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]

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