Blacktail Deer Plateau this is the end of the world you know

deathbringer, greets ingram as his dagger draws near.

the dagger poses the very question that has been plaguing ingram itself.

i do not know. ingram admits after a prolonged moment of contemplation. he is a daedra; a wild and untamed and dark thing that struggles beneath the rule of another.

but the marauder is good at playing roles, at wearing masks to ensure his own survival.

if basilica faces the neverending, devouring night there is naught we can do. aside from let the night devour. but night gives birth to a new dawn. the silver lining is there and ingram is determined to keep a weather eye upon it.

riddles upon riddles.

a not actual answer to the question posed to him. he could, after all, only know what he would do when the time came and even then: he contemplated. there was akashingo but perhaps he could branch out further. he does not know for sure. would not until he was in the moment.

a wiry smirk tugs at the dreadfather's lips. the void would not claim me while i was sick, still, a small cough lingers but he hopes soon that, too, will vanish. the end doesn't always have to be the end, dagger.