Changeling Escapades: Skyrim

by Erised the ink-moth


Of Queens and Doubts

Fenora had her feet up on a table to keep her precarious balance as she lazily rocked back and forth on the hind legs of her chair. She had gotten sick of worrying about everything and decided to get drunk instead, as one does.

She was in the process of draining her fifth bottle of alto wine, when something caused the whole building to shake underneath her. Decorative plates to fell off the walls and shattered, dressers overturned spilling their contents, and the floorboards shook so much that Fenora found her chair tipping backwards just slightly too much.

“Woah woah woah! Stendarr take the wheel!” she yelled, grasping in vain for anything to stop her backward descent. But it was too late.

*Thud.*

“…Owww…” the elf moaned, rubbing the spot where her head hit the floor. “The 'Blivion was that..?”

It took a second for her to get up and shake herself sober, but by then she realized there were screams coming from outside. Grabbing her greatsword, she threw open the window to see what all the fuss was.

The city was already dark, the streets only lit by oil lamps set up near doors and windows. She couldn’t see anything clearly, and the dim lights blurred together in her vision. But whatever caused that giant rumble from before seemed to have come from somewhere past the market district.

The screams weren’t stopping.

With her mind currently disregarding the concept of stairs, Fenora jumped from the window and landed on the street below, staggering slightly as she tried to focus her vision.

“Damn,” She cursed as she sprinted towards the action. “I picked a heck of a time to get drunk.”

As she ran, Fenora strained her ears to pick up any telltale sounds of what she was up against. Her amber eyes flicked skyward every alternate step, trying to pick out the silhouette of a dragon against the light of the moon and stars.

The thought of having to fight one of those monsters here, in a city full of innocent people, and LOTS of flammable material…

Fenora quickened her pace, trying her best not to trip and fall. Stross and Lydia would have surely heard the noise too. They’d all meet up and figure something out together.

They always did.

As soon as she rounded the corner to the market, Fenora was cut off by a scuffle. In front of her, an imperial soldier was thrown flat on his back. The man barely had time to hit the ground before a draugr pounced on top of him, grappling with his arms and hungrily clawing at his face.

Looking just beyond him, Fenora saw the rest of the havoc unfold. Legions of dead warriors were flooding into the city, swarming everywhere from the Market square to Castle Dour. The Legion recruits she had seen earlier that day were desperately trying to hack them down, but they were frightened, inexperienced and greatly outnumbered.

Scattered like they were, the defenders would soon be overwhelmed and the whole city would be slaughtered!

Fenora let out a drunken chortle as she swayed side to side. “Oh... it’s just zombies. Heh-heh.”

“Help! Sweet Divines above, someone help me!” The soldier screamed as he fought with all his might to not get his face clawed off.

Suddenly a boot met the draugr’s rotten face as Fenora punted it clean off him, letting out a cheer as she messily cleaved it in two.

It might seem mad to be happy at a time like this, but Fenora couldn’t have been more relieved. She expected an impossible battle that would end with the city being reduced to embers. But this? She’d have them all mopped up in a snap.

As the young soldier she saved shakily got to his feet behind her, Fenora freed her blade from the rotting husk and looked at the rest of the battle taking place. Feeling perhaps more confident than she should have, she dove into the fray with a grin stretched across her face.

“Undead Marti Gras!”

She quickly killed one with a wide swing, then another, letting the momentum do most of the work and carry her forward. The dead were numerous, but very few of them were focused on her. Thus she had ample time to get inside their blind-spots and systematically lay waste to them with her sword.

Duck.

Swing.

Cleave through.

Parry into pommel strike. Follow up with an overhead cleave.

Large group attacking soldiers. Draw some off.

No good… too many.

Unrelenting force!

…That worked well.

Move on.

Whirlwind sprint. Slice as you go.

There wasn’t much strategy to Fenora’s movements. She was powerful, and surprisingly graceful considering her blood-alcohol content, but lacked any kind of planning beyond what was in front of her.

If it’s undead, re-kill it.

If they’re alive, keep them that way.

If something’s coming at your face, don’t let it hit your face.

If there’s nothing left to kill where you are, move somewhere else.

Rinse and repeat until victory.

Pretty soon everything devolved into a blur of ducking, weaving, striking, and thu’um-ing.

Fenora lost track of how many enemies she’d killed in her haze. She was getting tired, breathing harder, but knew there were still more draugr to fight, and she just had to keep hacking and slashing until it was over.

It would be over soon, right? Right?

*Srit!*

AH!” Fenora shouted in alarm. Her comfortable routine of combat slipped away as she felt the trickle of warm blood start seeping into her clothes.

Whirling to face whatever just sliced her back, she found it was an Imperial soldier, one she was sure she’d saved just seconds ago. Now he was missing a large chunk of his forehead, and the glow of necromantic energy pulsed in his eyes.

Fenora quickly brought her sword down as he lurched forward. He was armored and she couldn’t cut through, but the weight of her strike brought him to his knees. Her next hit crushed the undead soldier under her blade, leaving her wondering how he got that way.

“What the..?” Fenora breathed as she looked at her former ally, the pain of her wound bringing the world into focus.

There were stories where bites from the undead could turn living people into ghouls. But those were all works of fiction! There had to be another reason, in fact she was praying for one.

For the first time since the fight had started, she began to question how the dead got into the city in the first place. Now she knew there was a necromancer hiding out somewhere, resurrecting their fallen to fight on his side. That made slightly more sense, right?

Backpeddling from the horde, Fenora climbed to a vantage point on a nearby balcony, hoping her theory was right and she could find whoever was controlling these undead monsters. But once she got up there, she was able to see just how bad things were getting.

The number of undead hadn’t declined at all, even with all the ones she’d killed. If anything their numbers were only growing as more and more rookie soldiers fell to their relentless assault. Terrified screams and sounds of panic filled the air as civilians who had wandered out onto the streets found they’d walked into a nightmare. Those who couldn’t get back to the safety of their homes were fleeing to Castle Dour along with the surviving guards. She saw Captain Aldis beckoning them to regroup, rallying them for a last stand.

Fenora realized too late that this wasn’t the cakewalk she thought it would be, and her tactic of ‘kill all the bad things really fast’ wasn’t working. She needed a new plan.

Dropping down from the narrow ledge she was perched on, Fenora dashed through the undead mob towards the castle courtyard where the soldiers were.

She sliced, kicked, shoved, and Fus-Ro-Dah’ed her way through the bulk of the horde, but something caught Fenora’s foot and made her fall flat on her face. Half an undead soldier, barely more than a torso dragging guts behind it, had grabbed onto her leg.

As Fenora struggled to get it off via repeated kicks to the face, she realized just why there were still so many undead around: they didn’t die.

She hadn’t noticed in the dark, but now, this close up… Every undead she saw was mangled and maimed, but they kept on shambling around on their broken limbs… or even lack thereof.

She finally managed to get free by hacking off the zombie’s hand, and just in time to scramble away from another half-dozen mutilated corpses slithering towards her.

Using Whirlwind Sprint, Fenora made it to the entrance of Castle Dour, where a makeshift barricade of overturned wagons and crates had been hastily shoved into place. Fenora had to scramble over it to escape the mob approaching from behind.

