Twilight Sparkle had performed many magical experiments in her life. A certain number of those she carried out from her time under Princess Celestia's personal tutelage had nearly caused her to vomit. Her lesson in Conjuration magic was setting up to be innumerable degrees worse in every possible area, least of all the use of proper equipment. The crude instruments arrayed before the lavender mare resembled embalming tools more than anything used to tune one's magic.

“The most basic facet of Conjuration is corpse reanimation; therefore, it shall be the first aspect of the School you learn.” Reman's word's made Twilight think she would merely be taught the tools of a necromancer's trade, just a mere formality before attempting actual magic. While she had read some of the Imperial's notes, the Element knew of his less than amazing feelings for the ghoul raisers. Although, there were some rather disturbing entries that referred to the black craft as an art in itself. “As soon as our materials arrive, we can begin.”

“I thought these were the learning aids.” Twilight gestured to the embalming instruments while shuddering at their possible use in Conjuration. While the wayward Tullius did not seem like the sort of experiment on the living, a gruesome and detailed dissection was extremely possible. As if on cue, a servant dressed in ragged robes entered through a side passage, carrying a large bundle over her shoulders.

“Here you are, sir. Where should I put this?” The middle-aged Nord woman was oddly professional when it came to ignoring the purple pony that sat across from the Imperial she addressed. When Reman casually gestured to the center of the circular rug, the large female only nodded slightly at the mare before taking her leave. What stunned Twilight the most was that the spellsword hadn't offered any sort of friendly contact during the exchange, as though it was beneath him to speak to the servant. Were it not for the fact that circumstance likely forced him to act like a nobleman, the Element would have thought the man was radically different from his first impression.

“Now, let's take a look at this corpse!” At those words, and the bundle's size, Twilight Sparkle nearly vomited. She turned her head as the linens were tossed aside, unable to look at the cadaver. Despite Tamriel's lack of proper embalming and sterilization practices, there was no fetid smell that was a major draw when it came to Nirn's dead. “Relax, Twilight, I just had Helga bring a medical mannequin.”

“Oh, that makes me feel much better.” Twilight sighed in relief as she returned her gaze forward, only to catch eyes with the human-sized doll. “Sweet Celestia, cover its eyes!”

“They're not that creepy.” Reman hadn't actually seen the dummy's face, but after looking at the monster of the Uncanny Valley, the Imperial was quick to admit that yes, they were the scariest thing he'd seen since his visit to Solstheim over a year ago.

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

“I, erm, like your mane.” Uriel Tullius was not good when it came to horses, indeed, equines were his only fear outside those he faced in battle. He was also unfamiliar with how to handle foreign royalty, having never traveled outside Skyrim or Cyrodiil, so speaking to Princess Luna was an entirely new experience.

“Why thank you, I like yours, too.” Despite fully knowing that humans referred to it as hair, the Princess of Night felt like calling the slicked back style Uriel wore by it's Equestrian name. “Not often I get compliments away from home.”

“I don't see why not; even by our standards, you're attractive.” The negotiator had to admit that he could have worded his sentence better. His fears were thankfully put down as the alicorn giggled.

“Loose tongues oft end up in tight places, Uriel.” The innuendo was light enough for casual joking, method of easing the human's obvious discomfort. It was Princess Luna's impression that every member of House Tullius had something strange about them, and the conflict-resolver seemed to have a quirk with unknown situations. The young man shifted his weight, almost as though he was trying to find the most comfortable way to stand. “But I can see you have something you want to ask, so please, speak your mind.”

“Is Reman...” Uriel struggled with the correct phrasing, something he had been trained to optimize in order to make the Voice of the Emperor all the more effective, but the proper words escaped him.

“His soul is as free as yours.” Luna hoped the Imperial knew about Hircine's enslavement of lycan souls upon death, otherwise she would have sounded rather strange. A visible wave of relief washed over the human's face as the news sank in, it almost looked as though the captain would hug the royal pony. But, that would be a break of protocol, so he had to settle for courteous bow.

“You really can't imagine how that feels, it's almost like a piece of myself has returned.” Uriel didn't mean to sound selfish, he was everything but about this topic, it was merely a cultural belief in Cyrodiil that older twins carried a fragment of his or her younger counterpart's soul within themselves. It was also a convenient way for the negotiator to explain his complete lack of arcane talent, even though magic ran strong in the Tullius line. “Eternal damnation at the hands of a foul Daedra Lord isn't a fate I would wish on my worst enemy, much less my own brother.”

“Yes, fighting Hircine took quite a bit out of the two.” Luna thought back on the fight, the Aspect of Guile's binding to Equestria still fresh in her mind. The alicorn needed to write her sister about the Prince, surely the Huntsman was aware of Glade's condition. “But, it bought Reman and Glade their freedom.”

“How did she even contract the curse?” The negotiator was just aware of one method of transmission, and Peryite was the only Prince he knew of that was able to send plague on the air. At the question, Princess Luna sighed. Uriel guessed there was quite a bit behind the story other than what the man's grandfather had mentioned. “I'm guessing my brother has something to do with that as well?”

“Everything other than actually arriving in Equestria.” The Princess of Night could recall the festival in perfect detail, including the ripping bite that had sealed Summer Glade's fate. Or, so it had seemed at the time. “It's been over a thousand years since that much strangeness has happened.”

