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]

It's back! (finally)

McBadgere: Yeah, I've developed a soft spot for Ta'Zarna while writing this too. He will be appearing again, worry not.

Darkness Eternal: I know about italics thing but I haven't actually had any active thoughts in the last few chapters...

Glad you enjoyed the gladiator scene, and I was trying to get some sense of what it would be like to have your life in the hands of a crowd (plus it never made sense to me to have all the arena fights to the death; you'd just run out of gladiators...), or entirely dependent on whether a rich patron is in a good or a bad mood. And no, Her Ladyship is not a vampire, though I can imagine that she and Alucardius would probably enjoy one another's company.

And yes, I do do Martial Arts (krapow!), which will hopefully make Carnius' fight scenes nice and realistic as well as being visceral and exciting. And as for the gold and wenches, well...I wonder how long their appeal will last.


Chapter 4-The Parting Gift

You prepared for these things when you worked as a gladiator. In a profession where death was a constant that hung over you on gossamer threads, it was foolishness not to. Those who lasted in the arena knew that the likelihood of each match being their last increased with every bout, and so took some measures and made preparations. Everybody at the arena had the sense to get their affairs in order soon.

Agronak had not had anything as fancy as a proper will and testament made with a lawyer, mainly because he had never trusted them. Instead, he had given Carnius a key and made him promise that he would do as he had asked with it if he ever died in the arena.

Carnius’ first destination was his house on the waterfront. He unlocked the door to his small, shabby and yet well kept one-storey home and headed through the main room into his bedroom. It was simple and Spartan, more a place to sleep than to live, with the only other bits of furniture being a bedside table, a wardrobes for his clothes and a chest to safeguard his possessions. There were no books or even any pictures; Carnius hadn’t time for the latter and he found former too much trouble to work out for it to be any kind of pleasure.

He picked up the chest with a grunt, heaving it to one side and pulling back the threadbare green rug it lay on top of. Underneath that was a trapdoor, and he clicked back the bolt and lifted it up.

Beneath it, there was another chest. There were several items here that were most important to him; much of his coin, as, like Agronak, he held with local wisdom that said it was bad to trust lawyers, bankers or any of their kind, a few other bits of personal memorabilia and the key.

He took it and tucked it into his pocket, closing the chest and placing it back in its hiding place, dropping the chest over it and making sure that the rug wasn’t obviously disturbed. His work done, he left his house, locking the door behind him once more as he headed for Agronak’s old house.

When he found it, there were already people there, people he didn’t know. Opening up the door, going through it. Ransacking and looting it.

He strode towards one of them who was standing outside it with a heavy ledger and a quill, and asked; “What’s going on? Who are you?”

“Quinitus Tarral, Imperial Office of Taxation and Audits,” the man replied. “The inhabitant of this house here passed away yesterday, and as he specified no inheritor in his will it’s now property of the Empire. You a friend of his?”

“Yes,” Carnius replied. “And you can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Quinitus asked. “It’s all perfectly legal.”

Carnius shook his head; he couldn’t argue with that.

“Look,” he said. “I’m a friend of his. He made me promise to do something with his money for him if he died. I need to get it.”

Quinitus snorted.

“Nice try,” he said. “He’s got no will, so you don’t have a leg to stand on, let me assure you of that. Now move along and stop wasting my time.”

“Is everything still in there?” Carnius asked, changing subject.

“Yes, it is, seeing as we’re still making an inventory of it all,” Quinitus replied. “And that doesn’t mean you’re getting in.”

“Right,” Carnius said. “Thanks.”

He stepped past Quinitus, through the front door.

“Hey!” the clerk called after him “Where are you going?”

“In there,” Carnius said as he entered the spacious hallway.

“You can’t do that!” Quinitus protested. “Don’t make me call the Watch!”

“Call them if you want,” Carnius said. “I don’t care.”

Quinitus hestitated as Carnius stepped into what looked like a study before hurrying after Carnius.

“I’m warning you,” he said.

Carnius turned on him, and Quinitus gulped as he realised just how much taller and brawnier than him Carnius was, clutching his ledger to his chest like a shield.

“Look,” Carnius said. “I made Agronak a promise that I’d do something with his money for him if he died. I know you’re just doing your job, but if you keep getting in my way then we’re going to have a problem. Understand?”

“Yes,” Quinitus managed. “Look, I know you might be upset if he was your friend, but I really can’t let you do this, please! There’s a legal process and everything we can work it out, but I can’t just let you march in here and take things. I’d lose my job if I did that.”

He shook his head, and said; “Who are you, anyway?”

“The new Grand Champion.”

Quinitus was quiet for a moment, before he said; “Oh.”

After a second he added a hesitant; “Congratulations, I suppose.”

“Thanks,” Carnius said. “Now look, can I get Agronak’s money out? I’m not just going off with it, and he made me promise to do something with it. Look, he even gave me this key for his strongbox and everything.”