She made it over the top and dropped to the other side, letting out a sigh of relief.

Then she got shot with an arrow.

“Ow! Fuck-mothering Akatosh! Damn it!” she swore, clutching the shaft lodged in her gut.

“O-one got through over here! Someone h-h-help!” a nearby soldier yelled, and Fenora could tell by the longbow that he was the one who shot her. His voice was even shakier than his hands, and it was a wonder he managed to hit her in the first place.

“Stand down soldier, that’s not one of them!” Captain Aldis boomed as he rushed over. “By the Gods, that’s the Dragonborn! Are you alright?”

“I’ve had worse.” Fenora told him, snapping off the end of the shaft and wishing Stross was there to fix her up.

“Your leg!” Aldis yelled.

Fenora looked down, and to her horror she found that severed hand was still alive! With no small amount of alarm, Fenora ripped it off herself, losing a chunk of her trousers in the process.

Throwing it to the ground, she was revolted to see that it was still moving! Without a brain or even a body, the hand was still pulling its way towards her inch by inch with its fingers.

She quickly skewered it on the edge of her sword and tossed it into one of the massive burning braziers nearby, watching with satisfaction as it blackened to a crisp in the flame.

Collapsing to a knee, Fenora finally got a second to rest; all the fighting and consecutive thu’um-ing had started taking its toll. It was clear to her now why the guards had been losing so hard, and she wondered who in the world could be using necromancy strong enough to create this relentless horde.

Suddenly the barricade of junk behind her shook violently and many of the loose pieces fell off. The dead had started clawing their way through.

“Get everyone inside the keep! Bar the doors!” Aldis ordered. Anyone wounded or unable to fight was hurried inside the fortress of Castle Dour. He then turned back to Fenora. “Dragonborn, we’re not going to last long out here once those barricades fall. I hope you have a plan.”

Fenora kept herself from groaning. The changeling that made all her so-called plans work was nowhere to be seen.


Everything Stross could see was ablaze. Timbers were creaking and crackling as embers filled the air. The ornate mansion he found himself in was falling apart as the whole thing burned away!

But the air the changeling took in was devoid of strangling smoke, and the flames licking his feet felt pleasantly cool. Looking down at his form once again, he found himself shadowy and transparent, barely more than a ghost walking amid the blaze.

A series of pain-filled groans quickly reminded Stross of his purpose in this place, and he hurried down the burning hallways, heedless of the flames.

He passed hallway after hallway of paintings and statues of regal figures, each seemingly looking on in dismay as their house fell apart.

Finally he found them in the burning foyer, the Queen’s Counsel: Falk Firebeard, Bolgeir and Sybille Stentor. They were pressing their bodies against the burning walls, trying in vain to keep the structure from collapsing in on their heads regardless of how they were suffering.

Even more curious was the open door, right in plain sight. Featureless dark lay beyond, but it was far better than in here. Why did they stay?

Stross ran to the steward first. “What are you doing?! You have to get out of here!” he urged Falk, trying to pull him away from the burning wall, but his ghostly hands passed through him with no effect.

He tried the others as well, but it was the same. Worse, no one seemed to even hear him.

“I don’t understand!” Stross said, hearing them cry out in pain. “Why aren’t you saving yourselves?! The exit’s right there!”

Then the sound of laughter cut through their moans of agony and the crackling of the flames; it was the laugh of a child. Stross turned around, and what he saw astounded him, not only at how out of place it was, but the sheer fact that he missed it to begin with.

There, sitting in the center of the room on a quilted blanket, playing with miniature houses and toy soldiers, oblivious to the all destruction and turmoil around her… was a little girl.

“I’m Queen Elisif, and I want to throw a big parade and wear a pretty dress and make everyone happy!” the girl sang while she walked a group of dolls between rows of tiny buildings. “I’m going to invite the Dragonborn to dinner and have her tell me amazing stories about her adventures, and if I’m lucky, I can have her punch that rotten Ulfric Stormcloak in the mouth! Then the war will be over and I can be the best Queen of Skyrim ever!”

Stross felt himself cringe at the display. He was about to ask ‘why’, but then looked to Falk, Sybille and Bolgeir, and the pieces clicked in place. It only made him cringe harder.

“Are you kidding me?!” Stross yelled at Falk and the others, though his ghostly voice hardly carried over the roar of the fire, “That isn’t what Elisif is like! She’s a kind and compassionate ruler that just wants what’s best for her people. She just can’t do anything with everyone telling her ‘no’ all the time!”

The changeling remembered when he first lay eyes on Elisif not even a full day ago, and how he compared her to a small child on a throne; he saw her as inexperienced, timid, and prone to making decisions thoughtlessly.

He had since learned better.

But now, sitting before him was that false perception given form, with every negative aspect taken to an extreme that bordered on mockery.

These three were her inner circle, the people she trusted and depended on most. If an outsider like him came to know what the real Elisif was like, shouldn’t they know her just as well if not better? Wouldn’t they of all people think highly of her?

“There are lots of scary noises coming from Wolfskull Cave!” Child Elisif said behind them, grabbing a handful of toy soldiers and lining them up in marching formation, “We must send in the Legion to clear it out and make sure it’s safe to sleep at night!”

“Wolfskull Cave?” Stross mouthed wordlessly, “Isn’t that..?”

“That’s hardly a suitable course of action, your majesty! We can’t send our soldiers off on rumors when they’re needed elsewhere.” Falk Firebeard called back.

On that que, the changeling recognized this conversation; it happened in court earlier that day. When Elisif heard the fear in that farmer’s voice as he told her about the noises he’d been hearing, she was fully prepared to send an army to wipe out whatever might be threatening her people, only for Falk to step in and hastily remand her order and set the matter aside for later. Or, by the way he dismissed the framer who told them of it… perhaps never.

It was hard watching them both as they utterly floundered at their jobs.

Now, Falk’s words were the same as they had been at the time, but Elisif’s were warped into the paranoid phrases of a child, akin to asking someone to check under their bed for monsters. Was this all Falk heard when he listened to her concerns?

If so it was no wonder she felt frustrated.

“It’s always like this.” Falk muttered to himself, “No matter what issue arises, there’s no such thing as a measured response. It’s like she doesn’t even think about the consequences before she starts ordering her people about willy nilly. This city would fall apart if I weren’t here to stop her!”

“Will you listen to yourself?!”  Stross shouted, unwittingly taking on a new form in his anger.

Falk’s eyes widened, and he turned his head to find that indeed, he was listening to himself.

“Wha- how?” he sputtered as his doppelganger stared him down.

“Elisif might be inexperienced as a ruler, but she’s not stupid. She cares about her people like any good ruler should. It’s natural she would act excessively if she thought they were in danger.” Stross ranted at the steward for all he was worth, “She relies on you to know what the right course of action is, but your job isn’t to shut her down when she makes a mistake!”

“You’re right- I’m right, but…” Falk looked to his double, “Elisif is Queen of Skyrim. Any wrong decision she makes could end in disaster! I can’t just stand by and let that happen!”

“But if you decide everything for her, she’ll never learn how to rule on her own.” Stross told him.

