“Go ahead,” I say cheekily, looking at Green-Venom-Tongue through the eye-holes in my cat-mask. “Ask this one anything.”


    “And you’ll answer truthfully?” Venom asks.


    “Maybe,” I say. “This one won’t lie, at any rate.”


    “What is your name?” Venom asks.


    I laugh softly. “Ah, posing the difficult, dangerous questions right off the bat! Oh, let’s do yes or no questions to start off with. It’s more fun that way.”


    “Your name is not Vara-do,” Venom says. “Are you even a Khajiit?”


    “I am not,” I say.


    “Are you a… Bosmer?” Venom asks.


    “Nope!”


    “Altmer?”


    “Nope!” I say. “Are you just going to go down a list of every race on Nirn? That’s not much fun.”


    “True,” Venom admits. “Are you a Daedra?”


    “Ooh, now that’s a good question,” I say. “And I have to say… Dunno!”


    “Are you undead?” Venom wonders.


    “I don’t think so?” I say.


    “Have you ever been married?”


    “Yes,” I say. “Now there’s a more interesting question.”


    “Do you have any children?”


    “Not yet,” I say.


    “Had you ever been to Black Marsh before we went there?”


    “Nope,” I say.


    “Did you commune with the Haj Uxith Hist?” Venom asks.


    I look at him and throw back my head and cackle. “Yes!”


    “That must have been quite the experience,” Venom comments.


    “Yes,” I say. “Ah, I haven’t had a chance to try to perfect the concoction I was using. It was… well, it worked, barely.”


    “Is your alchemical genius primarily based around trying to create new recreational substances?” Venom asks.


    “… yes,” I say. “To be fair, I also consider murder to be recreation.”


    “This has been a most entertaining interview, but I’m afraid I only have more questions…” Venom says.


    I wave my hand. “Alright, alright. It’s been fun, though. Can you guess… what the first letter of my name is?”


    “Does your name start with… N?”


    I pull off my cat-mask. “Correct! You win!”


    “Do I win a prize?” Venom asks.


    “I’ll tell you my story,” I say. “Or at least some of it. I’m old and it’s long and there’s people who need to die.”


    “Of course,” Venom says with a chuckle.


    It feels kind of freeing to open up and tell this Argonian who owes me his life (part of) my long story. As the Sanctuary doesn’t really believe in doors, it isn’t long before we wind up with an audience. (We were just in the main dining hall anyway.) I mean, it’s not like I’m telling them all my secrets, and no one is even slightly upset that I have secrets. This is the Dark Brotherhood, after all.


    Anyone who has spent much time around me can easily notice something is odd about me. Neri’s song powers are easily demonstrated, and the connection to Vara-do’s silence powers is an obvious one once pointed out. And then there’s the fact that everyone saw me wield a battle axe during the final battle against Artorius and his toadies.


    “Show us that silence power you showed Speaker Terenus,” Slim-Jah says.


    “Okay.”


    It bring up the super low pitch again. It feels strange to use, but thrilling. At first, the Dark Siblings look about in puzzlement, glancing about at one another as nothing apparently happens, until the pressure reaches the point they can’t dismiss it.


    “If I push this any higher, your eardrums will rupture. Then you’ll empty your bowels. And then your heart will stop.” I pause. “Probably mine, too.”


    I drop the sound. Not-sound. Silent sound. The others talk of headaches and nausea, so I make sure to heal everyone just in case. Honestly, considering some of the weird shit the Dwemer did with sound, I’m not sure how much further I want to mess with this. Done wrong, this can drive people mad, too.


    “That’s incredible,” Cimbar says.


    “It’s beautiful,” Mirabelle says.


    “Did you test that?” Venom asks.


    I look around the room at the faces of my Dark Siblings. Without my intervention, many of them would be dead. While they’re all far from innocent, of course, I’ve grown a bit attached to them during this past period of time.


    “Will you be around much, now that the immediate crisis has been taken care of?” Green-Venom-Tongue asks. “You are a king, after all. Surely you have other duties.”


