You’ve already screwed this conversation up pretty badly. You could follow him and try to explain yourself, but you suspect that would just make things worse.

For now, it’s probably best to let him be. Chasing after someone who wants to get away from you is never a good idea. If you leave him alone a bit, though, maybe he’ll realize you weren’t just mocking him this time. He’s still your one lead on your nightmares, and you don’t want to make him hate you. I mean, any more than he already does.

Right now, you should focus on your more immediate, personal problems.

Alas, your delicious sandwich has been slain. Gaius’ blow sent it sprawling from your hand and onto the dusty grass where its saucy, porcine contents splattered forth from its freshly-baked body. It didn’t stand a chance. The sandwich has been rendered completely inedible.

Yeah, just kidding. You’re poor.

You probably could have just gone back to Lenka’s barbecue and asked for another one, but it was already free. Poor or not, you wouldn’t feel right taking advantage of that more than anyone else.

Anyway, it’s only a little dirty. Sort of.

To be honest, you find all the implications of Gaius’ story kind of… discouraging. You’re trying not to think too hard about it or let it bring you down, but the fact that there is someone behind your nightmares means this is more than some simple affliction that will go away with the right potion. It means something out there, probably something more powerful than the Daedric Prince of nightmares, wants you to suffer. And, fuck, you can’t even do anything about it when people want you to suffer.

Maybe there is a second player involved. Some god or daedra you tried praying to years ago finally worked their way down to the bottom of their priority list and saw you needed help.

Even then, it means things are completely out of your control; a quarrel between beings greater than you. And all you can do is sit, wait, and hope for the best.

And that’s never worked.

Maybe you should’ve chased Gaius.

So… fell on hard times, got kicked down into the dirt, picked itself back up, and now has less pickles in it than before.

Oh snap! In your face, Self-Loathing.

You guess it has been a while since you checked it.

Hey! You can kind of see a little! Kind of!

Either that story took way longer than you thought or Lenka knows alchemy and was trying some kind of experiment with those sandwiches.

You’re leaning toward the latter because you can apparently kind of see through walls right now.

I’m pretty sure that dream-thief thing talked to me last night!

What, Gaius says.

You tell him that you were having a really bad nightmare like usual, and then all of a sudden these big, glowing letters appeared.

Big, glowing letters, he says.

Yeah! All lit up like one of those magicka-powered signs outside of a strip club. It was really weird; they basically just told me to stop being afraid.

Big, glowing letters appeared and told you to just stop being afraid, he says.

You nod. What do you think it could mean? Do… you think this somehow could be the cure to both our nightmares? Do you think…

In retrospect, you guess you could have worded that in a way that didn’t sound like complete bullshit.

“Wait – you know something! You’ve figured something out.”

“Vaermina has a theory. An incomplete theory, but one nonetheless deserving of her full attention. Even as conjecture, she has allies who need to know… and enemies who may already. She must leave at once.”

“Our discourse has proved enlightening, bearded human. Should you discover anything further about your dreams or their propagator… this is my home number. Simply employ another capable summoner and contact me post-haste.”

“Hold on, demon. I called you here to provide answers, and you owe me answers – you can’t just leave as soon as you find something! And what about your unsettling painting you were enjoying so much? You didn’t even finish it!”

“The God of Nightmares owes you nothing, mortal. You have expended your usefulness for the time being, and Vaermina has nothing further to gain from you. You’ve brought an important issue to her attention, and now her efforts must be directed elsewhere.”

“But you’ve only left me with even more questions!”

“You are a mortal standing in the presence of a god, fortunate to have received anything at all. As for Vaermina’s wondrous-yet-incomplete nightmare mural-”

“There. Now it is an aesthetic nightmare. You’re welcome, and goodbye.”

The Daedric Prince of nightmares begins to stalk back into the void. You realize this could be your last chance.

“Lady Vaermina – please. In nearly fifteen years of searching, you’re the closest I’ve ever come to finding the cause of my torment. If the culprit behind my dreams nearly eluded a Daedric Prince in her own domain, how am I supposed to find answers? What am I supposed to do?

You half-expect her to continue walking and ignore you, but she turns and gives the slightest smile.

“Simple: ask your dream-thief. Every actor takes their bow sooner or later. Though your unseen malefactor’s actions may give the impression of confidence… Vaermina suspects he is terrified his plan will go astray.”