“So I’m to do nothing, and sit idly by as she makes her own decisions as Queen, for better or ill?” Falk asked.

Now who lacks a measured response?” Stross snorted and locked eyes with him. “Supporting someone means showing them the way and catching them when they fall, not telling them they’re not allowed to walk. And Elisif will still need your support for some time. Just… have some faith in her for goodness sake.”

“I…” Falk hesitated as he spoke to himself, “You’re right. I can’t believe I had to hear it from my own mouth, but you’re right. I’ve always been loyal to the throne, and gratefully served whoever sits upon it. I guess... I just forgot what it means to be the Steward of Solitude, and aide to the throne.”

As he said it, Falk let go of the burning wood that was charring his flesh, and as soon as he did, the wounds began to heal, slowly. He then walked past his double and knelt down to the little girl as she played with her dolls.

“I believe in you, my Queen. If you ever need advice, you only need to ask. I’ll be here for you.”

Child Elisif beamed up at him, seeming to grow in stature as she did. “I know, Steward. That’s why I trust you. Tea?”

Falk stared blankly for a moment before sitting cross-legged and accepting the elegant cup.

Meanwhile Stross smiled to himself. “Alrighty then. One down, two to go.”

As he talked to each of them in this burning, ghostly dream world, Stross got to know a bit more about each of Elisif’s counsel, and how much Torygg death had upset their lives.

Bolgeir’s issue was more sensitive than Stross would have given him credit for. He was a large and imposing Nord, with a stoic attitude and the voice of a growling bear. Even at a glance, he was a natural choice to be Elisif’s personal bodyguard, her housecarl.

What Stross didn’t know however, was that he had once been Torygg’s protector as well.

Bolgeir recounted the day Ulfric stormed into the palace and challenged Torygg to the duel that would end his life. By their tradition… their sacred, blasted tradition… there was nothing he could do but watch the man he swore his life to, die.

The memory haunted him constantly, and left a mark that he would never be rid of. Perhaps this was why he watched over Elisif with such fervor.

He scarcely let her out of his sight, waking up early every morning and standing by her side all day as her court commenced. Every time someone stepped to close or said a foul word to her, it didn’t matter if they were noble, commoner or military, he’d be in their face demanding they watch themselves. He was so devoted that he barely took the time to eat a proper meal.

But his protectiveness brought with it a downside, one that left Elisif feeling smothered. Bolgeir had turned into a hovering mother bear around the Queen, and he actively advised against the kind of luxuries that would put her at undue risk... such as being left alone for more than a few minutes. Elisif thankfully put her foot down when it came to watching her while she slept, but something as simple as a trip into town for a casual shopping trip was something that now warranted an escort of five soldiers! It had been days since she had even left the palace.

It took some doing, but Stross managed to convince the paranoid housecarl that his overprotectiveness was doing more harm than good. Much like Falk, it was a lesson in easing up.

The last problem case Stross had to deal with was Sybille Stentor, the Court Wizard. And he was shocked to learn that she was a vampire, a fact she hid well, save for a few stray rumors that tended to float around court.

Sybille was close to two centuries old, but had only been in Solitude for a quarter of that time. It was Torygg’s father Istlod that took her into his service for her deep knowledge of magic. Being given a position of such importance suited her, and being allowed to feed on criminals in the dungeons felt better than drinking blood from wild animals and travelers on the road, so she stayed.

In time, Sybille grew quite close to Istlod, even helping him raise his son. For the first time since becoming a vampire and an outcast, she felt like she had a place she belonged. More than that, she felt she had something like a family.

She mourned Istlod when he passed away from old age. And she beamed with pride upon seeing Torygg sit in his father’s throne… only to mourn him as well, too soon.

This was where the problem arose.

Sybille had never been the most cheerful person in the room, but after Torygg’s death she became even colder and withdrawn. Whenever she was forced to interact with another person, she held no shortage of biting truths and snide remarks in her words, never caring who she offended or whose feelings she hurt. Why should she care if everyone regarded her with distain? Sybille knew her expertise was invaluable and irreplaceable, and would only continue to grow, whereas her dissenters would all eventually die.

Istlod was the last person to even know about her vampirism. She’d never told Torygg. She’d certainly never told Elisif, and attempting anything more than an arm’s length relationship with anyone risked exposure, and losing everything she’d worked for.

She considered it better this way, but still… the life she built for herself felt hollow, and she was ignoring the reason why.

Her story really struck a chord with Stross. Vampires and Changelings weren’t so very different in his eyes, and like her, all he had ever wanted was a place that felt like home, with people he could call family. The thought of feeding on criminals in a dungeon made him queasy, but knowing Sybille had achieved his dream gave Stross hope for his own future.

So he couldn’t let Sybille suffer through hers.

“Let those horrid mortals come and go. All that matters is my place here. I will not go back to drinking skeever blood after all these years I’ve spent making this city what it is!” Sybille said bitterly, “Why should I bother with pointless sentimentality? They will die whether I care for them or not!”

“But you want to care about them.” Stross said as Sybille’s double, knowing he would want to care as well.

“I grew attached, and all I got for it was heartache!”

“Is that really all?” Stross asked her. “What about the joy you felt, that warmth that swells up in your chest and presses on the inside of your cheeks every moment you’re with them? That feeling of knowing why you belong here. It will hurt to lose them, but that’s because they meant so much to you. Without that, what’s the point of staying here besides surviving? What’s the point of surviving if you’re never feeling joy?

“Besides… even if it doesn’t last forever, they deserve your kindness, just like you deserve to be happy for giving it to them.”

At the same time he said it, Stross felt like he had no right to. He’d once known a pony for two years before their relationship fell through and he was left wandering again, a personal record of his.

Meanwhile, Sybille had watched children grow old and die, said goodbye to those she spent a lifetime with. They felt the same sense of happiness and loss, but the difference in scale between them was oceanic.

His words seemed to have some impact on Sybille though. Her bitter expression softened, and for the first time ever, Stross thought he saw her shed tears before she turned from the burning wreckage to sit with the others.

While the trio of advisors sat at the quaint little tea party with the child version of Elisif, they looked awkwardly more at ease than Stross had seen them before, the raging fire around them died down to trailing cinders, and that child that was supposed to be their Queen didn’t seem so much like a child anymore.

Then they suddenly disappeared, and Sheogorath’s boisterous laughter and a round of applause cut through the air.

“Well done Stross, my lad. Well done indeed!” the lord of madness applauded him, “Who knew politics could be so complicated, am I right?”

“I still can’t believe they actually saw her like that.” Stross said, “Are you sure that wasn’t just something you made up for me to deal with? ‘Cuz I can totally see you making someone’s tiny inner worries huge to drive them insane.”

“My my, my little changeling. You give this Daedric Prince too much credit. Everyone has problems that fester like leeches in the pits of their minds. When they say someone's 'mature', all that means is that they're better at shoving those thoughts deep down into their subconscious where no one else can see them.” Sheogorath said in a deeply sinister tone, before leaping right back to his cheery self in the span of a hand clap. “But now that you’ve exposed their issues, perhaps they can stop smothering dear Elisif’s potential, and let her become the almighty tyrant she was always meant to be! Ha Ha!

