Nah, never heard of any of those.

New chapter alert, by the way, introducing a scary new villain character! Eek!

Chapter 11-Altar

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Carnius asked as they looked at the entrance of the ruined building. From their viewpoint, they could see two guards loitering around a few broken columns, the white stone pillars jutting to the sky like bared ribs. The rest of the building complex, one of tumbled walls, half-fallen roofs and overgrown courtyards, sprawled out beyond them.

“Because they’re a bunch of Heretics,” Salyan replied, crouched as she was in the shade of a mushroom tree next to Carnius. “They’re making trouble for the people over at Backbite, and they don’t like my music.”

“To be fair, music isn’t everyone’s thing,” Carnius said.

“I can understand if it isn’t to everybody’s taste,” Salyan said, tugging the cloak of tanned Swattle skin she wore on her back forwards a notch. “But I refuse to be called a bad person simply because of what I am and what I do.”

There was a look of quiet anger eyes, as Carnius glanced over at her, but that evaporated a moment later as she added with a grin; “Besides, you wouldn’t want to leave a girl like me all alone to deal with a bunch of dangerous sorcerers like them, would you?”

“Fine,” Carnius said. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

He glanced over at the two sentries, before he asked Salyan; “You know any frenzy spells?”

“Yes, I know one,” she said.

“Good,” Carnius said. “Hit one of them with it, then the other.”

“You realise his friend will just dispel it, right?” Salyan asked.

“Not if you hit the other one right away,” Carnius said. “One kills the other and then we finish him of before he can come to his senses. And it’s hard to cast spells quickly when you’ve got someone in your face trying to kill you, after all.”

“Good thinking,” Salyan nodded. She raised her lyre, fingers finding a certain string, and as she played spoke what Carnius could only call a note of power.

An angry dischord sliced through the air towards one of the Heretic guards, a thrown dagger of harsh sound. The man turned with a snarl towards his Dunmer companion, raising his hand and calling upon some kind of arcane energy, and with the sound of ripping leather some whipcord-thin creature of jutting ribs and claws appeared from thin air. The Dunmer gave a yell of alarm as he called together magic to stop what he guessed was a frenzying spell, but a second arrow angry noise from Salyan’s lyre halted that; the dispel turned into a crackle of lightning that hit the other Heretic’s summoned creature in the chest.

It stumbled back, but the Mer’s efforts were in vain as the other Heretic drew a mace from his belt and swung for him; it slammed into the side of the Dunmer’s head with a crack and a squelch and the unfortunate Dark Elf collapsed to the ground.

By then, Carnius was moving, bursting from the undergrowth towards the remaining Heretic. He ignored the summoned beast, who was clutching a badly burned chest and wheezing with pain, and he felt arcane energy sent from Salyan’s lyre speed past him and strike the Heretic. The man in question raised his hands to cast a spell, but his fingers just waved uselessly at Carnius as the gladiator approached.

Spitting a curse, he swung down with his mace over his head as Carnius came into his reach, aiming to crush his skull in one blow. Carnius crossed his arms before him, catching the haft of the mace on the vambraces of his gauntlets and halting its path. His front arm pushed up and across over his other wrist, pushing the mace away and leaving the Heretic open, before his back hand lashed out, cracking into the Heretic’s face. He stumbled back with a curse, clutching his broken nose with a free hand and swaying as blood dripped from it.

“Kill him!” the Heretic yelled at his summoned creature. “Kill him, I say!”

The creature charged with a pained shriek, one of its arms extended to strike and the other clutching its injured chest, and Carnius stepped into its reach, jarring it with his right shoulder and sent its swing off-target. He jabbed his elbow into its thin chest, and a moment later swung the back of his fist up and smashed it into the funnel that occupied where its mouth should be. It stumbled away, and he turned his attention to its summoner.

Seeing where Carnius was facing, the Heretic managed to raise his mace in a crude guard, blood still dripping from his crushed nose, and Carnius moved. Three steps covered the distance between them, and he slammed the back of his fist upwards into the haft of the mace, knocking it away before the spiked knuckles of his other gauntlet slammed into the cartilage of his throat. The Heretic collapsed, gagging and choking as he clutched his ruined windpipe, and the fading of the summoned creature that he had called into being marked his passing a few moments later.

“That was bracing!” Salyan remarked as she drew near to Carnius. “We make a good team, you know.”

“Guess so,” the Imperial remarked with a nod. It was true; without that silence spell, dealing with that Heretic and his pet would have been a lot trickier, not to mention that fact that Salyan’s frenzy spell had dealt with the Dunmer who had also stood guard. “Thanks for the help, by the way; reckon I needed it.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Salyan replied. “Now come on, let’s go and kill these people.”

They made their way through the half-ruined entrance of the building, footsteps echoing on the cracked flagstones that paved it. The right wall had tumbled in on itself, allowing sunlight and plant life to interlope on the building’s innards, but the left one was still intact.

“What are those?” Salyan asked suddenly, and from his position a few paces ahead of her Carnius turned around to see the bard examining the still-intact wall. There were carvings on it, weathered and indistinct figures in movement. Carnius squinted at it for a few moments, sensing that the savage swirl of combat was depicted in them, figures wielding weapons, all made faceless by the wearing of time. Many of them seemed to be footsoldiers of some kind, holding swords, shields and bows, while winged figures duelled with what looked like flocks of dragons. Across the top, a pattern of rings was linked together in a long chain that ran along the cracked and water-stained wall. Faint indents that were carved along the bottom of the stone suggested writing of some kind, and Salyan crouched next to them, running her fingers over the carvings with a frown.

“I wonder what that says,” she murmured.

“We can look into it later,” Carnius said. “There’s still a whole group of Heretics around here, and I don’t want to get caught unawares.”

“You’re right,” Salyan nodded, standing up. Her lyre shifted into a different hold in her hands as she stood once more, gripped in the same way a soldier would grasp a weapon.

