Madness Helps Me Save Myself Options

[Jacki Dice]

Hello again. Thank you all for reading my previous thread, Champion of Madness. As I posted before, I felt the story was in need of a lot of work. First off, titles are one of my weakest points. I have to admit, it took me hours to come up with "Champion of Madness" (sad, I know) but it just didn't feel right, not to mention the fact that it didn't work with the upcoming Oblivion Crisis. Other than that, there were characters issues, plot holes, and world building issues that I felt could only be dealt with by starting fresh, with a better idea of where I was going.

That said, I'd like to welcome you to the revamped version. I hope you all enjoy it ♥

PS....I made a typo in the title... I sure feel silly now -_- Please ignore it.

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Prologue

Wrothken didn't even flinch as a deafening roar erupted from the arena. He remained in his seat at the bar, his head slumped over a cup of tea that had long since gotten cold. He sat listening to the dull buzz of quiet conversations, his ears searching for specific words. He knew he shouldn't. If he happened to overhear something that he didn't want to hear it would send him into an even deeper pit of despair or rage, like when that jerk the other night asked Kirsty if Wrothken's "Uncle Flo" had been in town. Wrothken knew what that implied as did the rest of the bakery. And many people found it hilarious up until Wrothken nearly beat that man to death with a chair.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

He could tell Kirsty was right in front of him. He could smell lavender lingering under the scent of fresh bread, cinnamon, and ham. He heard her sigh softly. He knew she wanted to help. She even tried getting him rip roaring drunk and then taking him to a brothel. Oh, what a fiasco that had been. The drink only magnified his sorrow, causing him to bawl like a baby in the middle of the street and then once he was with the working girl his body wouldn't cooperate, no matter what she did. Though she had shrugged it off, claiming to have seen that a thousand times, it wasn’t exactly something that a man ever quite lived down, drunk or not.

Kirsty sighed again. "You're only letting them win."

Wrothken raised his head slightly. Behind his curtain of Bravil-water blond hair, he saw her tiny hands holding a large knife and slicing up some ham. He brushed the hair from his face and looked up all the way. She was such a mess, but cute in a way. When she opened up that morning she had been wearing a nice, clean turquoise blouse. Now, even though she wore an apron, it was covered in white and brown powder. Her dark brown hair wasn't long enough to braid, so she wore it in a simple ponytail, though as the day went by the short locks that were once bangs escaped. Her cool brown eyes were on the meat, though she occasionally glanced up at Wrothken.

Wrothken stared at the ham. Its scent was suddenly the most captivating thing in the world and his stomach announced it loudly.

"What was that?" Kirsty asked, setting the knife down. The bright blush across his face told her the answer. "What have you eaten today?"

Wrothken shrugged. He hadn't been feeling hungry lately but when he had, the thought of food sickened him. The very act of chewing and swallowing seemed like just too much effort.

Kirsty huffed and set a cinnamon apple muffin in front of him. The crumbly top beckoned him, the sweetness he knew he would find seducing him. Yet the thought of eating turned his mouth sour. Still, if he didn't eat it, Kirsty would probably jump over the counter and shove it down his throat. He bit into it, trying to catch the crumbles before they hit the floor.

"That's better," she said, continuing to chop up the ham. "You look like you've lost weight actually."

Wrothken grunted. Atrea had been pestering him to lose weight for years. He was broad-shouldered and a bit "snuggly," as Kirsty put it. It was almost funny how the pounds began to shed after he caught his intended in bed with another man. A thigh slapper really.

"Great," he finally said. "Now if I could just lose all my body hair, maybe I could win her back."

Kirsty crinkled her nose. "No, don't do that. That's just...weird. Have you ever seen a hairless Nord? It would look off and I bet you’d hate the feeling. And besides," she looked at him, wagging her knife as she spoke. "If you take that girl back, so help me, Wrothken, I will beat you with my rolling pin until the sense comes back in your head."

