I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

The group cautiously navigated the treacherous corridors of Irkngthand. They disarm traps, dodged deadly spikes, and evaded patrolling Falmer. As they delved deeper into the ancient ruins, the tension grew, fueled by the knowledge that Mercer was somewhere ahead, plotting his next move.

The floor is littered with the remnants of a fierce battle. A fallen Falmer and a broken Dwarven automatons lay scattered across the ground. A chilling realization washed over them, Mercer had been here, and he had left a trail for them but kept most of the hostile creature untouched.

They reached a large chamber, and there is a single Dwarven Centurion. 

"Look at that monstrosity," Brynjolf muttered, his eyes wide with awe.

"A Dwarven Centurion. Very tough and very deadly." Karliah nodded grimly. 

"We can take the beast on or sneak around," Brynjolf suggested. "It's your call, lad. We're right behind you."

Ibnor however, chose a different approach. He conjured a bow, aimed it and fired a well-placed arrow at the Centurion's power core. The giant machine roared to life, its attention diverted from the group. A pack of Falmer, alerted by the commotion, attacked the Centurion, providing a distraction.

Seizing the opportunity, the group moved swiftly, dodging the flying debris and the frenzied attacks of the Falmer. They navigated a series of corridors. Preparing for any sudden threat, they heightened their senses and drew their weapons.

Finally, they reached a massive chamber, the air thick with the stench of decay. A colossal Dwarven spider, its many eyes glowing ominously, guarded the entrance to the next area. The group exchanged glances, their determination unwavering.

With a well-timed strike, they dispatched the spider, clearing the path ahead. As they stepped into the next chamber, they braced themselves for another challenge that Mercer threw at them. 

The air grew thick with the stench of decay as the group entered the Irkngthand Slave Pens. A chilling silence hung over the cavern, broken only by the distant chittering of the Falmer.

"The stench... this place reeks of Falmer," Brynjolf muttered, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"This must be their hive. We'll have to keep silent if we want to avoid drawing their attention." Karliah nodded, her voice hushed. 

As they ventured deeper into the complex, they encountered a group of Falmer guarding a large, pulsating egg sac. A fierce battle ensued, the air filled with the clash of steel and the hiss of magical attacks. With a well-timed strike, Ibnor dealt a fatal blow to the Falmer leader, sending the creatures into disarray.

They continued their journey, their destination, the heart of Irkngthand. Along the way, they faced a series of challenges, from deadly traps to ferocious creatures. They navigated treacherous corridors, scaled towering structures, and outwitted their enemies. But with each obstacle they overcame, their resolve grew stronger. They knew that their ultimate confrontation with Mercer was imminent. The group cautiously approached the entrance to Irkngthand Sanctuary. A sense of anticipation mixed with dread filled the air.

"He's close," Karliah whispered, her eyes scanning the area. "I'm certain of it. We must prepare ourselves."

"Then this is it. We do this for Gallus and for the Guild." Brynjolf nodded, his grip tightening on his weapons. 

As they stepped into the chamber, they saw Mercer, his silhouette illuminated by the dim light. He was attempting to pry the Eyes of the Falmer from the ancient statue.

"He's here and he hasn't seen us yet," Karliah whispered to Brynjolf. "Brynjolf, watch the door."

"Aye, lass. Nothing's getting by me," Brynjolf replied.

"Climb down that ledge and see if you can..." Karliah started to say, but was interrupted by Mercer's voice.

"Karliah, when will you learn you can't get the drop on me?" Mercer's voice echoed through the chamber.

In a swift, calculated move, Mercer destabilized the ledge. Ibnor, anticipating the attack, reacted with incredible speed and precision, landing safely below. Brynjolf and Karliah, caught off guard, were left perilously perched on the fractured remains. 

"When Brynjolf brought you before me, I could feel a sudden shift in the wind. And at that moment, I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade," Mercer said.

"Give me the Key, Mercer." Ibnor demanded.

"What's Karliah been filling your head with? Tales of thieves with honor? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises? Nocturnal doesn't care about you, the Key or anything having to do with the Guild." 

"It's not about Nocturnal. This is personal." 

"Revenge is it? Have you learned nothing from your time with us? When will you open your eyes and realize how little my actions differ from yours? Both of us lie, cheat and steal to further our own end."

"The difference is I still have honor."

"It's clear you'll never see the Skeleton Key as I do... as an instrument of limitless wealth. Instead you've chosen to fall over your own foolish code."

"If anyone falls, it will be you."

"Then the die is cast, and once again my blade will taste Nightingale blood!"

A tense battle ensued, with Ibnor fending off Mercer's deadly attacks. As the fight raged on, Mercer used his gift from Nocturnal to turn Brynjolf against Karliah. 

