Glade was amazed at how quickly Reman could fall asleep when he wanted to, the pegasus was even more surprised that the man could sleep on stone just as readily as her family would rest on clouds. The was no actual cushioning to speak of, only some furs that had been haphazardly strewn across the stone slab, and the blankets were itchy, but the Imperial must have grown accustomed to the hard surface. The pregnant pony briefly considered catching forty winks herself, but reconsidered, she didn't think granite would be too comfortable, even if she was tired. With one last look at the unconscious man, Summer Glade began her way back to the others, ready to meet the group's newest female member. She was, however, surprised to find the everypony crowded around Renoir for story time.

“I had stowed away on a boat leaving Solstheim, bound for Skyrim.” The vampire nodded to acknowledge Glade's entrance, but quickly return to his tale. “I was sleeping in a long crate, but woke when something started to drip on me.” Renoir sipped from the odd concoction he had brewed minutes earlier, just something to help with his lack of sleep from the previous night. The old Breton felt no need to explain what was seeping into the box, for him, the answer was rather obvious. “After I righted myself, I took the time to looked at the liquid's source, and was none too pleased to find a corpse.”

“Weren't you in the cargo hold?” Glade asked the question before she realized the implications, after all, there shouldn't have been any reason for her to know about the storm that had been raging at the time. Thankfully, Renoir either didn't notice, or didn't care enough to call the flight-worthy werewolf on it.

“He'd managed to make it to the hold, but whatever was up top had mangled him beyond recognition.” A slight smile passed over the mage's lips as he recalled the mutilated body, such an unremarkable occurrence in his relatively long life, but it had been the beginning of something incredible. “I followed the trail he'd left, about half of the crew had run from... something on the deck, I really had no idea what I was heading towards.” Renoir chuckled, he knew that looking for trouble was one of the few surefire ways a vampire could meet his overdue death. But, that may have been his goal at the time, the former healer wasn't certain of his own motives half the time.

“That doesn't sound too smart.” Luna had never heard somepony tell a true story about facing danger, to her knowledge, most heroes were layabouts with nothing better to do than lie in hopes of getting some free drinks. However, nothing made sense to the Princess of Night anymore, not that she was complaining.

“It wasn't, and I knew that, but I have a sense of adventure.” The magic user shrugged, not really caring what the alicorn thought of him, one had to really try to offend the old Breton. “But, the real surprise came when I reached the deck.”

@#The Salty Guar, 4E 200@#

Renoir Belmont crouched to examine the slain Dunmer, one of the many sailors he had come across, and this one's death had been no less horrible. From the ribs down, there wasn't much in the way of meat left on the poor man's bones, it was downright savage in execution. It was the sort of violence the vampire had grown accustomed to, and combined with the wet ripping sound coming through the cabin walls, there was no doubt about what had caused the massacre. Through a crack in the poorly repaired ceiling, the old mage could see the moons high in the night sky, the werewolf outside must have booked the cruise at the wrong time.

This was cause for some concern, lycans and vampires were evolutionary competitors, their shared food source ensured it. Renoir was powerful, he knew that, Volkihar vampires were some of the strongest in Tamriel, second in strength only to Clan Quarra of Morrowind. That being said, only the Quarra were capable of besting a transformed werewolf in physical combat. If that beast reached him, the mage would be in serious trouble, magicka reserves exhaust after a time, but lycan stamina was more than legendary. The aged vampire picked up the iron sword from the felled Dunmer, he almost never carried weapons on him, so the weak, dull blade would have to suffice.

