Synne: So then there we was, the whole lot of us, right? All of them cultists lined up along the riverbank and ready to disrobe. They was jus' waitin' for my signal, ya see, my go-ahead. What with me recently bein' made the head priest or somesuch.

Synne: I mentioned that part right? Got 'em all 'ta switch daedra worshippin' 'ta a different prince. They was so pleased wif' my ideas and what-nots that they voted on tha' spot ta' make me their new leader. Converting 'em all 'ta sanguine is real important to the story later on, cause after over-indulgin' wif' food n' wine they got too plump to give much chase! Ha!

Synne: But forget I said that for now.

Synne: Like I was sayin, they all get lined up, ready 'fer the whole ritual orgy deal, and a stiff breeze makes clear as day that they got nothin' on under them funky cult robes, and lemme tell ya, that 'ole breeze also took all the guessin' out of just HOW ready some of 'em were, if'n you catch my meaning. And suddenly that's when it hits me!

Synne: Why, ole' leather-britches had the whole thing planned! Right from the start! A real sharp thinker that one, cause if'n she created a certain kinda "market scarcity" by stealin' a particular type of clothing, she could wipe out all her debts in a single go, ya follow? So I gets this big ole' grin on my mug and then-

Mystra: "No"

Synne: then I orders 'em all to.. huh?

*slight awkward pause*
 

Synne: No? Whaddya mean "no"?

Mystra: Must I? Surely one word is insufficient to confound even your tiny brain.

*awkward silence followed by Mystra rolling her eyes*

Mystra: Very well... No; you did NOT help your friend "Maves" from the thieves' guild steal the undergarments of a cult of 'former Molag-Bal worshippers'
 

Mystra: No; you did NOT skillfully persuade them to switch to the worship of Sanguine by suggesting something like-let me guess-"humpin' is a sight more fun when they scream 'yer name instead of screamin' for mercy";

Mystra: No, you did NOT end up becoming the leader of that cult after being held prisoner for less than a day;

Mystra: and no, your friend "Maves" did not subsequently corner the market on "Daedric-Themed Unmentionables," nor use the profits from the resulting "Undergarment Monopoly" in order to "go legit" and found the Black Briar Meadery.

Mystra: Just... No. None of this ever happened. Enough.

*Synne is stunned into silence and blinks a few times*

Synne: Oh I sees what yer' sayin', ya knows the endin' already... so I musta told ya this one before, huh?

Synne: That makes for a real pain in the vulva, let me tell ya! Right when I was getting 'ta the good part. Geez! Lettin' me go on and on and gettin' all excited when this ain't even the first time ya heard about the infamous "Black Briar Panty-Heist".

Synne: Welp, sorry for the repeats Blue!  Surely ya knows by now I ain't always tha' best at keepin' track of whozbeentold what, so don't hold'er against me!

*more silence and eye rolling*

Mystra: I regret to convey that this deduction is as inaccurate as usual. Tragically, you suffer from the incurable condition of being "utterly predictable", whilst I suffer from an equally tragic condition known as "not-being-ponderously-slow-witted."

*Synne makes a little bit of a grumpy face that gives way to a cheeky grin, suggesting she is about to launch into another entirely unrelated story*
 

Mystra, makes note of this and quickly cuts her off: And to elaborate, where I might normally be better served by ignoring yet another obscene yarn undoubtedly even more perverse than one involving Maven Blackbriar and a cult of "rape-worshippers," in this situation,

Mystra: AND I DO MEAN THIS *PARTICULAR SITUATION*
 

Mystra: it serves NEITHER of us for you to devote your-and I am being generous-limited mental energy to inventing ludicrous backstories about people whom you have never met.

Mystra: The FALMER.

Mystra: Remember?
 

Mystra: REMEMBER THE FALMER!?

*It is now apparent that Synne, Mystra, and Poxy are currently trapped on the other side of a door by what appears to be a veritable army of very angry Falmer and Chaurus. A large barricade of strangely glowing green-ice formed around the door is seemingly the only thing keeping them out. Despite this impediment, several Falmer are coordinating Chaurus in rotating shifts in an attempt to break down the door*

*Synne stares blankly for a fraction of a second and then starts cackling*

Synne, gesturing towards the barricaded door: Oh yeah, them wormy inbred-lookin' elves sure seemed cheesed off about somethings or other, didn't they Blue?
 