He fished it out of his pocket to prove his point, and Quinitus frowned. Carnius could see he had the small man running scared, and he had enough self-preservation instinct in him to decide that refusing the Grand Champion was a bad idea.

“I suppose,” he said after a moment. “Seeing as you have the key and everything, it counts as a verbal contract. And if the money’s with a trusted party and is accounted for, it should be alright. Nothing I’d lose my job over.”

Carnius nodded.

“Say it was a charitable donation,” he said. “They don’t tax those, do they?”

“No, no,” Quinitus said. “You can take the money, if you want. Just don’t punch anyone, please.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Carnius replied as he pulled open a cupboard on the desk Agronak had. He wasn’t sure how much the Grey Prince would have actually used it; he was hardly the most academic of people. The speculation was immaterial, however, and what was more immediate was the grey steel box in there. He placed the key in its lock and clicked it open, pulling the lid back to inspect the stash of Septims within it. He wasn’t sure of the sum within, but Grand Champion was a well-paid title and it was certainly a lot. He closed it, nodding in satisfaction, taking it and tucking it under his arm.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m done.”

He doubted there was much else he could do for Agronak’s house now.

Quinitus nodded, then hesitantly held up his quill and asked he asked; “I don’t suppose you can sign my ledger, could you?”

“Fine,” Carnius shrugged. “Where do you want me to sign it?”

Quinitus flicked to the back of it, to a blank page, and said; “Just there would be fine.”

Carnius nodded, taking the quill and scrawling something approaching his name on the parchment.

“Now there’s a keepsake worth hanging onto,” Qunitius said, ripping the page from the book. “Thank you.”

“It’s alright,” Carnius said, making for the door.

He left Agronak’s house with his package, heading back through the crowded streets of the Imperial city. People bustled around him, but paid him no more heed other than to move out of his way. Soon enough, he had found his destination; a large building of white stone, one that looked old but was still well kept, with the words ‘Saint Allesia’s Home for Parentless Children’ written on a sign above the door.

He rapped his knuckles on the heavy oak door, and after a few moments of waiting it swung open for him. He was greeted by an Imperial woman, who asked him; “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?”

“I’ve come to make a donation,” Carnius said. “Just a bit of, you know, charity.”

He rattled the strongbox and the girl nodded.

“Of course, thank you,” she said. “Come on in.”

She lead him through into a small side room, and nodded for him to set down the strongbox on the table.

“How much are you giving?” she asked as Carnius did so, pulling the key from his pocket.

“I’m not sure,” Carnius replied. “I was just giving you what’s in the box.”

He pulled the lid back, revealing the contents, and she gasped as she looked at the gold within.

“By the Nine,” she murmured. “I…there must be thousands in there. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. There’s been work on the building we’ve needed to and we were worried about how we were going to get the money, but this is…thank you, thank you.”

She bit her lip, tears of amazed gratitude beginning to well before she cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” she managed. Carnius was standing a little uncomfortably, blushing at the outburst of emotion. “This is just…it’s quite a shock, that’s all.”

“It’s fine,” Carnius said. “I think I understand.”

She nodded.

“What’s your name, sir,” she said. “I mean, we were hoping to build a new set of dormitories and if you wanted to we could name it after you; this should pay for it.”

“It’s not my money,” Carnius said. “I’m giving it on behalf of a friend of mine. He, ah, he can’t deliver it himself.”

“Oh,” the woman said. “I’m sorry to hear that. It was a very generous thing of him to ask for. What was his name? We can put up the new wing as a memorial for him, if you think it would be the sort of thing he would like; it would be a good thing to be remembered by.”

“Yeah, he’d like that,” Carnius said. “His name was Agronak; Agronak Gro-Malog.”

“The Grey Prince?” the orphanage’s proprietor asked, to which Carnius nodded. “I see. I suppose he was well known for being charitable with his money.”

She smiled at him, and said; “Thank you, again. There would have been a lot of people who would have kept this, I think. It was good of you to do this.”

“I promised him,” Carnius replied with a shrug. “And I’m a man of my word.”

“And the world could use more men like you,” the woman said. “Thank you again, sir. I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

“I’m sure you will,” Carnius said. “I think I should go, though. Good luck with making that new wing.”

He rose to left, before he was stopped by the orphanage’s owner asking; “I didn’t get your name, sir. What is it?”

“It’s nothing important,” Carnius said. “I was just a friend of Agronak’s, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” she said. “But if it’s all the same, thank you. We’re in your debt here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Carnius replied. “I just passed the money on.”

He nodded a farewell to her, which she returned, still sitting by the box with a disbelieving air about her. He made his way through the front door, making sure the latch closed behind him, and it was as he stepped back onto the street that he realised something; he had absolutely no idea of what he was going to do with himself next.