    I shrug. “I do what I want. My wives run my kingdom. I mostly just hit things and convince people that not being hit by me is a good thing. And Speaker Terenus promised me some ‘impossible’ contracts so I’m really looking forward to that. I love killing things that are ‘impossible’ to kill.”


    Either Speaker Terenus was eavesdropping or he has better timing than a priest of Akatosh, because he comes in at that moment to call me aside to speak with me in private.


    “I have spoken with the Listener,” Terenus says. “It seems the Night Mother expected you would not kill Roku.” The lines around his eyes tell me, “I wish I’d been informed of this before giving you the contract.”


    “I don’t blame you for it,” I say. “I’m glad I didn’t have to kill you.”


    I’m guessing at their hypothetical tea parties, the Listener probably also told him something along the lines of, “I’ve been chatting with the Night Mother. This guy is a force of nature. Just point him in the general direction of something you want destroyed and don’t get in his way. The power, resources, and prestige that he can bring far outweighs the value in claiming the souls of those he cares about.”


    (I admit that being powerful gets me away with a lot. But then, my general response to being weak would be to become powerful. I don’t know if most people are just insufficiently motivated or there’s something weird about my soul that makes it easier to become powerful. Then again, I spent many human lifespans in hell constantly fighting, which probably helped in the worst way possible? Still, my powers of light and song were gifts, but what I did with them was still my own. I’m a little proud of what I’ve accomplished even if some of it terrifies me.)


    “I’m afraid there is no proof that Molag Bal actually died, or indeed that a Daedra can truly die,” Terenus says dryly, and his eyes say, “Including you?” He continues verbally, “However, payment for Mannimarco was apparently already made and will be passed along to Kisha.” At my look, he adds, “The songs credit one Ilara-daro with the killing blow. That is Kisha, is it not?”


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “Yes,” Ilara says from the shadows where even I hadn’t realized she’d followed us in. I should know better by now. “This one is Kisha. This one is also Ilara-daro. And this one put an arrow in the skull of Manny the Worm.”


    “You guys took payment even though he was killed before we joined?” I ask.


    “More than one person wanted him dead badly enough that they were not particularly picky about how or who killed him,” Terenus says. “Most paid in advance.”


    “His soul is in Coldharbour being tortured for eternity,” I say. “I could always go back there and send him to the Void. I mean, it would be kinder, but I don’t think I feel especially kindly toward that fetcher.”


    “That will not be necessary,” Terenus says smoothly as if I hadn’t just suggested going to hell to make sure the necromancer was extra dead.


    “So, do you have something for me?” I ask.


    “I have a list,” Terenus says, pulling out a piece of paper.


    “A whole list?”


    “First, there’s High Kinlord Rilis XII,” Terenus says.


    “Wait, didn’t I already deal with him?”


    “Apparently he escaped again.”


    “How irritating,” I say. “Well, I’m sure sending him to the Void would solve that problem. What else?”


    Terenus hands me the paper. Names, locations. It seems like he’s been all over the Dominion since I last saw him, collecting “impossible” contracts.


    “I didn’t realize so many people in the Dominion used the Black Sacrament,” I say.


    “You might be surprised at what people are willing to do when they need something removed from the world,” Terenus says. “A last resort for a problem they have no hope of handling themselves. These are not the sorts of targets we usually go after. We are not an army. Necromancers, vampires, werewolves… a mad Bosmer who can turn into an enormous spider… Many of these are far more dangerous targets than a priest like Primate Artorius. And if it had not been for you bringing out your axe, I am not ashamed to say we would have failed.”


    Unlike the Litany of Blood, these aren’t riddles, just extremely dangerous enemies that I, for whatever reason, didn’t kill when I first toured Auridon and Valenwood. (Assuming they hadn’t only started being a problem after I finished my tour.)


    I put the list in my pocket, not that it’s necessary since I’ve already memorized it, and give a mad grin. “I’ll take care of it.”


