up, get them colliding...

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Wraiths, unfortunately, seem to be mutually incorporeal.  As soon as she strikes one with her silver dagger, it shrieks horribly, and two of the others peel off and race away down a corridor off the antechamber.

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Crap.

She'll try to land a fire rune in front of the two fleeing wraiths.

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One veers around it, one tanks the hit and emerges, not unscathed, but not dead.  The four remaining fighters make to surround her.

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They're smarter than draugr, then.

She still doesn't want to waste magicka - her firebolt is her best destruction spell - she can conjure a flame atronach...

Well, if the flame atronach manages to bring down a horde on her head - and usually they're not that prone to running off - the door and sunlight is behind her.

She summons a flame atronach, hopes it attacks the more rapidly - and farther from her - moving targets, and that's the bulk of her magicka so she stops it with the spells entirely, and goes in for the four surrounding her with her dagger.

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Her atronach tries to occupy the two fleeing wraiths, and she can handle the other four.  Even a relatively shallow cut with a silver dagger causes their smoky bodies to coalesce around the wound, and makes them howl and shrink back from her.

Knowing the silver dagger trick, she can finish off her four wraiths fairly easily, if she doesn't spare much attention for checking the atronach's progress with the other two.

Permalink Mark Unread

Can she slow them down, get away, and chase down the fleeing wraiths? Because she really does not want a mob right now.

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She can; with the atronach's help they go down easy, and now she and her atronach are standing between the remaining four and the exit.

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Good. She'll close with the remaining four.

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Two of them try to swoop over her, but her atronach mirrors her movement in the air and blocks their escape.

As soon as there are only two left, they both start trying to escape.

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She is, unfortunately for them, lightly armored and faster than most people who aren't professional runners.

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She can close the distance and cut them down.  Of course, now that patrol's not going to report in at all.

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As long as she keeps ahead of the news, it's better than exact information on her and an immediate alarm; she considers the wisdom of attempting to disguise what happened here then shakes her head. No real point.

She gestures to the atronach to keep behind her and watch her back, then walks on, this time more warily. Her magicka's not exactly low, but she doesn't want to have to use so much magic again anytime soon, nor to have to burn through her few potions. 

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c͜a̸n yo͞u̶ h͞èa̕r͘ me̡

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She nods. "I can." She'll repeat the answer aloud if Meridia doesn't respond to her thoughts.

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a̛r͠e ýou t͠r͜y̛i͟n̛g̶ ̧t͏o ̡pray̶ to ͞me

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"I'm trying to communicate. Does praying help?"

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i can sóm͝e͟t͟i͡m͏es̡ ̸h͘e͏a͜r̨ ͢s̸upp̵l̶i͠ca̵t̕i̵o͘ns ͠d̶i͘r̛e̕ct̛e͡d ͝to ͠m͜e͢
͟
͝it̷ re͜qu̶ires ̡the͠ pe͜t̡itio͏ne̷r t̕o o͡cc̴úpy̴ ̷a͏ ͝me҉nt͞àl̷ ҉pos͝tur̨e ̢li͘kè t̶h̕at́ of a ̸p͞r̛i̷es͞t şingi̷n̵g t̵h͠e ́pra̴ises͟ of̷ ̴the͢ir ̵g͢od̶

o͝r͏ ͠a̶s̡k̴i̷n͏g the̕m҉ fo̡r ̡a f̢a̢v͞o̢r

i͡ ͏could ͢álm̨o͞st̨ ͞hea̢r̸ ͞yo̷u͟ w̛h͞en̸ ́yóu at́t͡em̀p͞t̶e̷d to̧ ̀com͘mu҉n͘ica͏te͝ ͞me̵n̷t̛all̨y͟

if t҉ha҉t̵ ̕is͠ d͢i͞f͝fic̢ult ̶i͘ ̛can a̸l̀s҉o ͟he͠ar҉ wor҉ds spo͜ḱeń ẁi͢thin̡ ̷m̀y҉ te͢mp̵le͏ ҉a͞n҉d̸ ne҉a̴r͡ my ̛a̵rt̴i͏fa͡c͘ts

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"I don't know if the wraiths can hear me, is the problem. Can you hear whispers?"

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y̢e͘s

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"Good. - Actually, can you hear where the wraiths are?"

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ye͏s
́
̸i c͘a͞n͞ al̢so h͢ęĺp ̸guid͞e yo̶u t͢hr̕óug̛h ͘the͘ la̡b͡y͡ŗi͘n̡th͟ ͞t҉h͏a̵t͝ fo͘r͟ms͢ the̵ ̧fir̡st̶ se̴ct̕i̛o͜n ̢of͠ t̶hè ̶t̵e̸mp̕le͟

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"Thank you." She's rarely had any help in ruins like these, so anything is appreciated, but someone mystically aware of the temple helping guide her is above and beyond what she'd ask for.

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Meridia starts to form a vision in Lianda's mind of the labyrinth, tracing the path along which she will need to guide the beacon's light.  It's a lengthy path that doubles back on itself more than once, through narrow branching corridors and grand chambers and heavy, magical-looking doors and stone bridges across wide artificial pits and chasms.  Even assuming it was converted from a natural cave system, it must have taken years to build.  It's not going to be a short trip.

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Good thing she didn't exactly pack light.

But if it's a known path - there's a very good chance the wraiths know where she's going, or will once she starts guiding the beams of light.

Hopefully they're less talented at navigating the maze than Meridia...

"This is a very impressive temple," she says out loud. "The labyrinth will hopefully aid us well."

Maybe she can lock herself behind some of the gates, to cut off pursuits or give herself time to rest...

