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 & mALX~ I always drive them insane too. I think I killed them once just to see what the traps did, but I reloaded and drove them mad instead. It is the lesser of two evils and it will help them fit in perfectly with the rest of the residents

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Nine: Duality

By time Wrothken made it back to Sickly Bernice's Taphouse, he felt like collapsing right in front of the door. His entire body throbbed in sync with his thudding heart. Beads of sweat lined his hair, slowly falling down his face, burning into his scruff. When he sat down, his thighs felt the familiar, pleasant burning throb of a good workout.

"Oh dear," Bernice said frowning. "Your cheeks are so red! Have you caught a fever?"

He shook his head. He didn't tell her that he ran most of the trip, fearful that more Knights would show up. Instead, he pulled out the silver flask and set it before her.

"Oh my stars..." She whispered, lifting it up. She swished it around. Her face lit up as she opened it, taking a whiff. "My savior!" She grasped Wrothken's hand for a moment before gulping it down. The gray pallor washed away from her face immediately, being replaced by a cool ivory color. "Thank you, thank you!" She smiled widely.

Wrothken would have enjoyed her happiness more if he wasn't so dead tired. "You're welcome, Bernice. Can I have a room for a couple hours?"

"Dearie, you can have a room whenever you want. No, put your gold away, I won't accept a single coin. You saved my life! In fact, I want you to have this." She took a ring from a box of Septims. It was a dark band with a soft green gem in the center. "It's supposed to boost your immunity up. Didn't work for me, obviously, but you're younger so maybe it'll help you."

It was far too small for his middle or ring finger, but it barely fit on his pinky. "Thank you, Bernice," he said, looking at the jade.

"Don't mention it," she said. "Really, don't tell anyone. I wouldn't want someone to get too close and get me sick all over again. Now, you go on up and rest. Afterwards, I'd recommend that you go see Cutter, just up the road. She can fix your armor up for you. Do be careful, though. She's a bit of an odd one..."



Rested, bathed, and finally shaven, Wrothken felt wonderful. He gathered up his armor and mace and walked down to Cutter's Weapons.

A flash of butterflies fluttered about in his stomach when he entered and saw the bloody stains on the floor and table. Standing in front of a blazing furnace, was an incredibly pale wood elf. Her jet hair made her appear almost ghostly. She had large green eyes heavily shadowed with black powder. Her smile gave Wrothken chills.

"They call me Cutter," she said, in a soft, slow drawl. "You must be the new boy. I bet your blood would taste delicious..."

He set his armor on the table, keeping his distance. "Bernice said you'd be able to fix this up?"

She held up the cuirass, licking her lips as she traced her finger over the gashes. "I bet you bled all over the place." She looked at the other pieces and set them aside. "I can fix them for fifty gold."

Wrothken raised his eyebrows. He was sure he didn't have that much, but then he remembered the items he received in Xedilian. "Do you buy things too?"

She nodded.

"Good," He said. He set the claymore down, noticing the purple gem had turned orange. It had to be a trick of the light. "I'm not sure what this is, but maybe you can find a use for it," he said, setting down the black box.

Cutter gasped. "A matrix! Are you sure you want to sell it?"

"Maybe." He picked up the box. "What's a matrix?"

"Let me show you something," she said. She took his arm, the iciness of her hands piercing through Wrothken's shirt, and she led him to the other side of the room, where two sets of armor were displayed.

They were made from the same material, one built for a man, the other for a woman. It was an almost sickly, dark green color. A vision of a tortured soul was etched on the cuirass, and a monster's face on the shield. The helm was something that the face of evil would wear. Wrothken placed his hand longingly on the glass. That armor was scary enough to strike terror in the heart of any enemy, be it a grummite or a Knight of Order. He had to have it.

"It is made from Madness Ore," Cutter said, picking up what looked like a large, black thorn from the table. "Spirits of ancients souls are trapped in the Ore. Find it in ancient ruins. Grummites are also especially attracted to it." Wrothken briefly remembered seeing the thorns in Xedilian, but at the time he didn't think anything of them. "It's a supple and flexible ore, yet it holds a good edge. I can shape the sharpest of blades with it. I can also create magical items."

She set the ore down and took the box she had referred to as a matrix. "Tradition dictates before each master smith dies, she hides these magical molds in the world, like pouring salt deep into a wound.” She ran her fingers slowly down her arms. Wrothken noticed raised scars all over her forearms, some jagged, some swirled, even some spelling out words. “Over time they soak in magical energies from the world around them, the way you suck in blood from a cut." She ran her finger slowly down his arm, causing him to shudder. "Bring me two pieces of ore, and I will forge you a new set of boots and bleed the magic of the matrix into it."

"Alright," he said, excited by the thought of new armor. "How much will you need?"

She took a paper from her pocket. It was covered in soot and dried blood smears. "Here is a list of everything I would need for whatever piece you would like. Now, I will get to work on your armor. It may take awhile, so you may leave if you'd like and come back later. Since you sold me a fine weapon, we'll call it even, hmm?"

"Alright, I'll be back soon," he said. He didn't want to keep Sheogorath waiting.

As he was heading to the palace, he felt a strong grip on his arm. He almost expected to see a Golden Saint scowling down at him, but was surprised to see Rheyna. She pulled him back, making him face her. His heart raced so hard, he was sure she could hear it.