"Karliah, I'll deal with you after I rid myself of your irksome companions. In the meantime, perhaps you and Brynjolf should get better acquainted."

The once loyal friend now attacked his ally with a ferocity that shocked Ibnor.

"What's... what's happening... I can't stop myself," Brynjolf muttered, his eyes glazed over.

"Fight it, Brynjolf!" Karliah pleaded. "He's taken control of you!"

"I'm sorry, lass," Brynjolf groaned, his voice distant. "I can't..."

"Damn you, Mercer!" Karliah shouted, her anger fueling her determination.

Mercer, like a phantom in the dim light, lunged. Ibnor parried the strike, the two weapons clashing with a metallic clang. A swift counterattack, a feint, a dodge - the dance of steel was mesmerizing. Mercer vanished, then reappeared, his blade aimed at Ibnor's heart. Ibnor rolled aside, the blade slicing through empty air. The fight was a blur of movement, a symphony of steel and shadow. 

"Is that the best you can do?" Mercer taunts.

Mercer's strikes were precise, his movements fluid. Ibnor, however, was equally skilled, matching his opponent's every move. He dodged a powerful overhead slash, countered with a quick jab, and followed up with a sweeping kick. 

"What are you talking about? That was just a warm up." Ibnor replied.

The fight intensified. Mercer, a master of stealth and deception, disappeared and reappeared, striking from unexpected angles. Ibnor, though skilled, was hard-pressed to keep up. A swift kick from Mercer sent Ibnor stumbling backward, but he recovered quickly, launching a counterattack. 

"You're not a threat… merely an annoyance." Mercer spat.

A flurry of blows followed, each more desperate than the last. Ibnor, driven by a surge of adrenaline, blocked a powerful slash from Mercer. Seizing the opportunity, he delivered a swift uppercut, followed by a powerful kick to Mercer's midsection. Mercer staggered, his guard momentarily broken. 

Seizing the opportunity, Ibnor pressed his advantage. He unleashed a flurry of strikes, each more deadly than the last. Mercer in a desperate attempt to vanish, spit on Ibnor's face, aiming for the eye. Ibnor performed a backflip in reflex. Taking advantage of the invisibility, Mercer managed to knock Ibnor's blade away and kicked his manhood. 

Gritting his teeth in pain, Ibnor dropped to the ground

"Ooff… You, asshole!" Ibnor cursed, clutching his crotch. 

Mercer descended upon him like a hawk, raining blows upon the defenseless Ibnor. Ibnor was pummeled, his body battered and bruised. When Mercer finally relented, he stood over Ibnor, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"Clearly, your brain has some issues," he taunted. "Didn't I just tell you we lie, cheat, and steal to get what we want?"

"My brain?" Ibnor retorted, a defiant spark in his eyes. "It's your eyes that are the problem!"

"Even in death, you're still full of nonsense." Mercer muttered, his smirk turned cold.

With a telekinetic surge, Ibnor seized control of his blade, sending it flying through the air like a loose arrow. The blade pierced Mercer's back, through his heart and out of his chest. Mercer, still stunned, collapsed to the floor.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" Ibnor sneered.

As Mercer's body fell, the control over Brynjolf was broken. Suddenly, a pipe burst, flooding the chamber. The cavern shook, water seeping through cracks in the ceiling. The once-grand chamber was now a chaotic scene of falling debris and rising water.

"Damn!" Karliah exclaimed, her voice barely audible over the crashing water. "This place is coming down! Quick, get the Skeleton Key and the Eye and let's get out of here!"

Ibnor quickly reached out, with a telekinetic gesture, retrieved the Skeleton Key and the Eyes of the Falmer from Mercer's lifeless body. Brynjolf, his face etched with concern, struggled with the heavy door behind him and Karliah. 

"No luck there, lass. Something must have fallen on the other side because it isn't moving!"

Karliah's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route. 

"We have to find another way out of here before the place fills with water!" she urged, her voice filled with urgency.

"No, wait," Ibnor replied, his tone calm but resolute. "Wait until the water fills the room."

"What?" Karliah was incredulous.

"Trust me," Ibnor insisted. "Once the water reaches your level, swim towards the statue's head."

Brynjolf and Karliah, though hesitant, decided to trust Ibnor's plan. As the water level rose, the ceiling above the statue collapsed, revealing a hidden passage.

"There," Ibnor pointed to the opening. "Wait until the water reaches that level, then swim through."

They followed his instructions, emerging into a narrow, water-filled tunnel. After what felt like an eternity, they finally broke through into the Bronze Water Cave. The cold, damp air filled their lungs, a stark contrast to the suffocating water. Drenched and exhausted, they stumbled out of the cave, relief washing over them.

The near-death experience had left them shaken but alive. Karliah, her breath ragged, turned to Ibnor.