He believed her. She didn't like Atrea much before but now it was full on hate. The feeling was mutual. Not that she ever admitted it, but he knew Atrea was insanely jealous of Kirsty. He didn’t think she should have been, but he could understand why. Kirsty built herself up from a grape picker for Tamika to a little pastry cart by the markets to an upscale bakery. She was as strong, persistent, and smart as she was beautiful, and Wrothken happened to work late with her most nights. Not that anything happened. He had honor. He was faithful.

"Have you given any thought to my idea?" She asked.

He had, but he didn't really want to go through with it. "I won't run away," he said quietly. He would rather drop dead than give them the satisfaction of knowing they ran him out of town, tail between his legs.

"I never said to run away," Kirsty said. She glanced back at an hourglass atop the oven. The pink sand was almost all the way at the bottom. She swore under her breath and began chopping faster. "I said take a break. Go on a trip for a while to help clear your head. Maybe meet some new people while you're at it."

"But they'll think I ran away!" He protested. He could imagine them laughing about it after a good romp in the sack. His stomach churned at the thought.

Kirsty set her knife down again, exasperatedly saying, "Who gives a flying guar what they think? They aren’t worth the filth under your boots. Why are you going to let them control your well-being?" She chopped furiously. "Do you really think it’s healthy to just hang around here forever? Or avoid places because you're afraid to run into them?"

She had a point. Kirsty always had a point and she would nag and push and prod until the point was not only seen, but agreed with.

"Where would I even go?"

"Well," she looked at the hourglass. It was empty. She opened the oven and pulled out a batch of flaky croissants. "You're from Bruma. Why not start there?"

Wrothken's slapped the counter. "I'd sooner hunt mudcrabs while skyclad!"

Kirsty laughed a bit.

"I'm serious!" Wrothken said, shoving the rest of the muffin in his mouth. "If I set foot there, my ma will bludgeon me with 'I-told-you-so' until my ears bleed! No way am I going back there like this!"

"Okay," Kirsty said taking out a bread knife. She took each croissant and cut it in half before slathering on creamy butter. "How about the Imperial City? There's lots to offer there. In fact, I'd like to move there one day..." She trailed off for a moment as a slight smile grew on her lips.

He agreed on that point. The Imperial City was the center of everything. A man could make his fortune there just as easily as he could lose it. All kinds of opportunity was found there.

"And I'm not saying forever, either." She continued, placing the sliced ham on the bottom halves of the croissants. "Just a week or two. Just enough time to clear your head."

"But what about you?" He asked.

"I'll be fine," she said as she started to slice bright tomatoes. Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! Wrothken was amazed that she never sliced a finger off with how quick she was with her blade. "If I could get from Valenwood to Skingrad on my own, I'm sure I can handle a few drunken oafs. Besides, it’s just for a little bit. Worst case, I can see if Yyaevannte can come by now and then. He’s not as big as you, but he’s Fighter’s Guild."

Wrothken could see that she wasn't going to let up. As much as he wanted to just go back upstairs and sulk in bed, she would just push it later, over and over and over until he went mad. Women. Why did they have to be such nags?

"Fine, fine," he sighed, getting up. "I'll get my gear then."

"Hold it," she said. "It's not enough to just go. This is a chance for a new beginning. Once you leave those gates, I want you to think of it as the first day of the rest of your life. No thinking of her. No thinking of him. Now, you are going to reclaim your dignity. Just promise me that."

He nodded. He didn't remember ever seeing her so serious before. "Alright, I'll do my best."

"Good! Now, come see me before you leave. I'll pack a lunch for you. And write to me once you get there."

"I will."

"No, promise me. I know how you are. You'll forget the moment you find something interesting. In fact, I'll even write a little reminder for you."



This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 07:29 AM

[Jacki Dice]

SubRosa~ That's always been a picky thing for me in TES. Why wouldn't bandits (and even some animals) run so they could fight (steal) another day?

mALX~

Now ... GAAAAH!!! Why are you stopping Champion of Madness? GAAAAAH!!!! You can't improve on perfection !!!!