“W-wait, what do you mean? What does he want me to do? L-”

“-ady Vaermina…”

“If this ‘thief’ you claim is infringing on your domain leaves no name, he’s not doing it as a show of power. He must be doing this for personal revenge against me.”

“While vengeance against a mortal – especially one such as yourself – is certainly understandable and commendable, it does not explain the secrecy. Why enact revenge for so long if not to make the victim cry your name in blissful agony? Why hide your actions from the Lady of Infinite Tortures herself?”

“I mean, he could have just bought a custom nightmare from me if he needed one so direly. They only cost four souls. No need to get sneaky about it.”

“Unless…”

“What if there was a prize afoot? Something so powerful, it could drive one omnipotent being to trespass upon the sphere of another? Something so coveted that it would be kept secret, even from his mortal servant? So indivisible that its seeker would prefer me as an enemy than an accomplice?”

You cock an eyebrow, keeping up with the demon’s meandering line of thought as best you can. “You’re suggesting my nightmares are part of some entity’s gambit to claim a mysterious… prize?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s nothing but the meaningless proddings of a lesser Prince, or another of the Madgod’s vapid games. Or perhaps the prize exists, but your pointless dreams only exist to distract me from the dream-thief‘s true machinations. A red slaughterfish, if you will.”

“You mean a red herring?”

“There is no such thing as a red herring you daft fool.”

Vaermina asks the question before you can.

“Human. You spoke of your so-called ‘nightmares’ persisting for fifteen mortal years.”

“Are those different from immortal y-”

“Was there a particular… context under which they began? A date of significance, or a position in which they would influence your actions?”

“They began the second of First Seed, year 419. I was serving as a swordsman in the Kvatch Guard, morning shift wall duty.”

“How dreadfully mundane. And chronologically irrelevant, months and miles from any event of significance. Did the dreams drive a change in your actions?”

“The dreams quickly taught me to be wary of cultists.”

“Did cultists ever pose a threat to you?”

“Cultists are always a threat. They just happen to never be doing anything wrong whenever I, or anyone I know, sees them.”

“…Grand.”

“I am beginning to suspect this is nothing more than a rival playing against my curiosity. For all the signs of a calculating thief, there is no apparent goal or timing to his actions. The culprit moves with a pointless inelegance, almost as though ac-”

“Vaermina must leave now for reasons entirely unrelated to the secret theory she just developed.”

“Yes, go, shoo! Vaermina has important business to conduct.”

“Now. Mortal,” she begins, “Vaermina was being subtle so you would not have noticed this, but her earlier statements about your ‘nightmares’ were what is known among beings of great power as an ‘un-truth’.”

“Actually, I gathered-”

“In reality, I knew nothing of these nightmares – an occurrence most unusual for an omnipotent being like myself. To put it in the crude terms of a lesser creature:”

“Someone is screwing with us. They are giving you boring, stupid nightmares instead of my perfect, terrifying ones.”

Your blood heats to a slight simmer at the insinuation that your nightmares aren’t terrifying (or at the very least, reasonably apprehensionifying), but you hold your tongue on the matter. “If you’re not the one behind these nightmares, demon, then surely you know who is?”

“Few entities are capable of infringing upon my sphere like this, and even fewer would have the gall to try. But Vaermina has her suspicions.”

“Are you a vampire?”

“No.”

“Are we in the province of Morrowind?”

“No.”

“… Vaermina has exhausted her suspicions.”

“… Has it ever spoken to you?”

“The cultist?”

“The dream. A mask can hide a face, but a voice betrays the actor.”

“Never, I’m afraid. Neither the nightmare nor the monster have ever made any attempt to communicate.”

“A shame. Though in his silence, our dream-thief has left an unwitting clue: the curious calling card of one who values their anonymity.”

Additional resource credit:
Squiggles – nightmare mural

With the monster adequately pacified, you retrieve your list and begin your questioning proper.

You start with the basics, reading your notes word-for-word. “Demon. For nearly fifteen years now, my every sleeping night has been haunted by horrible nightmares-”

“You’re welcome.”

“-And yet, every night it is the same vision. I am alone in a room with a vile, dangerous… cultist.”

“Cultist? Cultists aren’t even…” she trails off and, after a brief hesitation, continues: “Does the dream leave you terrified?”

“It fills me with reasonable apprehension.”

“Is that like fear?”

“It is functionally identical to fear.”

