"Fourteen years ago, your father and I were hunting. You know we were in Black Marsh, right?" Mother says, with that sad look on her face.

"Yes," I answer, confused.

"Well, it was a damn bad place to hunt. We could hardly find anything. What we did end up finding though was a patrol of Thalmor," she continued.

I nod.

"They randomly attacked us, unprovoked. I don't know why they did it, but both your father and I underestimated them, ultimately ending his life. This is too painful to talk about though, so I can give you more details later. Right now, I have someone to kill."

"What, why?" I ask, feeling even more confused. Her answer to my question had just brought up about a million of them.

"Reasons you won't understand."

She then exits the room, and I eventually hear her leave the inn. I sit there silently for a while, processing what she just told me.

'Why would she lie? She could have just told me and Frey that the Thalmor killed father.'

'Then again, now I kind of want to commit genocide on them, so maybe that's why. I was pretty young, so I would have just gotten myself hurt.'

Frey then comes in, still chewing the remains of his jerky. "What did Mother say?" he asks.

I sigh. "Well, apparently we've been living off of lies our whole lives. Thalmor killed Father, not a sabre cat and some wolves."

He sort of freezes, as though contemplating his life choices.

"Well, that's certainly . . . something. Let's go kill something," he responds, looking confused, and slightly worried.

"Mother said she was going to kill someone, so we should probably stop her. If she's caught, then we'll be stranded in Valenwood for the few years she's stuck in prison," I tell him, my concern growing by the second.

He nods, and we leave the room.

Outside, we suddenly hear yelling. A bunch of Bosmer come from one of the paths, all of them wielding some sort of . . . household item? 'Why?' I think to myself, feeling very, very confused.

"Stop them! They're trying to escape, the tree murderers!" one of them yells.

'What?'

The mob of Bosmer came at us.

"Frey! What in Ysmir's beard is going on?" I shout to him, wondering if he knows anything about the deranged elves stampeding towards us.

"I don't know, maybe they hate you for burning up a few trees!" he yells back.

'Well, that seems valid. I did destroy a few of them, doing target practice with my variety of weapons.'

The screaming horde of Wood Elves descends upon us, and I'm immediately poked and prodded by swords, pitchforks, shovels, and many other random sharp items. One person nearly set himself on fire with a torch.

Quickly, I unsheathed my sword.

It was ineffective, however, because there were so many Bosmer around me that I couldn't see what I was doing. I quickly lost my sword in the crowd. Frey screamed somewhere in the sea of elves.

'What in Oblivion is going on!?!' I think wildly, as many small injuries start sending white hot pricks of pain throughout my body.

"AH!" I yell, as someone finally manages to pierce my thick leather armor, and impale me.

My internal organs scream in pain, as the Bosmer soldier glares at me, and I begin succumbing to the strange crowd.

I accept my demise, and my mind blacks out, eventually killing me.

AN: Happy April Fools! I don't care if it's not actually April for some of you in the world, because I live in Murica, and here we are in April. So I hope nobody died while reading this chapter, because I put it together in literally fifteen minutes.

The next real chapters will be a lot more serious and realistic than this one though, so prepare yourself for the worst! I cried inwardly while making the latest chapter. Be warned: It's cringy. Then again, this book is cringe . . . I think we'll live with a bit more. Maybe.

Enjoy!