Aww that's sweet of you to say. Basically, there are some things big and small that I really thought could use some improvement. You'll see what I mean once I hit Kirsty and Lilitu

Thomas Kaira~ Meeeeeeen!!! (not a bad show ) The thing with Undena Orethi was so convenient. In my Wrothken save, I actually had him walk from Kvatch all the way to the gate. Undena was just the first person I came across. Must have been fate ♥

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Two: It's Raining Cheese! Hallelujah!

Worthken woke with a horrible taste in his mouth. There was nothing quite like the combination of morning breath and sour ale. He stood up a little too fast, clutching his head to try and stop the room from spinning. When things slowed down a bit, he picked up his armor and shirt and headed to the washroom.

Like the bedroom, the washroom was nothing special. Just the basics in a very small, yet clean, space. When he realized that he wasn't craving a bath, he knew his misery-wallow had gone too far. Sure, he wasn't obsessive about cleanliness, but he did enjoy a bath daily. He felt filthy otherwise. The fact that he spent part of the previous day in a cave should have given him that "I-need-a-bath-now" feeling. Stripping his pants off, he ran the water in the tub.

When he got out, he felt like a new man...almost. He could feel scruff on his face. He looked in the mirror, rubbing it. It was scratchy and he noticed that when the light hit it, it was actually bright red, instead of blond like the rest of his body hair.

I'll have to take care of this soon, he thought. Ever since the first hairs sprouted on his face at the age of fifteen, he was vigilant about keeping his face baby smooth. He was about to get dressed when he caught a glimpse of his full body in the mirror.

He was tall, even taller than a lot of Nords. He wasn't tanned at all. In fact, he was almost ghostly, save for the reddish freckles on his shoulders. And as people said about most Nords, add just two more hairs and he'd be a bear. Okay, maybe not a bear. He saw men whose chest hair was more like a fur coat. His wasn't that thick and for that he was thankful. He imagined it had to be like wearing a constant blanket. He got dressed and headed downstairs. It was around midday, so he still had time to eat before heading out.

"...just appeared right there in the bay!"

Wrothken heard an excited voice coming from downstairs.

"Yes, yes, but what about that orange sludge coming from the sky?" Manheim asked.

The other man laughed, but not in amusement. "Cheese! Can you believe it? It was raining cheese!"

Wrothken saw them sitting at the table. Next to Manheim was a Redguard woman and an Imperial man. He was the one reporting the raining cheese.

"No!" The woman exclaimed. She looked out the window, as if she wanted to see for herself.

"I swear on my grandmother's grave," the Imperial said with his hand over his heart.

"What's going on?" Wrothken asked, taking a seat by the woman.

"A strange door opened up in the Niben Bay a few hours ago," the Imperial said.

"And it rained... cheese?" Wrothken asked.

"It did! By Mara, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't tasted it myself!"

Wrothken looked out the window as well. As hard as it was to believe, the Imperial seemed serious. "The Niben Bay?" He asked.

"Yes! See for yourself!"

Maybe he would. After all, raining cheese wasn't an everyday occurrence.

"Alright, where do I go?"

"It's straight down the path. Just don't stay too long. Who knows what'll happen next..."

He walked out the door, expecting to be able to smell it. Instead, the air was as crisp as ever. He strode down the path, almost breaking into a run when he finally saw it. Oily orange clumps decorated the water and some of the shore. A poor mudcrab was covered in it and had a hard time moving. He had to know. He took some from the mudcrab's shell and sniffed it. It smelled like cheese. It felt like it, too. Only one way to be sure, he thought.

He put the clump in his mouth. "Cheddar!" he exclaimed. He grabbed some more and began eating, wishing he brought some bread with him.

He sat on the shore as he snacked, looking to the strange island ahead of him. That had to be the door. Curiosity sparked in him again. It wasn't too far off, though he wished he had a water walking spell. He was reluctant, but in the end he couldn't skip it. He just had to know what was there, otherwise it would drive him crazy. After all, how often did doors just appear in lakes? Especially ones that brought cheese with it. What if it led to a whole world made of cheese? No way he could just pass that up! He'd check it out and then come back. He took off his armor and set his torches down on the shore before jumping into the water.

