Hey everyone.

This has been rattling around my head for a while now, and I figure I might as well get it started with and continued while I've got the drive to write it. As you might have guessed, the following is based off the Shivering Isles, but I'm doing my own thing with it somewhat, so I should probably say now that, while there are bits of this that you'll recognise, there are a lot of parts that you won't; I'm bringing in a lot of new character ideas and so forth, and there will be interesting things done.

Anyway, I'm not very good at this whole introduction business, so I'll just let you get on and read it. Do enjoy!




Chapter 1-The Champion


Do not be here when it will come. It is hungry. It is angry. It has plans. Your nice little world which you’re reading this in won’t be all that nice if they come to fruition. Oh no. You lucky, lucky things. You honestly have no idea. Must I explain?

Very well. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin.

Let’s step back. Right now, we are at the end. To begin at the end is impossible. Not impossible, no, not here, nothing is impossible here, but to begin at the end here is implausible. Is that the word I want? No. Unnecessary. It is doing it wrong. Sometimes it works, but here it does not. So let’s take a step back from here.



His fished crashed down, crunching bone. A scream rang out.

“Mercy! Please, mercy!”

“Mercy?” he asked, gauntlet raised above his head, his scarred, battered face contorted with rage. “You want mercy? That’s just too good.”



No, not far enough, further back we go. We need to get to before that. No context. That’s too close to the end for what we want.



He and Her Ladyship turned around on the glass platter as it rose above the city, stepping around one another’s feet as they danced.

“See,” she said. “I told you you’d be good at this; it’s all about the rhythm.”

He nodded, glancing down at their feet self-consciously as they moved.

“Relax,” she said, steering a hand gently down his back, guiding him along. “You’re learning fast, my dear.”

The world spun below them as they danced on their rotating glass platform, hovering in midair.



No, further back still. Is this it? Is this the place?



He pulled himself up the top of the ladder, through the trapdoor, into the great glass globe at the tower’s very top. He stared at the figure sitting cross-legged a few feet from him on a cushion, and the eyes of the man stared back at him.

In a voice as thick and rich as Felldew, Sentinel said; “Ah, you’re here. I saw you coming, you know.”



Not here, no. No, no, where is it? Where do I start?



The Angel of Rage slammed down before him in a landing that sent a cloud of ash blossoming around her. Wings of flame and lightning pinned themselves to her back, and a mace of fire materialised in her hand. Her ruined face twisted into a grimacing snarl as she beheld the intruder.

“Why are you here, mortal?” she demanded. “Why should I not destroy you?”



Not yet. She comes partway through. This is all too late, nobody will understand it, you fool!



They opened with a creak, and he saw it spread before him. A twisted landscape of gnarled roots, growing upwards into the air whilst leafy branches clawed at the ground. Rock formations of shimmering, rainbow stone formed bizarre shapes, ones that seemed to gain form as you looked at them, moved, grew, reached towards you. Faces grew from the scenery, hungry mouths and gasping maws, clawing talons.

He blinked and glanced away, setting off for the city in the distance.



No, not quite. Nearly there, nearly there. Here we are. Here, we begin.



He was drinking to the death of his best friend.

He getting slapped on the back, cheered, toasted, hailed as a hero, bought drinks, and all for the simple reason that he had just killed his best friend.

The night was a blur of tankards, one swallowed after another. There were yells of encouragement, the crowd urging him on once more, their favourite, their hero, their champion. He could only remember them being quiet from earlier, when they had all fallen silent right after that moment.

The taste of ale, the smell of smoke, the offensive eye-watering blur of flaming torches. He couldn’t focus his gaze properly, he noticed, and his tongue felt numb. He was getting drunk. Good.

“’nother drink!” he slurred out, swaying as he did so. Behind and beside him, the rest of the Blue Team cheered their approval and assent, ordering another round. He wasn’t paying tonight. He didn’t know who was paying tonight, and he didn’t care. What he wanted right now was noise. What he wanted right now was cheering. What he wanted right now was distraction.

His head was numb, spinning, buoyant. He managed to grin as complete strangers approached him, shook his hand, and grinning was good. Grinning meant he was happy, and he knew that it was important that he felt happy, that everyone expected him to be happy. He thought he was happy, so he was. He had the ale down the hatch, and that was good. That was a good way to get happy, get happy quickly.