“…or maybe she’ll just be another boring, do-gooder Queen. Only time will tell I suppose.”

Stross started to question Sheo, but just ended up stuttering lamely as he chose whether or not to take him seriously. In the end, he decided it wasn’t worth asking anyway.

“Whatever. Let’s just get back so I can finish this.”

“Leaving so soon?” Sheo asked, “You don’t want to see the possible future you’ve prevented with your wise, worldly words of wisdom?”

As he spoke, there was a sound like thunder beyond the blackness outside the open door, and Stross hesitantly stepped through, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Once he did, Stross found himself standing on a hillside looking out at Solitude on a dark, stormy day. Smoke rose from within the city as hundreds of invading soldiers stormed in through the gate, and the Stormcloak banner was raised above the Blue Palace.

“Wh- This…” Stross said breathlessly.

Suddenly the world zoomed in, and Stross got to see what fate befell the people.

Shops and businesses were being ransacked. Anyone who wasn’t a Nord or firmly aligning themselves with Ulfric were dragged out of their homes and thrown into the streets. Any Nord that defended them was labeled a traitor and beaten alongside them.

Imperial Soldiers were forced to surrender at swordpoint and convert to Ulfric’s army. The bodies of those that refused were piled onto wagons and carried out of the city in droves.

“Yup!” Sheogorath said, suddenly beside Stross as they watched Elisif being loaded onto a ship and exiled from her own city in disgrace. “This is what very well could have happened if those three had kept letting their burning issues get in the way of supporting their Queen, or if they decided to walk away and abandon it all. Get it? It’s SYMBOLISM!”

Then Sheo smashed a pair of cymbals together with a loud *TISSSSSHHH*, and the horrific cityscape vanished, returning them instantly to the floating banquet rock with the strippers, big boobies, and even more outrageous crap.

Stross rubbed his eyes to rid himself of the afterimages, and get over the shock of what he just saw. "Subtlety isn't really your thing, is it?" he asked.

"Deadric Prince of Madness!" Sheogorath sang taking it in his usual stride. "And besides, sometimes you just need to be bold and throw things out there. But we've some to the last hurdle, my little changeling. Only two more friends to rescue! I should have guessed you’d save the followers last; no one out there seems to care what they go through.” he said, shaking his head in mock sympathy.

“What- I- I care about them!” Stross said indignantly. Feeling bad for leaving Lydia and Jordis buried under those mountains of junk, even though time had stopped.

“Oooooooh reeeeeeeaaally?” the mad god said in the most exaggerated way he could, “Then you’d better get down there. They seem a bit over-encumbered at the moment. Too bad they’re sworn to carry your burdens.”

“Man, I know you’re the Daedric Prince of madness or whatever, but you’re still kind of a dick!” Stross got in a quick jab before jumping through the final portal.

“What’s that?” Sheo asked. “I can’t hear you over the screams of my Macho-Man Randy Dragon!

“OOOOOOOHHH YEAH! Because I’m wild, YEAH!”


A box of kitchen knives collided with the wall before falling to the already cluttered floor.

The Guardhouse door shook violently as the mob of undead battered it outside. The hinges looked like they were going to break at any second.

With frustration and imminent danger rising, Fenora continued her search.

“Where the ‘Blivion did they put it?” she asked no one as she sifted through piles of confiscated items. She thought something legendary as Dawnbreaker wouldn’t just get tossed in some storage chest like random trash.

That sword would be so perfect right now, Fen felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner.

Captain Aldis agreed with her plan to retrieve it, and one of his men even remembered stashing it in the Guardhouse the night Stross came back from hunting necromancers. He said it was inside a wooden chest.

It seemed so simple at the time.

“Inside a wooden chest, huh? …Yeah, that’s real frickin’ helpful.” Fenora grumbled as she opened the fifteenth identical brown wooden chest to find it contained nothing but leeks and dusty bones.

The door shook again, this time with the sound of breaking wood.

Pressed for time, Fenora started flinging open containers left and right, often dumping their contents on the floor rather than searching through them by hand. “Come to Fenora, Dawnbreaker. Momma needs you now!”

Bottles of mead.

Pile of scrolls.

Spell books with porno mags inside.

Fenora panted as she tried to catch her breath, fingers resting on the last unopened chest. She opened it to find… a single gold piece.

She let out a shallow breath and took a step back, hearing the rasping groans outside even more clearly. Fenora dropped to the floor and started searching through the clutter. “I must have dropped it without realizing. It’s gotta be here somewhere!”

But it wasn’t.

Fenora suddenly felt very stupid.

“Great. This is just great.” she thought, “I was banking on it being here! I barely managed to outrun those undying bastards just to get this far and now I’m cornered! Great job, me. What the ‘Blivion am I supposed to do now?”

Once again she wished her changeling were with her. Whenever a problem arose he always seemed to deal with it so… fluidly, like he didn’t even have to think about what to do next. And it never seemed to matter how bad things got, when Stross had her back, everything seemed to turn out okay.

“Well he isn’t here now.” Fenora told herself, “This times it’s up to me.

“…I could always just run, I mean the gate to the city’s right outside.”

Fenora physically slapped herself.

“NO! I already promised not to run anymore! How many times do I have to tell myself this?! I’m not a Fluttershy dang it!”

The door continued to rattle as the mere incessant pounding caused the bolts to wiggle loose.

“That’s it then… I’ll fight my way back to Castle Dour and come up with something else. Maybe that old priest will have some good news.”

With that, Fenora picked up her regular, non-sparkly-magical sword of undead slaying, and got ready for the return trip. As she did though, she knocked over a set of armor on a stand, and a blinding golden light hit her eyes.

Looking closer, she saw that the stand was like a mannequin made of solid wood, with a sword slot in which Dawnbreaker was sheathed.

“Wooden chest.” Fenora mouthed in realization, before scowling.

She ripped the golden sword free from the stand, and swore to beat the stuffing out of whatever guard thought that now was the time for a play on words.

Not a moment too soon either, as just that second, the horde outside finally managed to hack a hole through the door. As soon as the axe was pulled out of the way, one of the draugr shoved its face through the gap in the beams, gnashing its teeth hungrily.

“Here’s Johnny!” it wretched.

Fenora responded by stabbing Dawnbreaker into its eye socket.

The corpse shrieked and thrashed as the holy blade unleashed an explosion of cleansing fire. Seconds later it was nothing but dust, and Fenora let out an almost giddy laugh upon witnessing the sword’s power.

Through the now vacant hole she could see just how many draugr had her cornered. There had to be at least twenty of them clamoring for their turn to hack down the door.

“Alright,” Fenora said with a determined grin as she faced the door with Dawnbreaker in hand, “Here we go.

“Fus… RO DAH!”

The sound of splintering wood and Unrelenting Force echoed through the city, followed by the inhuman shrieks of the dead as they were set ablaze.

Fighting through the undead was like cutting down a tree with a herring. With Dawnbreaker it was like cutting through butter with a laserbeam!

…Only its reach left something to be desired.