*A sound that resembles magical fire can be heard coming from the other side of the door. The sounds of flame are quickly followed by muffled but distinctly horrific gagging and choking sounds. It seems as though the strange green-glowing ice has been laced with a potent toxin that is rapidly converted into a deadly gas if heated spontaneously, one powerful enough to poison even the Falmer!*

*A very slight grin creeps onto Mystra's face when she hears the Falmer succumbing to her clever trap*

*The sound of dull rhythmic impacts on the ice now resumes, as the Falmer have resumed a mundane attempt to batter down the door. They have correctly concluded that while the ice can be melted easily enough, doing so will lead to the rapid release of a huge quantity of noxious gas. Unsurprisingly, they have also correctly determined that continuing to melt the ice block will result in the combined death of the entire Falmer army, sans Chaurus*

*Now confident that she has bought some time to think, Mystra's eyes begin darting back and forth, actively surveying the room and present surroundings. She is clearly multi-tasking and appears to be coming up with a plan to get out of this situation alive while simultaneously attempting (perhaps futilely) to keep Synne grounded in reality*

Synne: Lemme tell ya, folks what for a dozen generations been sproutin' offa tha' same branch of their 'ole family tree, and specially folks that ain't got no eyeballs, ya think they'd be less prone ta' carin' 'bout some pretty little thing like yours-truly describing how downright ugly all their relatives would be ta' behold if'n they had peepers!

*Mystra turns and glares at Synne*

Mystra: I will not waste even the *tiniest* portion of my intellect on comprehending that nonsensical explanation you just proposed, nor when exactly you believe this interaction took place. There was no point at any time during the last 24 hours where a conversation took place between you and a Falmer. It did NOT happen.

Mystra: I believe our PRESENT situation, rather than some sort of discussion regarding the attractiveness of anyone's relatives, is the result of your attempt to sculpt a human-sized pile of chaurus eggs into some kind of statue of a Dwemer.

Mystra: A statue that you subsequently used your magic to LIGHT ON FIRE, while shouting at the top of your lungs-
 

Mystra: -what was it again?

Mystra: Oh yes-"ALL HAIL THE BENEVOLENT DWEMER OVERLORDS!  BETTER TA' BURN OUT THAN TA' FADE AWAY YA' BUG HUMPIN' WIERDOS. WHO WANTS EGGS FOR BREAKFAST?!"

*Synne does not seem even slightly embarrassed by this vivid description, nor by Mystra's disturbingly accurate impression of her. She instead bursts into laughter*
 

Synne: Bwahahaha! One of my finer moments, weren't it Blue? And I gotta say... ya tells it so beautifully! Brings a tear to me eye hearin' my heroic deeds told with such fine narratin'.

Synne turns to gesture at Mystra's familiar- Poxy(the Pox Golem): Ain't that right Pebbles? Blue sure can tell 'em! Forgot the best part though, din't she? That Dwemer-statue was showin' 'em where they could shove it!  With both hands! Ha!

*Poxy was not aware she was part of this conversation. She has been listening quietly while staying out of the way. Being asked to evaluate Synne's comment leads her to deduce confusion is the socially appropriate response*

*Poxy now appears mildly confused*

*Mystra's eyes narrow and the vein in her forehead sticks out*
 

Mystra: Need I remind you of another minor detail which, like so many other facts, has slipped effortlessly out of that ignorance-lubricated brain of yours?

Synne, gesturing at Poxy: Heh, heh, kinky. Yer mistress is talkin' 'bout lubed-up ear holes, stoneybuns. Think there's a story behind that?

*Poxy now concludes that she is actively involved in this discussion, although it remains unclear how she became involved, nor how a social interaction that had appeared to be a form of story-telling somehow turned into a scolding-lecture.
 

