I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

Night had already draped Riften in shadows when Ibnor slipped from a hidden doorway. He moved quickly, scaling the rough stone of a nearby building, his custom-made hook finally had the chance to be utilized. 

Across the rooftops, Ibnor moved with the fluid grace of a cat, leaping across narrow gaps and scrambling over uneven tiles. His landings, though not always perfect, were quiet and controlled, each roll absorbing the impact. He became a shadow moving against the dark cityscape.

A wide chasm separated him from the next building. A thick, taut wire stretched across the void. He paused, gauging the distance and the tension of the wire. Taking a running start, he launched himself into the air, his body arcing through the night. As he reached the far side, he released the wire, his fingers finding purchase on a narrow ledge. With a grunt of exertion, he pulled himself onto the rooftop, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"A rush like this… I should do this more often," he thought, a grin spreading across his face despite his labored breathing.

From his elevated position, Riftweald Manor was clearly visible. A large, burly man, whom Ibnor assumed was Vlad, patrolled the grounds below. Ibnor observed Vlad's patrol route, calculating his approach. With a silent nod, he crossed over to the manor and dropped lightly onto the second-floor balcony, set to work on the lock.

Only the occasional creak of settling wood disturbed the silence within the manor. Ibnor moved through the darkened corridors, the shadows clinging to him like a second skin. The first room was empty, easily bypassed. The next, however, was patrolled by a lone guard, his heavy footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor. Ibnor waited until the guard's back was turned, then slipped past, his footsteps muffled by the thick, worn carpet.

The stairs descended into the lower levels of the manor, the air growing colder and damper. A guard patrolled the landing below, his gaze sweeping across the dimly lit space. Ibnor quickly ducked behind a massive pillar, holding his breath as the guard passed. When the guard turned away, Ibnor darted across the open space, moving with practiced silence.

At the bottom of the stairs, a row of closed doors stretched before him. One, positioned beside a heavy, ornately carved cabinet, caught his attention. It resembled the hidden passage in the Ragged Flagon. A closer inspection revealed a faint seam in the wood, a hidden panel. With a gentle tug, the panel slid open, revealing a dark, descending staircase.

The subterranean tunnels were dark and damp, filled with deadly traps. Ibnor moved with practiced caution, bypassing pressure plates that would have unleashed volleys of poisoned darts, and navigating a treacherous chamber where massive pendulum blades swung with deadly precision. His enhanced physique and reflexes allowed him to overcome these obstacles, though not without effort.

Finally, he reached a chamber filled with valuable artifacts and stolen treasures. When he found Mercer's plans, he also took a copy of the [Sneak] skill book for Harin, and the famed sword, Chillrend, just cause. The hoarder mentality is hard to shake off, even after transmigrating. On top of the desk, a small, ornate bust caught his eye. It was the Bust of the Gray Fox, something that Delvin would be delighted to see. Without hesitation, he took the bust and tied it to his back. However, his biggest gain would be all the scattered colored balls across the floor. As he absorbed their energy, he felt a surge of power coursing through him, each orb enhancing a different aspect of his thieving skills mainly lockpicking, pickpocketing and sneak.

**********

Ibnor

Status

Normal

Stats 

Strength

35.8

Agility

37.6

Mental

33.6

Physique

38.2

Sub-Stat

Charm

15.3

Active Effect

[Resist Frost +10%], [Resist Poison +10%], [Resist Magic +10%] 

Skills

Passive

[Peak Human Condition], [Close Quarter Combat - Expert], [Parkour - Beginner], [Dragon's Tongue - Beginner], [Dibellan Arts - Intermediate.], 

Active

[Archery (52.4)], [Blacksmithing (25.9)], [One Handed (58.1)], [Two Handed (27.5)], [Block (35.1)], [Alchemy (9.2)], [Sneak (57.2)], [Lockpicking (48.5)], [Pickpocket (47.9)], 

Spells

[Telekinesis], [Bound Bow], [Magelight], 

Shout

[Shout (Unrelenting Force) - FUS], [Shout (Disarm) - ZUN]

Notification

*The Passion Dancer has taken interest in you.

*The Mistress of Night and Darkness has taken interest in you.

*The Father of Manbeasts finds you amusing.

**********

Knowing the tunnel was actually connected to the Ratway, he continued along the tunnel, effectively escaping the manor with no one even aware of his presence. Finally, he reached the Ragged Flagon.

"We've scoured the town," Brynjolf said, his voice heavy with frustration. "I've spoken to every contact we have left. No sign of Mercer. Any luck on your end?"