His unnaturally light footsteps made no sound or imprint on the snow-cover deck, leaving the feasting manbeast to his or her meal. Though the werewolf looked up between bites, it made no moved to attack Renoir, which was odd in itself, but the mage would not be fooled. After he took another step, a massive, clawed hand swiped across the vampire's field of vision. In a equally swift flash, the bandit-grade blade sliced into the thickly-muscled limed that had nearly taken the old wizard's head off. In a fit of fury the undead expert of destruction gave the monster a hook that could shatter the bones of lesser men, which was received with the fragmentation of whatever bit of the skull was hit. The werewolf pulled a dirty trick from its metaphorical sleeve, and slammed its full weight into the experienced vampire. The half-dead man and wolf crashed into the ship's railing, tripped over, and splashed into the arctic waters.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Shouldn't you two have frozen to death?” Lynnette wasn't quite sure that Renoir was capable of hypothermia, but Reman most certainly was.

“Some Divine intervention, or something along those lines, we caught a current and drifted to shore about ten miles north of Windhelm.” The older Breton was glad to see one of his own race with so much curiosity for her age, he was more than happy to answer her questions.

“Couldn't you have waited until sunrise to do anything?” Glade pointed out the critical flaw in Renoir's reasoning like it was nothing. Said vampire blinked a few times, taking in the information, before he really understood.

“Dammit.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight Sparkle was still reeling from her experience with one of Nirn's more voracious forces, whatever had been after her had wanted something. It must have found it, because she was still alive, or perhaps it was leaving her breathing for some insidious purpose. Either way, it was somehow connected to magic, and the Element wouldn't attempt any more without guidance from an experienced caster. The strange tendril had rifled through her memories and knowledge like a pickpocket searching his mark's purse for coin, it was both terribly deliberate and oddly gentle, enough to leave her mind intact while fulfilling its odd desire. It was times like this that Twilight turned to something she had trusted for much of her life: books.

The library in the animonculory was insubstantial, by the Element's standards, and consisted of just over two hundred tomes, many of which were related to the practice and use of the many magics of Nirn. This, of course, made the collection quite useless for her current endeavor, but the lavender mare had hopes that she would find something of value. That something came in the form of a obscenely large, black, leather-bound book without a title. Contained within the over-sized reader was a wide array of informational writings on the Divine and Daedric, even the artifacts awarded to heroes who gained a particular deity's favor. Actually, the print seemed to change ever few pages, perhaps the book was actually a group of related tomes bound in one package for the ease of use.

Twilight read every word, desperate for some clue as to what happened earlier. However, she could not stop her inner scholar from absorbing every ounce of knowledge that came her way, and this patchwork guide was the most complete source of information related to the various gods and goddesses of Tamriel. She read every bit form Akatosh to Zenithar, including the bit about Akatosh's elves fighting Lorkhan's humans since time immemorial, but she hadn't found a single reference related to tentacles that read thoughts. That was until she entered the M section under the Daedra catergory, and found three horrible possibilities.

The first was Molag Bal, the Prince of Domination and Damnation, also known as the Stealer of Souls and King of Rape. He was the creator of vampires, and apparently had some influence over the Ideal Masters of the Soul Cairn. If the vampire myths and popular fiction were to be believed, then they were monsters beyond equal, even Ursas feared their immortal terror. If the shabby-looking guide was to be believed, Molag Bal was much scarier than Hircine or Azure normally were. But there was very little about this Prince in the tome, perhaps that was for the best, the purple pony could hardly stomach the idea of something like that rooting through her personal thoughts.

The second was Mehrunes Dagon, also known as the Prince of Ambition, Destruction, and Revolution. According to a number of different sources, historical accounts, and Reman's own notes, Dagon had tried no less than three times to conquer Tamriel for himself. Twilight shuddered at the thought of demons from the vilest pits of Tartarus marching from fiery portals to lay waste to Equestria. Luckily, the Sacrifice of Martin Septim permanently sealed Nirn from any invasion from Oblivion, sadly, that protection did not extend to the Element's homeland.