Further, Poxy does not understand Synne's comment regarding 'ear-holes'. However, nickname references to the igneous-rock nature of Poxy's gluteal or mammary regions are not unexpected.
 

Additionally, Poxy's empathic-simulation-spell notes that entity_synne often solicits unnecessary input as a tool for joke-telling and determines a "knowing smile" is the anticipated social response*
 

*Poxy smiles knowingly*

Mystra: This minor detail, I am, of course, referring to, is the brilliant perceptual camouflage potion, the one which I designed-and brewed-from scratch.

Mystra: The one which enabled us to undertake this expedition while radiating an aura-of-disregard, similar to how Night Nymph magic works above ground, causing both the Falmer and Chaurus to see our presence as routine and ordinary, thus paying no attention to us?

Mystra, becoming increasingly agitated: The detail about how *MY* potion was *SO* effective that they stood there and ignored me while I drew blood from their arms!?

Synne: Well, shucks blue, I was getting bored an' all watchin' you collect all of 'em "blood samples" so-

Mystra is in full on rant-mode now, so Synne's response has become irrelevant to her: And upon seeing how AMAZINGLY EFFECTIVE the aura produced by my magical potion was, you decided the best use of this aura, which you waited all of 15 minutes to flagrantly abuse, was to loot the chaurus nests, spit in faces of some Falmer whilst grabbing other Falmer by the arm and loudly insisting that they 'stop hitting themselves', and otherwise push the limits of EXACTLY how much you could say or do before they stopped ignoring us.

Mystra: It seems as though your experiment has determined that no matter how little concern they have for our presence, using their symbiotic livestock's unborn offspring as components for some kind of disturbing performance art involving their hated slave-master race, screaming obscenities, and finally creating a bright green bonfire of magical flames from those offspring reaches a level so far from typical behavior that NO ONE.  ANYWHERE.  WITH ANY AMOUNT OF MAGIC.  WOULD *EVER* CONSIDER TO BE PART OF A NORMAL DAY.

Mystra finishes ranting, and takes a deep breath. She has almost figured out how to get them out of this situation, but then glances at Poxy, and launches into another seemingly unrelated rant.

Mystra: And stop teaching my Golem to believe that the alternating pattern of abominable filth and outright lies spewing from that perpetually-open orifice on your face equates to "normal conversation"!  She is not some amateur construct powered by a crude soul-trapped animal soul.
 

*1. Recognize: Creator_Mystra is describing Golem function and design in boastful manner.

2. Response: Temporarily suspending autonomous behavior and entering showcase mode.

*Poxy assumes a proud pose*

Mystra: She is an artificially-created-being imbued with a completely synthetic arcane-recursive “grey essence” soul, a magical construct whose sophistication rivals the mechanical constructs created by the Dwemer or, dare I say, even those of Sotha-Sil himself!
 

Mystra: Do you have *ANY* idea how long it took to perfect her self-correcting social behavior/interaction enchantments?! Not that anyone with your level of ignorance could even begin to appreciate such a masterwork!
 

Mystra: Her entire personality-matrix depends on integrating the baseline behavior of the people she meets into a range-of-behavior array. If she spends enough time listening to your absurd stories she will never realize how socially unacceptable your behavior actually is. You are stunting her growth!
 

*Poxy hears this.*

*Showcase mode interrupted*
 

1. Recognize: Creator_Mystra has used words relating to Golem social learning.

2. Recognize: Creator_Mystra has made reference to potential improper social response.

3. Response: Initiate self-correcting subroutine

Part 9 subsection B

*Poxy appears very confused*

*Dull thuds have been echoing from the other side of the door for quite some time. However, possibly in response to Mystra's long-winded, repeated, and very loud ranting, these echoes have begun to escalate in intensity and frequency. *

Synne, who has been patiently waiting for Mystra to finish her ranting: Awright Blue, I get it, yer all worked up about how I spoiled that fancy potion by havin' a little fun. So...My bad?