With Dawnbreaker being a onehanded short sword, Fenora quickly chose to wield it in her off-hand while using her greatsword in her right, downing her opponents with her larger, heavier weapon before finishing them with the lighter holy blade. It was clumsy at first, but she had lot of opportunities to practice her new dual wielding.

The streets she passed through were filled with the undead, enough to make up a small army. But here and there she spotted soldiers from Castle Dour trying to rescue citizens still trapped inside their homes. Even more frequently she saw the draugr hacking at front doors with their blades and maces, busting in windows and clawing at walls trying to get at those inside, like they could sense the living, and wanted nothing more than to snuff them out.

“Get back! Back foul creatures!” the yell of a soldier caught Fenora’s ears. He and two others stood between the dead and a family of six, with the soldier in question thrusting some kind of amulet before the draugr, causing them to recoil with each jab. “That’s right! Back all of you! The power of Arkay compels- AAAHH!”

He screamed as the amulet was slashed from his hand along with a few of his fingers.

His more practical companions turned to ramming the dead with their shields and shoving them away, but the walking corpses quickly piled on and were about to overpower them.

Then suddenly the draugr lost their strength and burst into flames, slumping to the ground in smoldering piles. When the flames too died down, the Dragonborn was standing before them.

“Hey.” She said. “Come with me if you want to live.”

This pattern repeated itself many times as they made their way through the city. Fenora would fight her way through the horde until a scream or call for help grabbed her attention, and she would dart away with Whirlwind Sprint to rescue whoever needed it: a shopkeeper, the blacksmith that sharpened her sword, a pair of children hiding in one of the back alleys, Taarie and Endarie the dressmakers, a lone soldier that got separated from his group.

But as many as she saved, there were too many that she couldn’t. This became abundantly clear when a little girl came running at her, with the glow of necromancy in her eyes and her intestines hanging out of her belly.

“Dammit!” Fenora swore as she cut the undead child down.

She wished she were still drunk.

All she could do was keep fighting and hope it would be enough.

“We’re here!” she announced as she and her group ascended the steps to Castle Dour, relieved to see that it wasn’t overrun.

She spotted the likely reason wandering outside the barricades.

Before she left to get Dawnbreaker, an old man named Styrr came to them out of nowhere dressed in orange robes. The people of Solitude knew him as a Priest of Arkay, the one that tended to the Hall of the Dead in the city. As soon as he arrived, he began casting wards and muttering prayers, diligently continuing his work even now.

They got to witness the payoff as a stray draugr wandered within range, and was engulfed a blinding pale light. Whatever Styrr’s magic did to the undead, they clearly didn’t like it one bit, turning to flee almost instantly.

Seeing this, the people following Fenora quickly rushed to the safety of the keep, uttering words of thanks as they passed her by.

Meanwhile, Fenora stood in surprise at how many there were - a few dozen at least. She hadn’t taken any time to count the people she rescued, only focusing on saving the next ones… and putting down the ones she failed to save.

Seeing so many still alive gave Fenora a twinge of pride knowing she was the one that saved them, however pyrrhic that victory was. And she wasn’t the only one.

“Dragonborn!” came Aldis’s booming voice. He finished ushering the crowd inside the keep and made his way over to her. “You’re living up to your fame tonight. At this rate everyone in the city’ll owe you their lives.”

“Not everyone.” She told him sadly, looking back out at the chaos still ensuing. “And I’m afraid I already collected that debt from those I didn’t earn it from.”

Aldis raised a brow before the meaning set in, upon which he gave her a reassuring gesture and said, “It’d be nothin’ short of a miracle if every man, woman and child made it out of this alive. We’re glad to have you here, doing what you’re doing. Truly.”

Fenora heard his words, but couldn’t take them in. Because she knew someone who could have delivered that miracle if they’d had him in her place.

Which begged the question… why the actual fuck wasn’t Stross here saving the day?

“They’re dead, man! They’re all fucking dead! Game over man, game over!”

The shout drew the attention of everyone around as a soldier sprinted inside the training grounds of Castle Dour, panicked and out of breath. Captain Aldis rushed over to him, grabbed the young recruit by the shoulders and trying to calm him down.

“Get yourself together soldier! Who’s dead?” he demanded.

“Th-the palace guards, Captain. I-I went to tell them what was happening and… and…” the man trembled as he spoke, “Oh Gods, there was blood all over the walls… It was everywhere!”

“What about Queen Elisif?” Aldis asked urgently.

“I… I-I didn’t see anyone.” The soldier stammered. “I didn’t see anyone in there.”

Aldis released the soldier from his grip and signaled to four others guarding the keep. “You men, with me! We going to the palace, and we’re going to find our Queen if it’s the last thing we do! Dragonborn-!”

Fenora nodded and made to take the lead. “Already with you. Let’s go.”

There was no hesitation in her mind. If something happened at the Palace, then that was the reason Stross and Lydia hadn’t joined the fight in town, and that meant it couldn’t be anything good.

But then the captain’s strong hand clapped onto her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

“No Dragonborn, we need you to do something else.” Aldis told her. “These monsters have been pouring out of the Temple of the Divines since this all started. That priest, Styrr, thinks they’re coming from the ancient catacombs beneath the city, but none of us have been able to get anywhere close. But you have Dawnbreaker!” he exclaimed, pointing to the sword, “You could get inside and find some way to seal it off! I know this is a lot to ask, but I believe you’re the only one capable of this.”

Fenora couldn’t help but hesitate. Her changeling was in danger, and they were telling her to go somewhere else.

Her first instinct was to tell Aldis to stuff it up his nose, and rush to the Blue Palace regardless of what he or anyone else needed. Whatever was happening there must have been unfathomable to keep Stross away from an undead invasion like this. For all she knew he was already de-

Fenora shook herself.

She reminded herself who she was thinking about, how strong and clever Stross was despite his downright clownish attitude. He had saved her life more times than she cared to remember, so he could handle himself. Right?

Besides, the people of Solitude still needed her to protect them. They were safe in Castle Dour for the moment, but how long would that last? And then there were those who were still trapped in their homes, or fighting for their lives in the streets. Their lives were more important. Weren’t they?

She knew what Stross would want from her, but that didn’t make the decision any easier.

“I-“

*RMMMMBBKKKKK!*

Fenora didn’t get another word as the ground shook again and a deathly chill washed through the air.

All eyes were drawn upwards as a figure shot up into the sky. She was barely more than dusty bones dressed in ancient faded cloth. But chilling blue waves of magic spilled from her body, capturing the moonlight and highlighting her silhouette against the darkness. Of particular note, was the wolf-pelt cowl draped over her skull.

Slowly she descended into the courtyard, and Styrr’s holy wards sparked and fizzled out of existence in her presence. She stopped just above them, her dress and cape billowing in an unseen wind as she stayed just high enough to be seen in all her eminence, while keeping all others below her.

Everyone shuddered, feeling her hollow sockets glancing their way. Most tried to hide from her gaze, soldiers were too terrified to even raise their bows, and few dared to breathe.

After a moment of quietly regarding them, she finally spoke. Her voice was like a whisper, but somehow echoed like thunder in their heads.

