“Where are we heading next?” Eran asks, distracting me from another pointless train of self-recrimination. “Gathwen says she saw a weird Redguard-ish building and what might have been an entire fleet shipwrecked from the sky.”


    “Ah, great!” I say. “Let’s head off in the general direction of something we can hit!”


    “D’you wanna take bets on who is being stupid next?” Gelur asks. “I bet someone has already been poking their noses into both places.”


    “And needs to be rescued,” Merry adds.


    “I don’t even want to bet on that,” I say. “There’s going to be someone.”


    “Would you have really preferred to come out here with just us?” Eran asks.


    “Sometimes I wonder, though probably not,” I say. “What are those ‘heroes’ doing, anyway? Theryn wandered off and I haven’t seen Tom in a while.”


    “This one spotted them going east and west,” Ilara says. “Probably going to investigate those places Gathwen mentioned.”


    “I’m sure they have the situation well in hand, then,” I say. “I have absolute confidence in their ability to handle anything they come across. Which would be why that fellow we rescued from that one tower mentioned Tom always made things worse.”


    “Didn’t Stibbons say Tom never made things worse?” Eran says with a smirk. “We’d best hurry.”


    Not far from what must be the Redguard structure, a Dremora necromancer is trying to put together a bone colossus. When I go up to whack her to make sure my army’s flank doesn’t get surprised by giant undead, turns out she wasn’t so far off from managing it after all and we wind up having to fight both her and the skeleton monster. I very nearly get a painful swift trip back to the nearest wayshrine before we destroy them.


    There’s a book laying on the ground titled Oath of a Dishonored Clan, written by a certain Dremora named Lyranth. The one I ran into in the Tower of Lies where Eran had wound up. According to the book, Lyranth belonged to a Dremora clan named Foolkillers, and they were betrayed by another clan named Deathbringers. Ah, always got to love Dremora clan names. They never have anything to boast of but violence. I mean, I appreciate some good violence, but seriously, there’s more to life than that.


    A small gazebo with a brazier inside stands by the walls of the ruins. I go up and light it. I’m not terribly familiar with Redguard architecture, but I know a wayshrine when I see one, and confirm it as functional before we approach the entrance to the building.


    A woman near the large doors laments how Stibborns (er, Stibbons) is trapped inside and will probably die. Tom Gautier went in after him and hasn’t come out yet either. While I have great confidence in Tom’s abilities (not really), I’d best go make sure neither of them need rescuing at this point.


    We step through the giant doors. It’s… weird inside. Like we’ve just stepped out of Coldharbour to what I assume might be supposed to be Hammerfell. A large manor house stands in the midst of a desert garden. The sky is starry and two full moons hang in the sky, and I know that’s not the phase they’re supposed to be in. The landscape palette includes colors that aren’t blue, but they’re faded and washed out, like a Nord’s shirt that will never be white again.


    “Well, this isn’t ominous at all,” Eran drawls. “Pocket realm? Illusion? Hallucination?”


    “Illusion, I believe,” Merry says. “I can spot some of the tells. And I am too clear-headed for this to be a hallucination.”


    “That dancing Argonian who looks like he’s standing over hot coals might be a clue,” Gelur says.


    The beautiful (if sepia-toned) desert garden is full of guests of various races, drinking, eating, dancing, playing instruments, and otherwise having fun. Everyone is so painfully cheerful without a care in the world or idea that they’re in one of the worst places in the universe to be, much like the Nords at that tavern. Definitely a good sign of something being horribly wrong.


    “Keep your wits about you,” I say. “Smack any of us who start doing something silly. Let’s start looking around and see if we can’t find Stibbons and Tom.”


    “This is worse than constantly being attacked…” Farry says. “It’s so creepy. What is wrong with these people?”


    Fancy tents are scattered around the large courtyard, containing cushy furniture and ornate rugs along with tables covered in food and drink. My friends and I are careful not to touch any of it. It reminds me that the Hollow City felt weirdly safe and welcoming, too, but there was something different about it. The colors in the Hollow City are bright and clear, and it was nearly empty, containing only a few forlorn souls who had taken refuge there at some point in ages past.


    It doesn’t take us long to find Tom Gautier, primarily because he’s the only one here who doesn’t look like he’s having fun. (Admittedly, I’ve never seen the man happy, but it’s not like I know him particularly well.) He’s pacing a groove in the sand, scowling intently and looking like he’s very hard at work trying to think of something.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    “Hi,” I say. “You look busy. Need another brain?”


    Tom snorts softly, pausing his pacing to look over at us. “I do hope you’re here to help and not make things worse. Though it’s a good sign that you’re not enthralled with this place already as well.”


    “This place is really obviously a pitcher plant,” Gelur says.


    “Have you seen Stibbons?” Eran asks.


    Tom sighs loudly. “He’s completely taken with this place. The man has the willpower of a mudcrab. Those women who are probably Daedra have him wrapped around their fingers. I have no idea why they bother, but Lady Laurent will be highly disappointed if he doesn’t come back.”


    “Do you have any ideas?” I ask.


    “I’m no specialist in breaking illusions,” Tom says. “My divination spells are giving me highly uncertain answers.”


    “I take it turning Stibbons to stone and carrying him off in a bag is not an option?” Merry proposes.


    Tom gives Merry the usual “You people are insane” look that people often get when they meet us.


    “I’ve got a new alchemical mixture I’d like to try out,” I say. “It might let me see through the illusion. Or it might just make me high. Or both.”


    “What illegal substances are in this one?” Eran wonders.