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i͘nde̶e͡d̷
͡
͢thé ҉inv͜a҉ders̵ ̶k͏now ̶th͡e tem̛pl͞e an̢d̷ the̛ la̛byr̨int̢h ̧we͘l͠l̡
͞
b͡u̶t į ẁill̴ b̛e̷ able ̀to͟ ̛p͜e͞r̛ceiv͟é th̡e̕i͠ŕ ͞mov͏emen̷t͞s m̕or͠e ̡clea͡rl͟y͏ t̡h͠a͜n̢ ̡t̕he͢y c͏a̡n intu̸i͘t͘ ͡y͢our̵s

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"Better odds than some things I've done."

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Meridia fails to evince amusement, or indeed the emotional capacity for amusement.

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Eh, Daedric Princes are always a bit odd. "So, where next?"

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b͠e͠low͏ ͞t̨hi̡ś ͞room͟ i̧s ̴t̴h̸ę f̷i̶r͏st͞ mir͘r̨o͜r
̡
̨bu̵t͝ ͜t͡he̡r͜e҉ a͡r͢e w͡r̸a͟it̵h̶ ̴p͘a͞t͝ŕols̛ s͡ta͘t͟io̢n̴ed a̕t ͡lo͟c̨at͡ions ̀t̢ha͝t ẁou̕ld̸ b̛e l̸it by i͞t̕s̨ ͡mo͞vem͜ent

th̀àt͞ ͢wi͝ll̵ ͟al͠e͏r͢t ͠t҉he ̕n͜ec͜r͝om̡ańçer͠ ̶if t͝h̀e͏y͠ ̧ṕerce͡i̷ve ̢t͞h̵e ̕mirr͞or b͠ei̕n͘g ma̕nipu̕l͡aţed

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"Do I need to orient the mirrors in order? Can I do the first one last, for instance?"

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y͞oų ͠c͏a̸n
̡
̸a͢n͠d i̴t ̀m̴ay ͜b̶e pr̶uden͘t͞

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"Especially since I'd rather not have a trail pointing to my location and target."

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if ̵a͠ny҉ ơf ͠thè ͢ene͏m͝y̶'̨s͜ ́p͡atr҉o͘ls o͢r̨ sta̧t͢i͏on͢a͘ry ̷s͝ecur͞ity fór̸ce̶s r̶epo̢r̕t͠ y͢ouŕ prese̡nc̀e ̕at an͘y ̛òf̕ ̶t̷he͘ m͏ir̀r̵ors h̨e ͜will͝ l̶ikély gu̶e͢s͡s ̵your̨ i̧n͡t̡ent

͡bu͝t ͞vis̢i̕t̕in҉g̷ t̶he͟ ́mirr̴ors ou͝t ͢o̕f̕ ͜or̢de͡r̵ ҉an̡d̸ ̵kiĺl̡in͜g͏ ̢t̛h̵e͟ wr̢aiths̴ ͟t̕h͟e̢r̢e̷ b͘e͜fo҉re̢ they ͘ca͜n ͏esc̶ape͡ ̶w҉i̢l͞l̸ del̀ay̶ ́t̕h͝e҉i̸r̸ not̢ic̡e͏ ͏o҉f ͞y͝o̢u̕

She highlights the locations of the other mirrors in the map she's building in Lianda's mind.

t͡he͏re̢ a͠r͏e ͟f̀e͡w̡ ͜p͞athś ̷t̵h͡a̴t̨ take you ͝b͞e͟tw̧ęęǹ th̸e mi͡rr̷o͜r̶s

bu̢t m̧óŕe th͞àn͏ one

th͏e̢ longer p͠a̷ths̸ a͡re̶ ͡les͠s҉ ͞fr̡eq͏ue͠n̶tl̴y pa̷t͜r̀o͠l̴l̸e҉d

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"I have the supplies for the longer paths, hopefully."

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She doesn't reply in speech, just starts tracing a path through the labyrinth.

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She'll commit as much of the path to memory as she can, then set out.

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Beyond the entrance hall, the labyrinth is almost pitch-black before she lights her torch - it's designed to be lit by the beacon, apparently.  Pathways tangle around each other in three dimensions, stairways steep and often tightly coiled.  The trip is not as difficult as traveling overland, but it's lengthy, and dark, and quiet, and eerie.

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Keeping alert is going to be a challenge, over time, but for now Lianda has enough experience with dungeons largely empty except the occasional deadly enemy to stay in a sort of meditative state of awareness.

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The way is quiet: they do not yet know she is here.  Soon Meridia warns her, through a subtle wordless knowledge, that she is nearing her chosen first mirror room.

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She goes a bit more carefully, then, wary for ambush.

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Meridia sends her the layout of the room.  There are four exits; in principle the wraiths could travel through the walls as well, but they tend to avoid doing so unless the walls between adjacent rooms are very thin, which fortunately none of the walls of this room are.

The final mirror room is at an intersection of four corridors; there are no doors, but line of sight is broken in each corridor by a flight of stairs, up from the corridor to the mirror-pedestal.  Only a few more turns, now, from her position to the intersection.

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She'll try to get lines of sight as soon as possible, then, without sacrificing stealth nor battle readiness.

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There are three wraiths circling the final mirror.  One of them rushes her and two of them bolt down the right-hand passageway, toward the labyrinth's exit.

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She doesn't want to waste magicka, but not setting off alarms so early is more important and her stores have recovered somewhat -

She drops a flame atronach, directs it to stop the two fleeing wraiths, and closes with her dagger with the one charging her.

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Her atronach can block the other two from escaping long enough for her to take care of the wraith that rushed her, and then it's two on two.

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She's faced worse odds.

She won't use magic the rest of the fight.