“Mortals of Solitude, look upon me now. Your true Queen has returned! I, Potema, shall rule this world forever. And you, my people, shall serve me…” Her arms opened in what seemed a gesture of welcoming, “In death.”

With those last words to seal their fate, a legion of death assembled before the survivors of Solitude. Corpses fresh and centuries old alike grouped together, encircling the courtyard. Severed limbs found mismatched owners and knitted themselves into place. To Fenora’s shock, even the piles of ash consecrated by Dawnbreaker rose to form wraith-like monsters, pulsing with Potema’s necrotic energy.

Now even more monstrous and grotesque than before, Potema’s army marched towards the survivors, the people Fenora did so much to save.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Fenora sneered as she put herself between the nearest group of living people and the oncoming horde, using Dawnbreaker to hack the undead warriors down.

She ducked under the halberd of a draugr with two left arms and thrust Dawnbreaker into its gut, quickly blocking a swing from a turned Imperial soldier lacking the top half of his head, sweeping its legs clean off with her greatsword, and finishing with a downward stab from Dawnbreaker.

She lit a draugr of fire with her thu’um and kicked it into the one directly behind, then quickly slashed them both while they were staggered.

Several more such motions followed until Fenora realized in dismay that she was back to square one. The undead she defeated weren’t being finished off by Dawnbreaker anymore; one second they were gone, and the next their eyes would flash and they’d be right back up, the sign of their master continuously reaerating her control over them.  Even the wounds she inflicted were practically undone as Potema’s magic warped and melted their flesh back into place.

Around her the sound of steel hitting steel punctuated the screams of the living and guttural yells of the undead. Aldis and his men were just as hopelessly outmatched as she was, if not more so.

Above it all, Fenora could hear the Wolf Queen cackle in victory from above.

Gritting her teeth, Fenora picked up a battleaxe still being gripped by a severed hand. “You think this is funny?!” she yelled and threw it with all her might at the ghostly bag of bones.

Seeing this, Potema casually cocked her head to the side causing the axe to miss. Then with a lazy hand gesture, she sent a clear command to her minions. “Kill that one first.”

All at once, the dead turned from the rest of the survivors and began converging on Fenora.

Fenora hesitated for just a moment, but in a moment inspired by her dear little changeling, she decided to roll with it.

Suicidal Master Plan - step one: make all the bad things focus on me, and not the people I’m trying to save.

Fenora slipped back into her normal combat routine, ducking and weaving away from the horde and trying to outmaneuver them, though it was noticeably harder this time around. Instead of mindlessly and relentlessly closing in on her, the dead began forming ranks; while draugr with axes and swords and multiple extra arms closed in to harass her up close, shield-bearers and heavily armored units moved around the sides to box her in.

Seeing a trio of shields close the gap behind her, Fenora took her greatsword and swung it into the line of berserkers pushing her back. It didn’t go nearly as well as she hoped.

The first two took the full brunt of her blade and it immediately got stuck. They even grabbed her weapon once it was lodged in their torsos, fighting her efforts to pull it free.

While she was busy with those two, one of the newly risen Ash Wraiths wove around its allies, its form flowing past them like a river around rocks to get right in Fenora’s face.

Fenora jumped back, abandoning her weapon. But not before the ghostly cloud of ash pellets latched onto her, digging into her skin like tiny thorns.

“Fus Ro Dah!

Fenora’s shout of Unrelenting Force blew away the wraith like a cloud of smoke, likely saving her life in the process.

As she turned on her heel and took a running leap at the shield-bearers, managing to use their shields as platforms as she scrambled over, Potema watched with slightly piqued interest.

“What is this now… was that Dovahzul? Interesting.” Potema mused aloud, “But where are you running to, little elf? Do you think you can possibly escape my army?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Fenora thought as she dipped in between her pursuers and dodged weapons flung at her Resident Evil 4 style. “Just keep thinking you’re out of reach.”

Finally she reached the edge of the courtyard, where a stone staircase led to the battlements higher up.

Quickly scrambling up while a pair of ash wraiths swiped at her heels, Fenora climbed to the edge of the wall, setting her sights set on the Wolf Queen.

She jumped off… and a Whirlwind Sprint carried her the rest of the way.

Fenora could almost imagine Potema’s eye sockets widen the moment she soared through the air and plunged Dawnbreaker into her chest.

Suicidal Master Plan - step two: kill the ghost lady.

AAAAAUUUAAGGGGHHH!” Potema’s distorted howl shook the earth as Dawnbreaker’s holy flames battled with the necromancy sustaining her. “No. NO!”

“Yeah! Now you’re gonna… die and… stay dead this time? I swear I had a snappier one-liner for this.” Fenora said as she pushed the sword deeper into her ribcage. “Just die, okay?!”

“Insolent mortal scum!” Potema roared. Digging her bony fingers into Fenora’s neck, she sent death magic coursing through her body. The second she was too weak to hold on, Potema threw her off like an old coat.

“Suicidal master plan – step three: fail to think about how to land.” Fenora thought to herself in the two seconds of floating bliss before she hit the ground.

Pain lanced through her right ankle in time with a sickening crack, but Fenora didn’t have the strength in her to scream. The feeling of weakness and lethargy soaking into her muscles like ice-cold water reminded her of when Stross nearly killed her in his feral state.

Above, Potema finally pulled Dawnbreaker free, letting it fall to the ground below with a metallic clang. She was still among the unliving, but barely.

“N-not yet. Not like th-this!” she said defiantly, even as her voice faded in and out.

Rolling her head to the side, Fenora could see a half dozen or more corpses and wraiths closing in on her. But before they could attack, their bodies shuddered and they collapsed. The blue glow left their eyes through wisplike channels in the air, all of it being recalled back to Potema as she fought to maintain her undeath.

It seemed it was all for naught thought. As the fires of Dawnbreaker died out, her own energy was withering. With one last scream of defiance, Potema’s bones shattered into dust and her spectral form vanished completely.

There was a moment of stark silence as the battle concluded. Soldiers and citizens, still in whatever corners they’d been backed into, hesitantly ventured out, wondering if it was really over.

“She did it!” someone shouted, “The Dragonborn defeated Potema the Wolf Queen!”

Word was spreading quickly, and those who made it inside the keep were quickly reemerging to see for themselves.

Fenora couldn’t help feeling awkward; all of these people were cheering for her, and here she was flat on her back, barely able to move. She felt like laughing at it all, but her lungs could barely work well enough for her to breathe.

Captain Aldis appeared in her field of view, blood trickling down the side of his face, but still very much alive. He gave her a victorious smile and offered a hand up.

Simply reaching up to take it seemed like more than she could manage, but Fenora somehow did it. Not falling over once Aldis yanked her to her feet was even harder, but somehow she did that too.

“That…” he began, “was really something else. Sometimes I can hardly believe what happens these days. Potema returned to the living…” the Captain shuddered. “At least all this is over now. I can’t begin to tell you the service you’ve done Solitude this night, Dragonborn. No doubt Falk Firebeard will want to commend you for your heroics… if he and the others are still alive.”

“Yeah…” Fenora said breathlessly. “You guys should get on that. And… call me Fen, kay?”

Aldis nodded and quickly shouted orders to his men to form up before turning back to Fenora.