The water was cool and surprisingly free of slaughterfish. Maybe it was the cheese, he thought, as some clumps of cheese were slowly sinking into the water floor. One in particular that seemed to change shape as it went, caught Wrothken's eyes. He stared at it falling until he noticed something strange. The island was not exactly an island. It didn't start at the ground, it just floated there. It made him a little wary, but he was so close, a lot closer than he was to the shore. He reminded himself that he'd check it out quickly and then get back to the path. Like the Imperial said, who knew what would happen next.

As Wrothken climbed onto the island, he was amazed by the plant life, though it too sported cheesy decoration. There were bright red mushrooms large enough for him to sit on. In a little pond, strange green pods bounced with the water. Long, thin stalks rose even taller than he was. He saw lavender, pear-shaped fruit hanging from a bush. However, all the plants were nothing compared to the stone figure at the top.

It had two pairs of eyes and formed three faces. They were the same bearded man bearing different expressions. On the left, he seemed to just be staring outward. The right on was grinning, though Wrothken thought there was something malicious in his smile. The center face had his mouth gaping open and glowing bright blue.

Two other people stood outside. A guard with his hand glued to his hilt and a Khajiit muttering incoherently. Wrothken was about to ask the guard what was going on, when the guard cut him off.

"Can't talk now. That door has been making noises again. No telling what's coming out," he said, turning toward the door, which in fact had started making gurgling noises.

Within seconds, a dark elf came out, wearing a shirt with overly puffy sleeves and discolored pants. He was laughing hard, yet crying at the same time. Wrothken noticed a look in his eyes. Something was very wrong with him.

"It’s not right. Madness...why? WHY? Everything is wrong," he said. He grasped his head firmly. "It can't be done!"

Wrothken's stomach churned with pity for the poor man. Obviously something went wrong in there. He took a couple steps toward him, when the elf shouted, "Stay away from me! I won't go back. You can't make me go back! I'll kill you all! You’re all going to die!" The elf pulled out a dagger from his belt and started toward Wrothken.

Wrothken instantly put his hand on his mace, though he wasn't sure if he could do it. The elf wasn't right. He probably didn't even know what he was doing.

"Stay back! This one's violent," the guard commanded as he stepped in between them. With only a few swings of his sword, the elf was freed from madness.

Finally able to talk, the guard approached Wrothken. "I say steer clear of that door. Nothing good to be found on the other side of it. Of that, I'm certain."

Clearly it wasn’t going to be some sort of cheese portal. Even if it was, that display ruined his appetite. With a glance at the slain elf, Wrothken was about to head back when he heard a booming voice. "Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy! Useless mortal meat! Walking bag of dung!"

Wrothken looked around. The Khajiit was huddled in a ball, still rambling to herself and the guard was watching her like a hawk. There was no one else on the island, so who said that?

"A nice effort though," the voice said, as if he was taking back what he just said. "A shame he's dead. These things happen."

The voice was coming from the door. He turned at stared at it, wondering if the statue was actually alive.

"Bring me a champion!" It commanded. "Rend the flesh of my foes! A mortal champion to wade through the entrails of my enemies!"

Wrothken's brows furrowed. A champion? He wasn't... he couldn't... Then why were his feet leading him closer to the door?

"Really! Do come in! It's lovely in the Isles, perfect time for a visit."

He found himself right in front of the blinding light. No, I can't go in there, he thought. Look what happened to that guy! What if it happens to me? He looked up at the teeth, wondering for a second if it was a trap and the teeth would crunch down and eat him up. "What if I just take a quick peek? I'm sure I'll be fine. Just a peek," he reasoned.

He tentatively raised his foot and stuck it through the door. When he quickly pulled it out, it was still there, same as always. He tested it with his hand, and as before, it came back normal. With his eyes squeezed shut, he took the plunge and went in.