*The impacts now sound like multiple large insects slamming themselves violently into the door with no concern for their well being. The Falmer must be losing patience with the coordinated efforts by teams of Chaurus and are now driving their insectoid companions into a frenzy in a bid to gain entry as soon as possible.*
 

Synne: Ain't like anybody doubts yer a real genius, and it was a swell 'ole potion, which ya seemed real proud of but... unless ya plans on makin' this yer final moment 'pon this world, I hope ya got some idea how'r we gonna get our shapely butts outta here?

Synne: 'Nless I'm mistaken there somethin' like, say, two hundred of them wormy-elves and more'n a hundred o' their sturdy fuck-bug buddies 'ta boot. The two o' us ain't gonna come out on top with odds that stilted and there ain't any clear routes we can use ta' skedaddle our way back to tha' surface.

*Synne turns and waves at Poxy.*
 

*Poxy politely waves back at Synne*

Synne: Why, we ain't likely ta pull this'n off, not even if lil' miss granite-groin charges in first 'ta soften 'em up two or three times.

Synne: I know sealin' this breach up all iced-over took some of tha' wind from ya, but tell me you gots' enuff magicka left 'ta rebuild her a few times mid-fight, right Blue?

*Poxy notes atypical stone/anatomical reference. Poxy begins adding synonyms for genitals to the predictive list of stone/anatomical combination nicknames that are part of expected use by entity_Synne*

Mystra: Even were my reserves sufficient, that would remain the least efficient and most inane use of my prodigious talents.

*The magical ice finally begins to crack and the heavy metal door starts to buckle under the fierce battering. It is unlikely to hold out for more than a few more minutes under this assault.*

Mystra: Besides, do you understand what the consequences of multiple subsequent de-constructive events are for my Golem's sentient personality matrix? It will take weeks to get her behaving normally again!

Mystra: Do you remember that one time a few months back when she wrote out a will? I re-built her and she immediately went to procure quill, ink, and paper, then wrote out her last will and testament.

Synne: Ya know, I almost forgot about that. Strange day for sure.

Mystra: Strange doesn't even begin to describe it.  Outside of a basic ethical groundwork, I have never taught her any codes of law, nor has there been any occasion where I observed her reading books on the subject.

Mystra: So the most disturbing part of the entire document was the fact that it was drawn up in a comprehensive, precisely worded, and legally binding format. Not to mention adding her signature, “Pox Golem” at the end.
 

Synne: She wouldn't be talked out of it neither! Just kept silently shakin' that shiny marble head and insistin' her bizarre signed document get taken to tha' provincial registry.

Mystra: Exactly! What could POSSIBLY account for such behavior!?
 

Synne: Yer' right on that one bein' waaaaay over on tha' spooky side. Freaked me out too, not least of all cause she don't own nothin' for nobody ta' inherit. Ha!
 

*Poxy is aware that she is the subject of conversation.*
 

1. Recognize: Local Danger level is rising exponentially.

2. Recognize: Input not yet solicited, social behavior will now be set to low priority until danger falls below threshold.

3. Response: Rerouting arcane energy, Calculating outcomes: Combat.

Part 12 Subsection B

*Poxy moves toward the door*

*Poxy appears ready for combat*

Synne: Well how bout that, Blue? It looks like Butler-Babe has made up her own mind, don't it? Ain't no use talkin' her out of it neither. That's what ya' get for makin' a statue what thinks 'fer itself!

Mystra: ...Hmph.

Mystra: Nevertheless, if you can postpone any further pointlessly graphic stories for the present interval, I have formulated a sufficiently effective tactical plan. The odds of our combined survival are still unfavorable, but the likelihood of one of us making it out alive approaches 84%. Plus or minus 1%.

Synne: Not bad odds! About time Short-stuff! Why, that'd be the whole reason 'fer us teamin' up, huh? If'n ya had total faith in that magic potion o' yers, ya wouldn't need me taggin' along now, would ya? I think ya' knew all along that ya' might need my kinda muscle and maybe just a pinch of my 'ole DOOOOOM magic too.

Mystra glares at Synne.

Synne: Now I know ya' ain't too inclined ta' give me the benefit o' the doubt on this one, but I've been doin' some real harsh trainin' since last we teamed up. Bet I can rack up more blind bodies than you and marble-muff combined! Sides' this ain't the first time I had to kill me a whole bunch'a worm-faced elf boys.