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Even without it, a fighter with a silver knife and a flame atronach are more than a match for a pair of wraiths.

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She doesn't want the continual drain on her magicka, so she dismisses the atronach the instant she has the upper hand. She's going to need to figure out a way to keep them from alerting others around the other mirrors... Moving stone to block the passages will take too long and be noisy besides...

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as̛ ̵you a͢li͝g̸n ḿore ͜mir͜rors̶ it҉ ͝b͘e̵c͢omes̨ ́m͞o͞r̀e li͟k̶ely t͏h͝at a͏ ṕáţŗol̶ ̵w҉i͞ll̷ dis̕c̕ov̀er ̵o͠ne al̡read͜y̡ a̸ligne͢d͟

it҉ ͟i̸s ҉i͡mpr̷obabĺe̷ th̀ąt̕ ̶y̴o̵u͠ ̵will̡ ̢b͟e able t͢o̡ ̶al҉ig̢n̴ all of͏ th̵ȩm͠ be͞f͘ore͘ ́t͞ḩe ͠a͠l̨a̢rm͞ ͝įs͡ r͜ais̸ed͢

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"I'd like to put it off, still. The more I can do before I'm discovered, the higher my chances are."

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She projects acknowledgement and agreement.

wh͠a̴t ̨ot͘h̛e͟r m̧a̷gic̸s ͢d҉o͝ ̀y͏o̴u ͡h͟ave a̡cces͠s to

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"Magic, unfortunately, isn't my specialty. A few things in the fire part of destruction magic. I can shoot a flame blast, or put a glyph. Summoning - flame atronachs are the extent of it. I'm better at restoration magic, can heal even major injuries. Illusion... Completely not my thing."

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perha͠p̴s͟ if̢ ͟y͝o͢u ̴dedic̕a͡ted ͝a̸ļl ͢of͝ ͞y̴óur ͡màg̴ic t̸o ͟sus͢taining͘ ̶a͏n̴ ̢at̀ro͏n̨a͢c̴h͡ ͠to ̢help cov̶er̵ t͝h҉e͞ ̕exit͟s

b͟ưt͏ i hàve̵ ̧n҉o èx͜ṕȩri͘e̛nće̸ ͘m͡a҉nági̴ng ̕m̶a̧g̕i͘c͏k̕a like͢ mortalś ҉do̷

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"Problem is how slow magicka regenerates. It's not a big deal when the patrols are few and far between, but if they're alert, or I'm getting ambushed in a mirror room..."

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t̛h͝en ͢i͠ h̨áv́e no ͏a̕dvice

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"My best bet might be moving as quickly as I can, for a while, so I have fewer to handle while being hunted."

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Acknowledgement, agreement, encouragement.

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She takes a deep breath, aligns the mirror, and keeps going.

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The mirror allows itself to be realigned; no traps.

The way is dark, and quiet.

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"Meridia," she says, on the way over, "How many mirrors are there? We should - consider wider tactics, since getting caught will be a problem."

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the͜re are sixt͞y͢ ͘fo̷ur͢
̀
s̨e͠v̧e͢nt́ee̵n ̛fo҉r̴m ̧a ̵spine ̶th̸rou͘gh͜ ̕t̛he ͠c̨e̷n̡te͝ŗ of͜ ͢t͟he lab̕y̸r͡in͠th́
͟
͞it is d̕e͟signed͏ t͟o ҉misl̶ead ̢int҉ru͞de͟r̸s̶ int̶o ̀t̷hi͟n͝k͞i͜ng ̴th̶at͞ once t̸h̡ey̶ a̸lon͜e͠ a̢re ̷ali̧g͟n͞ed,͜ ͞t҉h͡ȩ wa͝y wi͝ll̵ b҉e o̴pe͝ned̢
̴
but the ͝l͜ab҉y͞r͝i͝nth̷ ̡cannot̛ b̨e fu̧l͞ly̵ l͞i̛t̸ wit͟h͡out͜ t̴he̸ ̡ot͏h̶er f̶orty ̕sev͏en̵

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She nods.

"Are there different amounts of guards, or of patrols in the area of each?"

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t̡he ̀sevent̸e͠e̢n͟ ̕s̀p̡i̵n҉al̸ m̸i̸r̕ro̢rs͢ h͡a͏v̡ę ̷fou͠r͢ ͡guàr͞ds̵ ͠e͏ac͠h
̡
̢r͟ou͡g̸h͟ly̨ t̡w҉o̶-̢t̶hi͜rd͠s ͘of̀ t̕he ̡rema͢inin͝g̶ mi͠rr͏o͡rs ̀h̀a͏v̛e oņĺy҉ ̸a ͝pa̴i̛r͘ ̶o͏f wr̀aiths͞ ̸gua̕r̡d̕i͜n̷g̛ ̶th͞e͜m̨
̀
̛fi͡f͟teen mirr̵ors͞ ar҉e̕ i̡n l̷o͢ca͢tions di͡s̛tant͢ eno̸u̴ģh ̛from ͟t̨hè c͢eǹt̕r͡al ͜sp̢įn̴e̸ ǫf̧ t̨he laby͘ri̕nt̨h ̶t̷h́a̛t̡ t́hey s̸e̢em̸ ţo͏ ͏ha̡ve͟ ͜no ͠pe̷r̷m̴an̕ent͡ ́guard͡s

h̴ow̴e͏ver̛

͜mobíl͜e ̕pa̢t͡r̶ols ̨ǫf w̴rai͞ths check ͟o͡n ̡th̶ȩsé mos͝t͠ d̨ìştan̸t m̀írr̷o͢rs͢ mo̵re͏ ̡o͞fte̡n t͟haņ ͟a͘ny͝ ̛of ͏the͠ othe̷rş

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t̢hi͠s ͘is mỳ ͘àsse͠s͜sm͞ȩǹt ͘b̡a̵se͜d͠ ̧oǹ ̨w̵h͜at ́i ͡h̢ave séén of̸ m͘y ̡laby̨r͟i̛nth͡ r̨e҉c̨entl̨y͢

i͝ ̀ha͠ve̢ ͡n͡ot͜ ͞been͘ a͘b͡lè to͢ ob͢s͜e҉r̛ve i̷t wh̷ile my ̶b̛e͠ac̸o̴n͟ ẁa̛s ̢re͘m͘ov̡ęd͞ from its ͝re̛stin̴g͠ ̀pl͠ace

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She thinks, for a while.