Carnius lead the way through the ruin, Salyan following not far behind. On occasion they would skirt tumbled piles of rubble or puddles that had formed in the floor, from which multifarious fungi of every shape and form imaginable would sprout. At one point, Carnius had to all but throw himself away from a patch of mould that reacted to him stepping on it by growing greenish teeth and attempting to bite his foot. The walls were covered in carving similar to the ones found by the entry hall,

“Where is everyone?” Salyan asked as they reached a long-neglected courtyard, now overgrown with plants of all kind. All of them were greyish things that looked halfway to death, rot and fungi the only thing that bloomed in any kind of abundance here.

“That’s a good question,” Carnius said. “You’d think if they had sentries posted up they’d be a big enough group to possibly warrant some attention.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find them sooner or later,” Salyan said.

As they continued, the silence of the building began to press on them. It was deserted, graveyard-silent and the only sound they heard for a long while was their own footsteps echoing back at them. The further in they got, the more they expected to run across some band of Heretics, but all they found were more carvings showing some ancient war between unknown antagonists and nothing else. At one point, they came to a room, dominated by a statue of two figures. One, wearing some kind of armour that looked more like it was cut than forged, was standing over a second person who was on his knees and facing away from him; the passage of time had rendered their appearance indistinct, and the only facial features that remained were the faintest impression of a nose and a beard. The armoured figure held a chain in his hands, and it was wrapped around the neck of the one on his knees. Somehow, the erosion that had pervaded the rest of the crumbling building had left the metal of the chain untouched, and as Carnius peered at it he saw that each link was forged to resemble a snake biting its own tail.

“You alright?” he said as he saw Salyan frowning at something.

“Can’t you hear that?” she asked.

“Hear what?”

“That chanting,” she replied, taking a few steps towards a doorway on the opposite side of the room. “I can hear people saying something.”

Before Carnius could stop her, she went through. He followed, hurrying after her as she tried to track the progress of her mysterious sound. Not far along the corridor, the noise reached his ears as well; faint, repetitive noise, too distant and weak to pick up words. As they advanced, that too came into clarity, a cyclic call of some words whose meaning he could not decipher.

They found the source of the noise in a room that sank into the foundations of the building. Salyan and Carnius halted at the top of a stairwell that ran down into a large, square room, one ringed by balconies along either side. At its heart, a group of people were gathered around a solid block of some glowing white crystal, all in the blue robes as worn by the guards outside.

“Let’s get them,” Salyan hissed.

“No,” Carnius replied, voice lowered. “There’s too many for us to fight.”

“It’ll be easy,” she said. “Chuck a few frenzy spells in there and-”

“And they’ll dispel them,” Carnius said. “We aren’t fighting them, not when they’re all together. Besides, I want to see what they were doing.”

He stepped through a doorway to the side, onto one of the balconies where he would be hidden in shadow, and Salyan followed a few moments later. As they did so, one of the Heretic’s number stepped forwards; judging from the fact that her robes were more elaborate and her hair was grey, Carnius guessed she was some kind of leader or elder.

“Jyggalag!” she exclaimed, raising her hands into the air. “Ayat mran zia nasheggorath orotya! Iok threye olorias! Kayan zey yatania!”

“Any ideas what she’s saying?” Carnius asked Salyan.

“No,” Salyan said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that language before.”

“Ikiolyis nethren zayatianis ret!” the priestess cried. She lowered her hands, looking over her congregation. “Bring forth the sacrifice.”

Two of Heretics stepped forth, a third held between them with his hands behind his back. His hood was down, and Carnius recognised him as Lucius, the Imperial’s head held down in an expression of defeat and fear.

“Please,” he managed to mumble to the priestess. “Don’t do this! I’m one of you!”

“I know,” the elder replied, her tone gentle and sympathetic. “This is why you have been chosen for so great an undertaking, brother. Do not be afraid; through your sacrifice, we will help usher in a new age for the Shivering Isles.”

Lucius’ pleas were ignored as other two Heretics forced him onto the altar. The chant began again as the priestess drew a long, straight knife from her belt, the blade cut from the same crystal as the altar, and raised it above her head.

“Ayake!” she cried. “Rathiak kayala Jyggalag zayat!”

Blood spilled upon shining mineral as the blade hit home. Salyan gasped and inched further back into the shadows.

“This is wrong,” she whispered. “Something is very, very wrong.”

The unholy liturgy of words repeated by the Heretics continued, a prayer to some god neither gladiator nor bard wished to comprehend, and spurred on by the unnatural power in the words and blood, the body of Lucius began to rise into the air. His skin began to turn pale and white as his body grew in size and stature. Muscle turned into growing crystalline plates covering a vaguely humanoid figure that hung in the air, turning into a standing position above the altar. In just a few moment, the dreadful transformation was complete, and what had once been an Imperial was now a massive statue of silver-white crystal standing before the armour, the mineral that made it cut to resemble plate armour. In the faceless helm, the blank eye sockets lit up with the dreadful white light of some ancient and cursed star, fuelled by some unholy life, and great crystalline wings unfolded from its back with a ringing, scraping noise, span so great their tips touched either side of the chamber walls. In one of its hands it held a pair of scales, the other a colossal sword, and it gazed upon the congregation before it with a look of dreadful contempt and malice.

Kneel, it ordered in a scraping boom of a voice, and the congregation did as bidden. In their hiding place on the balcony, Carnius and Salyan found their knees sagging on their own accord. Who summons Jyggalag’s Arbitrator of Judgement?

“We are the Heretics of the Isles, my Lord Judgement,” the priestess spoke from where she was on her knees. “Those who reject the lies of the Madgod, who have learned the truth of the Greymarch and Jyggalag and who seek the Prince of Order’s blessing, so that we may spread his will and truth to all the Isles.”

“Greymarch?” Carnius heard Salyan murmured by his side. “I thought that was just a story.”