"He wasn't there, but I found these." Ibnor handed over the stolen plans. 

"Shor's beard! He's going after the Eyes of the Falmer? That was Gallus's pet project. If he gets his hands on them, you can be certain he'll be gone for good and set up for life." Brynjolf's eyes widened as he examined the plans. 

"It's clear what we have to do next."

"Agreed. He's taken everything the Guild has left, and to go after one of the last greatest heists is just an insult. I've spoken to Karliah, and made amends for how the Guild's treated her. Now she wishes to speak with both of us. Quickly, we have no time to lose."

"Right after you."

Karliah stood in the dim light of the Cistern, her eyes fixed on Brynjolf. 

"Brynjolf," she began, her voice low and deliberate, "the time has come to decide Mercer's fate. Until a new Guild Master is chosen, the decision falls to you."

"Aye, lass... I've come to a decision. Mercer Frey tried to kill both of you, he betrayed the Guild, murdered Gallus and made us question our future. He needs to die." Brynjolf, his face hardened by anger and betrayal, responded.

"We have to be very careful, Brynjolf. Mercer is a Nightingale, an Agent of Nocturnal." Karliah nodded, her expression grim. 

"Then it's all true... everything I heard in the stories. The Nightingales, their allegiance to Nocturnal and the Twilight Sepulcher."

"Yes. That's why we need to prepare ourselves and meet Mercer on equal footing. Just outside of Riften, beyond the Southeast Gate, is a small path cut up the mountainside. At the end of that path is a clearing and an old standing stone. I'd ask you both to follow me there."

With that, she enters one of the secret passages and disappears. Ibnor and Brynjolf followed her immediately. After a short walk outside of the city, they reached the desolate clearing. A solitary standing stone, weathered and ancient, marked the spot.

"We're here," Karliah announced, her voice barely audible over the wind.

"What is the significance of this place?" Brynjolf asked, his eyes scanning the barren landscape.

"This is the headquarters of the Nightingales, cut into the mountainside by the first of our kind. We've come here to seek the edge we need to defeat Mercer Frey."

"What kind of edge?" Intrigued, Brynjolf pressed.

"If you'll follow me, I'll try to explain on the way." Karliah gave a short reply.

They descended a narrow, winding path, the dim light of the cavern casting eerie shadows. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient magic. Finally, they reached the heart of the Nightingale Hall, an awe-inspiring cavern bathed in the soft glow of bioluminescent fungi.

"So this is Nightingale Hall," Brynjolf murmured, his eyes wide with wonder. "I heard about this place when I joined the Guild, but I never believed it existed."

"The assumption that the Nightingales were just a myth was seeded within the Guild on purpose. It helped avert attention from our true nature. What's wrong, Brynjolf? I can almost hear your brow furrowing." Karliah smiled.

"I'm trying to understand why I'm here, lass. I'm no priest, and I'm certainly not religious. Why pick me?" Brynjolf scratched his head. 

"This isn't about religion, Brynjolf. It's about business. This is Nightingale Hall. You're the first of the uninitiated to set foot inside in over a century. Now, if you'll proceed to the armory to don your Nightingale armor, we can begin the Oath." Karliah's expression turned serious. 

As they moved through the armory, the weight of history hung heavy in the air. The Nightingale armor, sleek and deadly, was a testament to the power and mystery of the ancient order.

"Okay, lass," Brynjolf said, adjusting his mask. "We've got these getups on... now what?"

"Beyond this gate is the first step in becoming a Nightingale." Karliah's eyes glinted with anticipation.

"Woah there, lass. I appreciate the armor, but becoming a Nightingale? That was never discussed."

"To hold any hope of defeating Mercer, we must have Nocturnal at our backs. If she's to accept you as one of her own, an arrangement must be struck." Karliah's voice softened. 

"What sort of arrangement? I need to know the terms." Brynjolf considered her words.

"The terms are quite simple, Brynjolf. Nocturnal will allow you to become a Nightingale and use your abilities for whatever you wish. And in return, both in life and in death, you must serve as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher." Karliah explained.

Brynjolf hesitated, the weight of the decision heavy on his shoulders. 

"Aye, there's always a catch," he muttered. "But at this point, I suppose there isn't much to lose. If it means the end of Mercer Frey, you can count me in."

"What about you? Are you ready to transact the Oath with Nocturnal?" Karliah turned to Ibnor, her gaze intense. 

Ibnor hesitated, his expression a mix of anticipation and trepidation. 

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

"What do you mean? Something's bothering you?" Karliah's brow furrowed. 

