Madgod Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Hey everyone.

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

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

Madgod

Chapter 1-The Champion

Sing deep, sing low, sing the song
pay the piper to play it on
to his tune you must dance
and slumber in eternal trance
for deep within its secret dreams
madness desperate plots and schemes
the gauntlet breaks the chain of snakes
and its bloody bounty it finally takes
the starving serpent eats the tail
consuming slowly as a snail
but patient, hungry, it awaits
the cyclic feast it anticipates
will we be free or forever slave
hear the siren call of ‘obey’
or will Madgod rise and strike down
mercury tide that would Isles drown?

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

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

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



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

“Mercy! Please, mercy!”

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



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



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

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

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

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

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



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



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

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



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



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

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



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



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

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



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



He was drinking to the death of his best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was one of the boasts. One of the favourites

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Colonel Mustard]

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

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

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

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

Illydoor: Egad, you're alive!

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

Thanks very much for reading, everyone!



Chapter 3-The Biggest Runt on Nirn

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

Carnius shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

Owyn frowned.

“Are you even listening to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Said hello, didn’t I?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I celebrated last night,” Carnius said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just wish Agronak was here,” Carnius said.

Ta’Xarna shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head.

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

He grinned and clapped Carnius on the shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t it wait?”

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

Ta’Xarna frowned.

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

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

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