"I think I want to hit the spinal mirrors, first. Those will be the hardest to take after an alarm's raised, and the distant mirrors will be the hardest to reinforce."

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She projects acknowledgement and starts tracing a path through the labyrinth for Lianda to the nearest spinal mirror.

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And onwards to the slog through the darkness.

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Slog slog.

She can hit mirrors fast if she hustles, but it's going to be tiring.  It's not as tough as overland, but there are plenty of changes in elevation; and by torchlight, every wall and corner of the maze looks identical.

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She's confident enough the spines won't be noticed right away, and they're hard enough fights, that she favors caution and thoroughness, spacing the fights out enough that she can manage each one and win.

It does mean she's exhausted and close to sleep, though, by the time she finishes the spine.

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i҉ ̨a̛m ̕no͞t ҉w͏e͏l͞l ̸ve̶r͟s̡e҉d ͟in̴ ͟t͟he͡ ͡li͞m͢it͢a͜t́i͢o̡n͏s o̸f m̢or̢t͡a̢l ̴b̛od͡ies̀

̧and wit̛h m̡y҉ ͜ar̀t̵if͡acts̵ out͝ of t͜heir̕ r͘ig̸ht͠f͠u͜l p̶laće͏s ̡it i҉s̛ ̸s̨o̡m̶eti̵męs҉ ͡d͠if̀fic͡ul҉t͞ to͘ ̶th͘in̢ķ a̸nd̕ r͢eme͝m͡bèr

b͡u͘t͜

͟a̵re̡ ̶ỳo̡u̷ i̴n ̴da͢nge̶r ͘o̴f̵ ͝an̷y ̵ki͠nd ̕of̀ ḑe͞bilit͏ati̛ng͘ ̛e͠xha̛ust̡ion̛

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"Soon; I'm going to be slipping in combat, if I don't sleep some."

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i̡t i͟s͜

i̵ ́thįn͠k
͢
͠unl̛ik̕el͞y̧ you could͜ s̷le͝e͞p̷ f̧o̢r̨ ͜ve̕r͟y̕ ̡lonǵ w͟i͢t̷h͝o̶ut ̵a̷ p̶a͢trol̸ ́f̕i̡ndìng̢ ̵a̡n ̷a̸l̀i͢g͜ned̛ ̶m͝irror
́
we͏ ͠a̢re f͜o͢r̕tuna͠t́e̶ th͘éy h͟a͘ve̴ ̡ńo҉t͞ ̷alŗead͏y ͡d̸i̧s̷c̶o͡ve͝red͡ o͞n͠e͜

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"Yeah, we are."

"I can get by on pretty little sleep - just two hours should be enough to put me back on track, and then we can reevaluate."

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if a͞ ́p̸at͏ŕol͢ begìn̕s ̡a҉p̸p̶r̨oa͟ching͏ y͞òur͟ resting̡ ̛pl͟acȩ ̛i͢ c͠an҉ ͝wake͡ ͘y͞ou͏

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"Thanks."

And she finds somewhere enough out of the way that's unlikely to be a problem, and then sleeps.

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Meridia wakes her about an hour and a half later.

á ͏p̕a̸tr̕ol ͏hás f̀ound͟ a̶n al̸ig̕néd͝ mìrror͏
̡
t͡he̸y ҉ar̢e̵ l̡o͝oki̶n̡g̨ for̡ ͜y̧ou

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Ugh.

She climbs to her feet, instantly awake.

"How many mirrors are left?"

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fo͞rt̕y-five

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"Mostly edge ones? Then we'll start moving through those, hit them as best we can."

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Acknowledgement, encouragement.

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And - aiming for some level of unpredictability as well as for hitting unwatched mirrors first - she starts working her way through.

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It's actually not too difficult in principle to avoid the patrols, with Meridia to guide her, as long as she's good at being stealthy when she needs to.

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She's not very good at moving silently, but she can hold still when needed, and she can breathe soft and silent, and she can hide.

The mirrors are, still, far apart. The halls are, still, winding and difficult. Every patrol that passes sends a shock of adrenaline through her.

By the time she's done, she's crossed so far into exhaustion that she's come out the other side into a new state of being that only technically resembles being awake. Her hands have a faint tremble. Her hearing feels like it's been increased fourfold. Her thoughts race, jumping between ideas faster than before. She's constantly hungry, vaguely, in a way that eating won't sate.

But.

Eventually.

The last mirror realigns.

She finishes.

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yo͟ư ̧will n͝eed ͢t̢o̷ mov͜e ҉q̷uickl͠y͟ ̧no̢w
̢
t͘h͝e i͢n͝ner d͟o̢o͘r̡ ͜i͏s ̢op̶e͠n̨

t̕he ̵d̶e͢f̛i̧l̷ȩr can ̛p̷a͝ss̀ in͢to ͡t̷h͝e l̶ab͘y̡r͠int͟h̶
̡
́it ̷is͡ ͝po̧s̛sibl͏e͢ ̀he ̵w̨i͟ll͟ t̷ry̨ t͜o̶ mi̕salíg̡n͡ ̴the mir҉ro͜r̸s on̸ce a̴ga͏ín͝

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"Right."