    …


    The time has come for King Neri to pay a little visit to Kvatch finally. With the sudden and quite timely death of Primate Artorius, Count Carolus has found himself in a position with greater control over Kvatch but considerably weaker without the Order of the Hour to protect it.


    If I were an Altmer, I would probably politely make an appointment. But I am the King of the Wood Orcs, and Wood Orcs don’t make appointments. (I mean, they do, but you know what I mean.) I just show up in Kvatch wearing my Orc King armor and stroll right up to the castle. The guards at the gate, of course, ask if I have an appointment.


    I consider just saying fuck it and sneaking in the poorly-kept-secret entrance, but would Neri gro-Drublog do that? I mean, aside from the fact that he’s me and I’d do that, but I’d rather not deal with the questions at the moment.


    “I’m King Neri gro-Drublog,” I say. “I am here to speak with Count Carolus.”


    The guard with a triangle tattoo over one eye snorts. “If you’re a king, where’s your retinue?”


    I wave a hand. “It’s just me. What, did you want a High Elf with a scroll coming up to announce my presence? And does it matter?”


    “I’m not authorized to let anyone into the castle without the proper paperwork. Sorry.”


    “Oh, right,” I say. “I forgot. You’re Imperials. Imperials love paperwork. Why don’t you send someone to ask if I can come in? I’ll wait. To be honest, I kind of appreciate that you’re not so easily intimidated that you don’t immediately buckle at the thought that you stand absolutely no chance against me should I feel like taking your castle by force.”


    The guard stoically looks at my armor, looks at my battle axe, and waves a runner to take a message to the Count. “No, I don’t care if you can kill me as soon as I could blink. I will do my job. There have been too many breaches and irregularities lately.”


    While waiting, I browse the nearby market stalls and buy a sweetroll. It does not contain any messages of impending doom. I’m almost disappointed. I meander back to the gate and am still munching on it when the runner returns.


    “The Count says to send him in,” the young man says. “He’s been expecting someone from the Dominion to arrive.”


    “You may go in,” the guard says, waving to me. “Don’t cause trouble.”


    “What’s your name?” I ask.


    “Hilio Florius,” he replies.


    I pop the rest of the pastry into my mouth and head in, brushing the crumbs off my hands absently. The runner escorts me to Count Carolus’ office, which I appreciate since while I have been here before and know where it is, I don’t remember how to get there even if the guards and staff wouldn’t object to me wandering around in their castle by myself looking lost. (I suppose the ‘looking lost’ bit would avoid them thinking I was a one-mer hostile invasion force.)


    Carolus’ office has been cleaned up and no longer contains any signs that he recently performed the Black Sacrament on the floor over there.


    “Welcome, Your Majesty,” Count Carolus says with weary politeness. “I’m not surprised someone from the Dominion showed up, but I didn’t expect it to be you.”


    “Would you prefer to deal with a High Elf?”


    “I’m just glad one of you showed up at my gates alone and not with an army,” Carolus says honestly.


    “I like your guard,” I say. “Hilio Florius. He didn’t back down in the face of someone who could have easily killed him. You should give him a bonus or promote him or something.”


    “Perhaps,” Carolus says. “King Neri. I have heard many rumors about you. And songs. If the songs are to be believed, you’ve single-handedly laid waste to armies of undead and Daedra. I appreciate not laying waste to my castle.”


    I take off my helmet and set it on the desk. “You’re probably wondering how a half-High Elf, half-Wood Elf wound up King of the Wood Orcs. It’s a bit of a long story involving killing a lot of their chiefs who were causing problems and then accidentally marrying the niece of a major chieftain.”


    “I’ve heard you’re doing much the same in the Heartland,” Carolus says, not looking especially happy about it. “I hope you don’t intend to cause problems in the Gold Coast. The Dominion has already taken Anvil, after all.”


    “It hopefully won’t be necessary,” I say with a shrug. “I didn’t come here to ask for your fealty, however, though I’ll happily take it if offered.”


    “Why are you here, then?” Carolus asks.


    I make a dramatic, carefully measured pause. “I knew your uncle,” I say quietly.


