Night came just as the group entered the Reach. The mountain pass had a small stream nearby, and sheer cliffs on both sides of the road. The carriage came to a stop an hour or so after sundown, to let the horses and driver rest. Forsworn crawled through the hills at all hours, but night made the rocky province infinitely more dangerous for the unprepared. The fire, as small as it was, gave the eleven something warm to crowd around. The numerous shadows would hopefully dissuade any possible attackers.

“Not too bad, for one day's travel.” The driver took a long swig from a bottle of Honningbrew mead. The Nord failed to receive any injuries, and that was fine in his book.

“I've certainly seen worse.” Lynette dipped a bolt in a small, dark green bottle. The Breton looted the cheap poison from one of the bandits. It wasn't like he would be needing it anymore.

“I, for one, could have done without the day's unpleasantness.” Rarity was still coming down, only now taking the time to fix her mane and properly clean herself. The unicorn wouldn't use the stream to bathe, not after what happened to Fluttershy and Glade after the first day, but her magic made a passable substitute.

“You're telling me.” Reman held up his arms, which were splinted and wrapped in cloth. He was left with little more than nubs, and would be nearly useless in combat until the bones healed. The Imperial admitted the injuries were his fault; he chose to block the Orc's mace instead of roll to safety. Twilight, Divines bless her, was holding the man's book in front of him, turning pages when asked.

“I've actually been meaning to ask what's in that thing,” Luna brought up out of the blue. The alicorn knew something was strange about the leather-bound tome, but she couldn't put her hoof on it. The regent knew it likely contained arcane knowledge, given the unreadable symbols and indecipherable, though legible, words. Which was odd, because she knew the notes weren't written in Reman's specific code.

“Research notes a friend had a courier bring me.” The Imperial nodded his head, telling the lavender unicorn sitting next to him to turn the page. The Element knew she was being taught the contents, that the spellsword expected her to read along. “You probably wouldn't be interested.”

“I thought wizards didn't share information; makes it too hard to be the big dog.” Rainbow Dash was drawing this from her rather extensive reading of fantasy novels. While she was partially correct on the secretive nature of Tamriel's mages, students of the College and Sinod usually hid their findings to prevent accidents. Renoir laughed at the pegasus's belief.

“I think you've been reading a few too many adventure books.” The vampire tossed the chromatic pony a toothy grin.

“You can read?” Reman asked, sounding surprised. Rainbow Dash knew he was joking, of course; the smirk he wore only improved the odds of her being correct. All in all, the day was coming to a calm and rather drab end. That was until Pinkie came to sudden realization.

“Has anypony seen Gummy?”

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

“What is this thing?” Babette asked as she stared at the small reptile. Its eyes were odd, blankly staring into the distance. It resembled an alligator, though it was very much a dwarf, and seemed to lack teeth. To the alchemist, it was a miracle the cold-blooded animal was even alive with its lack of defenses. “It looks... stupid.”

“Too small to eat, anyway.” Arnbjorn couldn't avert his gaze from the animal's lazy eye, or was it lazy eyes? The dreadlocked Nord's blood was still boiling, but he was unable to take the fight to the Oculatus outpost in Dragon Bridge. Gabriella had taken the liberty of binding the man's legs, using both cloth and rope in hopes of keeping him still long enough for his wounds to properly heal. The werewolf would likely be immobile for the next couple of days.

“Many delicious foods are but morsels, honored Arnbjorn.” Cicero looked up and smiled as he spoke, having finished his task of cleaning the Night Mother's coffin as the sun set. He was sure poetry was to be found in such a coincidence, but that was not his job. For once, the jester did not feel like singing or dancing; too much tragedy for even the greatest motley fool to heal. “Perhaps Cicero could find a deer or boar for us?”

“Hardly necessary, Cicero.” Festus coughed the words out, catching a bit of phlegm in his throat. The High Rock native hacked a bit more before settling, a poor effect of the smoke he inhaled during the attack. Sadly, he would have to wait for it to develop into pneumonia or some other lung disease before Babette could cure it.

“Go right ahead, just don't draw attention to us when you kill it.” Arnbjorn, by right of marital inheritance, was the leader of the Brotherhood until a Listener could be found. The dreadlocked Nord knew the Keeper's pain, a murderous instinct that needed to be sated, preferably with the bloody slaughter of man and mer. The Imperial was just sneakier with his desires than most.

Cicero needed no further instruction, and was gone before anyone could get another word in.

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

The fire was down to mere embers, though its light went unmourned. Twilight stayed awake, alone in the darkness, save for the insomniac Renoir. For what is was worth, the vampire gave the unicorn her space, though he remained at an approachable distance. Princess Luna was perhaps the only pony other than the Element who remained lucid, though her tent was closed and the lantern extinguished. The lavender mare understood the regent would stay awake to watch her dreams, prevent them from becoming nightmares. The gesture was appreciated, even if Twilight had no intentions of sleeping for the time being.

The Element of Magic sipped on a bottle of Nord mead, chilled enough to make the mountain air seem tolerable. Alcohol was not her first choice, nor was it one she would make under normal circumstances, but there she was. For a brief moment, the mare realized how disappointed her mother would be if she was with her. The thought only provoked the pony to take an entire swig of the numbing liquid. She read in a book somewhere that drinking kept one from dreaming, kind of like the brain's little revenge for all the things its owner did to it, a refusal to entertain. If it let her rest, and kept her from seeing the woman she killed, Twilight Sparkle was all for it. Maybe this was why Reman always drank while he was in Ponyville.