She sets out, moving as quickly as she safely can, sword drawn.

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Meridia leads her toward the final mirror, the four-way crossroads, if she doesn't remember the way.  The path to it takes her first to a wide room, with a narrow and unrailed bridge over a deep chasm.

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She proceeds cautiously.

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The chasm yawns beneath her.  The thread of light runs parallel to the bridge and above it, so the white marble bridge stands out sharply against the blackness below.  The air is cold on her face and her fingers.

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w҉r͝àiths̡ are ͜cơm҉i͞n̕g

i s͟h̵ou͟ld ̡h҉a͞v҉é f͡orse͡en ̨i͞ţ

th́ey͝ ̡k̴no͟w th̶i͝s ́i͜s the͟ o͏nlỳ w͜a̸y͡ forward̸

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"I don't want to be caught here."

She's closer to the edge in front of her.

She breaks into a sprint.

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With a howling rasp, a cloud of wraith-smoke emerges from the door on the opposite side of the chasm, races toward her -

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An flame atronach spins up in their path, as far from Lianda as she can manage, and it immediately charges forward, flinging fireballs.

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The wraiths scatter, but the atronach takes out two and the explosions set another three on fire, and they writhe and scream in midair.  Two wraiths escape unscathed; one tries to circle around the atronach to rush Lianda again, and the other dives through and below the bridge, where she can't track it by sight.

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The atronach is incredibly aggressive and does not appreciate being circled around!

She needs to get to the ledge - she's not safe on this bridge - she draws her blade and keeps running.

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While the atronach is distracted by the circling wraith, the other one re-emerges from under the bridge, between Lianda and the ledge.  It hisses, its grinning jaw open wide, and flows forward through the air toward her.

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She jumps, diagonally across the corner of the bridge and ledge, keeping her sword in her hand and landing on her feet only by dint of an adolescence spent being about this much of an idiot.

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The wraith whirls, confused, then spots her on the ledge and rushes her.

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She hits it with a short blast of fire, just enough to trip it up while she gets herself firmly planted, silver blade at the ready.

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It screeches, billows into smoke, reforms just short of her and condenses a claw to rake -

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She meets the claw with her silver dagger.

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Three of the wraith's fingers are chopped clean off.  It howls, and solidity spreads from its injured hand up its skeletal arm and into its ribcage.

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Which is what her sword is for, its longer reach slashing at the solid parts.

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The wraith shrieks and rakes at her desperately and, as her sword crashes through its chest, bursts into nothingness.

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moŗe are͝ com͜i̡ng

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"Then we'll get moving."

She gestures to her atronach to go ahead of her, settling into a light, ground-eating run.

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She sketches, in Lianda's mind, the plan of the temple beyond the labyrinth.  This part is functional: there are kitchens and bedrooms and common areas and rooms that might once have been lit gardens.

Wraiths are hurtling through the labyrinth toward her, and stranger undead creatures populate the temple proper between her and Malkoran.

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i c͢a̶n̛ ̵ém̴powe͝r̕ m҉y͟ ̸c̷h̛ąmpio̵n̵ s̨t̡i̡l̨l f̢u҉ŗt̶h̴e͡r wh͡e͘n ͞sh͡e͘ ̶wi͝e͞ld̢s m͠y̵ sword ͜ąn͏d stán͠ds͞ w͟i͘thi̴n m͏y ͝tem̛p͘le͠

i̧t ma̢y̷ ͢b́e prùd̕en̶t ̀to̵ ̧k̛ill ͝Mal͢kora͜n͏ ̕an͡d ͞r̨e͘ćov̡er Da͜w͘n͏br̕e̢ak͝d̴er b͢ef̛o͠re ̸d͘oing͠ bat͜tle͢ wit͢h e̡ver͡y̧ ̀w̶rait͘h ͞an̢d̛ ͞zom̴bie̷ ̴w̕i̸th̷i̡n t̴ḩę ̸t́em̕pl̶e

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She laughs under her breath.

"Race for Malkoran it is. Guide the way, my lady."

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The temple's living quarters aren't nearly as tangled and labyrinthine as the, well, labyrinth - but there are still a few secret passageways, presumably for a situation just such as this one, that Meridia can trace out for her.

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Good.

Lianda, at least, is good at moving fast and steady.

She has her atronach peel off, tracing a different path, to direct attention away from her for a time at least.

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Meridia's secret passageways lead her away from most of the monsters, but she'll still have a chance or two to peer around corners and catch sight of what Malkoran's been working on.  Monsters assembled from bones cloaked in shadowy wraith-mist, or corpses stitched together - some lumbering, some eerily graceful.

After some time, Meridia reports:

t̴h҉e ́wraith͜s ha̕v͘e̶ ̸kil͟léd҉ your͟ ̛at͜ron̴a͞c͏h͠

̵th͠ey h̵a͟v̴e͠ repo҉rt̡ed ͞to ̷M̵a̵lkor͝an͞

a̶n̸d̵ h͝e ̶is̷ eme͠rg̡i͟nǵ ͘f̀r͝o̷m ̛hi̡s͟ ̀sa͟f͘e͏r͞oom

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"Good old Flare." Fake outs like that - splitting up from her atronach ally and having Flare convince her enemies they're both defeated - work on a shocking number of the less intelligent of the undead and beasts.

Well, now that Malkoran's guard is down, ambushing him will be rather easier.