“That’s our Carnius. Ain’t that something? Our Carnius, of all the people.”

That was one of the boasts. One of the favourites

“Waterfront boy, he is. Knew him since he were a kid.”

And there, another. He could pick the threads of conversation out as the Waterfront locals boasted about him, their Carnius, who had grown up around here. A real local hero. Something to boast about. Something to be proud of. Just went to show.

He stood, the sudden movement sending him swaying. There was a chorus of questions about what he was doing, where he was going and he answered them with; “Goin’ out back. Be back in a minute.”

He stumbled outside, moving through the inn, the crowd of blurry faces parting before him. He caught snippets of detail, a grin from an admirer, an alluring look from a hopeful wench, a torch burning in a bracket, a knot in the wooden surface of a table. The din of the tavern muted as he entered the back alley. It was a good tavern, that one. Good stories there. That time he and Agronak had nearly got arrested for brawling, only for the Watch to recognise who they were and haul everyone else off but leave them be, shaking their hands as they did so. That was one of the good ones. One of the favourites.

He urinated down the back wall, in the quiet, concentration taken up by the task at hand, before he finished relieving himself. And then, for a moment, in the quiet that followed, he was drawn back to earlier that day, in the hush that had come. The hush that had come when the battered, broken corpse had slumped to the floor of the arena, armour clattering, as Carnius had stepped back from the body of Agronak Gro-Malog, the Grey Prince. The hush that had come as he had limped away, down to the bloodworks. The hush that had come as he had done so without acknowledging the silent crowd, with the cheering only rumbling into his range of hearing as he had splashed chilly water from the Basin of Restoration onto his face.

And for a moment, the clarity and the harsh reality he had been avoiding since then hit him like the blow from a warhammer. Agronak was dead. He had killed him.

Carnius Hackelt, new Grand Champion of the arena, leant forwards against the wall and quietly wept for what he had just done.

AAAGH!!...WHERE'S THE REST OF IT??!!!...IT FINISHED!!...IT CANNOT FINISH!!...IT HASN'T FINISHED YET!!!...

Oh my (mad)God I love it...*Bounces excitedly like a puppy*...

There's this...



And then...Oh my God there's this bit...



!!!!... ...

If you do not finish this story and tell me what all that meant then I shall come to Nodnol and find you...Even if it takes me knocking on every door in the city...Aaaand then trying to figure out what you actually look like...Damn...Didn't think this threat through did I?...Thermos...

Aaamywho...FINISH IT!!...AS IT HAS ALREADY FINISHED...THEREFORE YOU MUST END IT HERE...

Yes...

An absolute nice one!!!...

*Applauds till his hands burst from sheer joy*...

This is blashphemy. This is madness. This is the Madgod!

Anyways, like the new idea. I was never a Sheogorath fan, nor crazed about his Nut-House realm we all know as the Shivering Isles, but I still think it's cool. Especially Dementia. Dead Grey Princes? And Carnius the new champion? This will be interesting.

"They opened with a creak, and he saw it spread before him. A twisted landscape of gnarled roots, growing upwards into the air whilst leafy branches clawed at the ground. Rock formations of shimmering, rainbow stone formed bizarre shapes, ones that seemed to gain form as you looked at them, moved, grew, reached towards you. Faces grew from the scenery, hungry mouths and gasping maws, clawing talons."

Welcome to th Shivering Isles.

McBadgere: Mmm...kay...

*Surreptitiously reaches for taser*

Cheers, though, and I'm pleased you like what you see. Sentinel and the Angel of Rage will both be expanded upon. They're both awesome. Especially Rage and her sisters. In fact, a lot of the characters I've thought up for this are going to be rather odd and unique. You might even say I'm going a little...

...crazy with them.

I'm a terrible person, I know. If you choose to stop reading from that comment alone, I completely understand.


Darkness Eternal: Thanks very mcuh.

Pleased you liked that bit of description, and expect some more like that; I've been reading quite a bit of Lovecraft lately...

Oh wow. I'm looking forward to this, Colonel Mustard!

Cool story, Colonel! I haven't got SI yet, so I'm kinda lost during the first bits, but I can still kinda relate to what's going on.

I'm also noticing the opening poetry, sweet stuff. It looks like a lady's torso, the way it's centered!

This post has been edited by Lady Saga: May 3 2012, 01:22 AM

Grits: Thanks very much, and I hope you enjoy it!