The mare yawned loudly enough to Renoir to give her a strange look, mirthful smile on his face. The element waved a hoof at him before rising from her seat. She wobbled a bit, completely lacking any sort of tolerance for the drug that was alcohol. For the return leg, she was sharing with Reman and Glade, which, to be honest, may have been a risky move on her end. Meh, what did she care? It was nothing she hadn't seen before. An odd phenomena made itself known at that moment. It took Twilight, at most, eight seconds to reach the fire from her shared tent, but nearly three minutes in the opposite direction.

Thoroughly sure she would not be plagued with terrors of the night, she flopped down on an open bedroll.

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

In Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora gazed across Tamriel, searching for information he did not already possess. There were, of course, the Skaal on Solstheim, but fate was beginning to wear them down. However, the Daedric Prince was not worried about the Nords at the moment, for a greater target had presented itself. Twilight Sparkle, student of the alicorn Princess Celestia and Bearer of the Element of Magic, contained within her a wealth of knowledge that remained untapped. Indeed, Mora had only probed her little mind to see how deep her ocean of knowledge truly was, and he liked what he saw.

Twilight was weakened then, grieving to the point of sickness over what she did. She would be an easy target, perhaps the easiest since Septimus came along. But, she had more uses than a mind to leech information from; as it were, she had the unique chance to acquire a compilation of notes on necromancy that had eluded Hermaeus Mora since the Second Era. In life, Mannimarco had hidden his notes, his very essence in countless tomes and books, waiting for a scholar to decode them. In undeath, the powerful wizard, one of the most powerful to ever live, had destroyed many of those very volumes, and distorted others to appear as works of fiction.

Now an abridged version lay in the hands of Reman Tullius, one of Hircine's lot. It was far from holding the entirety of Mannimarco's work, but it was more than the Daedra had, and Twilight was next to it. The tiniest influence, the most imperceptible of nudges, would provoke the mare's natural curiosity. But, she also feared what could happen to her, and what Mora would do even if she proved worthy. The many-tentacled Deadra growled through the very fabric of his domain, evoking fear from the many Seekers and Lurkers that inhabited Apocrypha. No, there was no need for impatience; fate would bring the lavender pony to him willingly, and the necromancer's notes along with her.

Manipulating Twilight was out of the question, but that left some very influential targets wide open.

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

Reman Tullius was not asleep. The lycan was too occupied with Mannimarco's notes to bother sleeping, though his wrapped arms made flipping pages difficult. The Imperial regarded the ancient necromancer with nothing less than disgust, a vile monster best left buried with the other curios and relics of the Second Era. Still, the mad Altmer was a partial founder of the Conjuration School, and practically wrote the book on summoning. Still, even with the professional understanding, Reman felt bile rise in his throat at reading the perverse tome.

The spellsword gave Twilight a small nod as she stumbled into the tent, drunk. Why the driver had recommended rotgut to her, he would never know. Still, seeing her drift to sleep gave the Imperial all the reason he needed to grab some shuteye. He dogeared the page he was on, glad to be setting the accursed book down, and rolled onto his back. Glade moved against him in her sleep, eager for more warmth, and the lycan could only chuckle to himself. Reman held one of his wrapped hands out, making sure to use the one least damaged by the Orc.

He managed to draw wisps of purple magicka to his palm, which then swirled together and held the shape of a sphere. It disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

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

Cicero ran as though his life depended on it. He was not fleeing his Mother or his duties as Keeper, for that was unthinkable. Still, the diminutive human charged quietly across the rocky crags of the Reach, expertly leaping over steams and sudden drops. The skilled assassin needed some space for now, some air, time to think. The Sanctuary in Falkreath was compromised and purged in flames; the one in Dawnstar may have been as well. If one was found, who was to say the other wasn't? The motley fool shook his head as he ducked into a small crevasse, shaking from the day's stress.

Despite himself, Cicero smiled, bleak and dismal. How would the Jester react to this? He would certainly laugh, of that there was no doubt. Shakily, the assassin reached for his ebony dagger, his sliver of the night sky. It twinkled even in Masser's dim light. The sound of a stone's echoing crack was all it took for Cicero to begin searching for a target. The crevasse was deep, deeper than most would believe. The killer's body slid silently into the darkness, the void that held his prey. There was a cavern there, filled to the brim with lowlifes and society's scum.

Cicero dropped to the ground like the shadow of a ghost, quiet as the grave. The motley fool's eyes locked onto a receding figure, a man carrying a bottle in one hand. With agility and grace often associated with elves, the assassin followed. The sound of water, a single drop hitting the stone floor, rang almost deafeningly in his ears. The Dark Brother looked up, but saw no sign of a drippy ceiling. It came again, in the same spot. Cicero brought a curious hand to his face, and it came back wet; fingertips soaked, not with blood, but fresh tears.

The dagger's shaky hand steadied at that moment, for Cicero once more became the Jester, but he was no fool. Even as tears began pouring from his face, a smile spread across the man's thin lips. A little tune began playing in his head, one he'd last heard in Bravil, and modified to his own needs.

Madness is merry and merriment's might, when the Jester comes calling with his knife in the night.