Your gasped for breath and panted as you came to again, holding the area where Mercer had stabbed you. Your vision was clouded in black and red as you regained your sight, the effects of Mercer's blade fading. You don't know how you hadn't died, you were certain your end was there. It was taunting you, guilding you into the black abyss that was mockingly comforting. You were ashamed of yourself, being fooled by Mercer so easily was an insult. You knew there was a reason to dislike him. At first you thought it was his attitude, but the betrayal won out on that.
You stumbled as you tried to get up, and a figure rushed over toward you. "Easy, easy. Don't get up so quickly."
Karliah.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, observing you closely as you steadied yourself.
"Hold on. . . you shot me?" you asked, hand cupped over the now-patched wound. Karliah must've handled it while you were unconscious.
"No, I saved your life. My arrow was dipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"Why save me?"
"My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death."
"Then I am in your debt."
"More than you'll ever realize. The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for one shot. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive."
"Why capture Mercer alive?"
"Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he has done. He needs to pay for Gallus's murder."
Mercer murdered the man you had tried to avenge. . . Why didn't you turn around and kill Mercer sooner? The itch was there for an obvious reason, you just didn't want to listen to it.
"How will you prove it now?" you asked.
"My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn't simply for irony's sake. Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus's remains. I suspect the information needed is written inside."
"What does it say?"
"I wish I knew. The journal is written in some sort of language I've never seen before."
"Perhaps it could be translated."
"Enthir. . . Gallus's friend from the College of Winterhold. Of course. . . It's the only outsider Gallus has trusted with the knowledge of his Nightingale identity."
"There's that word again. . . 'Nightingale'."
"There were three of us: Myself, Gallus, and Mercer. We were an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild in Riften. Perhaps I'll tell you more later. Right now, you need to head for Winterhold with the journal and get the translation. Here, take these as well. They may prove useful for your journey." Karliah handed you a couple of potions and the journal.
You turned around, looking back at the dark elf over your shoulder. "I will return in a few days."
"I will be waiting," she said, disappearing into thin air like she did in the ruins.
You thought your adventure in the Thieves Guild began when you first arrived. Turns out, this was the real start of something big.
Days had passed, and within that you had spoken to Enthir. He had told you to visit the court wizard in Markarth, Calcemo. When you had finally done so, Calcemo was as stubborn as Gulum-Ei had been. You had to bribe him with the safety of his workers, killing a Frostbite spider that had been hiding in his excavation site. After you had done so, you had received a key to his Dwemer museum.
If only Calcemo mentioned the Laboratory in the back, and all of the tricks and traps (and Dwemer spiders) that were contained in there. The guards were no problem to get past, but the mechanical spiders and spherical guardians were quite a pest.
At least you got the translations you needed, using the paper and charcoal you had found. Now you were back in the inn at Winterhold, going around the counter and heading down the flight of stairs that lead to the cellar of the small building. You found Enthir and Karliah, standing and waiting for your arrival. You were curious about how long they had waited. How long they were in here, plotting and planning the demise of Mercer Frey.
"Back, eh? And how was our friend Calcemo?" Enthir joked as you approached him.
You dug into your pouch, withdrawing the scratches of Falmer you had obtained from the laboratory. "That is a story we can save for later. This should help us translate Gallus's journal." You handed him the paper.
"I suppose it would be inappropriate to ask how you obtained this, so I simply won't." He unrolled the paper and you saw the elf smirk. "A rubbing, eh? Odd. I expected notes."
"It's quite the tale."
"I understand. Now let me take a good look at this. Over here, please," Enthir turned around, leading you and Karliah back toward a table that he had set up. He opened the journal he was to translate, setting the stone rubbing you had obtained next to it as a guide. "Hm. . . This is intriguing. But, also highly disturbing."
"What is it?" You rushed.
"It appears that Gallus was suspicious to Mercer's allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls an '. . . unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures'."
"Pig. . ." you muttered to yourself.
"Does the journal say where the wealth came from?" Karliah finally spoke up.
"Yes. Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge," Enthir answered, uneasy at the words he was reading.
"Anything else, Enthir? Anything about. . . the Nightingales?" Karliah seemed uncertain as well.
There was the name again.
Enthir flipped through the pages. "Yes, here it is. The last few pages seem to describe 'the failure of the Nightingales', but it doesn't go into great detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher."
"Shadows preserve us. . . So it's true. . ." Karliah said under her breath, torn apart by what she had just heard.
"I-I'm not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it? What has Mercer done?" Enthir asked, worry striking his face as he looked up at Karliah.
"I'm sorry, Enthir. . . I can't say. All that matters is that we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately," Karliah said with a solemn tone. "Farewell, Enthir. . . Words can't express. . ."
"It's alright, Karliah. You don't have to say a word," he smiled assuringly, watching as Karliah turned around and headed to the stairs. When she disappeared out the cellar door, Enthir turned to you. "Listen, all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can and I'd consider it to be a personal favor."
"I will do just that. Thank you, Enthir."
"If trying to rid yourself of stolen goods becomes a burden, and you happen to be in Winterhold, come visit me at the College. I've been known to handle items of questionable interest and I will see what I can do. Farewell. You'll find me in the College."
"Farewell, Enthir," you smiled at the elf, turning around and heading toward the cellar steps. Your boots clacked on the wood slabs as you shoved open the door, and you found Karliah sitting about in the inn. You strode up to her, and she acknowledged your approach.
"We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do any more damage to the Guild," she said quickly.
"Before we head for the Guild, Gallus's journal mentioned something called the Twilight Sepulcher."
"You've come this far, I see no harm in consealing it any longer. The Twilight Sepulcher is the temple of Nocturnal. It is what the Nightingales are sworn to protect with their lives."
"Why does it require that type of protection?"
"Everything that represents Nocturnal's influence is contained within the walls of the Sepulcher. Now it seems that Mercer's broken his oath with Nocturnal and defiled the very thing he swore to protect."
"Thieves and temples. . . It just doesn't add up."
"I felt the same way when Gallus first revealed these things to me. I think given time, you'll understand what I mean."
"I'd understand better if less mystery was involved."
"As a Nightingale, I have been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher. I know the Guild doesn't do much to foster faith, but I'm going to have to ask you to continue to trust me."
"Very well, we do it your way from now on."
"I'll make for Riften and scout the situation to see what Mercer's up to. When you're ready, come meet me at the Ragged Flagon. In the meantime, I want you to have this. It belong to Gallus, but given the circumstances I think he'd approve."
"I'll put it to good use."
"If the Guild isn't willing to listen to reason, you might have to."
Karliah handed the short, black blade to you. She cast you a weary smile, turned around, and disappeared out the door and into the snowy grounds.
You had only hoped the Guild wouldn't turn on you.
Especially Brynjolf. . .