Blessing? the colossal figure, Judgement, asked. What are you, mortal, to presume to ask for such a thing?

“A mere pawn,” the priestess replied. “A slave willing to serve the Tyrant of Tyrants. We petition with blood and chant and sacrifice, as laid down in the rituals of the Greymarch. We know that the salvation of the Isles is soon to be at hand, and wish to take part in this glorious endeavour, to serve the true ruler of this land.”

The giant took a step forwards, the flagstones cracking beneath its shining boots. The great blade it carried hummed as it whirled in its hand, coming to rest beneath the priestess’ chin, lifting her head so that she saw the terrible aspect of Judgement in full.

You speak your case well, it said. Receive Jyggalag’s blessing. Become priests and priestesses of order.

“Thank you, my lord,” the priestess said, still on her knees. “You have our eternal-”

The words were cut off by a gasp of pain and shock as she began to change. Her skin turned pale grey, as it did with the other heretics, their robes changing from light blue in colour to a deep, dark purple. Chunks of crystal began to grow across the cloth, swelling and linking to form a breastplate and belt as part of some hideous metamorphosis.

“We need to get out of here,” Salyan said. Carnius nodded; he’d seen more than enough of this.

They crept in silence to the entranceway and hurried through the door as the gathering of Heretics cried out in pain at their changing, using the distraction to get away. As soon as they were sure their footsteps would be out of earshot, they broke into a sprint, and did not stop until they were outside and well away from the crumbled ruin.

Carnius leant against a tree, panting for breath after the sprint and swigged from the fatigue potion at his belt, feeling the burn of a stitch that had begun to form fade away and the tiredness from that sprint wash from his muscles. He handed it to Salyan, who gulped down a grateful swig of it and passed it back.

“What in Oblivion’s name was that?” Carnius asked.

“I’m not certain,” Salyan said. “But I think I might have an idea. There’s an old legend in the Isles, of a war against an army known as the Greymarch. There are dozens of different tellings I’ve heard over the years, some of them saying that the Greymarch wins and conquers the Isles, some saying that it loses, others saying that they were locked in a stalemate or kept fighting over and over again, but all of them ended with the promise of Greymarch invading once more in the future. That creature we saw in there was one of the Arbitrators, and according to the stories they were the Greymarch’s generals or champions or something similar. And if they required a sacrifice to bring one of those here, then there’s no knowing how powerful that thing was.”

“So who do we warn about it?” Carnius asked.

“Well, it won’t stay for very long,” Salyan said. “That sacrifice will give it energy to stay here for a while, but not for long. But those Heretics are doing something more dangerous that just defying Lord Sheogorath; if you’re going to see him in person in New Sheoth, you should warn him, have him send a patrol down there to deal with them.”

Carnius nodded.

“I’ll get that done alright,” he said. “I don’t know what that was, but that wasn’t right; killing that man like that…”

“I was talking about that creature they summoned,” Salyan said. “The Arbitrator; that could be dangerous, if any of those old stories are true.”

“And the human sacrifice?” Carnius asked.

“So what?” Salyan shrugged. “The Feasters in Bliss have one every month for that Holy Banquet of theirs, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Weepers did something similar too. Then there’s the annual Leap of Flame that the Sisterhood of Immolation have as well. Hardly a big deal, after all. I was talking about the Arbitrator.”

“Right,” Carnius nodded, deciding that was the safest course to take at the moment. “Of course.”

He shook his head.

“Anyway, the road shouldn’t be too far north of here,” he said. “Let’s go find it and then head to New Sheoth.”

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Sep 17 2012, 02:19 PM

Death to the Heretics! Death, I say!

“It’ll be easy,” she said. “Chuck a few frenzy spells in there and-”


Ah, we have a smart gladiator here. I like this, and pretty much expected him to show some of his guile.

Then we go onto some crazy cultist sacrifices! I love it! And the summoning Jyggy himself and the Grey March reference was great! Though I don't see him as a "villain", per se, mainly an antagonist, though I am sure many of the goody goodies would disagree with me .

Damn, so the priestess turned too, huh? I guess she will serve the Prince of Order well, then. I can't wait to see what awaits our bard lady and our gladiator! Good write.

Nits:

Spitting a curse, he swung down with his macer over his head as Carnius came into his reach, aiming to crush his skull in one blow.
Am I missing something here? Shouldn't it be "mace"?

Impulsive and intense mood swings. She's fitting in better I think. Loved the way she uses her magic though. As long as Carnius can keep her under control (and I can see that being an issue) they do make an effective team. I was slightly surprised in the fight with the guards when she silenced the one as Carnius charged.

Cool description of the beginning of the Greymarch. The arbitrator reminded me of a character in Diablo III.

How lucky for me...Not being a goody goodie and all, that I actually have to agree with DE...I kinda saw The Arbitrator as more of a lieutenant than a villain so far...(or general/champion as she said)...

Unless, of course, you know better... ...

A brilliant chapter...Fantastic, as ever...Wonderful description of the ceremony...

Amazing stuff...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

DE: That wasn't quite Jyggalag that was being summoned there; Sheogorath is still kicking about, so it isn't actually possibly for Jyggalag to manifest anywhere in the universe, not even in the sort of limbo-ish place that the Greymarch's forces wait in for the intervals between each Greymarch. That was an Arbitrator, and is basically a bigger, meaner Order Knight who serves as Jyggalag's most senior leuitenants.

And I wouldn't say that either Jyggalag or Sheogorath are really good or evil, considering the entirely amoral nature of Daedra, and I'm not trying to play the story as a battle between the two, either; this is more of a clash between two extreme opposites of ideology than anything else, though if you define villain as 'primary antagonistic figure in a narrative' then Jyggalag is quite definitely the villain. That, and Sheogorath is just way more likeable that Jyggalag.

And yeah, that was meant to be 'mace', I'll go and fix that.