“Then you are right to be scared, mortal, for Vaermina knows your every fear and has shown you a mere fraction of her horrible power! It is through my dark bidding that, every night, you are subjected to these horrors, and it is through my mercy that you awaken every morning in a cold sweat.”

“So you’ve been tormenting me for years with these nightmares?”

“Torment is my sphere, and nightmares my realm. There is certainly no other entity who could be behind it.”

“And why, demon, is it the same dream every night? What meaning is there?”

“A mere mortal could not possibly understand the motives of a god. When Vaermina feeds you these visions – when she casts your mind into that… room full of cultists – it is a gift from her all-knowing will. You have no right to question it.”

“It’s just one cultist.”

“What?”

“The room is just filled with one cultist.”

“How can a room be filled with one cultist?”

“Sometimes he’s really big.”

“That is correct!”

“Vaermina was testing you. About her nightmare, she gave you.”

“May Vaermina speak with this mortal alone?”

Additional resource credit:
Squiggles – priceless works of art

The dark PRINCE OF NIGHTMARES looms menacingly before you. Sworddog flees the premises, but you, being a brave Captain, stand fast and approach. Glaring into the demon’s soulless eyes, you draw your pre-written and ordered list of questions. Though you could care less about wasting her precious time, a MAN OF ACTION such as yourself doesn’t dally with important matters.

“Lady Vaermina answers your summons, mortal, for she saw great import in this meeting. For what vile purposes do you seek her p-”

You cut her off. “Actually, demon, I have a series of questions I need answered.”

“Grand. A pithy mortal who thinks me their librarian. Surely, a god descended here today for better a purpose than fulfilling your inane inquiries. Should you prove of humble service first, then perhaps an arrangement could be devised.”

You take a step toward the monster and glare at her. “I didn’t call you here to serve your will, demon. I am a man of virtue and justice who has paid good money to summon you for answers. Answers you will provide me.”

“Then you’ve insolently wasted both our time,” she growls. “It is my day of summoning and I have deeds I need done, and countless loyal servants who would die for the chance to bask in my glory and spread my horrors across Mundus. To be called upon by a trifling man of virtue who offers me nothing is an act worthy of-”

“Miss Vaermina,” Sigrid interrupts, “I apologize for my good friend’s behavior, and I understand you are surely eager to return to Quagmire and disseminate your mighty terror across the planes. However, I have something that I think… might be of interest to you.”

“…Vaermina will be here for some time. You may ask her anything.”

Additional resource credit:
Squiggles – some inking
Ch’marr – teaching me how to ruin text

“I’ve been in the guard longer than you’ve been alive, breton. I’ve seen frenzied trolls burst forth from the ground, men get ripped to shreds by land-roving dreugh, zombies tear down entire villages with nothing but their teeth, and that’s all in the last two years. I can hit an imp with a bow at three hundred yards, kill a grizzly bear in hand-to-hand combat, and cut a man in half with one swing of a sword. ‘Trembling with fear’ isn’t in my vocabulary. I handle the fear, so you prissy magefolk never have to see it.”

“Ah yes,” he says, “forgive me for ever doubting you, Captain Atrum. I was under the mistaken impression that a certain fear was why you sought this meeting out to begin with.”

“There’s a difference between trembling with fear and trembling with reasonable apprehension,” you explain. “Perfectly brave Men Of Action can still tremble with reasonable apprehension, or have recurring, nightly, reasonable-apprehension-inducing nightmares.”

“Also, take off that hood. I find it… unsuitable.”

“I like my hood, Captain Atrum. Now come, Sigrid is waiting. We have a summoning to attend, and I don’t wish to miss this opportunity any more than you do.”

You give a nod of vague disapproval and gesture for him to lead on.

“For a priest of the Nine, breton, you seem awfully excited about this demon summoning.”

“The proper term is ‘Daedric Prince’. And please, sheathe your accusations, Captain. I have no interest in the Prince herself. I merely wish to witness her reaction to Sigrid.”

“It will be like a Daedra reacts to any mortal, I assume. Have you reason to expect anything different?”

The priest looks over his shoulder to say something, but hesitates. “It’s complicated. There are many kinds of mortals, Captain.”

“Indeed. Some are… cultists,” you point out grimly.

The priest does not reply. Suspicious.

At least Sigrid can still be trusted. She’s waiting for you when you enter the dining room.

“Gaius!” she exclaims, “it’s been far too long. Here for a chat, or to watch us tear the fabric of the universe asunder?”