Synne: Did I ever tell ya about that one adventurer who was lookin' ta' find one-o-them Elder Scrolls or whatnot down somewheres called Mzincleavage... or Mznormousphallus or...?
 

Synne: Well tha' name ain't important.
 

Synne: As adventurers go, not a big talker that one, but real good 'n a tussle. Hell of a nice lookin' behind too, lemme tell ya.

Synne: Sure didn't mind tha' view while followin' 10 steps in tha' rear, heh heh.

Synne: Ya catch my meanin', little lady?

Mystra: What did I *JUST* convey about the necessity of postponing storytime!?
 

Mystra: And only you would want to turn what is essentially MASS-MURDER-

Mystra: -into to some kind of twisted contest. Assuming we even survive!

Mystra: Ugh.

Mystra: ...And don't call me short!

Synne: Ha! There it is! Wonderin' how long it was gonna take ya to get 'ta yelling 'bout that part.

Mystra, muttering to herself: ...Without fail, on every occasion I bring this *ignorant* along an identical sequence plays out. Smooth planning.  Endless preposterous stories.  No self-control.  Idiotic impulses.  Angry locals.  Fight, run, or die.

Mystra: ...When will I learn?

Synne leaning over to meet Mystra at eye level with a devilish grin on her face: It don't look like it's gonna be today, Shorty!

Mystra: Hmph. Imagine my surprise to discover you were being honest about your training. Your new combat potential exceeded the estimations I used when calculating our odds of survival.
 

Synne: Toldja' Blue! I was hanging around this Bigshot-adventurer for a while lookin' ta' fulfill some legendary prophecy or what-haves-you. We found one-o-them Elder Scrolls, too!

Mystra, clearly not believing a word Synne says: Fine.  Your strength has improved, that is all.  The details are unimportant.

*silence*

Synne is apparently fatigued enough from their ordeal that she is content to take a moment to rest without the need for further conversation or lewd story-telling.

Mystra, now certain that they have reached relative safety, and grateful for the momentary quiet time, begins mentally sorting through the day's events.

After a few moments, Mystra recalls several items that she did not have the time to appreciate while their lives were in danger

Mystra: Hmm... although I am loathe to bring the subject up again...
 

Mystra: That was a... remarkably life-like sculpture of a Dwemer. Obscene pose notwithstanding.
 

Synne: Ha! Yeah, saw a sketch of 'em in a book ages ago. Ain't the easiest thing to sculpt outta bug eggs on a whim neither, believe-you-me!

Mystra: How did you manage to fabricate such a complex structure utilizing only spherical eggs?

Synne: Huh? Oh, well ya' see, it weren't just the eggs. I squished some of them littler bugs flat an' used 'em fer scaffolding. Got the idea from how them wormy-elves wear the bug-shells as armor.

Mystra, now regretting she raised the topic: ... lovely.

Mystra, reluctant to admit her curiosity but eager to change the subject: What was that shield spell? It did not resonate magic at all. The sensation was akin to a magical void, the same impression radiated from your flame magic. I am uncertain I have ever encountered anything like it before.

Synne: Oh, ya noticed my shield, didja' Blue? That hocus-pocus is a brand new creation of yours-truly. Since them regular magic shields are called stone-flesh or what not, so's I calls it my 'Sin-flesh'.

Synne: Catchy, huh?

Mystra: How... predictable.

Synne: And yer right 'bout the nature of it. ain't much different than my Sin flames. I don't gotta tells ya' that I got no fondness for learnin' books full o' magic like you, but I still know a spell or two what comes in handy.

Synne: Now I don't put much stock in words like “magic resonance” but yer spot on, my DOOOOM magic sure has a different feel to it. Like, with them plain-old book learned spells, there's a process ya know? A magic routine ya' gotta follow to cast 'em proper. Drab, for sure!

Mystra: Not the most accurate description, but I nonetheless deduce your meaning.

Mystra, explaining: Magic is normally performed with magicka as one would perform a song on a musical instrument. There is sequence, timing, progression. A formula.
 