The third and final possiblity came from (Hermaus/Hermious/Herma/Hurmeas/Hermeous) Mora, who was categorized in the M section because of the various spellings and the author of the first page chose not to offend anyone, so they just filed the Prince under the second half of his common name. The Prince of Knowledge, Memory, and Fate, also known as He With the Hard Name to Spell described as a seething mass of tentacles with many eyes and a number of crab-like claws. He lived in and infinitely huge library that contained every piece of information that existed or ever would exist, and it would take the multi-eyed Prince all of eternity to read them. Compared to the previous two, Whatchamacallit Mora seemed fairly neutral, occupied only by the pursuit of knowledge. While none of the Princes should be thought of as good, Twilight was somewhat relieved that this one was the most likely possibility.

However, she couldn't help but feel that she was a pawn in some game of inter-dimensional chess played by the gods.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir's story had been derailed by Glade's comment, so the five were back to conversing casually. Introductions had been made, and they were all getting along famously, nothing worth noting really happened for the first hour or so, until a certain vampire made a seemingly small offer.

“Anyone else care for some?” The older Breton swirled a glass of reddish-purple liquid, some spiced wine from Solitude, a gift from a friend that worked in the Blue Palace. It was about ten in the morning, Luna should have been asleep, and Glade would have been on duty, but Lynnette was partaking without a word.

“I suppose I'll have some.” The Princess of Night didn't think a single glass could hurt, but she noticed the lycan pegasus abstaining form the drink, and felt a slight pang of guilt. “On second thought, perhaps I should pass.”

“Why?” Lynnette was in the dark, but that would likely change very quickly. Luna and the former guardspony exchanged glances, a silent method of communication and planning. The two knew about the woman's former relationship with a certain Imperial, and admitting that they somehow broken the species barrier might have unpredictable effects on the archer.

“I'm pregnant.” Glade's answer was simple, and inevitable. She figured Lynnette would find out sooner or later, but perhaps she could keep the father's identity secret for now. Unknown to the future mother, Renoir was about to cover her with a lie before she let the metaphorical cat out of the bag. The young archer's reaction was not foreseen in any possible scenario.

“That's cute!” The lithe hunter's arm wrapped around Glade's shoulder, a too-friendly hug that was very unexpected by any of the room's occupants. Despite the pregnant pony's first thoughts, the Breton woman was not delusional, quite the contrary, she was just a very sociable person. “But why are you here, wouldn't your home be a safer place?”

“We're on a diplomatic mission, Glade is one of our bodyguards.” Fluttershy wasn't lying, but she also wasn't saying everything needed.

“Oh, so you're all supposed to meet the Emperor, right?” Lynnette was answered by resounding nods, and continued to throw Glade under the carriage. “Does the father know yet?”

“Actually, he's the one that told me.” The lycan spoke through grit teeth, she was still peeved about being kept out of the know for so long, she was more than offended.

“And he just let you come to Skyrim?” For the Breton woman, it was a very strange thought. Granted, it was possible that females in the ponies' homeland were strongly independent, putting oneself in danger when pregnant was, for lack of a better term, stupid.

“He knows that she's well protected.” Reman's voice carried the same haggard tone as his body, though he seemed to have found some rest in his brief coma. “I'm actually the expedition's other bodyguard, and an acquaintance of the foal's father.” Somehow, lying was second-nature when it benefited the Imperial's interests. The man walked in, followed by Applejack, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Spinny, Twilight, and Rainbow Dash. How he collected all of them, nobody would ever know. “Now, Luna, I think it's time we went about our business.”

“Meaning?” The Princess of Night knew that something was up, but Reman's loyalty was to Equestria and the Empire in somewhat-equal amounts. She would have to listen to his judgment on things related to politics and diplomatic business.

“We need to let your sister know that Emperor Titus Mede II will be arriving in Solitude in twelve days, we can arrange a meeting then.” While the Imperial had been speaking, the alicorn had already produced a quill, and was writing the message with haste.

“Wouldn't it make more sense to have my sister come to Skyrim?” The dark blue mare raised a very good point, but it was very quickly shot down by the human spellsword.

“All diplomatic business with the Empire is carried out in the Imperial Palace, which is in the Imperial City, in Cyrodiil.” Reman sighed, things were starting to pile on top of each others, and there was no end in sight.