She saves her magicka the rest of the way, under the hope she'll be able to re-summon her atronach.

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Meridia keeps her posted on the movements of wraiths and other undead beasties.  Some of them are moving to misalign the mirrors.  (Meridia calls her attention briefly to a secret passage, designed to be one way, that she'll be able to use to get back into the labyrinth if the door locks behind her.)

Soon enough she's outside the sanctum sanctorum, the resting place of the Dawnbreaker when it's not in use, which Malkoran has converted into a workshop.

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Is the way to the Dawnbreaker clear? (She's guessing not.)

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She guesses right: after a few moments, something that might once have been a deer comes loping around the corner.  It hasn't seen her yet.

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She's not in a good enough position to hide, given her poor skill at that and the clear corridor -

She tucks herself away just long enough for it to get within striking distance, and then moves, silver knife lashing out for its neck.

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It - screams.

And the door to Malkoran's laboratory bursts open and there he is, black-robed and -armored just as he was in Meridia's vision of him, wielding a sword the color of sunlight in one hand and a blue-white roil of frost magic in the other.

(They're in a grand sort of antechamber to Dawnbreaker's vault, so there's room to maneuver - )

 - shadow and hoarfrost spills from the wound in the deer's neck.  It moves to gambol away as Malkoran rushes her.

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This is something she's more familiar with.

And Malkoran is unlikely to be immune to normal blades -

Lianda summons Flare to the side, lets him rush her, stepping to the side -

Let's see how good a fighter he is.

(Lianda is very, very good, and her atronach has fought beside her numerous times.)

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He is - fierce and furious and sometimes inefficient for it, but not wholly inexperienced.  His frost-shadow-deer keeps Flare tied up for a time.

The first thing he does, after recovering from his failed rush, is whistle, loudly and piercingly, for backup.

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She'll just have to keep the backup from getting here in time.

Lianda's fierce, fast, clear-headed, and no longer afraid of burning magicka. She's been working as a mercenary for nearly two decades, and was part of a warrior house before that.

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Malkoran is no career fighter.  But Lianda's been awake for many long hours, and he knows how tired she is, and he wields frost deftly to numb her fingers and sap her strength yet more.

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There's a point - well past exhaustion, with adrenaline thundering in your veins - where you discover a new type of keen awakeness.

Lianda snarls, lets herself get the furious sort of alert, and keeps fighting, pushing herself until her heart's nearly the loudest thing in her ears, until she's grateful for the frost because it's keeping her from overheating as she fights faster than the sweat can sap her muscles' extreme warmth -

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Malkoran doesn’t know about that place.  He’s never been there.

He never will.

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She does not let him survive long, after the first time he stumbles.

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He goes down.

Unfortunately his death does not trigger the disintegration of all his undead servants, and a few moments later, a wooden door bursts and splinters open and another deer-creature gambols through it.

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p̛įc͠k ̵up͞ ͠th̛e sẃoŕḑ

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She dives for the blade.

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When Malkoran dropped it, it clattered to the ground as a gold-colored shape of metal; but in her hands it blazes to life even hotter and brighter than it had been before.  Strength and wakefulness flows into her, like its fire has been lit inside her too.

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i̶ ͡c̶an s͞usta͡in y̨o͟ų for ́a͜ ̨t̕ime̴
̛
͟hi̶s̵ ab̴o͜m̛i͝n̸ąt́i͞ons̛ ͘w͠i͝ll͞ ͜f̵a͘l͞l t̴o̕ yǫu èàsily

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"Good."

And she fights.

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The call for backup is propagating throughout the complex; many of Malkoran’s servants do not yet realize he is dead.

Meridia enables her to watch the entire temple; Malkoran's creations are converging on the laboratory, and wraiths are hurtling through the walls of the labyrinth.

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Then they're rushing in blindly.

She summons her atronach again, feeling flushed with power, right before one wave is set to reach her, and readies herself.

Someone else might try setting a trap.

Lianda prefers setting herself firmly in the middle of the room and letting her opponent get within her sword's reach.

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If she was beyond exhaustion before, now she's inexhaustible.  Her sword and her body coruscate with aurora and sunlight, like she's wreathed in the magic of turning undead, like she is a turning-spell.  They break against her like waves against a cliff.

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This is, she'll admit, more than a bit exhilarating.

Still, she stays focused on the fight, doesn't let herself get sloppy even with how easy it is. With this power, she can push herself, fight at her peak and not back down, teeth bared and eyes as bright as the aurora billowing around her.

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h̛i̶s for͜c͜es ͏ar̀e ͡w̡an͢i̛ǹg
҉
soo̶ǹ ͘th͠e ͏t͢e̶m̵pl̡ȩ ̵wi͟ll̛ ̡be ́cleans͝e̵d̛

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"Good."

And she keeps fighting.

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Bones splinter and shatter, hoarfrost melts away, the weakest of wraiths wisp away into smoke just from approaching too close.

i w͜ill n͢ot be͞ ̷ablé t̨o̢ susţain ̀thìs ̵level ͜of̶ ou̷t̴p̶ut f͞o̢r̀ mu̴c͝h͠ l͏o̡n͢ger͠

̴h͞i̶s͘ ͢lęg͜i͡o͟n͏ś ̛w̛i҉l҉l b̴e ͞fińi̛sheḑ ͢s̨o͏ǫn҉
̨
b͡ut͢ ͟ţhe ̨s͜ho̧ck of͢ ͜th̀e͝ p̡o̢węr͠ receding͏ ̕f̡ro̶m y͜ou̷ ̶may͠ b̧e͠ ͢ưn̷p͡l͟eas͟a҉ńt̛

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"As long as the fight's over by then, I'll be good," she says, and steps up her game, fighting a bit more recklessly now.