Synne: See, ya always tells this sorta bookish thing way better'n me Blue! Anyhows, that's how yer run-o-the-mill spells go, but my own magic feels proper different, like I said.
 

Mystra, rather than trying to ignore her, is now paying unusually careful attention to Synne: in what way?

Synne: Awright so, it takes some o' my wind outta me, some brainy-energy, but I don't gotta focus too hard on it. It don't take the 'mental effort' that boring 'ole regular spells do.

Mystra: Ah. That explains why someone like *you* can utilize it to such great effect.

Synne: Aww, don't be like that Blue, we both know I ain't yer equal at this kinda thing, ya don't gotta rub it in.

Synne: Anyhows, with my magic, I just think it, and it happens, see?

Mystra: ...What?  That's impossible.

Synne: Yeah, that don't make much sense, huh?  But that's how it goes!

Mystra: So your void-fire-magic requires 'thinking'?  Hmph.  I am astounded you can even light a candle.

Synne: Geez, yer even more o'a grump than usual Blue!  Awright, lemme try ta' explain it 'nother way. 

Synne: Ok so, I know how things are in the world right now, ya follow? But I just gotta see 'em differently in my mind.

Synne: When I get in a pinch, the thought pops in my noggin' that I should jus' burn everything down, an' so I hold out my hand an' picture it just like that.

Synne: Then it's like, the world changes ta' match what I'm thinkin'!

Mystra: Wait, what? You expect me to believe this?

Synne:  Huh? I thought I explained it real clear that time. 

Synne: I mean, sure, it tires me out, ya know, mentally, jus' like regular spellslingin'.  I ain't suggestin' it takes no energy ta' use it. 

Synne: But it sure seems ta' get easier ta' make bigger changes, I mean, my mind-changes-to-tha'-world-I-see, as I keep practicin'.

Mystra: I'm not sure that's...

Synne: Oh.  Come ta' think of it, I s'pose it don't even gotta be flames and fire, that's just what seems ta' come most natural. Huh. Never really thought 'bout trying something different.

Mystra, despite her earlier insults, is not only fascinated, but becoming increasingly alarmed by this description.

Synne: Oh! Wouldn't know what this has ta' do wif' nothin', but lately when I use my magic I keep gettin' mental flashes of this picture o' a wheel or somesuch.

Synne: Like, a wagon wheel?

Mystra: ..!

Synne: Ya know, the kinda wheel with spokes comin' out tha' middle.

Mystra: ..!!

Synne: Maybe it's nothin'. I only mention it cause maybe it might mean something to ya' Blue, and cause when I see tha' 'wheel' thing in my head I feel like I don't get as tired using my magic. 

Synne: An' I tell ya' what, every time I see that ole' wheel I get this funny feelin' like I could keep makin' more an' more changes, maybe change tha' whole world, if'n I wanted.  Strange, huh?

Synne looks expectantly at Mystra, obviously awaiting a response.

Reluctant to believe anything that Synne says about ANY subject, Mystra is uncertain what to make of this.

Mystra, giving the most minimal response she can that will discourage further questions, answers: Hmm. Yes. Strange.

Despite her outward attempts to show a lack of interest, however, Mystra is now preoccupied with a frenzied internal debate,

(It couldn't... is that... is she describing The Tower?

I can't tell if... it doesn't sound like she's lying.  For once. 

But...

No... that's impossible.

Especially for an ignorant such as her.

Still... if she... the implications could be...

Yes, it is highly unlikely...

But... her?

"Walking the Ways"?

A terrifying thought...

Truly, utterly, terrifying...

Who else in all of Nirn would be worse suited?)

Mystra stops to consider that Synne has not said anything obscene or scandalous in several minutes.
 

Immediately after this realization, Mystra makes a mental note that she MUST invent some bogus expedition she can invite Synne on in the near future, with the true purpose of studying Synne's magic more carefully.

Mystra, deciding (I cannot ignore this, and I cannot be certain unless I test this hypothesis. Additionally, it presents a compelling scenario in which to field-test the efficacy of the new Analytical Mysticism spell Liliwynn and I collaborated on.)