“Pleasure as always, Sigrid. Though we both know quite well why I’m here.”

Sigrid sighs. “Yes yes, forgive a young woman her flirtatious pleasantries. You’re here on business. This room is satisfactory, I hope?”

“It’s small. Will that be dangerous?”

“This is a Daedric Prince, so the size shouldn’t matter. I assure you that I’ve taken every reasonable safety precaution: I locked the windows, I pushed the table and chairs out of the way, I even picked up all the flowers on the ground.”

“Did you really pick up the flowers?” you ask.

“Of course not, Gaius, I’m a mage. I set them on fire. Now, my friend over here is more than ready to call forth Vaermina, provided… you brought your half of the payment, of course.”

“Highway robbery, both of you.”

“Yes, but you can’t help but love us for it.”

Sigrid slips out of the room to grab some ice cream while the Cabal mage begins his incantations. Even untrained in magic as you are, you can feel his DARK SORCERIES begin to waft through the room. The air tastes grayer, the colors look bitter, and even Sworddog seems unnerved by the unholy ambiance.

Sigrid still looks unfazed, of course, but she’s Sigrid.

That’s just what she does.

Additional resource credits:
Silence – music
Squiggles – she sketched like half of one of the pictures used

Recap?

You are a man of ACTION and PROBLEM SOLVING. You approach life HEAD-ON, never flinching or stopping to look back. You don’t have time to stand around idly thinking about past events.

But, since you’ve arrived a little ahead of schedule, a bit of recapitulation couldn’t hurt.

You currently stand in the KVATCH MAGES GUILD. A cold wind whistles outside, its ominous hum complementing the dark actions you are about to undertake. For today, after years of searching for answers as to what could be causing your constant, terrifying dreams of CULTIST TERRORS you have perhaps found the means to an answer. For today, you seek an audience with VAERMINA, the DAEDRIC PRINCE OF NIGHTMARES.

The only way for an ordinary, non-cultist mortal to speak face-to-face with a Daedric Prince is through the summoners of the CABAL, an elite group of mages who do not come cheap nor serve just anyone. But the mysterious and alluring alchemist SIGRID has agreed to help you on your plight, scheduling for the unholy Prince of Nightmares to be summoned, here in Kvatch, at the stroke of midnight.

And now, you have arrived in the guild to seek your answers. Midnight rapidly approaches, you have many questions to ask, and you do not intend to squander one moment of this opportunity.

See, this is the sort of pointless nonsense that does absolutely nothing but waste time, unbefitting of a brave man of action such as yourself.

Sure, maybe your compatriots in the guard think your continual suspicions of CULTIST PLOTS are irrational, and maybe they don’t believe your incredibly reasonable assertions that INVISIBLE CULTISTS could be standing around us right now, but that doesn’t mean you should start strapping weapons to a bunch of dogs so they can watch your back while you sleep.

That would be ridiculous.

Anyway, you only have one golden retriever, SWORDDOG, and she is already armed to the hocks.

Good girl. Stay alert.

Now that’s the sort of headstrong ACTION action you can get behind.

You and Sworddog boldly stroll into the Mages Guild to meet Sigrid for the-

Bah, that’s the third time this week you’ve tripped over the TRAPDOOR TO THE TUNNELS. Sigrid really ought to press it down better. You make a mental note to mention this to her.

You also make a physical note and put it on the trapdoor to prevent any further harm. The world is dangerous enough with all those SECRET CULTISTS in it, the last thing it needs is occupational safety hazards.

You continue down the hallway and up the stairs. Sigrid should be waiting for you in the-

Oh, great.

It’s that guy.

“Evening, Captain Atrum. Sworddog. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I said I’d be here, and a Guard Captain does not abandon his obligations without reason,” you say. “Now, where’s Sigrid? We have a demon lord to consult.”

“She’s in the dining room, aiding in the preparations. I’m surprised you aren’t more excited, Captain Atrum. It’s not every day a Daedric Lord is summoned in Kvatch.”

“‘Excited’ is not a word I distribute lightly, breton. And that smile? Creepy. Stop smiling, that’s an order.”

“This is a Mages Guild, Captain. I will take my orders from Sigrid, as will you. Now, you have questions prepared for the Daedric Lord, I assume? Sigrid will gladly ask them for you if you wish, as I doubt Vaermina will want her time on Mundus wasted while you… tremble in fear.”

You are now Captain Gaius Atrum, about one month in the past.