Lay Saga: Well, those characters/sections are actually all original ones, so you're no more lost than anyone else reading this at the moment; I'm doing a lot of my own thing with the Shivering Isles, so don't worry too much. I'd recommend picking SI up at some point if you get the chance, though; it's probably one of the best TES expansions Bethesda have made.

And I can't say I noticed that poem shape up until now. Huh.


This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: May 3 2012, 06:31 AM

I aim to! Problem is I'm so backlogged with character ideas atm. I want to get to the point where I finish (or feel the story should end) some of my current games. The way it's looking right now, I won't even get to Si until next year!





.

This post has been edited by Lady Saga: May 3 2012, 01:18 AM

A Shivering Isles Fan-Fic? Why in all my years (not many), I've never seen one of these. Colonel, I am really intrigued to see where this goes.

Ah, I know the feeling, Saga. Actually, that's a lie. I kind of make one character to suit a playing style and then do everything with them. Because I'm one of those people with absolutely no sense of romance.

And thanks, Zalphon, though there is Madness Helps Me Save Myself just a few threads down; helped inspire this, I might add.

I see. It must be a personality type or something. Some of us make one character and game with him/her/it forever, while others (myself included) feel the need for multiple characters.

I thought I had one of the biggest character lists around. I've had 12 in Oblivion, 4 so far in Skyrim, and at least 7 or 8 un-created or un-started ideas for characters. But then one day glargg made a list of his characters! His list blows mine away...I think we're talking in the neighborhood of 50 characters so far.

Y U NO ROMANTIC? Well, we all have our own little problems and I guess disinterests. You cna always fill your house with romance novels and watch chick flicks and interview love struck couples

Dude...I'm married, and I have no idea about romance... ...

Update already!!...

Lady Saga: 16, with more planned? Blimey, I've got 3 and I've done a good majority of the main questlines you can do with them...

Darkness Eternal: God no, I'd hate that.

McBadgere: Ask, and ye shall receive.



Chapter 2-Her Ladyship

Carnius walked through the streets of the Imperial City in the same way he always did; disguised and unseen by its people.

To them, he was just an ordinary man, muscular in build with battered features, a scar on his left cheek, a nose that had been broken and clumsily reset. An adventurer, a mercenary, a hired thug or perhaps a soldier. Perhaps not worth the time of someone looking to mug an easy victim, but nothing out of the ordinary.

People only recognised him, Carnius found, when he was wearing his gauntlets. That was his mark, his uniform, and bystanders realised who he was only with those on. The rest of the time, he was nobody.

Today, he liked that. He felt like being nobody. Though he could do without feeling like his skull was lined with dog hair.

He made his way past the tall, vaulted, white stone buildings of the market district of the Empire’s capital, along the cobbled streets. The streets bustled around him, people both rich and poor brushing past him, while the stink of horse dung and sewage pervaded the air. He avoided the main road, where carts and horses rumbled along, and kept a wary eye looking skywards in case anyone was dumping waste out of a window.

His journey had the final destination of the Arena, and as he reached the imposing stone building the sound of cheering reached his ears. A match on, he thought, and judging by the volume and relatively scant enthusiasm of it, probably a pair of pit dogs. He smirked at the realisation that he was able to judge that just from the sound of the crowd, but he supposed that wasn’t surprising; he knew the crowd, knew its moods and fickle favours, had performed for it more times than he cared to remember.

“Carnius,” Hundolin called as he approached, the Arena’s bookie raising a hand in greeting. “Back here already? I though Ysabel was letting you have a little time off.”

“Thought I’d work off the hangover on a punchbag,” Carnius said.

“Might not be happening,” Hundolin said. “Her Ladyship is watching the match at the moment; she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Oh, she is?” Carnius asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll go speak to her.”

So his sponsor had turned up to match the day after he’d won his title as Grand Champion. He’d seen her at the match, of course, but to have her coming back now was surprising. She was probably looking for new talent.

Nobody was quite sure who Her Ladyship was. She was nobility, without a doubt, a duchess or lady or something similar, but anyone Carnius asked was never certain about what she was duchess or lady of. But she had money, excellent taste, was a regular customer to the arena and had, in her time, sponsored several promising gladiators, Carnius included. That sort of thing was enough to make sure people didn’t ask too many questions, even if nobody actually knew her name.