"It's not that," he replied, his voice filled with doubt. "I just... I don't know how she'll react to me." Ibnor shook his head. 

"Don't worry, she accepts everyone. Just trust in the process." Karliah smiled, trying to reassure him.

"That's not what I'm worried about." He muttered. "Nevermind, just proceed."

"Good," Karliah replied. "After I open the gate, please stand on the western circle."

Ibnor stepped onto the designated spot, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear. As Karliah began the ritual, a strange energy filled the air. The shadows danced and shifted, and a chilling wind swept through the chamber. 

"I call upon you, Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow… Hear my voice!" 

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness, cloaked in shadows and mystery. Nocturnal, the floats before them in the form of a human woman, wearing a hooded cloak that hides most of her body and features, that seems to be made out of shadows, with her arms outstretched and Nightingales perched on each wrist, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

"Ah, Karliah," she purred, her voice as smooth as velvet. "I was wondering when I'd hear from you again. Lose something, did we?"

"My Lady, I've come before you to throw myself upon your mercy and to accept responsibility for my failure." Karliah bowed her head, her voice filled with reverence. 

"You're already mine, Karliah. Your terms were struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me now?" Nocturnal smiled, her expression enigmatic. 

Karliah hesitated, then spoke. "I have two others that wish to transact the Oath; to serve you both in life and in death."

"You surprised me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in your favor." Nocturnal's eyes widened with interest. 

Karliah pressed her advantage. "My appetite for Mercer's demise exceeds my craving for wealth, Your Grace."

Nocturnal chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Revenge, huh? How interesting... very well, the conditions are acceptable. You may proceed."

"Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels. We will honor our agreement in this life and the next until your conditions have been met."

Nocturnal's gaze fell upon Brynjolf. 

"Very well," she said. "I name your initiate Nightingale and I restore your status to the same, Karliah. And in the future, I'd suggest you refrain from disappointing me again. Bring another one to complete the trinity." 

"What do you mean, Lady Nocturnal? I brought two…"

"I know and I accepted. The other one, however… has managed to pique my interest for quite some time." Nocturnal smiled, looking at Ibnor.

"Was it because the curse doesn't affect me?" Ibnor asked, breaking his silence.

"Indeed. During the ritual, I tried to bind your soul to Evergloam, but didn't succeed. It's as if you have it anchored somewhere. It's been a while since something truly interesting happened." Nocturnal said, before disappearing from the chamber, leaving only her voice. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"That was not what I had in mind, at all." Karliah said. "So, that's what you're referring to earlier."

"Yeah. Anyway, we should focus on the task at hand. I believe you had something to tell Brynjolf." Ibnor said, changing the topic.

"Oh, right. Now that you've transacted the Oath, it's time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle to you, Mercer's true crime." She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. "Mercer was able to unlock the Guild's vault without two keys because of what he stole from the Twilight Sepulcher... the Skeleton Key. By doing this, he's compromised our ties to Nocturnal and, in essence, caused our luck to run dry."

"Does the key unlock any door?" Brynjolf asked, his brow furrowed.

"Well, yes. But the Key isn't only restricted to physical barriers. All of us possess untapped abilities, the potential to wield great power, securely sealed within our minds. Once you realize the Key can access these traits, the potential becomes limitless."

"Sounds like no one should possess it." Brynjolf said.

"Good, then you understand why this is about more than just Mercer's lust for power." Karliah nodded solemnly. 

"I don't feel stronger." Brynjolf said.

"With the Skeleton Key missing from the Twilight Sepulcher, I'm afraid Mercer's seen to it that none of us can benefit from Nocturnal's gifts." Karliah sighed. 

"But she spoke to us."

"You merely transacted the Oath, signed the unwritten contract with Nocturnal. In order for us to receive our abilities... our end of the bargain, I'm afraid the Key must be returned."

"Then Nocturnal's angry at us?"

"If Nocturnal was truly displeased with me... with any of us, she wouldn't have answered my call. I have no doubt that we still hold her favor and I believe it gives us enough of an edge to defeat Mercer Frey." Karliah glanced at Ibnor.

"If the Key isn't returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulcher, things will never be the same for the Guild. As time passed, our luck would diminish to the point of non-existence. And whether you know it or not, our uncanny luck defines our trade." she continued.

"First time I ever set out to return something..." Brynjolf sighed.

"Very true. In our line of work, it's quite rare we set out to return a stolen item to its rightful owner." Karliah smiled wryly.

"I guess you're Nightingales now." Ibnor said.