KC: I enjoyed playing with Salyan's Audiomancy in that chapter; it's a fun system of magic to use. The mainstay of the spells she knows are Illusion ones, with the only Destruction one she knows being that mini Unrelenting Force spell, but she's pretty damn good at Illusion stuff like Calm, Frenzy, Silence etc.

And I've never played Diablo 3, so I assure you that that was purely coincidental.

McBadgere: The Arbitrator of Judgement is one of Jyggalag's most senior commanders, yes, but he's one of four Arbitrators and he isn't the big cheese (that would, of course, be Jyggalag himself).

Pleased you enjoyed the ceremony description; I put a lot of work into that one.

Your writing kicks that game's writing in the pants anyways.

Well now you've made me go all red...

Oh, thanks for the clarification. I reread it now, just to make sure. Damn. Need to be more attentive. I assumed it was Jyggy because the priests kept calling out his name, and then I read the Arbitatror of Judgement, which I thought was synonymous with Jyggalag.

ROFL !!!




It doesn't get any better than this for a description of a frenzied melee! That whole section was perfect, but this beginning was stunningly well done! Awesome Write!



You did it again! Everything is easily visualized, but the frenzied feeling carries through every bit of this - totally Awesome Write !!! I LOVE your ability to write melee - where is that worship emoticon when you need it?



You've really outdone your own self in this chapter. I am in awe, this is absolutely one of my top two favorite chapters! Absolutely Awesome Write! I may gobble like a turkey now, and haven't done that since Destri left!

DE: No worries, it's a pretty easy mistake to make if you accidentally missed one or two parts of the chapter.

mALXmeister: Thank you very much! I put a bit more effort than I usually do into writing those scenes, especially the summoning, and I'm glad that that paid off. And it's not that I don't usually put effort into my writing, it's just, well you know what I mean. Hush.

And the turkey-like gobbling is appreciated, and appreciated greatly. Unless it means you're choking on something. That would be bad.


And now for Chapter 12! Whoo!


Chapter 12-The Wagon

They found the road long afterwards, and even though Salyan had seemed relatively sure that the Arbitrator that had been called would not tarry for long, both she and Carnius kept glancing over their shoulders every once in a while, and kept an ear out for the beating of crystalline wings. After half an hour or so of walking they began to relax, fairly certain now that they had escaped that ruin without being noticed. Soon enough, another sound reached their ears; a faint hooting and grunting noise, and as they neared, more than a few colourful curses.

They rounded a corner to see the back of a wagon, a rear wheels sunk into a ditch on the side of the road. There was someone wearing Daedric plate attempting to push it at the rear, and around the front there was the sound of a woman trying to cajole whatever pulled it into action with a mixture of equal parts gentle encouragement and profanity.

"You need a hand there?" Carnius asked as they approached. The figure in armour turned around to face them, and the Imperial saw the man's red-streaked grey skin and the small horns jutting from his forehead; he was a Dremora, of all things.

"Who's that, Kallix?" a middle-aged Dunmer asked as she looked out from around the front of the cart.

"Travellers," the Dremora replied, his voice a deep, harsh scrape of glass on granite. "Offering to help."

"Well praise Azura for that," the Dark Elf said. She looked slightly to the left of where Carnius and Salyan were and said; "As you can see, our wagon's had a bit of a mishap on the way to New Sheoth. If you give us a hand with this little problem then I can get you there without you needing to walk, if that's where you're going."

"Sounds fair," Salyan said. "Do you just want two extra pairs of hands to push?"

The Dunmer nodded.

"Just help Kallix, and I'll try and get our rayet to start pulling again," the Dunmer said. "Hopefully if we've got some more strength on the back we can get it out of this rut."

She disappeared around the front of the cart, and called; "Ready when you are!"

The three set their feet into the ground and pushed, grunting and straining with effort as they tried to move the wagon. With glacial slowness, it began to roll forwards up the slope of the ditch, axles creaking and rumbling as they pushed. At one point Salyan broke her hold on it for a moment to turn around and push with her back against it, digging the heels of her boots into the dirt. For a few moments, the pressure seemed to grow all the more before it released and the wagon rolled forwards on the flat of the road. Salyan shrieked with surprise as she nearly toppled onto her back, catching herself on the edge of the wagon.

"I don't think I thought that through entirely," she said, shaking her head as she righted herself. "Still, got the wagon up, didn't it?"

"That it did," the Dremora said. "Thank you for the help, travellers."

"I didn't catch your name, by the way," Carnius said. Part of him was quietly stunned at the fact that he was engaged with a civil conversation with a Dremora; the last time he had seen one of those had been three years ago, and it and its compatriots had been doing everything in their power to kill him.

"Kallix," the Daedra replied as they made their around to the front of the wagon. "My dear companion is Haella Theranni."

Carnius and Salyan introduced themselves in turn, and to the Haella as she appeared to greet them and thank them. Up close, Carnius could see her eyes were a milky red, lacking any kind of pupil, and from the way she didn't quite make eye contact with him he guessed she was blind.

"We'll need to give Indoril a few minutes to rest," she added once they had made their introductions. "He worked hard trying to pull this wagon."

She gestured towards the creature hitched to the front of the wagon, and Carnius blinked in surprised. He had been expecting a horse, but between the two tongues of wood off the vehicle's front was a bipedal beast, its back parallel to the ground and a long tail running from its spine, and towards its front there were a pair of arms protruding from its shoulders, ending with hands that looked disconcertingly similar to those of most humans, mer or beast-folk. Its head rested on the edge of a long, thick neck, and from that a curved beak ran. It turned to look at them with four eyes, two on the front of its head, two on the side, the iridescent feathers that adorned its whole body shining even in the overcast sunlight of Dementia.

"He's gorgeous!" Salyan exclaimed as she saw it. "Could I...?"

"By all means," Haella said. "Indoril likes meeting people."