He made his way up through the stands, to the top where the boxes for the richer customers were reserved. At the busier matches, the top corridor was usually lined with bodyguards for each individual box, but this time it was occupied only by the twins Her Ladyship employed. They nodded a greeting to him as he approached, which Carnius returned, and one of them pushed the door open for him.

“I wasn’t expecting a visitor,” Her Ladyship said as Carnius stepped into her private box. “But it’s good to see you, Carnius.”

Carnius was unsure exactly how she had known it was him, but he supposed it was just one of the things Her Ladyships was capable of. A perfectly manicured hand, kept with a near-obsessive meticulousness by some beautician, patted the vacant seat next to her, and she said; “Please, take a seat.”

“Thought you might want to see me,” Carnius said, looking down at the arena. “Seeing as your sponsorship’s over now. Ysabel’s disappointed.”

“I’m sure she’ll live,” Her Ladyship said. “No doubt she’s already lining up candidates for me to invest in.”

This got a chuckle from Carnius.

“Either of those two pit dogs down there worth my coin?” Her Ladyship asked as she noticed the direction of his gaze.

“Blue team one, I reckon,” Carnius said after a thoughtful minute, watching as the Argonian in question blocked a flurry of axe blows from the Nord he was fighting with his shield. The lizard-man made a spirited swing at the yellow team fighter with his flail, but the Nord simply stepped back out of the attack’s reach before it could hit home.

“Really?” Her Ladyship asked. “He appears to be losing. You aren’t just saying that out of a sense of patriotism, are you?”

Carnius shook his head.

“He hasn’t been trained,” he explained. “That Nord’s only winning because he has been. And he’s not exactly making all that good a job of the match.”

“I see,” Her Ladyship said. “A potential Grand Champion, do you think?”

“No,” Carnius said.

“What makes you so sure?” Her Ladyship asked.

“He’s a pit dog,” Carnius replied. “Too early to tell.”

“And when can you tell that someone is a potential Grand Champion, then?”

“When he’s in the arena facing Agro…facing me,” Carnius replied. “That’s when.”

Her Ladyship nodded.

“Well said,” she said.

There was a silence between them as they watched the match. The yellow team’s fighter split the Argonian’s shield, before a kick sent the blue team gladiator sprawling to the floor, knocking his flail from his hand. The Nord’s heavy boot stamped down on his opponent’s chest, pinning him to the ground, axe raised to split his skull.

“Kill him! Kill him!” some members of the crowd chanted as the Nord looked around for confirmation as to whether he should spare the lizard-man before him or not. Beast-folk always seemed to get more people chanting for their blood, Carnius had noted in the past.

“Well, shall we let him live?” Her Ladyship asked. The Nord’s gaze had fallen on her, of course; getting the favour of a noble was a good way to win future funding for better equipment and training, and it always did well to do what they demanded.

“Let him go,” Carnius nodded. “Owyn can give him a dressing down, but he won’t be half bad once he actually figures out how to use that weapon of his properly.”

“Very well,” Her Ladyship said, sounding somewhat disappointed. “If he proves himself, perhaps I’ll give him a little funding. I’m feeling generous, now that my primary investment has paid off so handsomely.”

She stood, and said in a voice that somehow carried, despite the fact that it wasn’t raised; “Spare him; he’s proven himself well enough to earn that.”

The Nord nodded, getting a mixture of cheers and jeers from the crowd, stepping off the Argonian’s chest and allowing the beast-man to rise. The two fighters limped away to their respective exits, each one of them going to their own Fountains of Restoration to heal up.

“I remember your first match quite well, you know,” Her Ladyship said after a moment, returning to her seat. “The youth stepping out of his cage armed with nothing more than a pair of steel gauntlets and punching the other pit dog into submission. You were the first unarmed fighter I’d seen in the arena. Do you remember that, Carnius?”

“Course I do,” Carnius replied as the arena began to empty. How could he forget? That first, bloodthirsty thrill of victory, the elation of the crowd cheering him, and that beautiful, golden-skinned woman standing in her box, smiling at him and raising a goblet of wine in a toast.