"I can't believe it's over. Twenty-five years in exile and just like that, it's done. All that remains is to ensure the safe return of the Skeleton Key."

"Sounds like it will be a simple task." Ibnor nodded, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. 

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. When the Skeleton Key was stolen from the Twilight Sepulcher, our access to the inner sanctum was removed. The only way to bring it back will be through the Pilgrim's Path." Karliah chuckled wryly. 

"I take it you never used the Pilgrim's Path." Ibnor raised an eyebrow. 

"It wasn't created for the Nightingales. It was created to test those who wished to serve Nocturnal in other ways. As a consequence, I have no knowledge of what you'll be facing." Karliah shook her head. 

"Then we'd best get started." Ibnor nodded, a determined look in his eyes. Karliah's expression softened. 

Karliah handed him a bow, its sleek design and intricate carvings a testament to its craftsmanship. 

"Take this with you," she said. "I'm not certain if it will help within the walls of the Sepulchre, but I certainly don't need it as much as you. I've had this bow almost my entire life, and it's never let me down. I hope it brings you the same luck."

"I don't understand why you won't come with me," Ibnor said. Karliah shook her head, her expression somber.

"I've been a Nightingale for a very long time. I sold my allegiance to Nocturnal in exchange for many profitable years of thieving. Falling in love with Gallus was wrong. It was a distraction that allowed the Sepulcher to be desecrated and it likely cost him his life. Until the Key is returned, I will never set foot inside that place again."

"Umm... I just remember that I'm actually not a Nightingale," Ibnor said, his voice filled with awkwardness. A realization dawned on him that it might be inappropriate for him to be the one to return the key. 

"Brynjolf is needed back at the Thieves Guild to keep order while you're away. And I... I can't bear to face Nocturnal after my failure to protect the Key. I'm afraid you'll have to do it."

"Fine..." Ibnor sighed, defeated. "Where is this Twilight Sepulchre?"

"Don't you already know?" Karliah teased, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Are you sure this is alright?"

"You'll be fine. I was there, you know. She took a liking to you." Karliah chuckled. 

"Aren't you Nightingales, are the ones that need to go and return it?" Ibnor questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"My instinct tells me that by letting you return it, Nocturnal will be more pleased, and in doing so, I will be in her good grace," Karliah winked mischievously.

"What the... You... You owe me one!" Ibnor exclaimed, pointing at Karliah as he turned to leave.

It was almost dawn when Ibnor reached Helgen. He decided to see how Rayya and Illia were doing. Without a warning, an ice spear struck the ground in front of him.

"Who's there?" a voice hissed from the shadows. Illia, alert and watchful, emerged. "Oh, it's you."

"What? That's it? A little warning would be appreciated, you know." Ibnor said.

"That," she replied, gesturing to the ice spear, "was the warning." 

As they chatted, a sudden commotion erupted outside. The sound of shouting and the clash of steel echoed through the quiet evening.

"What's that noise?" Illia asked, her brow furrowed.

"Sounds like trouble," Ibnor said, his eyes narrowing. "Let's go check it out."

As they rushed outside, they found Rayya locked in a combat with a group of bandits. Two already lay fallen, victims of her swift and lethal strikes. Illia immediately joins the battle. Rayya sidestepped a deadly spear thrust and retaliated with a horizontal slash of her scimitar on the bandit's open throat.

Meanwhile, Illia summoned icy shards from the air. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled them at the enemy, piercing flesh and wood. One bandit limped, another clutched a wounded arm, while a third cursed his luck, deflecting it using a wooden shield.

With his axe raised high, a burly bandit charged towards Rayya. She blocked the strike, holding her ground. The bandit took advantage of the moment and swung a right hook, hitting her on the head but she shook it off like it was nothing. In a moment of shock, the bandit hesitated, surprised by Rayya's resilience. Seizing the opportunity, she unleashed a powerful kick, sending him sprawling to the ground. With a swift, merciless motion, she plunged her scimitar into his back, straight into his heart.

From a nearby tree, an arrow whistled towards Illia. She raised a shimmering ward, the projectile glancing harmlessly off. With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a bolt of lightning, the archer's scream echoing through the trees as he was thrown from his perch.

As the battle raged, another bandit, hidden in the bushes, crept towards Rayya. But Illia, with her keen senses, spotted the threat. With a swift, accurate throw, she launched an ice spear, impaling the bandit before he could strike. 

The remnants of the bandit group retreated, only to be intercepted by Ibnor. With a blur of motion, he weaved through them, each bandit he passed fell to the ground, clutching their bleeding necks.

"Well, that takes care of that," Ibnor said, turning to Rayya. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, my Thane," Rayya replied, her voice filled with a hint of self-deprecation. "Once again, I prove to be inadequate."