Courier, wearing an expression on his face as though he has bad news to deliver: Ah! Miss Mystra is it? I've been looking for you. I have a package to deliver.

Mystra:...you what? How did-

Synne, interrupting: Ya seems ta' be in an awful hurry to deliver yer 'package' lad. Afraid it's gonna lose some 'firmness' if'n ya don't hurry, that it?

Synne: Only a short window ta' deliver it to tha' lady clientele a'fore it goes soft and ya gotta start all over I'll wager.

Synne: At your age too! What a shame, son, what a shame indeed.

Synne, posing: Well, feel free ta' take in the view of yours-truely. I ain't one ta' be bothered by a few dirty looks an' it's sure ta' help to firm ya up a bit, ha!

The courier is startled by Synne's comment and subsequent posing, but manages to maintain his professionalism.

He tries once more to present the package to Mystra but is again interrupted.

Synne: Why, that reminds me of the time when I got it in my head to see what the fuss is about ole' Hircine's boys. I'm sure Blue here could tell it backwards are forwards by now but as I recall in previous tellin's I was mostly explaining how it were I came to own such a fancy-pants silver sword. There's more ta' the story than that!

Synne: Ya see way back when I heard tell that menfolk what get the curse o' Hircine ain't always feel that all o' their parts get a curse, ya know what I mean?

Synne: Like, maybe some o' them see it as a blessing for what 'shortcomings' they been dealt in life, and so's they seek it out and-

Mystra sighs and cuts her off: Must you?

Synne: Oh, right, I better tell ya the long, heh, heh, and short o' it, or ole' Blue here is gonna get ta' groanin. So anyhows it turns out that they couldn't turn me into one o' them! Fine by me since I figures I ain't the type to look good in fur anyway, ha! But I tell ya, they weren't even good for much fun, neither!

Synne: Ya see, all sorts of wolves are prone to gettin' fleas, right? And wolf-men they ain't no exception ta' this. Only when ya got big ole were-wolf claws lemme tell ya, there's more'n one place you menfolk don't wanna be using em to scratch!

Synne: That's just a given, ain't it? So's they had a devil of a time concentrating on the loveliness of yours-truly, what with all the itchin', and consequently couldn't ever maintain a decent-

Mystra, louder and more irritated: MUST YOU?!

Courier now looks extremely uncomfortable

Mystra clears her throat.

Mystra: Now, as to your original purpose?

Courier looks back at her but his expression suggests he has forgotten what he was doing.

Courier: Umm...

Mystra: Hmph. You spend your entire day performing a singular function, and you need me to remind you?

Courier: I... uh... make deliveries...

Mystra: Thus, your purpose... concerning the package?  The one which you were holding?

Mystra: Honestly.  Are you so egregiously slow-witted that I must spell it out for you?

Mystra: Even accounting for my companion's talent for excessive distraction, I fail to understand this mental lapse.

Courier is slightly flustered by Mystra's blunt and somewhat insulting statement, but is nonetheless brought back on topic.

Courier: My, err, apologies, Miss. Of course. Your package.

Courier: Here you are.  I regret to be the bearer of bad news, but 'tis my duty, after all.  I am to deliver this inheritance to you as per instructions stipulated in the will.

Courier: Now, if you would just sign here.
 

Mystra quickly signs, but now appears absolutely perplexed by this turn of events.
 

Synne: Woah, Blue, get out! Ya mean ta' say someone actually managed ta' stomach yer' callin' em an ignorant dolt day after day?

Synne: And what's more, this thick-skinned geezer what's kicked tha' bucket now got somethin' fer ya' to inherit!

Synne: Not bad, Blue! Never figured ya for the coffin-chaser type, but I reckon that's as good a fit as any, what with all the time ya' spent with stuffy ole' professors back in tha' day.

Mystra, sensing another rambling series-of-outrageous-lies-in-story-form on the verge of tumbling out of Synne's mouth, quickly opens the letter to resolve the mystery.

Mystra and Synne, who was reading over Mystra's shoulder, both look up from the letter with shocked expressions on their faces.