That had been nearly fifteen years ago, and somehow Her Ladyship hadn’t aged a day since, keeping her looks of a woman in her mid thirties. Probably some enchantment they put into the makeup of the nobles or another trick like that, he reckoned; it was the sort of thing the rich folk could afford, after all. There were dark rumours that her agelessness was because she was a vampire, but Carnius couldn’t help but feel that that was nonsense. She simply didn’t seem like a vampire; vampires were, according to rumour, able to turn men mute with terror with a look, but when she smiled at Carnius she had a way of somehow making him feel a little taller and a little better about himself. Probably had some High Elf blood in her or something like that.

“So what does the future hold for you then, Carnius?” Her Ladyship asked.

“Now?” Carnius said. “I’m not sure. Training, a few matches here and there, that sort of thing, I suppose. What Agronak did before…you know.”

“You sound like you’re at a bit of a loose end, there,” Her Ladyship said.

“I suppose; I was so focussed on actually become Grand Champion I never actually thought about what I’d do after it.”

Aside from them, the arena was now empty.

“Well,” Her Ladyship said. “Perhaps you will find something new to fill your time soon enough. Maybe it is time to move away from the Arena.”

Carnius snorted at that, and got a raised eyebrow in return.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“It’s a gladiator thing,” Carnius said. “You can’t leave the Arena, once you sign up. Sure, you can go work as a mercenary or an adventurer or something like that, but you can’t leave it.”

“Why not? Is it part of your contract? Are you hunted down if you go?”

“No, it’s just…you can’t leave,” Carnius replied. “It’s a rule, or an obligation, something like that. It’s not written down, but you come here and you stay here. You don’t die of old age; you die down there, in the ring. Every gladiator does.”

“I’ve heard of plenty of who died elsewhere,” Her Ladyship said.

“They aren’t proper gladiators.”

Her Ladyship gave a quiet chuckle at this.

“If you’re sure that you are,” she said. “Then stay.”

Carnius frowned for a minute, trying to figure out what she meant by that, before she rose.

“I suppose I should leave, seeing as the match is over,” she said. “Good luck with holding that title of yours, Grand Champion.”

She swept away towards the door, before Carnius called out; “Wait a minute.”

Her Ladyship stopped.

“Yes?”

“I never asked,” Carnius said. “Why did you choose to sponsor me? Of all the contestants down there in the arena, all that time ago, why me?”

“Because I saw potential for a champion,” Her Ladyship said. “That’s the only reason why.”

“And why do you want a Grand Champion?”

“Everyone needs a champion, sooner or later,” she said. “I’m just looking out for the right person for the job.”

She stepped through the door, and was gone.

Most definately loving the Arena vibe currently going about the place at the mo!!...

Yes, I know this is Imp. City... ...

Love the wander through the Market District, odours and all... ...

The Arena section itself was brilliant...

That Woman™ was a brilliant mixture of charm and creepyness...So very intriguing...Methinks that she's not all that she seems... ...Oh, sorry Her Ladyship™... ...

Fantastic start up...With absolutely no shock will the words - looking forward to much more - be received...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

So Carnius is all about hand to hand, then? Or does he also use weapons?

I particularly liked this line



because some of my characters also get like this. Some days, she (it's always she in this case) just wants to be a "nobody". Not famous. Not recognized for her successes. Just a regular townsperson. My paladin in Oblivion and a cleric I was playing in Skyrim are both like this.

This post has been edited by Lady Saga: May 7 2012, 07:22 PM

Loving the start of this Colonel, the flashing from different beginnings. Tells me that you've got way more in store planned for us!

The character development of your afflicted champion is already intense, a gladiator with feelings, how about that. Can't wait to see what affect the Madgod has on him!

Awaiting the next update eagerly friend.

Hello everyone; sorry for the delay in updating, but my internet connection unexpectedly dropped out on me about a week or so back, so I've only just managed to get a dongle into my laptop now (not sure how long I'll have to read updates of stuff once I'm done posting this up, so I'm basically poking my head through the door). But that's the main reason why an update has been rather slow coming. Apologies.

McBadgere: Thank you very much; charm and slight creepiness was what I was going for with Her Ladyship, so I'm pleased I managed to nail that combination. Glad you liked the rest as well. *Tips hat*

Lady Saga: He's all about hand-to-hand; I do Tae Kwon-Do myself, so I figured I'd go for a fighting style that I know the mechanics of quite well.

And yes, sometimes you just want a nice day in the shade, away from the public eye, don't you?

Illydoor: Egad, you're alive!