“I must leave and investigate the palace. You’re free to come with us if you like, but you’ve certainly earned a rest.”

“You go on ahead.” Fenora told them, steadying herself and trying not to lean on her broken leg. “I’ll catch up when I can. Try and look out for my friends while you’re there; if something screams ‘don’t hit me’, you might want to listen.”

Aldis gave her a questioning look, but continued on anyways.

She hoped Stross would be okay until she arrived, wherever he was.

Looking around she saw most everyone she had rescued were leaving the safety of the courtyard, likely to check on their homes and loved ones. Others remained cautious and stayed behind, but everyone gave Fenora their highest regards.

Styrr left almost immediately for the old catacombs beneath the city, stating that he needed to make sure Potema was really gone for good by preforming a Rite of Arkay on the last of her remains, or something like that. Fenora wished him luck.

After giving those she saved a parting smile, Fenora let out an exhausted sigh and limped over to where Dawnbreaker fell. When she picked it up, it seemed the sword had lost much of its glow, and its gold metal now looked more akin to rust, as though dealing with the Wolf Queen’s power had left it damaged just like her.

Once she’d picked up her dwarven greatsword as well, slinging it onto her back like a ton of bricks, she began the long trek to the Blue Palace.

“Isn’t it ironic how you never miss something 'till it’s not there?” Fenora asked herself, thinking of Stross and his healing magic, and how Lydia always carried a stock of healing potions for them. Either of those sounded fantastic at the moment.

Every step took effort to make, and more to keep her legs from collapsing under her. Every alternate step was like crushing her ankle all over again if she placed her foot wrong. With the adrenaline gone from her system, the arrow wound in her side was starting to feel unbelievably sore.

She wondered for a moment if this was what changelings felt like when they were starving. From what Stross described to her, she guessed it wasn’t too far off.

Either way, she was going to need a lot of fixing once she finally found him. Hopefully he would scold her too much for it.

Heck… she’d let him rant her pointy ears off just to have him back right now.


It was an agonizingly long walk. Seeing families returning to their homes the whole way didn’t help either.

How many of them had lost someone important to them tonight? How many of them could she have saved if she had just been a bit faster, a bit stronger, a bit quicker to realize what was happening?

Fenora couldn’t keep asking herself these questions. Right now she just wanted to find her changeling and housecarl, get healed, get blackout drunk, and snuggle in bed with both of them until the sun came up.

It was striking how different the palace courtyard seemed from that morning. In place of the three dozen guards from before, there was now only one of Aldis’s men watching the main entrance. He recognized her immediately, and politely opened the door for her.

“Have they found anyone?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “Not that I’ve heard ma’am, still waiting for them to come back out. But brace yourself in there. It’s bad.”

He wasn’t wrong. The coppery stench of blood hit Fenora’s nose as soon as she entered. It wasn’t hard to find the source.

The dining hall looked… well, it was a mess to say the least. And to say the most, it looked like it had been subjugated to an unrestrained fury of an unlidded meat blender loaded with the bodies of a thousand condemned souls. Yes.

Fenora had to cover her mouth to keep the contents of her stomach down.

The remains of the royal banquet were covered in gore, just like the floors and the walls and the ceilings and the priceless carpets. Every bit of everything was so ludicrously pulverized that it was impossible to tell what used to be an entrée and what used to be a person. The only thing even hinting at a casualty count was the bloody pile of guard helmets stacked in the corner.

“Stross! Lydia!” Fenora called, only for silence to answer her.

Sighing, but unwilling to give up, Fenora turned and wandered out of the room, not noticing the puddles of blood ominously ripple just as she left.

She continued to call out for her friends, for anybody. But she was still only met with silence.

It was then that she remembered Aldis and his men. They arrived before her, but she hadn’t seen a sign of them.

“S-save… Sa-ave…”

Fenora’s ears perked up. The voice sounded strangled and weak, but it had to be nearby. As fast as her broken ankle would allow, Fenora hopped her way in the direction she heard it.

Her journey took her to a room on the second floor, down a hallway shooting off from the throne room where Elisif held her court.

The fact that such a weak sound shouldn’t have carried that far was lost on Fenora as she pushed open the door to Elisif’s personal chambers, and straight into hell.

It was worse than the banquet hall. Aldis and all his men had been reduced to withered husks, drained of all their blood, hung by their arms and necks from the ceiling by fleshy tendrils peeled from their own-

*Hrk*

Fenora couldn’t hold her supper any longer at the sight and hurled onto the floor.

“S-save… yourself.” The desiccated Captain managed to speak his last before succumbing to the life-draining energies keeping him and his men in their torment.

“Hello again, Dragonborn.” the voice of Potema echoed throughout the room. Then a skeletal form rose from the pool of blood, gaining sinew and skin from the guards’ dead bodies. “Your Queen requires your service.”

“Shit.” Fenora grit her teeth and drew Dawnbreaker.

“Did you think that I would be defeated so easily?” Potema asked. “Naïve! That silly priest won't find a thing to purify with his little ritual until it's too late. I was the greatest Septim to ever rule, the greatest ruler to ever sit upon the throne of Tamriel, and I shall be again.”

As the Wolf Queen approached, Fenora lunged forward and stabbed Dawnbreaker into her newly formed body.

Potema feigned concern.

Muscly tendons shot out from her arms and snared the elf. In response Fenora attempted Unrelenting Force, then Fire Breath, then Ice Form.

Each time she tried, her thu’um died in her throat. She was well and truly past her limit.

However, rather than finish Fenora off in that moment, Potema’s fleshy head tilted in curiosity as she looked over bosmer.

“You are something special, aren’t you? Dragonborn warriors were a rare thing, even when I walked the earth as a mortal woman. More than that, you were nearly my end, albeit with my own… overconfidence. For that, you have my grudging respect.” Potema appraised her like some well-trained, well bred horse. But what she said next shocked Fenora more than anything. “Let me inside you.”

“Hey... even if you weren’t a gross flesh monster, I don’t swing that way.” Fenora quipped weakly.

Potema ignored her and continued on. “I am not blind to the happenings in this world since my initial demise. I see the turmoil in the land: the Nords spilling their own blood while the Aldmeri Dominion tightens its grip on the Empire. With the way the world is now, a ruler like me could do quite well for herself. And once I have truly returned to the living, I, Potema Septim shall inherit the throne as the immortal, and last living heir of the Spetim Dynasty! So… Fenora Tandis. Will thou join me?”

Fenora gave her a blank stare. “No. And besides, that’s crazy. Even if they come back to life, you can’t have a dead person take the throne again after hundreds of years. Are you nuts?”

Potema was silent for a moment.

“Disappointing.” She said, “But legitimate or not, my subjects will accept my rule when I force it upon them. Just as you shall accept THIS!”

Suddenly Potema’s eyes began to glow, and Fenora screamed as her wounds flared with pain. The arrow wound in her side, her shattered ankle, the cut on her back and even tiny nicks and scrapes she didn’t even realize she had became festering cesspits of agony!

“I am master of death.” Potema gloated as Fenora continued to writhe. “Your wounds, your dying flesh… all of it is mine to influence. I shall return. If you will not live for my cause, then you shall die for it!”