"Aye, and some of what Karliah said is starting to make sense. Mercer may have damaged our reputation and raided our coffers, but this goes well beyond even his twisted form of larceny. Old Delvin kept calling it a curse and we all laughed at him. Looks like the joke's on us."

"Do you think we stand a chance against Mercer? I saw him in action, he's good. Crazy good."

"If you would have asked me that yesterday, I'd have said no. But now I think our chances have improved. Look, call me crazy if you like, but I trust Karliah. I don't think she'd lead us down a suicidal path. Besides, I'd rather die with some of Mercer's blood on my blade than spend the rest of my life regretting that I ran the other way."

"Then let's get to it."

"I've been pouring over the plans you brought us, and I'm convinced the Eyes of the Falmer are in the dwarven ruins at Irkngthand. Karliah and I will meet you there. Prepare yourself, lad. This will be a fight to remember!"

Karliah and Brynjolf went to discuss another potential member for the Nightingale and disappeared into the night. It's a long journey to Irkngthand, but Ibnor decides to take his time, hunting animals and fighting bandits along the way and collecting colored balls. He purposely took his time because he knew that Mercer is using Irkngthand to kill two birds with one stone, getting the Eye of the Falmer and killing them. A man like him won't be able to sit still knowing there are people, skilled people out there aiming for his neck.

As Ibnor stepped into the vast, cavernous expanse of Irkngthand, he was met by the sight of Karliah and Brynjolf, their faces etched with determination.

"Mercer's been here," Karliah said, her voice low. "I hope we're not too late." 

"Brynjolf and I found them like this. Mercer's doing. We have to catch up to him before it's too late." She gestured towards the bodies of several bandits, their lifeless forms scattered across the floor.

"Let's go." Ibnor nodded, his resolve hardening.

"We should tread carefully," Karliah warned. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's left behind a few surprises for us."

"Aye, there will be blood today. I can promise you that." Brynjolf grinned.

"Do you think Mercer knows we're here?" Ibnor asked.

"The lass seems to think old Mercer is pulling a fast one on us, leading us here and letting the dwarven constructs wear us down. I've learned to trust her lead at this point. After all, we Nightingales need to stick together, eh?" Brynjolf chuckled. 

"What's the story with the Eyes of the Falmer and the Guild?" Ibnor curiously asked.

"A few years before Mercer murdered Gallus, the Guild took in a thief who specialized in dwarven antiquities. The thief had broken into a nobleman's home somewhere in Windhelm and made off with a small figurine of a snow elf with crystalline eyes." Karliah explained.

"Falmer, right?" Ibnor asked.

"Aye, that's what the Falmer were known as long ago, before they became the blind monstrosities they are today. When Gallus took one look at this statue, he knew it was something special. He took it right up to Enthir at the College of Winterhold. Didn't take long for Enthir to find a book in the college's library that told of Irkngthand and a great statue with gemmed eyes within." Said, Brynjolf.

"So the Eyes of the Falmer are gems?"

"Not just ordinary gems," Karliah replied. "They're said to be flawlessly cut and as big as a man's head. Can you imagine how much they're worth? Gallus and Mercer spent the better part of a month infiltrating Irkngthand, but the dwarven constructs proved too formidable. They were forced to abandon their quest."

As the group approached the overhead platform, Karliah's keen eyes spotted something unusual below. 

"Wait a moment," she exclaimed, pointing towards the cavern floor. "What's that? It's Mercer! Look, down there!"

Brynjolf squinted, his gaze following Karliah's finger. 

"Damn it!" he cursed. "There's no way through."

"He's toying with us. He wants us to follow." Karliah nodded, her expression grim. 

"Aye, lass... and we'll be ready for him. Let's keep moving." Brynjolf gritted his teeth.

As they ventured deeper into the cavern, the scale of the dwarven engineering became apparent. 

"Look at the size of this place," Brynjolf marveled. "Have you ever seen anything like it in your life, lass?"

"Can't say that I have. Imagine the riches hidden within these walls." Karliah was equally impressed. 

Suddenly, a deafening roar echoed through the cavern. A massive tower, once a testament to dwarven ingenuity, had collapsed, blocking their path.

"So this is what we heard," Brynjolf muttered. "The entire tower collapsed."

"The only reason to do that would be to block pursuit. It must be Mercer. We'll have to find another way around." Karliah nodded, her eyes narrowed. 

"Mercer was able to knock this thing down? Gods..." Brynjolf shook his head. 

"It's the Key, Brynjolf. In his hands, there's no telling what he's capable of." Karliah's expression hardened.