I do indeed have a lot of cool ideas in store for all of this, and some of them are going to be very fun to write indeed. And I'm enjoying writing Carnius' character a lot already; the Isles should have a few iunteresting effects.

Thanks very much for reading, everyone!



Chapter 3-The Biggest Runt on Nirn

“Carnius,” Owyn said as the new Grand Champion stepped under one of the arches that supported the Arena’s main structure. “You’re back already? I wasn’t expecting to see you here just yet.”

Carnius shrugged.

“Thought I’d spend some time on the punchbag,” he said. “Got a bit of a headache; work it off.”

“Ahuh? Y’know, Ysabel had a few ideas about what you could do now you’re the new Grand Champion,” Owyn said as Carnius shrugged his shirt off and stepped up to one of the sacks full of straw hanging from the ceiling that he used for training.

“I’ll bet she does,” he said as he began to strike it, a series of rapid blows that thudded against the cheap leather bag.

“She was thinking about matches against animals,” Owyn said as Carnius continued to pound the punchbag. “Maybe once a week; something regular to pull the crowds in.”

Carnius nodded, focusing most of his attention on the leather before him. The point of impact, where he struck again and again, was beginning to sag. If he’d had his gauntlets on, he probably would have ripped it open by now.

Owyn frowned.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Later, Owyn,” Carnius replied, not relenting from the rain of blows he was slamming onto the punchbag.

“Eh, fine,” Owyn said. “I’ve got to go yell at that pit dog about his performance in the ring, anyway.”

The Redguard left, and Carnius’ brow furrowed in concentration as he attacked the bag. It was a relentless activity, and he paused only every minute or so to catch his breath. He’d soon run out of steam just from the sheer remorselessness of it, but it was the sort of thing he wanted to do. You didn’t have to think when you worked over a punchbag; you just hit and hit and hit and hit. The world was pushed to one side, any worries or troubles you had could be lost in the same implacable repetition of striking one blow after another. You just worked away, losing your mind in the rhythm of fists striking against leather and letting the minute drift by.

“Champiiioooon!” a hoarse, rasping voice cheered from behind him all of a sudden. Carnius knew who that was; there was nobody else it could be.

“Hello, Ta’Xarna,” Carnius said, not looking away from his work.

“What’s this?” Ta’Xarna asked from behind him. “Where is Khajiit’s greeting?”

“Said hello, didn’t I?”

This got him a snort of derision, but Carnius ignored it and continued his punching. He was beginning to flag, he could feel, run out of energy, but considering how long he must have been doing it that wasn’t a surprise.

A furry hand waved in front of his eyes and Carnius stepped back out of instinct, pushing it away from him and bringing fists up on an automatic reaction, swivelling on the spot to face Ta’Xarna. The tiny Khajiit just grinned at him.

“Just making sure you were all there,” he said as Carnius lowered his fists. “You pay attention to Khajiit now, yes?”

“Oh sod off, Ta’Xarna,” Carnius replied, shaking his head.

“No,” the Khajiit replied. “You are Grand Champion now. We are celebrating!”

“I celebrated last night,” Carnius said.

“We are celebrating again,” Ta’Xarna replied. “Khajiit is taking you to a tavern, getting drunk, finding a pretty wench and making much love to her. You are doing the same too. Different wench though.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe share if she is pretty enough and no other good women are around.”

“For the Nine’s sake, it’s too early to get drunk,” Carnius said. He frowned and added; “What time is it, anyway?”

“After sunrise and before sunset,” Ta’Xarna said. “And not too early to go and get drunk. Never too early to go and get drunk. Now put a shirt on, we’re going to find a tavern.”

Carnius probably could have told Ta’Xarna to get lost and continued with his work, but that would have had little success in stopping the efforts of the five-foot Khajiit, so he just shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, picking his shirt up from where he had left it and pulling it on. “Let’s go.”

“That’s my boy!” Ta’Xarna said with a clap of his hands, the soft pads on them muffling the noise. “We will find two pretty ladies today! Elves, Khajiit is thinking.”

The Khajiit and the Imperial made a strange pair as they left the arena, the small beast-man chatting animatedly to his fellow who stood a good head taller than him. His arena name, the Mighty Ta’Xarna, largest runt on Nirn, was a joke that only he could like, but despite the fact that the scimitar he fought with was the size of him and he did battle in a jester’s cap, Ta’Xarna was as vicious as they came. Not to mention that the crowd absolutely adored him.