Salyan approached the beast, and held her hand out for it to sniff from the two pitted nostrils at the bed of its beak. Satisfied, it let her run her hands over the colourful plumage it wore, giving a hoot at the sensation.

"He'll probably want a drink after that work," Haella remarked, more to herself than anybody else. "Kallix, be a dear and get him some water, will you?"

"Of course," the Dremora replied, hauling himself into the wagon. Carnius watched him go, and then glanced back at Haella.

"I can't say I'd have expected somebody to be travelling with a Dremora," he remarked. "Thought they had a reputation for being a bit hostile; not sure I'd do the same."

"Oh, you mean Kallix?" Haella asked. "It's not the most usual of situations, but I trust him implicitly. And they just get bad press for Mehrunes Dagon working them into a state during the Oblivion Crisis; they're really not that bad, usually."

Carnius decided not to comment on that, and decided to change the subject as Kallix reappeared with a water barrel under his arm for draft-beast.

"So how long have you been on the Isles, then?" Carnius asked.

"Oh, we only arrived yesterday from Moonshadow, Azura's realm," Haella said. "I'm a merchant, you see; I sell soul gems, trinkets, alchemical ingredients, that sort of thing, and then I pick up goods in New Sheoth to sell back at home. Kallix has been my companion in the business for the last twenty years or so; he's not much a merchant but he's good at hitting things with that sword of his, if not much else."

"You wound me, Haella," the Dremora replied from the front of the wagon, where he had set down the drink.

"Well, I suppose you're alright for warming a bedroll too," the Dunmer shot back. She turned her attention back to Carnius. "Thinking of coming to the Isles, are you from around here? I've generally got a knack for picking out whether somebody's Manic or Demented just from all the time I've visited; your young lady friend is certainly from the north, but you don't seem all that fitting for either of them."

"I only got to Passwall a few days ago," Carnius said.

"Oh, managed to slip in now that that Imperial everyone there was talking about killed the Gatekeeper?" Haella asked.

"Something like that, yeah," Carnius nodded.

"Thought so," Haella said. "Kallix and I have permission to enter the Isles for trade, so the Gatekeeper lets us past; commerce between the realms helps every Daedric Prince, after all."

Carnius nodded as Kallix called over; "I think Indoril is ready to go."

"Excellent," Haella replied. She glanced over at Carnius. "Climb aboard; you've certainly earned your ride."

She clambered into the seat of the wagon as Kallix took the reins, and Carnius followed a moment later. Salyan followed a moment later, and with a flick on the leather straps, the Dremora urged Indoril into motion.

"So if you're from Moonshadow, how did you get hold of a rayet?" Salyan asked as it rumbled along the road.

"We traded for him," Haella said. "A soul gem, trapped with the soul of a daedroth, in return for a good cart rayet."

Salyan nodded.

"Is it true about what they say?" she asked. "About Moonshadow being the most beautiful place in all Oblivion? That it's so stunning any mortal goes blind just looking at it?"

Haella gestured to the milky red orbs of her eyes.

"How do you think this happened to me?" she said. "It is quite honestly the most incredible place one can go to; we live in Unseen, the capital."

"And they say that she has the spirit of Taread Songblood staying in the Palace of Roses," Salyan asked, leaning forwards with sudden interest in her eyes. "Is that true too?"

"We've heard him play more than once," Kallix said. "I'm not the greatest appreciator of music but the performance was incredible."

"Who was he?" Carnius asked as the cart passed under an arch formed by the roots of a massive mushroom tree.

"He was the first bard," Salyan explained. "One of the Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor, the keeper of their history, and he carved a harp from the bones of a dragon and made its strings with its guts. He was the first practitioner of audiomancy, too."

"So you've studied bardic history, then?" Haella asked.

"I am a bard," Salyan said. "Perhaps I'll travel to Moonshadow, and visit him one day. Though I might pack a blindfold."

"Apparently he's quite tired of bards going to him and asking for tutelage," Haella replied with a shake of her head and a smile. "I don't think you'll have much luck if that's what you want to go for."

"It's not a lesson I want," Salyan said. "I'm looking for something, and I think he'd be able to help me."

"Then maybe you should go there one day," Haella said. "If you do, let us know; you seem like a nice young woman, and we'd be happy to put a roof over your head while you're there."

"Thank you," Salyan said.

The wagon was passing by some ruins, and Carnius glanced at trio of weathered busts that sat on pillars on the side of the road, each one of the statues a good three metres tall. There was a grinding, scraping noise, and the heads on top of each bust turned to face them.

"What on Nirn is that?" Carnius asked.

"Those are the Three Watchmen," Kallix said, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "It's best not to stare at them; if you do, it can be...unpleasant."

The conversation was muted as the cart passed by under the unsettling gaze of the faceless statues, and once they were out of view Salyan muttered; "I hate this place."

Carnius glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It's just Dementia, that's all," she said. "It gets to you, especially if you usually live in Mania like I usually do."

"What were you doing here, anyway?" he asked. "You mentioned getting a scroll from some ruins a while back; what was that for?"

"I'm looking for something," Salyan said. "It's this...note, I once heard, in a dream. The purest and most perfect chord you can imagine, the Chord to end all chords, and I've been trying to track it down for years. Those ruins used to be the home of a famous audiomancer, and I was searching through his old records to see if I could find anything to help me; I've got a few friends who look at audiomancy in a more academic way than I do, and they might be able to help me."

"I see," Carnius said. "Well, if you ever need a hand with chasing up any leads on that, just let me know; I wouldn't mind helping."

"You'd do that?" Salyan asked. From where he was sitting at the reins, where the bard couldn't see him, Kallix shot him the look that is known to just about anybody male, regardless of culture, race, age or location, that meant 'get in there'.

"Yeah, I would," Carnius said. "Gods alone know, you're one of the first friends I've made in this place, and I could do with every one of them."