“Well, causing trouble is in our blood.” Uriel had a cheeky smile, a much less predatory version of his counterpart's feral grin. It actually made the man seem years younger than Reman, even though their age difference was likely measured in minutes.

“I can't imagine where you people get it.”

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

“Mortal! So good to see you're adjusting, really, I thought I'd have to bring in Haskill to clean up what was left of your mind.” Sheogorath's cheerful, accented voice lilted on the wind as the possessed trolly sped through the misty woods. Pinkie's straight mane blew in the wind as she was pushed to her next objective, even the Element was growing accustomed to pleasing the Madgod, if only to stay on his good side. “I've seen someone's mind get blown, and let me tell you, it's not pretty.”

“Few things are, now that I think about it.” The Lord of the Never-There was now seated next to the pink pony, tossing an arm over her shoulder like they were old pals catching up after weeks apart. The bearded Daedra took a brief moment to look over his latest project, and was quite pleased with what he saw. Given the party-lover's tendency of low self-esteem and need to make others happy, it was easy to turn her into the puppet she was quickly becoming. She would be much the same after leaving Pelagius's mind, it would do Sheogorath no favors to simply leave such an entertaining toy broken, but she would prove much more useful to her friends. The Patron of the Arts held up Pinkie's head with a finger, a sweet smile present on his jovial face. “I already took care of Pelagius's night terrors, so I've got a surprise for you.”

“What is it?!” The Element of Laughter knew how cruel the god could be, but there was a certain joy to be had. Were the normally-bubbly mare a shady character, she might have equated the rush she felt to that a gambler gets before a heater. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Pinkie was still hoping for freedom, but the light at the tunnel's end seemed to fade with each passing second.

“A mirror pool!” Sheogorath's mad laughter was a stark contrast to the mare's stunned silence. She knew the legend, of course, every Pie was taught the nursery rhyme, but the thought that it existed with the flick of a monster's wrist was beyond her grasp. Indeed, an opening appeared in the treeline, and the trolley sped down a newly-made set of tracks. The living wagon came to a screeching halt in front of a pond, its eponymous water reflecting and magnifying the sparse light enough to truly stand out in the fog. “Nothing special, really, just a little something I did to myself to become me before I was born.”

“But, this is...” Pinkie stared at the water even as her shackles came undone. The party-lover was too stunned to process the Daedra's impossible words. The Lord of the Never-There seemed to sense the trepidation, and offered her a kind smile, as well a a fresh carrot for her stick. Sheogorath ruffled the mare's straightened mane and chuckled, acting oddly paternal for his perceived level of strangeness.

“If you can do this, I'll have you back to your friends in no time.” The semi-broken pony's eyes gained a new light as the words took hold, much to the Madgod's pleasure. Perhaps this equine was worth keeping around, if only to liven things up in the Isles. Of course, there was still something the Ascended mortal could take from Equestria, something that seemed rather important to his predecessor. Whatever it was seemed to be powerful, especially if the Old Sheogorath had somehow transferred the memory.

It was only too late that Pinkamena Diane Pie realized this mirror pool was not the one of Equestrian myth, but something infinitely worse.

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

Renoir Belmont was many things: scholar, vampire, healer, killer, and many more that he didn't even wish to think of. But, there was one thing that haunted him throughout his immortal life. A nightmare he'd had ever since he turned into the creature of the night he now was, it was too vivid to be anything but truth, though it was implausible even in the most liberal circumstances. Even as the insomniac laid next to Sybille, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind tugged him to stay awake.

“You really need to lighten up, Belmont.” There was no romance between the two, no passion besides those of the flesh. Even as his nude companion sated the vampire's urges, there was something to be desired. Well, besides what the dead prisoner that lay crumpled on the floor had given.

“Just thinking.” Renoir did that a lot, especially after his interludes with the younger court wizard. For the first time in his life, the healer found himself wanting, and this went far beyond his hopes of revenge. He was almost jealous of Reman; it seemed the Imperial was being returned everything lost him, while the Breton was left with nothing but an eternal life he didn't want and long-cold ashes that once made his home. “You ever wonder if there's more to life than keeping out of the public eye?”

“If you're trying to bring feelings into this, don't.” That was the very last thing the Stentor needed, besides being burned at the stake should Ulfric Stormcloak ever take Solitude. It wasn't that she found the older vampire repulsive, the case was quite the opposite, but Sybille was just over fifty and had all eternity to think about things. The woman settled on the man's chest, a pointless gesture to share warmth neither of them needed nor possessed.

“Just hear me out.” Renoir twirled a finger through the younger vampire's hair, the only real sign of affection she allowed. The female Breton snuggled into the more skilled Destruction mage's chest, an odd double standard she had in regards to emotional connection. The court wizard's orange eyes peeked out from under her charcoal locks, a silent gesture that meant she was listening. “After this regime ends, Torygg's line is snuffed, so the Jarls are going to elect someone else, and they may not take too kindly to a vampire in their court.”

“You asking me to tag along?” The notion was ridiculous. Sybille was much too valuable to leave Solitude, and both of them knew it. “I suppose this will be after you wipe out the Volkihar?”

“You wound me, cruel woman.” Renoir grinned, fully exposing his fangs to the the femme fatale. The vampiress punched the undead man in his ribs.