The tavern they picked a waterfront one, despite Ta’Xarna’s protestations that all the women worth his time would be up at one of the fancier establishments in the city. It was dark, quiet and slightly dingy, just what Carnius was looking for, and the rather dumpy barmaid there knew them both well enough.

“Back already, I see,” she remarked as they pushed open the door.

“Eh, we were going to come here again sooner or later,” Ta’Xarna replied as they took a seat at the bar. “Might as well make it sooner.”

This got him a laugh, and he added; “Two meads for this Khajiit and his fine friend.”

“Coming up,” the barmaid nodded, pulling a pair of pewter mugs from under the counter.

“Why did we come here?” Ta’Xarna asked, glancing around at the barely inhabited bar. “I don’t see a single woman here worth Khajiit’s time.”

“You can go and find some later,” Carnius said. “I just want a drink.”

“Fine, fine,” Ta’Xarna asked. “You’re Grand Champion now, I’d think you want to celebrate it a bit more.”

“Just wish Agronak was here,” Carnius said.

Ta’Xarna shrugged.

“I’ll miss him too,” he said. “But he always tugged my ears.”

“Everyone tugs your ears,” Carnius replied, giving a small grin despite himself. To emphasise his point, he grabbed one of Ta’Xarna’s ears and pulled it, earning a yowl of protest, Ta’Xarna flailing a paw to fend him off.

“Leave Khajiit’s ear alone, or you’re going without one,” he growled, bearing his teeth. He shook his head. “Anyway, Agronak’s ear pulling was special. You could tell he really meant it. That always made Khajiit feel loved.”

Carnius nodded, before Ta’Xarna said; “Don’t worry, I’ll let you have a few years as Grand Champion before I go and steal your title.”

“That isn’t funny,” Carnius said, shaking his head as the barmaid set their drinks down in front of them. “Cheers.”

“Is pretty funny for Khajiit,” Ta’Xarna replied.

“Yeah, well you’ve always had a strange sense of humour,” Carnius replied, to which Ta’Xarna shrugged.

“Is normal one for any old Khajiit,” he said. “You Imperials just don’t get it.”

“If you’re sure,” Carnius said. He raised his tankard, and said; “To Agronak.”

“To Agronak,” Ta’Xarna echoed, clinking his against Carnius’. “And all the other good friends we’ve lost in the arena.”

Carnius nodded at that last comment. It was a sobering truth that both them would most likely die on the sands just as the Grey Prince had. It was probably why he wasn’t feeling as bad as he thought he should feel; he’d grown used to this sort of thing.

“Hey!” someone called across the tavern, and Carnius glanced over to see someone hurrying over to him. “Hey, Carnius, lad! I heard about you and the arena.”

Carnius glanced over to see an old man with a walking stick limping towards them, a grin on his weathered, wrinkled face.

“Gannall,” Carnius said as the old man approached. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Suppose not, suppose not,” Gannall said. “I don’t mind, don’t worry; you were probably busy training up till now, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Carnius said slowly, who decided to mention that he had simply been neglecting to come down to the waterfront for a while. “Didn’t you see the match?”

“Couldn’t afford a seat,” the old man said, pulling up a stool. “And I didn’t want to go bothering you for one, before you say that you’d have given me one; I may be poor, but I’m proud. Never begged anything off another man in my life, and I’m not starting now.”

He shook his head.

“To think,” he said. “I knew you since you were a little lad. And now look at you; Grand Champion of the Arena!”

He grinned and clapped Carnius on the shoulder.

“Your old dad would be proud of you, if he was still around to see it,” he said. “We’re all proud of you down here, you know; a Waterfront lad, getting famous from nothing. Just goes to show that there’s hope for us all, eh?”

“Suppose it does,” Carnius said, shifting in his seat as if suddenly uncomfortable. The last thing that had crossed his mind was doing the Imperial City Waterfront, of all places, proud, but if that was what the old man liked to think, then he was welcome to think it, Carnius supposed.

“You know what’s best about you and all this?” Gannall said, completely unaware of any discomfort on Carnius’ behalf. “You stuck with us, despite all your money and fame; you didn’t suddenly brush us all off and go mingling with nobby types and saying that we were good for nothing. You stuck by us. That’s something special, that is.”

“Thanks,” Carnius said, unsure what to say.