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They fall, and they fall, and they fall to her, and soon they have all fallen.

Meridia's power recedes from her, vanishing in a rush as though the fight exhausted her, or exhausted whatever mystical reserves she was drawing from.

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She stumbles, falling to her knees, breathing heavily.

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And passes out.

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There's no one else in the temple to move her somewhere more comfortable, so she'll come to on the floor where she fell.  But Meridia's light is shining on her, soft and warm and as comforting as that light can ever be.

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She levers herself up, groaning quietly. "We clear?"

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y̳̮͎͖͙e̦͕s͇͓̯͡

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And back down.

"Good."

"I should probably find a bed to collapse on..."

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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.

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"Thanks."

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

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It slides metallically into place, gleaming and glowing.

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She grins.

"Well, that's done."

And finds her way to the bed.

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

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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.

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She wakes well rested in the morning.

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

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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

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"What would being your Champion entail?"

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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

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"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."

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i ͏t҉h͢ink̢ yo̸u wo̢ul̡d ma̢k͟e a͡n̡ ̴e͞x̡ce͜llent̸ ̴c͠h͞a̛m̨pi̸on̸

̕a͠nd ̨a w͡o̸rt͟hy wie͞l̢de͟r҉ ͠o̧f the ̀D͉̩̭̝a̡̠͍w͍͕͍͙͕̬͔n͇͙b̷̰rea̹͖̖̺̳͈͉͢ḱ̲e͞r͓̮̫̪͉

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"Thanks."

"Where do we start?"

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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

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

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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.

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

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"Seem to have."

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"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."

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

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

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"Lianda?" she calls.

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"No, a burglar!"

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She laughs and emerges.

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"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?"

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"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."

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"Well, I'm glad Meridia didn't decide she wanted anything else from you, at least."

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"I actually offered to help her with gathering people to get the temple cleaned up and guarded - so this doesn't happen again - and properly aimed at undead. The closest thing to an anti-undead force we've got is the Vigil of Stendarr, and they're not much help when small villages are dealing with necromancers in their back yard."

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"So you started off doing one favor for her and now you're - recruiting?"

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"Pretty much. We ended up working well together."

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"Is that... not... more or less what you said you were pretty sure wouldn't happen."

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"I surprise myself sometimes."

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"I'm just still not really sure that turning out to work well with a Daedric prince is the good kind of surprise.  Is, you know, is the thing."

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"I do get your concerns. But - I think this is a positive change for me, overall."

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"I think the point of a cult is that they're very good at faking that impression.  - I don't know.  I know I can't stop you.  I just - I'm very scared of demons!  I was raised to believe it's the categorically most reasonable fear."

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"It is a pretty reasonable one. And I'm not going to be hard selling this - I was mostly hoping to find people with an existing draw, or who wanted a job and didn't particularly care whose halls they're cleaning."

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He nods.  "Maybe I'll just stick to the periphery of all this, and let you know if you start..."

He searches for words, briefly.  "You know, looking sketchy from the outside."

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"Thanks. A sanity check is the type of thing that seems like it'd help."

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"Happy to help.  From, you know, way off in the distance."

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She snickers. "I'll keep the demons away from you, then."

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"We got any other business?" he says.  "Mal, I'm assuming you're not up for this either..."

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"I can let you access the library whenever, but, yeah, don't want to be directly a part of it."

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"Reasonable, yeah. And I don't think there's anything else on my end."

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"See you around, then.  Good luck in your search."

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"Thanks. See you around."

And she's off, to do some subtle canvasing. Anyone extremely dissatisfied with undead or necromancers is a good start...

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"Zafira was my mother's name," says Tabar.  Lianda found him clad in leather armor with a pair of swords on his hips, leaning against a wall of a hole-in-the-wall pub and sipping his drink.  "Which isn't really what you're supposed to do with your last name, but I liked her better than anyone else in my family."

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"Well, that sounds reasonable enough to me." Lianda, conspicuously perhaps, never gives a surname.

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He snickers.  “She was the one who taught me to survive on the road,” he goes on.  “To hunt, to forage, to live off bounties on bandits, everything.”

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"Important skills. You ever dungeon delved?"

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"A lot, lately," he says.  "Been making a project of rooting out necromancers in Haafingar."

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"That's good work. Requires no small amount of skill, too."

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"That I've got," he says, smirkingly.

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"You up for proving that?"

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"Absolutely," he says.  "Did you have a place in mind?"

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"Yeah. Got word of a Master Vampire recruiting hard recently. I want to try smoking her out, get her entire group taken down."

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He leans forward seriously, nods.  "We talking about a basic smash-and-stab, or would we need to put together something more serious?"

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"I'm thinking more serious - we're outnumbered, and they're smart."

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He nods.  "What do we know about her?"

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"She's got magic, more extensively than the basics most master vampires know - rumor's she used to be a student at the College in Winterhold. She seems to preferentially recruit mages, especially young ambitious ones, for turning into vampires. Among existing vampires, she's swept up some of the survivors of other cleared nests. I don't think she has more than two dozen vampires - more likely half that - and most of them will be fairly new, but we should be prepared for surprises and outdated intel. Some of the vampires I'm pretty sure she got were two from a nest known for using traps."

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He nods along and jots down a few notes.  "So we can expect surveillance, sounds like, and trap-runes and alarm-runes... mundane traps I can deal with but I've never been much of a spellcaster beyond the basics.  Do we know anything about where she's holed up?"

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"She's taken over an old Nordic tomb, actually, north of Whiterun - and my academic connections have gotten me journals and descriptions from preliminary archaeological teams. Not much - it was a pretty minor site - but enough to get a vague idea of the layout. I'm unsure if she'll have figured out how to work around the draugr or not, though, nor what state the existing traps will be in."