    “You… you did?” Carolus says. “Wait, knew? He’s definitely… dead, then?”


    I give a small nod. “I’m sorry to bring sad news, but I thought you should know how Varen Aquilarios died.”


    “Yes, of course,” Carolus says. “I am grateful. I haven’t heard anything of him since he disappeared over two years ago now.”


    “He was imprisoned in Coldharbour,” I say. “I helped to rescue him and worked with him on a desperate campaign to stop the Planemeld. In the end, he sacrificed his life and soul to strike a blow against Molag Bal. Your uncle died a hero.”


    Carolus sinks back into his seat and lets out a heavy breath, stunned. “I didn’t know. I wish he’d had time to see me before he died. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been.”


    “You can be grateful that it’s likely the Daedric Princes will not have reason to give you their special attention unless you seek them out,” I say. “I try to keep cultist activity to a minimum in my territory.”


    “Did he say anything?” Carolus asks. “About me? About his family? About… general life advice?”


    “He spoke in riddles, at times,” I say. “There was wisdom in his words, but it took thought to untangle its meaning. I’m afraid I don’t remember the precise wording, so I may not do him justice, but… hmm.” I paraphrase a few things vaguely similar to things I sort of remember Varen spouting at some point. Mostly I make shit up. It beats saying Varen never even mentioned him and mostly talked to me about stupid prophecies and killing Daedra.


    “Yes, yes!” Carolus says excitedly. “I can practically hear your words in his voice.”


    Admittedly, I did put on a reasonable approximation of his accent.


    “So you’re really not here to demand my fealty…” Carolus murmurs.


    “I’m not,” I say. “Unless you make the first move, the Dominion has no reason to take your city by force. Although if the Covenant capture the city, we will of course retake it. You might even be fortunate enough to survive, if they don’t execute you to cement their hold over Kvatch. And those walls won’t keep anyone out for a minute if they bring portal mages.”


    Carolus stares at me. His mouth says nothing, but his eyes are contemplating how weak his city is right now and how close Hammerfell is.


    “Neither of us wants to see that happen. So…” I put a round object on the desk. A round object with a base attached so it doesn’t immediately roll off the desk. I’m not entirely sure why they had to make these things balls.


    “What is this?”


    “It’s a communication orb,” I say. “If the Covenant attack Kvatch, call and the Dominion will defend it.”


    “And then they won’t leave afterward,” Carolus says flatly.


    “Oh, they will,” I say. “I have a regiment of crack defenders who get called in to defend whatever is being attacked. They’ll need to come back to defend the next thing that gets attacked.”


    “I see,” Carolus says, letting out a heavy breath. “You’re more interested in making sure the Covenant doesn’t get a foothold here than in how I run my city.”


    “Exactly,” I say. “Of course, if you do decide to join the Dominion, there would be other benefits as well. Military, economical, educational… Some will probably want to come in to revitalize the Akatosh clergy regardless.”


    “How did you find out about that?” Carolus asks.


    “I passed a guy on the way in who was standing on the cathedral steps reciting a list of the dead,” I say.


    Carolus deflates. “Oh. I hoped to keep that a bit quieter.”


    “Was there an accident in the temple or something?” I ask. “The man didn’t specify.”


    “According to one of the survivors, a pack of werewolves tore through the cathedral undercroft,” Carolus hedges.


    I don’t call him out on the omission. “Hmm. I usually kill any werewolves I come across, though it can be hard to find them if they’re in human or mer form. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.”


    “Can the Dominion… keep out assassins as well as werewolves?” Carolus asks.


    I try not to grin too suspiciously at him. “Yep. We can certainly improve your chances of catching them and preventing them from doing harm.”


    “And what are the taxes like?”


    I chuckle. “I have no idea. I just hit things and talk to people.”


    “As befitting an Orc King, even one without tusks whose skin isn’t green,” Carolus says with faint amusement. “I will give it serious consideration, Your Majesty. And then you may send someone who does numbers and paperwork.”


    I stop to become champion of the Kvatch Arena on the way out, just because it’s there.