“Ah, don’t go thanking me, lad,” Gannall replied. “Y’know what, I’ll leave you and your Khajiit friend to your drinks, but I just wanted to say that. You did a good thing, sticking with your roots.”

He stepped up, and began calling to the barmaid for a drink, and Ta’Xarna watched him go.

“You know,” he said after a moment. “Why do you stay down here, anyway?”

“I just do,” Carnius said. “My house down here is fine. Besides, I was born here.”

“Khajiit was born in the docks in Anvil,” Ta’Xarna replied. “Doesn’t make them any better. As soon as Khajiit had the money to come and be a gladiator, he didn’t stay back in his awful shack in the port. Khajiit got his money and got himself a house. Now look where he lives; big place in the Elven Gardens, with garden, dining room, bedrooms, even a secret cellar for Skooma and Moon Sugar. Where do you live? Run-down hut down here, even though you’re making lots of cash with every fight you do.”

“My house is fine,” Carnius said. “I’m happy with it. Besides, you know I’m no good with numbers; if I tried to buy a place I’d just get ripped off.”

“Who’d do that to you? You’re six feet tall and can punch someone to death.”

“I just don’t think it’s worth the trouble.”

“If you’re sure,” Ta’Xarna said, though Carnius could sense the doubt on the Khajiit’s voice.

The real reason was more than that, but if he told Ta’Xarna then the best he’d get would be bafflement and at worst the Khajiit laughing in his face. Agronak probably would have understood, Carnius reckoned, but not Ta’Xarna, as much as he liked the cheerfully sociopathic beast-man. The reason why he hadn’t moved away was the same reason you never left the Arena once you joined it; if you were part of it, it owned you, forever. If he’d bought a new house with the money he’d won in the arena, nobody would say anything, and nobody would do anything, but there would be that quiet wellspring of resentment that would always bubble away back where he was born. It always happened when people managed to make money and moved away. Had Carnius left, people would quietly remark to themselves; “Carnius thinks he’s Better Than Us. He’s got Ideas that are Above His Station. He’s let it all Go To His Head. He’s Letting The Side Down. He’s Associating With All The Posh Types now.” He’d no longer become a beloved local hero, but instead be the one who sold out to fame and riches and forgot where he came from.

Of course, his sponsoring from Her Ladyship was probably him associating with the posh types in any case, but nobody seemed to have noticed that outside of the arena. After all, why talk about that sort of thing when you could talk about the time that mad Khajiit in the jester’s cap chopped a Nord in half with a scimitar? Or that time the Grey Prince had beaten four men alone, armed with just a short sword?

He drained his drink as that memory jogged something important, rising from his seat.

“Where are you going?” Ta’Xarna asked, frowning. “We’re nowhere near to being drunk.”

“I’ve got something I need to do,” Carnius said.

“Can’t it wait?”

“No,” Carnius replied, putting a handful of septims on the counter. “It’s important. That’s for the mead.”

Ta’Xarna frowned.

“If you insist,” he replied. “Maybe I can go to a place with prettier girls, now. Find those two elves I wanted.”

“Yeah, fine,” Carnius said, hurrying out.

Ta’Xarna shrugged before finishing his own drink, shaking his head as he set it down. If Carnius was gone, he supposed, there was nothing to hold him and his fun back. Now, at least, he might find something worth his time.

Aaawwww!!!!...Ta'Xarna is so sweet!!!...My Gods he made me laugh!...

Loved the idea of him fighting in a jester's hat... ...

They made a good pairing, Carnius all quiet and moody and the Khajiit all funny...Loved it!!...



LMFAO!!...

Love it...

Many brilliants!!...Well done to you Sir!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Just a thing, use italics to emphaize the thoughts. You seemed to have missed it in the last chapters

Dude, I loved the gladiatorial fight in "Her Ladyship". Gives me reason to keep writing so I can reach the arena sections in the other story. Love the Roman effect of the citizens cheering for death of a poor showing. It must be horrible to have your life end at the roar of the howling mob. Her Ladyship, a vampire? No way!

Dood! You do Martial Arts? That kicks @$$. No pun. But it's good to see Carnius do some hand to hand fights himself, a welcome relief from the other combatants. The tavern toast part was interesting, I loved seeing the group toasting to Agronak. The bravado vibe was greately written here, as was the fellowship. And being Grand Champion means you get money and hoez Gold and Wenches.