Courier: Ah, well... of course, I am very sorry for your loss.

Courier, apparently believing the women's shocked response is the result of grief: I know how difficult it is to lose a loved one.

Mystra and Synne both continue to stare blankly at the courier.

Courier, still fumbling in his attempts to offer consolation: Err... Especially in these troubled times.

Courier, gesturing at the chest: Quite a tidy sum that was left to you. I hope it helps to ease the pain.

Courier, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the two women continue to stare blankly at him: Umm... Oh! You are free to count for yourself.  I can assure you, every septim is accounted for.

Courier, now attempting to change the subject with awkward small talk: Who was the deceased to you?  I mean... if you don't mind my asking.

The two ladies still say nothing, but both glance back at the towering figure of Poxy, the Pox Golem herself.

The courier has apparently not noticed the fact that a giant, naked, living statue is standing a short distance away.

Courier, continuing his nervous rambling: Poxx-Gulem wasn't it? Strange name, is it Argonian?  Surely not a relative of a... umm, ...breton- I mean-a lovely woman, err, such as yourself.  She was a friend then?

Poxy recognizes her name, and though not fully understanding what is taking place, attempts to determine the appropriate social response to this situation.
 

*Poxy gives the courier a big smile and a thumbs up.*

The Courier, despite being familiar with spells and magecraft, is still visibly shocked to see what he thought was a marble sculpture now making this friendly gesture at him.

Courier, now feeling unbearably anxious, due not only to the silence of the two women, but now also due to what he can only surmise is some kind of giant naked stone monster, one that is continuing to silently smile at him: Err, yes, well, if there is nothing else...  

Courier: Perhaps I should let... perhaps I should give you time to grieve. In peace.  So then.  I will take my leave.  Yes, that seems best.

He barely gets these words out of his mouth before he begins sprinting back over the ridge-line in the direction he came.

Both Synne and Mystra both continue to stare in stunned silence as he fades from view.

Synne: I figures this almost ain't worth askin' Blue, but... does Butler-babe ever... ya know... pick up coins or nothin' when ya ain't lookin?
 

Mystra shakes her head

Synne: Yeah, that don't seem much like her. And it ain't like she got pockets, neither. Where would she keep 'em?

The two of them turn to look at Poxy.

She smiles and gives both of them a friendly gesture.
 

They then turn to look at the chest containing a small fortune in septims.

Synne: Now ya' know me pretty well, right Blue? I ain't one to take sides, or put much stock in, whattya-call-em, current events.

Mystra: Unfortunately.

Synne: Don't matter none to me what battle standard these Nord boys wanna sodomize each other under, ya follow?
 

Mystra groans: ...Unfortunately
 

Synne: But yer' awful clever, Blue! D'ya think it's a good idea to have an “Independent Skyrim” ruled by a “High-King” who...
 

Synne: well...err... a king who manages his finances-
 

Synne gestures at the very large and inexplicable pile of gold coins: -like... this?

Mystra: Hmph.  I hardly think any would-be-king who manages his finances like *THAT* is likely to win ANY wars.  Least of all a war to claim his supposed-rights to the throne.

Mystra glances up at Poxy and thinks for a moment

Mystra: On second thought, though perhaps not ideal for the province, it would certainly be to my advantage should Ulfric become King.

Synne: Err, how'd ya figure that one, Blue?

Mystra smirks

Mystra: A king who pays non-existent inheritances based on a fraudulent will drafted by an automaton?  Regardless of whether this automaton is actually deceased or owns any property?

Mystra: A king who, after collecting a ten percent tax, apparently pays said inheritance out of his own treasury without even realizing it? 

Mystra: A king who employs couriers to deliver this inheritance to the next-of-kin without even once questioning the authenticity of this nonsense?  Not to mention describing as "a trusted courier" one who is so moronic that he delivers this inheritance while the supposedly deceased automaton is standing-QUITE LITERALLY-right in front of him the entire time?

Mystra casually picks up the chest.

Mystra: Why, with a king like that? 

Mystra: It would only be a matter of months before I am an exceedingly wealthy woman!