    “Well, there’s some of the Hist sap I confiscated from the Dremora at Haj Uxith…” I say. “And I have permits for that. The rest of it is perfectly legal. Corn flower and torchbug thoraxes. I think.”


    “Abdomens,” Merry says. “The abdomen is the part that glows. The thorax is the middle part the legs and wings are attached to. Everyone gets that wrong.”


    “If everyone is wrong about something, are they still wrong?” Ilara asks.


    “Truth is not a democracy,” Merry says.


    “I’ll make a note to put out pamphlets about insect anatomy at the Mages Guild,” I say, pulling out a vial of Hist Sap Mixture #37. (Which is mislabeled in Dwemeris as a visibility potion.)


    “Are you sure about this?” Eran asks. “You know what happened last time.”


    “Oh, no no. That was with a completely different mixture. This one was intended to influence vision.”


    “You just happened to have a potion to see through illusions on you?” Tom asks.


    “I mean, I hope it lets me see through illusions,” I say. “Really, I was just attempting to make a new hallucinogen.” I pause, smirking at the incredulous look Tom is giving me. “For religious purposes, obviously.”


    “As you say,” Tom says with a shrug. “I could really care less whether you choose to consume recreational substances, merely the success of our mission.”


    “Couldn’t,” Merry says. “You couldn’t care less.”


    Tom sighs. “I could care less about whether ‘could’ or ‘couldn’t’ care less is correct. Can we get on with this?”


    “Right,” I say. “If, after drinking this, I fall into a coma or something, please kill me. That should clear it out of my system.”


    I down the liquid before Tom can give me yet another incredulous look. My vision flashes, and suddenly color sweeps through the world, turning everything bright and vivid. And all the manor guests are skeletons.


    “Are you alright, Neri?” Eran asks.


    “Yep.”


    “Did it work?” Merry asks. “Can you penetrate the illusion?”


    “It’s something awful, isn’t it?” Gelur asks.


    “Yeeeeeeep.”


    “That’s fantastic for you,” Tom says. “Now I don’t suppose you can tell where Stibbons disappeared to?”


    “Afraid not,” I say. “Let’s explore the place before this wears off.”


    While searching the manor grounds for anything notable, we run across Fatahala, the “Bosmer” who greeted us at the gates. She turns out to be a blue-skinned Daedra. A Dark Seducer, claiming to serve Meridia. I don’t trust her, but fortunately, I don’t really have to.


    Stibbons is missing, gone inside the manor house, according to Fatahala. If this is a trap, so be it. We’d need to search the interior anyway. We head in to try to find him before he winds up getting deflowered and his soul sucked out or something. Why does this man keep getting into these situations?


    The skeletons outside the manor house are still passive and continuing their merriment, seemingly completely unaware that they’re dead. The ones inside, however, are hostile and intent upon defending the place.


    We find Stibbons upstairs, locked in a cage and naked as the Aedra made him. He’s a lot more lucid now than he was when Tom first encountered him, at least lucid enough to be freaking out that he’s been locked in a cage naked. He mentions that the key is in the hands of one of the sweet, innocent sisters who he no longer thinks are so sweet and innocent. While I’m sure this cage is breakable with sufficient concentrated violence, it would probably be easier to just go hit the Daedra and get the key.


    Stibbons shifts his hands in embarrassment as Gelur goes to give him a check up. “Ahhh, don’t look at me!”


    “Oh, relax,” Gelur says. “I’m just checking if you need healing. And I’m married!”


    “Oh, alright then,” Stibbon says. “But as I’m unlikely to be bleeding out right this moment, I would prefer to be diagnosed outside of this cage.”


    We go beat up the Dark Seducer whose name I can’t spell, and retrieve the key. Stibbons is quite happy to be free again, and fortunately for him, his clothes are in a nearby chest.


    Now that he has come to his senses, Stibbons is upset that he has misplaced Lady Laurent’s jewelry. Probably gave it to his beloved Dark Seducers when he thought they were beloved. Fatahala shows up, grateful that he’s alright, and offers to lead him to a secret escape tunnel while me and my friends locate his lady’s jewels.


    “Right…” I say. “Tom, Eran, Gelur, would you go with them and make sure they get to safety?” It doesn’t need to be said that it’s as much that I don’t trust Fatahala as protecting them from skeletons and Daedra.


    “On it,” Eran says.


    Tom doesn’t argue about the request, although he does mumble something about escort missions and whether or not they’re preferable to fetch quests.


    I head downstairs with Ilara and Merry to search for these very important items that probably aren’t even magical, but whatever. Most of the furniture in here and many of the rugs are red. Do Redguards just really like the color set, or is this a Daedra thing? I mean, I suppose ‘red’ is in their name, but I thought it was just a corruption of the term ‘Ra Gada’.


    Ilara comments absently, “Lady Laurent should be quite glad that we are upright, honorable people who would on no account fence her jewels and claim the Daedra made off with them.”


    “Someone might notice if they got dumped off at one spot, of course,” I say. “We’d have to take them to discrete discreet locations.”


    “Fortunate that it’s a hypothetical,” Merry says with a chuckle.


    “Yep!” I say. “Return people’s valuables to their face and they won’t notice the dozen other times you’ve messed with them behind their backs. Tacky jewelry is cheap goodwill from a noble who will be more likely to support me later.”


    When we retrieve them, it turns out that the jewels aren’t jewelry at all, but simply large cut gemstones. The sort that would be so easy to fence that it’s almost painful to return them. Alas, I need the goodwill of a noble more than I need cash right now, so I check my greed and get out of here.