The lull broken, the conversation continued as the wagon rumbled on. The hours of travelling were interrupted only by a group of half a dozen of purple-skinned women mounted on scaled rayet, wearing segmented armour of dark metal and carrying lances and shields. The patrol gave them a brief greeting and carried on their way, but aside from that the road was unpopulated.

It was as the sun was beginning to set that they finally saw New Sheoth. The forest around the road cleared into flatter swamplands, and in the distance, rising up on a hill, turned golden by the light of the setting sun, the walls of the city emerged from the ground. The wagon drew closer, and in less than half an hour they were at the gates. Kallix dismounted and helped Haella down onto the road, where it widened into a small courtyard where more wagons were gathered.

"We'll need to deal with some bureaucracy," he explained. "There's no need for you to hang around if you have something to do."

They made their farewells, passed through the gates of the city and stepped into New Sheoth.




This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Sep 17 2012, 01:09 PM

This story just keeps getting better. I loved meeting Kallix the Dremora through something as mundane as a stuck cart. Tremendously enjoyable, Mustard!

I'll have to come back and read this when I get a quiet house, it is Ball Game Day. The air is being pierced by shouts, hoots, barking dogs, the sound of grown men jumping like baboons, etc.

Grits: Thank ye muchloike! I wanted to explore how differently people in Obliviont treated Daedra to those from Nirn, and having it be in such an ordinary manner seemed perfect for that sort of thing.

mALX: Eh, it's; everyone gets busy days when they're not going to be able to read stuff, so don't worry about. Just enjoy Ball Game Day; it sounds like fun. Chaotic, spherical fun.

HOLY DAMN! A Dremora, a nice Dremora, of all things! Those raspy-voiced clan-like demons in the SI? Shouldn't they be marching over the countless piles of charred corpses in Dagon's Deadlands or is this one taking a vacation in the Isles? This is madness! Then again . . .



“Oh, we only arrived yesterday from Moonshadow, Azura's realm” Haella said.

Correction, there should've been a coma after realm, I believe. But I won't call you out in grammatical errors anymore, since I would be the biggest hypocrite around here. But about this part, what the flying **** is going on? Oblivion hopping? How awesome is this!


The after effects of Azura's realm! I wonder if they saw Azura's . . . erm. . . .

Anyways, I loved that mutant-horse creature, by the way. A nice alien exotic though appropiate in the setting. Overall, I enjoyed the new characters. Their uniqueness is what truly captured my attention. And you left us in an anticipation with the arrival to New Sheoth! Good read! I'll be waiting for more, most definetly!

Thank you very much, DE!

I was trying to present Kallix the Nice Dremora (that so sounds like the title of a TES-style children's story) as a bit of an exception to the rule, and the implication is that, as he's been with Haella for the past twenty years and with the Oblivion Crisis happening 3 years ago in this story, he wasn't actually involved in it. Of course, bear in mind that Haella is probably going to be biased in favour of any Dremora she meets on account of Kallix.

And the Oblivion hopping idea is something that I really think would happen in the TES-verse. I remember when I first played the Shivering Isles and I found out there was an entire damn city, along with farms and villages, all across the Isles, my mind was kind of blown by the idea; until then, from what I had gathered from Morrowind and Oblivion (the game) the daedric realms were this hellscape like the Deadlands, but then with the Isles being populated largely by an entire civilisation of mortals it suddenly opened up a whole new perspective on the daedra for me. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made to me tha a great number of the princes would have their own civilisations in their realms, either to nurture and rule in the case of the more benevolent Daedric Princes like Azura (whose realm of Moonshadow is described Darkest Darkness as having 'silver cities' and being visited by Dunmer and Khajiit) or to control and be worshipped by in the case of more atavistic Princes like Boethiah or Molag Bal. And seeing as the barriers that separate each realm of Oblivion are much weaker than the ones keeping the Daedra off Nirn, trade between them struck me as entirely conceivable.

Pleased you liked the rayat, as well, though I wouldn't describe them so much as mutant horses as I would a deinonychus and a hummingbird.


Ah yes, Azura's erms. Her magnificent, round erms, star attraction of all Moonshadow. Though probably not, seeing as she's just a mere merchant, and a being such as a Daedric Prince probably wouldn't ever see her.


Cheers for the nit, by the way, I'll go fix that.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Sep 17 2012, 01:07 PM

Oh, indeed! Oblivion isn't only a wasteland like Dagon's realm. Even Dagon has buildings in his own abode! I really liked what you did here, though. Daedric Realms and those who inhabit it largely represents the Daedric Prince. Mania and Dementia obviously are the two sides of Sheogorath, hence the duality of the colors and the land itself. The people in his realm range from colorfully maniacal to darkly demented. Hircine's realm(I'm using this for Kraven's story) is nothing but a big wilderness with tributaries and rivers of blood, giant forests, african-style savannah's, huge canyons, etc. Molag Bal's realm would have civilizations, as it is a copy of Nirn itself, except most people are put into charnel houses and prisons. But if there were people running around, they would reflect Molag Bal's sphere; corrupted men and women, rapists, sadists, blood-sucking power-hungry vampires, etc. Its what makes the realms of Oblivion interesting.

Thing is, Daedra have a direct influence on the souls of their worshipers. Few times it was mentioned in the books that Sheogorath claimed a few souls himself when they died. I can give tons of quotes, but I'll leave it super short. From Skyrim, we know there are different afterlives for different people. Or even if they ally themselves to a Prince, their souls can be claimed. So instead of a Nord going to Sovngarde, he would probably go chill in some Daedric realm of Oblivion. Some of us had this conversation in the official Bethesda forums, but we came to the conclusion that some of the people we meet in the SI maybe already deceased. But since it is a Daedric Realm, they wouldn't walk around like floating souls , but actual fleshy people.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Sep 17 2012, 02:43 PM

You know, I like that idea a lot, and seeing as Big Head was around there even though a great deal of time has passed which certainly lends credence to that theory. I might have to use that idea in the story, now; it's too damn cool to pass up. Perhaps an immortal character who keeps reliving their death on Nirn in Sheogorath's service, but cannot actually die...

