Boethiah had a cult out in the mountainside. For a young, dumb adventurer, their tournaments seemed like great practice. After all, what screamed challenge like a fight to the death against a Daedra's followers? So on you marched. You get there just in time to see the first match. It's brutal. You're herded onto the ring no sooner than the other combatant falls dead. The victor looks at you with a grin. It falls flat as you slay them. Then the next falls and the next after that. With a trembling hand, you leave the grounds of the now dead cult. As you make it back to your city, a voice echoes in your head.

Boethiah: "You... You slew my cult and now you escape? What are your motives, mortal? You've gained my attention. A poor decision for you. Now speak. You're under the eye of a lord after all." The feminine voice is strong and gruff. This couldn't be good.