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He muses.  "Is the family connected to the tomb still around?  Could they give us some tips?"

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She shakes her head. "Main caretaker family's dead - and recently, too. Not obviously vampires, but the timing's suspicious. I think we could track down some third cousin or another who's ever been to the tomb, but I'd be hesitant to draw attention to them."

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"Makes sense," he says.  "Sounds like we'll need at least one mage - and it might be smart to do some recon beforehand, get a better idea of the layout.  You got any friends who could be helpful?"

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She pauses. "An academic friend who could help with research, but she's not really a scout - and I'm rubbish at sneaking."

After a long moment - "My sister's pretty quiet, though, when she wants to be, and she's sharp. Observant. I don't know if she'd be willing to help, but..."

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"But, worth a shot?"

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"Worth the cost of postage, at least, and a meeting if she responds to that."

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"And if not, work the research angle," he says.  "Hmm... we're probably not gonna know much more about who we need until we know more about the place.  Time to get in touch with people, you think?"

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"Think so."

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"Well," he says, "I spend a lot of time here, if you wanna just get back in touch when you've heard back from your sister."

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"I'd like to spend the mean time doing any research, but we can likely split up for that."

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He nods.  "I'll see if I can scrounge up anybody who'd be up for a job like this."  He raises his mug, briefly.  "See you soon."

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"Thanks, and see you soon."

And she heads out to contact her sister.

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Ena gets back to her fairly quickly.

She's not busy, will be roughly in the area, and, sure, can help scout something.

Does Lianda have somewhere to meet?

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Yeah.

She gives a time and place for meeting up with both her sister and Tabar.

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Ena's there early.

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So's Tabar.

"You Lianda's sister?"

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"Yeah. Name's Ena. You're her friend?"

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"Tabar at-Zafira, nice to meet you."

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"Nice to meet you too. You known her long?"

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"Only a couple days," he says.  "We met in a tavern, she brought me on board."

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"Sounds like her. Quick to make friends."

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"Plus I got one of those faces," he says, grinning.

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"I suppose anyone can spontaneously develop a weakness to cute boys."

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He snorts.

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And Lianda arrives.

"Why do I get the feeling Ena was just making fun of me?" she asks.

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"Because you know you're a dweeb?"

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She snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Everyone good to go?"

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Tabar gives a thumbs-up.

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"Wouldn't be here otherwise."

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"Right."

So - planning.

She hasn't found much else, digging through archives, but she's got a few sketches of the exterior.

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He peers at the sketches.  "Do we know how many people they got who can cast aura sight spells?"

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"No, not exactly..."

Still, they have a little bit - enough to get an idea of the range of possibilities for their defenses, at least.

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 Step one is a stakeout - see what they can learn about the guards' behaviors without risking actually going inside.

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Ena thinks she should be alone on that. No offense, but Lianda's not exactly stealthy, and even two can be a crowd.

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Tabar sucks at stakeouts and is happy to delegate.

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Ena's evaluation's fair, yeah.

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Great. They can figure out the rest once she has her report?

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“Absolutely.”

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What's their timeline, here?

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The goal is to spend a day learning as much as she can on a stakeout, regroup and plan her first foray in the next day, and ideally, by day three, have her either doing some snooping or nabbing somebody to question about the layout and on-site security.  After that it will depend on whether they decide to call in more backup for the break-in proper.

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"Lianda's not going to be an effective interrogator. Especially not for a vampire. Threats aren't worth much, and she's not good at believable bribes."

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He frowns.  "...Not a lot in the way of interrogation magic, is there."

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"Not at all."

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He glances between them, then addresses Ena: "Think you'd be an effective interrogator?"

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"I have some experience."

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"I don't know what bribe you'd even give to a vampire, other than blood... but we may be getting ahead of ourselves anyway."

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She nods. "A large part will depend on who we can get, if anyone."

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"Yeah.  Let's move ahead with stage one for now."

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She nods. "I'll head out, then?"

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"Good luck."

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"Thanks. Hopefully I won't need it."

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She does not, in fact, need a lot of luck to come back alive from her stakeout, but only because she doesn't turn up anything interesting.  For the eight-odd hours she keeps watch, at least, the place is as quiet as, indeed, a tomb.

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Unfortunately not actually all that surprising.

She makes a list of entrances she can see, sketches out elevation maps, walks around and identifies exterior defenses. This entrance is the really obvious grand one. This entrance is hidden in a shadow of something else, but she thinks that arrow slit has sight onto the approach to it; if they're smart they have someone watching from there. This entrance over here leads to a rubble field and seems disused but also the rock above it looks dubious. That other side entrance has grass worn down away from it and the mud looks churned. Those two entrances are on balconies overlooking the external courtyard, and are probably for feeding archers into these defensive positions in the event of an invasion. Probably they have guards.

She heads back to the team to report her findings and suggest they spend more nights watching.

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"Yeeaaaah, in retrospect that may've been a bit of a longshot.  But if we're not on a super strict deadline I bet more stakeouts'll eventually turn up something."

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"And it'll give me time to make maps of possible internal layouts given external conditions - the ancient Nords could only get so fancy with their bracing. There's limits to where you can put tunnels and rooms without the roof falling on you."

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"Oh, that's clever."

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"It's a lot of guesswork, so I won't be able to get an exact map, but, yeah, there's some layouts they can't have. And while every tomb's different in its particulars, there're a couple of popular broad styles."

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He nods.

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"Is the information I got enough for that?"

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"Should be."

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"Then I'll spend today resting and head out again once it's close to twilight."