Author's note: I owe a great debt to the late Adam Adamowicz, lead concept artist for the Shivering Isles, whose unique and inspired visions of Crucible and Bliss influenced my own writing of this chapter a great deal. If you've got some spare time, I'd really recommend looking over UESP's archive of the art, available here; it's some pretty exceptional stuff.

Also, I think I might have fallen in love with Cutter while I was writing this chapter.

Chapter 13-The Forge of Scars

The district of Crucible was quite possibly the dankest, most miserable strip of city that Carnius had ever laid eyes upon. Having lived in the squalor of the Waterfront all his life, he thought he had seen the worst of urban poverty, but Crucible managed to be even worse.

The roadways that wound their ways around the squat, ramshackle buildings were nothing more than dirt and the occasional cobblestone, small bridges of mud and backed clay arching over open streams of raw, stinking sewage. Buildings rose and fought for space, walls pressing against each other as they climbed over one another like a swarm of squabbling rats. Many of them leaned against each other or over the streets, looking ready to topple down upon the passers-by at any moment, while bridges and balconies jutted over and criss-crossed the roadways. Some of the buildings were made of stone, while others were slapped together from mud and half-rotten sticks in a wattle-and-daub construction, managing to tower upwards by clinging like parasites to other structures. The architectural anarchy, combined with the perpetual gloom that shrouded the entirety of Dementia, meant that a twilight was already in effect in the streets, and the only light was provided by braziers and torches that burned with blue flame.

They had entered a square of some kind, its dominant feature a statue of a bearded man cut from dark granite, wearing a set of ornate mourning clothes. Around the edge of it were market stalls, a number of customers moving between them.

“Poxes!” Carnius heard a merchant cry as he and Salyan stepped past a group of people in the ornate, gilded clothing of the upper classes, their finely tailored jackets and ornate dresses all dyed sombre shades of black and grey. “Pestilences and contagions! Diseases of all strains for the connoisseur, taken fresh from the pits of Peryite himself!”

“Nightmares!” another called. “Nightmares and night terrors of all kinds, all available on the cheap! Ones tailored just for you for a low, low price, all made by the best fear-smiths of Quagmire!”

“Rats on a stick!” cried a withered man, holding a tray before him. “Nice and hot! Get them them while they're fresh!”

“One minute,” Salyan said. She hurried over to him, and after a brief conversation handed over a few coins in return for a piece of cooked meat that, Carnius was forced to concede, was almost definitely a rat. The tail was a clue, if nothing else was. Salyan caught back up with him, chewing a mouthful of her meal, and caught his stare. “What? I'm hungry.”

Carnius shook his head. Of all the things he had seen lately, having a rat on a stick for a snack was pretty normal, though the stink of the place had put paid to any thoughts of food that he had been entertaining. He set out into the streets, Salyan following in his wake.

“Where are we going, then?” Salyan asked. “Are you heading to the palace?”
“Place has probably shut up for the night by now,” Carnius replied. “I need to find a smith, and a place to stay for the night.”

“Do we have to stay here?” Salyan protested, with a wary glance at the buildings that pressed in around them. “Can we go to Bliss, please? Bliss is much better than this place. You'll like it there, I'm sure you will, much more than Crucible.”

Deep and sonorous chanting came to their ears, and a few moments a man in drab grey robes rounded the corner. Parchments, most likely from sacred texts, were sewn into the cloth, and he held a banner with yet more words and scrolls upon it. Behind him, more followed, some of them chanting the same dirge he did, others wailing as if in mourning, several members of the procession beating their own raw and bloodied backs with whips and flails. Delicate feathers of frost spread out from where their feet fell, and many of them carried staves tipped with balls of jagged ice.

“Who are they?” Carnius asked.

“The Frozen Brethren,” Salyan explained as they passed by. “They're one of the churches that worship Sheogorath. They're doing it wrong, mind you, but everyone here in Dementia is so there's not much you can really do about that.”

Carnius shrugged.

“Sure they're wrong,” he said. Salyan gave him a look, but he shrugged it off. He didn't particularly care for the bard's prejudices. “Look, do you know if there's a smith around here?”
“There's a better smith in-”

“And there are nearer smiths here,” Carnius said. He raised his hand, to show one of his somewhat battered gauntlets. “I need this fixed.”

“I suppose Cutter is probably the best at repairing sharp things like those knuckle spikes,” Salyan said after a moment. The last of the small parade passed them by, a man swinging a censer that had once been a human skull. “But once we've gone there can we please go to Bliss?”

“Fine,” Carnius relented. “Let's go see this Cutter first.”

Pleased that she had won at least a partial victory, Salyan pointed southwards.

“Her forge is that way,” she said. “I think there's an alley we can cut through just over there.”

She lead the way, cutting through the back street. The stick that had once held her now-eaten snack was discarded on the remarkably clean floor as they headed through. Carnius glanced at the walls, frowning as he noticed triangular shapes beginning to rise from the crude plaster.

“Salyan, what's going on with the walls?”

The bard glanced back at them, and her eyes widened with alarm.

“Run!” she cried. “Quickly, run!”

Carnius complied as she broke into a sprint, the two of them dashing along as the walls behind them erupted into hungry fangs and slammed shut, a solid block of sharp, ravening teeth, closing upon them to crush and chew. They halted only once they were into the street beyond, the alley shutting up behind them in a wave of dark fangs. They closed behind them with a grinding noise, and after a few moments pulled back away.

“What was that?” Carnius asked, staring at the way they had just come. The stick that had carried Salyan's snack had now disappeared.

“Some of the alleyways try and eat people, now and again,” Salyan explained. “Like that one. Usually people put up warnings, but someone must have taken them away. Typical.”