"You shaved." She said. Her voice was almost like the Mazken, only lacking warmth. "I like it. It makes you look..." She leaned in. "Younger....fresher. Much more innocent." She smiled, her eyes shining with mischief. "You look nice this way. I like it."

His entire body tingled with her every word simply because she was talking to him. He tried to speak, but his voice cracked as if he were fifteen again. He simply nodded.

"Anyway, I have to go see Cutter now. Maybe we can get together later..." She released his arm and turned on her heel, leaving Wrothken to gaze after her.



"Well now," Sheogorath said. "What news do you have to report?"

"First of all, I was attacked by Knights of Order."

"So soon?" He seemed genuinely concerned for a moment. "Not a surprise, I suppose. We'll get to that later. No need to burden your little brain with it now," he said, waving his hand. "And Xedilian? Since you're standing here, I assume you've succeeded. Or you're terribly confused. Or really lacking in good judgment."

"It's been fixed."

"Wonderful!" He said, standing up and clapping. "Time for a celebration... Cheese for everyone!" Wrothken smiled widely. He loved cheese. "Wait, scratch that. Cheese for no one. That can be just as much of a celebration, if you don't like cheese. True?" Wrothken sighed, looking down. He was looking forward to another rain of cheddar. "You've run a maze like a good little rat, but no cheese for you yet. Well, maybe a little," he winked, patting Wrothken's head. "I've granted you a new spell - the ability to summon Haskill, my Chamberlain, to aid you in your travels. He knows a lot. More than he knows. In fact, give it a try. Summon our friend to you now. I'll wait."

Wrothken looked over at Haskill and chuckled. Summoning, or any magic, was never his strong point. Luckily he knew enough to know that he just needed to focus his magicka and reach deep within himself and extract it. When he did that, Haskill materialized at his side.

"Ah... our Lord has granted you the power to summon me. How wonderful," he said, looking more irritated than ever. "When summoned, I can offer advice on your current endeavor. I imagine it's up to you what to do with my wisdom. Do try to use your power sparingly. I have duties to which I must attend. Rather more important than shepherding you around, I'm sure." With his lecture over, Haskill vanished and appeared back at the base of Sheogorath's throne.

Sheogorath cackled loudly, slapping his thighs. "Isn't that a hoot? I love it, myself. Best part of being a Daedric Prince, really. Go ahead, try it again. He loves it!"

Wrothken smiled and repeated the spell.

Haskill sighed. "Ah, summoned again. My Lord does so enjoy that, as is His prerogative. I'll assume you're done for now."

Wrothken flexed his hand. He was going to have a lot of fun.

"Just don't expect to summon dear Haskill anywhere but in the Realm. He dislikes leaving My presence. I get that sometimes."

Wrothken smiled, imagining what would happen if he were able to summon him to Kvatch and Haskill gave Kirsty his sass. He actually began to laugh as he envisioned her beating him with a rolling pin.

"Good thing you've mastered that. You'll need all the help you can get if you're going to defeat Jyggalag and stop the Greymarch."

"Who's Jyggalag?"

"The Daedric Prince of Order. Or biscuits..." He paused, tapping his lip with his finger. "No. Order. And not in a good way. Bleak. Colorless. Dead. Boring, boring, boring!" he cried, grabbing a fistful of his hair. "And not a fan of My work, I can tell you!" He wagged his finger. "Hates it. Hates Me. A bit single minded, if you take My meaning. You've seen his Knights. Not the warm and cuddly sort. Not a bit of original thought in their lifeless husks. So, you're going to help Me stop him."

"Alright, how do I do that?"

"Again with the niggling little details! Hold your tongue. Or I will," he added in a menacing tone. "We'll get to that, all in due time. For now, you've got other work to do."

Wrothken exhaled deeply. Just how was he supposed to stop it if he didn't know what it was? "Fine. What would you ask me to do?"

"Ask? ASK? I don't ask. I tell. This is My Realm, remember? My creation, My place, My rules. Look at you," he said, lifting a lock of Wrothken's hair. "No concept of what you've stumbled into. No sense of place. You don't even really know where you are, do you?" He grabbed a hold of Wrothken's dark blue shirt. "I suppose few really do,” he said, releasing Wrothken and shrugging. “But that's beside the point. We're going to give you a taste of where you have found yourself. You're going to learn."

Wrothken's blood felt like ice. Was he going to be driven insane like the men in Xedlilian?

Sheogorath continued, holding up two fingers. "Two halves, two rulers, two places. Meet and greet. Do what they will, so you know what they're about. Thadon, the Duke of Mania and Syl, the Duchess of Dementia. Seek them out, and let them show you what New Sheoth is. You might be surprised. Once you understand what My Realm is, you might understand why it's important to keep it intact. And maybe you'll make some friends along the way. That's always nice!"

"So you want me to speak to each of them, and they'll help me understand things here?"

"Isn't that what I said? Don't tell me your ears have been clogged with cheese. You'll attract rats that way!"

Wrothken raised his eyebrows, taking his answer as a yes. "As you wish," he said. First things first, he needed his armor.

"Ta!" Sheogorath said, waving. "Come visit again, or I'll pluck out your eyes!"

The image of Sheogorath adorning himself with Wrothken's eyes planted itself firmly in his mind and refused to go away. "I promise to visit again, real, real soon."


This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 07:35 AM