The muscles forming Potema’s fingertips unraveled and snaked their way into Fenora’s open wound. Fenora gave a pained gasp as the possessed tendrils of Potema’s flesh fused with her own body, slowly but surely falling into the Wolf Queen’s control.

She tried to think of something, anything to save herself. But there was nothing Fenora could do except scream in pain until it was over.

Once every fiber of flesh and drop of blood had been assimilated into her, Fenora’s body dropped to the floor, and slowly rose.

She lifted a hand, and flexed her fingers, clenching them into a fist. Then she gave a tiny chuckle of triumph.

“Hm ha ha ha. Ah, it feels so good to be flesh and blood again. This is quite a comfortable body, if a tad small.” Potema said, only to feel a slight tug at the edge of her mind. “Hmm? Still lingering about, Fenora? I should have known. And what interesting memories you have.”

At the sense of shock, Potema laughed again. “That’s right, our souls are one now, until you fade into Oblivion that is. Then it will all be mine. In the meanwhile, enjoy the show as I crush this world under my heel.”

The struggling sensation intensified.

“It’s pointless to fight back. But still, I must thank you for your dragon speech.” Potema said just to rub it in a bit more. “I’ll be sure to make good use of it. As for that shapeshifter you have so infatuated with you…”

The feeling went still.

“That creature will be particularly valuable to me. That is, if I can trick it into believing I’m you.”

With one last victorious laugh, Potema took her first step towards ruling the world with an iron fist.

…But she didn’t get another.

“Wh-what? Impossi-!”

The voice that responded came screaming at her from the depths of her mind and soul, more furious than words can describe.

“FUCK YOU POTATO SACK, THE BITCH QUEEN!!!”

Potema fell backwards on her rump, stunned and unable to move as the feeling in her fingers slowly slipped away. The Wolf Queen watched in horror and disbelief as they clenched into fists and Fenora began punching herself in the face.

“What? Stop! You fool, you’ll kill us both!”

Somehow, Potema felt Fenora smirk. “Worth it.”

“Dovah(Dragon)… Sil(Soul)… YOLOS(FLAME)!”

As she spoke those words, Fenora’s body burst into flames imbued with the gold light of her soul. What Potema felt in that moment was not the burning sensation of one soul setting another ablaze in pure unfiltered rage, but the slow fade into absolute nothingness as her very being was erased from the world.

"Long un-live the Queen." Fenora said, right as Potema the Wolf Queen became no more.

When at last the fires died down, Fenora found she was still there, staring up at a fleshy ceiling, unable to move.

The last thought that went through her mind before she lost herself was of Stross, and how much she wished she could see him again.


Meanwhile in Sheogorath’s realm, Stross had just finished freeing Lydia and Jordis from their nightmares.

As it turned out, what both of them feared most had nothing to do with Queen Elisif or her counsel, but simply what it meant to serve as Housecarls.

Both of them feared the abuse they would suffer at the hands of uncaring and malicious masters, being forced to haul cripplingly heavy burdens for miles during adventures, act as meat shields against enemies, and even being forced to walk into deadly traps at the whims of those they swore to serve and protect.

Once he got over his shock at the very idea of hurting your own companions for fun, it was simply a matter of convincing them that not everyone is a heartless monster, and if they are, then they don’t deserve to have such wonderful protectors in the first place.

“You really think so?” Lydia sniffled as Stross helped her and Jordis to their feet.

“I know so.” Stross said sincerely.

“But what about our honor? Loyalty?” Jordis asked, “We can’t just forsake those things.”

“Well…” Stoss thought on it for a second. “I don’t think there’s any honor in hurting your friends. And if we’re talking about loyalty, part of being loyal is keeping each other from becoming massive dicks. Am I right?”

Lydia and Jordis looked at each other, confused by his choice of words.

“Okay look, let’s just say that if I ever do anything to break your trust in me, I give your express permission to straight up leave if you want to. No strings attached. Deal?”

“Deal, my thane.” Lydia said, hugging him. “Although… in all my years as a housecarl, the days I’ve spent with you was the most enjoyable. Even the times we almost died.”

Stross smiled and nuzzled into her chestplate. “Thanks. Now how ‘bout we go beat up that guy?” he said, pointing to a naked man in an iron helmet with curved horns.

“Lydia! Jordis! Put on these skimpy dresses and let me shove you off this really tall mountain! Hey wait… what are you- AH! AHH! No, I haven’t saved my game in like ten hours!”

---

As the dream faded back to the Shivering Isles, Stross could barely recognize the place with all the insane things Sheogorath was spawning in. From tanooki suits to living tank engines, oversized swords to handheld cannons, to melons of every size, shape and variety, to melons of every size shape and variety.

Meanwhile Elisif, her counsel, and even the housecarls were just caught in the middle of it all, trying… and failing, not to go mad.

Conflagrations!” Sheo said as he descended from on high, meanwhile a swath of land below their floating island burst into a raging fire. “You saved all the thingy-whatsits! Now we can finally have our dinner party. Although… I must admit I’m quite full after all that sumptuous entertainment you’ve provided. I don’t think I could eat another sight. And if we’re being honest, the rest of the guests don’t seem too hungry either.”

Sheo and Stross looked over to where all the others were entranced by a dwemer lava lamp the size of a large tree.

“Yeesh.”

Stross couldn’t help but frown. “Well as long as your satisfied, can we all go home now please?”

“Hmm, you’re right. It is getting rather late.” The lord of madness said, looking at the Moon tarot card in the sky, only for it to flip over to the Sun side. “Or early. Late. Early. Late. Purple. Oh it’s all perspective anyway. I shall return you to your own world as you wish, and everyone will wake up tomorrow as though it were all just a big silly dream.

“But don’t look so sad, my dear changeling. Your efforts weren’t for nothing. They may not remember their time here, but rest assured, they will remember your lessons… for better or worse. And of course I’ll revive anyone who was killed between now and the time we left. After all, I am nothing if not a gracious host/guest, and you boring mortals don’t seem to like your guards exploded.

“That said, it has been a pleasure. Ta ta!”

With that, Sheogorath waved a final farewell, and before Stross could get in another word, he found himself falling into the blissful darkness of sleep.


Stross’s eyes slowly fluttered open as consciousness returned to him, and the first thing his brain processed was the warm, soft, squishy things all around him.

“Nngg.” He mumbled and let out a yawn. It felt like a long time since he last slept, and it felt pretty refreshing. He sat up and had a nice long stretch… and then he opened his eyes.

And then he realized what all the squishy things were. He had been sleeping on top of Fenora the whole time, and she was naked!

As he jumped back in shock, Stross found she wasn’t the only one.

Sheogorath had brought them back to the palace all right. He even unexploded all the guards like he said he would, but now everyone was completely naked!

While he sat there frozen in shock, realizing for perhaps the first time why these humans wore clothes, he saw the others start to stir.

Thinking quickly, Stross did what any sensible changeling would do. He turned invisible and got the eff out of there.

Mere seconds later the shrill, embarrassed screaming began, and somewhere in an alternate realm, Sheogorath was having a good hearty laugh at it all.