She lead Carnius through a few more streets, making a point avoid of avoiding back alleys, until they found their destination; a large stone building with baleful red light glowing from one wing with a chimney drooling smoke into the air. Metal gargoyles were clinging to its sides, blue flames crackling in their jaws, and a desiccated, half-decayed corpse hung over the door from a large iron hook thrust through the back of its neck and out of its mouth, a placard hung over it with the word 'Thief' written on it in what Carnius hoped was red paint. Next to that was a sign, reading 'Cutter's Weapons'.

After a moment to remove his gauntlets from his hands, he tried the door, the latch clicking and swinging open. He glanced around the stone innards of the shop, seeing the decorations that hung on every wall; weapons of every kind, bows, crossbows, spears and axes, but most of all, blades of all varieties. There were longswords, claymores, daggers, scimitars, katanas, sabres, rapiers, all adorning the walls. Anything that gored or slashed was present on the walls of Cutter's Weapons. Bloodstains were scattered here and there, and his gaze was drawn to the figure at the far end of the large room, by the fires of the forge. She glanced up from where she was sharpening the edge of a sword on a grindwheel, and her scarred face, framed by brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, broke into a crooked smile. That smile extended past her lips along two cuts deep into each cheek, right to where the jaw rose up to the rest of the skull.

“Ah,” she said, leaving her work for a moment and standing. “Customers. I am Cutter, and welcome to my forge. What can I do for you both?”

Cutter was a Bosmer, short like all of her people, her build lean and wiry. Her bare arms, Carnius noted, were even more heavily scarred than her face, coated with gashes and cuts of all kinds.

“I need these repaired,” Carnius said, holding up his gauntlets. “Just had a bit of wear and tear, and need fixing up again. The normal sort of thing.”

“Let me see those,” Cutter said. Carnius handed them over, and she peered at them, intense eyes roving over them, a finger running along the dented and battered metal. There was a quiet purring noise, and after a moment, Carnius realised that it was the smith making it, a rapturous, intoxicated grin spreading across her features. “These are...these are some of the most beautiful weapons I have seen. They have drunk so much blood, ended so, so many lives, even brought about the deaths of friends. They are almost perfect.”

“Almost perfect?” Carnius asked.

“Their construction is good, and the inlay of daedric ebony is a good idea; it gives the steel strength without adding too much weight,” Cutter said. “But for a piece of metallurgy to be truly perfect, it needs madness ore in it; imbue it with the souls of dead heroes, give its steel life, give it hunger.”

Salyan had wondered off, and was looking at a blade that lay unattended on a bench, a straight length of unadorned metal designed to be wielded by two hands, one side edge and the other blunt and flat, the tip a right-angled triangle. The handle and hilt were ornate, dark golden metal moulded around a gem glowing with arcane power, the stone humming faintly.

“Is this made of madness ore?” the bard asked, lifting the weapon up.

“Put that down!” Cutter snapped, the ferocity in the words making Salyan comply in an instant. “The handle is forged from the ore. The blade is of steel and sorcery, one of the strongest I have seen. I am the only smith capable of working with a weapon like it, though that isn't surprising; blades are my speciality, and I make the finest in the Isles. I bless each and every one of them with my own lifeblood before any other wielder uses them.”

That would explain the cobweb of scars running across her skin, Carnius decided.

“Whose is it?” Salyan asked.

“It belongs to a missionary of the Feasters,” Cutter replied. “Normally I'd rather not do work for a Manic, but that blade there is so steeped in viscera and tragedy that I couldn't resist; it is the most perfect weapon I have ever performed my art upon, though I will give your gauntlets the credit they are due, Imperial; they do come close. Unwilling betrayal always gives metal the sweetest of scents.”

“Right,” Carnius said. “So, how much will it be to fix those?”

“Thirty septims, given that the damage done to them isn't too severe,” Cutter said. “And a promise.”

“What's that?” Carnius asked.

“No other smith touches them, especially that gender-confused freak Dumag gro-Bonk,” Cutter said. Neither she nor Carnius noted the angry glare that Salyan shot at her for that comment. “These gauntlets will be mine to repair and mine alone. If you get them fixed anywhere else, I will know, and I will cut your throat and drink your blood.”

There was no jest in the disfigured Bosmer's eyes, but Carnius handed down the coins.

“If they're in a good state tomorrow, I'll call it a deal,” Carnius said.

“Good, good, excellent,” Cutter nodded. “They will be finished in the morning; I cannot wait to set to work upon them. One more thing, Imperial; if you find any madness ore, I can use it to improve these gauntlets of yours, strengthen them, make them perfect. Grummites usually set up camps near deposits of it, and carry lumps of it on them. Bring me some, and I will make these gauntlets into weapons that will crush the life from all your enemies and drink deep of their blood.”

“Hard to refuse, an offer like that,” Carnius nodded. “All right Cutter, if I find you some madness ore, I'll bring it to you.”

“Good,” Cutter said. “You won't regret this, Imperial; I'll make these gauntlets into weapons any warrior would beg to wield.”

“Thank you, Cutter,” Carnius said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

The two of them left for Bliss, to find an inn and rest, and to hold an audience with a god the next day.

Absolutely brilliant chapters matey!!...

Loved them...

Sooo, yet another spinoff story makes it's appearance!!...Off to Azura's realm we go!!... ...

And yes, I pretty much fell in love with Cutter meself when I wrote her...Um...Part in mine...But then again, she was naked... ...

Aaaamywho...

Amazing stuff...

Brilliantly descriptive and full of so many beautiful ideas (the alleyway, the monks...ooooh sooo many coolnesses) it's just amazing...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Don't tempt me with more story ideas, McB. I've got enough of those whirring around in my head as it is...

Glad you enjoyed it, though, and I hope you find what I've got to show of Bliss equally enjoyable. And thank you, of course, for reading, good sir!