"Oh, stop that. You were doing fine. Didn't I tell you to drop the formalities?"

"You did, my Thane," Rayya acknowledged, her tone formal. "But in the presence of another, the least I can do is uphold your image. It is, after all, my duty."

Ibnor paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. 

"Illia? She's fine. She's family." He pats Illia's arms, a subtle gesture that held a warmth that only Illia could see. A flicker of surprise and gratitude flashed in her eyes

"If you say so." Rayya replied, nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders.

"Wow, that was fast," Ibnor teased Rayya. "Should have kept it up a little longer."

"It's your loss," Rayya joked back, a playful glint in her eyes.

"How many times has this happened?" Ibnor asked, curious.

"This is the first time today," Illia replied.

"Before this, it was more often." Rayya explained. "But lately, the intensity of the raid has gone down." 

"What? How the heck did you survive that?" Ibnor asked Rayya.

"It was dangerous," Illia interjected. "She was on the brink of exhaustion when I arrived. A little later, and she might not have made it."

"What?!" Ibnor exclaimed, his voice sharp. "Rayya, I told you to prioritize your safety!"

"Yeah, I told her the same thing, but she kept risking her life."

"Rayya…"

"My apologies, Thane. But, I'm sworn to your service and as a housecarl, we took an oath to guard you and all you own with our life. It was one thing if this is just another place, but this is the foundation to your future plan."

"Fuck..." Ibnor cursed, his anger palpable. After a moment, he regained his composure. "Never again, Rayya. As your Thane, I order you, do not die without my permission. Is that understood?"

"But..." Rayya began to protest.

"Is that understood?" Ibnor insisted, his tone firm.

"Yes, my Thane," Rayya reluctantly agreed.

"Good," Ibnor said, his voice softening. "Now, rest. I'll figure out our next move."

Rayya left, leaving Ibnor and Illia alone. 

"Sorry you had to see that," Ibnor apologized.

"You're a good person, Ibnor," Illia said, her voice sincere.

"Where I come from, being called a 'good person' isn't always a compliment," Ibnor chuckled.

"What are you planning to do now?"

"I have something urgent I need to deal with."

"How can I help?" Illia offered, making Ibnor's eyes lit up. 

"Do you have any familiarity with familiar spirits?"

"I do know a bit about it," Illia replied.

"Can you use it as a means of communication?" Ibnor asked, his voice hopeful.

"I can try," Illia agreed.

"I need you to send a message to a Dunmer named Jenassa in Whiterun and an Imperial called Marcurio in Riften. Tell them I'm offering them a job."

Illia nodded, understanding the urgency. She conjured her familiar, two sleek, dark crows, and sent the messages. To Ibnor's surprise, both Jenassa and Marcurio, renowned for their skills and loyalty, agreed to the offer and arrived at Helgen later that evening, ready to serve under his command.

Ibnor knew he'd made a grave miscalculation. Hiring mercenaries was his only viable option for immediate, reliable manpower. The reports of what had transpired in his absence painted a starkly different picture of Skyrim than the one he'd carried in his mind. He'd foolishly assumed it would mirror the game he knew so well.

"I can't keep thinking this is just a game," he muttered to himself, the image of a bandit's vicious snarl flashing through his mind. "In the game, they were little more than target practice. Here… they'd slit your throat for a handful of coins. The sheer brutality is on a different level. It's not just the bandits either. It's everyone. The wildlife is fiercer, the vampires more savage, even those goddamned fucking mudcrabs are more aggressive."

The arrival of Jenassa and Marcurio had been a welcome relief. With their combined skills, fending off the constant stream of bandits, aggressive wildlife, and the occasional rogue mage became significantly less perilous. It gave him the breathing room he desperately needed to focus on securing Helgen.

Ibnor threw himself into the task, working tirelessly for days. He meticulously set traps around the perimeter, cleared the rubble and debris that littered the ruined town, and transformed the battered Helgen Homestead into a functional base of operations. The inn now housed a makeshift planning room, a small office, a mess hall, and basic living quarters. The imposing Keep, however, remained sealed, a project for a future when he had more resources. He also dispatched a carefully worded letter to the Thieves Guild, proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement for supply acquisition and deliveries. He needed a reliable source of goods, and they needed a reliable source of coin.

With Helgen secured, for the moment at least, Ibnor finally turned his attention to the Twilight Sepulchre, located west of Falkreath. He planned to bypass the town entirely, wanting to avoid any unnecessary delays. As he passed the southern gate, however, a voice calling for him broke the silence. He turned to see a dog, its tail wagging enthusiastically, gazing up at him with bright, expectant eyes. It was a scruffy mutt, its fur a patchwork of browns and greys, but its gaze held an almost unnerving intelligence. Ibnor hesitated, a strange feeling tugging at him.