The area was not what he expected at all. Then again, he didn't know what to expect. The room was dark. The only light came from a single candle, only illuminating the immediate area. Physically, it was warm, but the dark stone walls and floor made him feel colder. In the center of the room, by the candle, a man sat at a table. He looked like he was middle-aged, due to the loss of hair on top of his head and worry lines in his face and bags under his eyes. A metronome on the table ticked loudly. The man had a book in his lap and he set it down, looking as if Wrothken had interrupted him at a cliffhanger.

"Was that you doing the hokey-pokey?" he asked.

Wrothken's cheeks flushed brightly. He didn't think anyone would see that.

"Just take a seat," the man said, motioning to another chair.

Wrothken sat down, looking around.

"What can I do for you?" He asked Wrothken.

"The door leads here?" Wrothken asked.

"Yes, you have entered the door and now you are here. Amazing, truly."

Wrothken narrowed his eyes a little. Was he being sarcastic?

"What is this place?" he asked, trying to ignore it.

"You approach the Shivering Isles. Through the door behind me lies the realm of Sheogorath, Prince of Madness, Lord of the Never-there. I am Haskill, chamberlain to His Lordship."

Wrothken nodded. "So, why did the door show up in the Niben Bay? And what was with all the cheese?"

"Because my Lord wills it to be so. It poses no danger to Mundus; no compact has been violated. It is a doorway, an invitation. Perhaps you will accept it for what it is." He paused, then added, "The cheese was merely a special touch. Surely you can't expect the arrival of Sheogorath's doorway to have gone on unnoticed. He was sure the cheese would catch someone's attention."

It sure did, Wrothken thought. Then he remembered the people outside. "What about that dark elf and the Khajiit?"

"They entered this realm and were ill-prepared. Their minds are now the property of my Lord."

"But, can't they be cured?"

"Cured?" Haskill seemed almost insulted. "You speak as if they are diseased! They live now in another state of being. Perhaps it is you that needs a cure."

Wrothken shrugged. He sure did for something, but he doubted Haskill could help with that. "When I was out there, I heard someone say 'Bring me a champion!' What was that about?"

"My Lord seeks a mortal to act as His Champion. As for His intent... to attempt to fathom it is a foolish endeavor. His will is His own; His reality follows suit. You are here because you chose to enter; you were not summoned."

Was he not? Wrothken remembered the pull the door had on him, the way he moved forward even as his mind protested.

"So, what now?"

"You do as you will," he said disinterestedly. "You may leave the way you entered. Your life will be none the worse for your time spent here. Or, you may continue onward, through the door behind me. If you can pass the Gates of Madness, perhaps the Lord Sheogorath will find a use for you."

"And if I go back?"

"Who is to say? There are always choices to be made. The Realm of Madness is no different in that regard. Your choices are your own. Enter or do not, but make your decision. I've other duties to which I must attend. Speak with me again when you have made up your mind. The anticipation is almost too much to bear." That time Wrothken knew he was being sarcastic.

Wrothken sat in the chair, and thought. A Daedric Prince might have a use for me? I wonder what... But this is ridiculous! People come out of here warped out of their minds! What if the same happens to me? Oh, who am I kidding? I'm already mad! ....wait, if I'm thinking that, then I can't be mad. A crazy person never doubts their sanity... His head had begun to hurt.

Haskill cleared his throat loudly. "Well? Have you made up your mind? The tension is almost palpable."

"I'll do it!" He said. Even as the words left his lips, he didn't know what he was thinking. He had a thousand questions for himself, but for once he put them to the side. It was supposed to be the start of his new life, after all.

"Fine," he said, almost sounding disappointed. Wrothken had a feeling that Haskill was going to be a royal pain. "I'm sure my Lord will be most pleased, assuming you ever manage to see Him. You'll want to pass through the Gates of Madness. Oh, and mind the Gatekeeper. He dislikes strangers to the Realm. Enjoy your stay."

Haskill stood up and walked to the door. The moment he touched the handle, butterflies materialized from the walls. Thousands of them flew up into the air, revealing the Isles to Wrothken. He was breathless.

"That was amazing!" He said, but Haskill was gone. Wrothken was alone on the hill. "Well, so far, so good."



This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 07:31 AM