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Chorrol.com _ Fan Fiction _ Madness Helps Me Save Myself

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 13 2011, 02:14 AM

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."


Posted by: SubRosa Jan 13 2011, 02:40 AM

Oh my, you retool you certainly did. Whatever writing elixir you tapped for this, please send some my way! Your descriptions in just the first few paragraphs alone are simply magnificent! The roar of the crowd, the sound of Kirsty chopping, the smell of her lavender, mixed in with that of the bread and other sweets, etc... All combine to pull me right down there to the stool next to our poor Nord snowman.

It was almost funny how the pounds began to shed after he caught her in bed with another man. A thigh slapper really.
I love how this drips with bitter sarcasm!

I also see in this version, Wrothken is not blind to Kirsty's curves. That is interesting, and adds a new dimension to the story.

"I'd rather hunt mudcrabs while skyclad!"
Such a wonderful phrase, not only ES friendly, but pagan-friendly as well!

Why did they have to be such nags?
Could it be because men are to lazy to get off their sorry asses until women nag them to? wink.gif Seriously, an excellent example of man-think.

I am so looking forward to seeing the rest! Both the completely new episodes, and the old ones. Story, Good, More! smile.gif

btw. I never thought Champion of Madness was a bad title. I always liked it. Sometimes the simplest and most direct titles are the best, imho.


nits:
He agree on that point.
Looks like that beyotch Awour swiped the "d" from Wrothken's agreed.

Posted by: D.Foxy Jan 13 2011, 02:55 AM

Am I seeing double now? Oh, Mad Nell, Hep me enslave my elf!!!

blink.gif

Posted by: Grits Jan 13 2011, 10:47 PM

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.
She’s not bossy, she just knows what he should be doing. smile.gif

I love Wrothken and Kirsty!! I can’t wait to read more!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 15 2011, 05:30 AM

SubRosa~ I love how this drips with bitter sarcasm! Lol that's me! It gets me in a lot of trouble (mostly with Wrothken tongue.gif) but this is such a good outlet for it all smile.gif

D. Foxy~ Yes tongue.gif It's not just Sheogorath messing with your head wink.gif

Grits~ She’s not bossy, she just knows what he should be doing. Exactly. smile.gif Its best to just listen and accept it


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter One: A Door in Niben Bay




"Your money or your life!" The Khajiit snarled with one hand on her steel mace. It was well worn, probably from several violent robberies.

Just this morning, Wrothken would have simply walked by, hoping the bandit would end it quickly. Bow it was different. He promised Kirsty that it was a new beginning. It had to start now.

"Why don't you take that mace and shove it up your tail?"

The Khajiit growled. "You know what? I'll just take both!" She swung the mace at him. Well worn or not, it looked like it would be decent enough with some minor repair. If he could disarm her, he would take that on the road with him.

He dodged her blow and punched her in the face. She reeled back, grabbing her nose with her free hand. Her eyes were on fire and Wrothken knew he had to be quick. She roared, swinging the mace as hard as she could, barely missing his shoulder. Wrothken noticed her overstep, and he grabbed her wielding arm with one hand, pulling her in, and he thrust his knee hard into her stomach. As she cried out, Wrothken was able to wrench the mace from her hand. In one quick move, he slammed it against her side. She moaned in pain, clutching it. Wrothken wasn't sure if it was in his head, but he swore he heard a crack on contact.

"Jekosiit!" She hissed. Quickly, she ran from him.

Wrothken's heart thudded as he watched her take off, cursing at the top of her lungs. It felt good to get some of his aggression out. He almost wished the fight would have gone on longer. However, he was wasting precious sunlight standing out there so he hurried away.

As he walked, he looked south to Valenwood. He briefly considered heading in that direction instead of the Imperial City, to start his new life but then he remembered all Kirsty had told him. The government was in ruins. They were distrustful of other races, so a Nord would be unwelcome and likely alone in the society. Oh, and she said something about them eating other people occasionally. That indeed was a dealbreaker. After all, he could easily feed a family of four and then some. He also didn't know if Bosmer had a preference toward "white meat." Shaking his head, he continued on the Gold Road.

With a sigh, he realized that he didn't think about the loneliness factor when he allowed Kirsty to talk him into his journey. He was by nature a very chatty person. He looked back, barely able to see the faint outline of Castle Kvatch. He wanted desperately to go back and convince Kirsty to go with him, but he couldn't. For one, the afternoon was slowly giving away to evening and she hated traveling by night. The other thing was that she would never leave her bakery. Not after all the blood, sweat, and tears she poured into it. Kvatch would burn, and she would remain, rebuilding with her own tiny hands if she had to. Trying to accept his isolation, he turned to his own mind for conversation.

He looked around as he crossed Skingrad. "I wonder what it would be like here in Wine County..." He envisioned himself in a house with cultured friends over, sampling the latest Surilie Brothers concoction with fine cheeses. He laughed out loud. That was no place for him, except for the cheese. He was more the type to guzzle ale in a loud, seedy tavern.

Soon he saw a woman standing in the middle of the road. She was a Dunmer, wearing only simple clothing. When he got closer, he noticed dirt stains on her knees and leaves in her hair. Her stubby fingers were caked with soil. He smiled. "Afternoon," he said, longing for a decent conversation.

"A perfect tomato... one taste, and it is gone forever. And then... a lifetime of searching for the next one," she said sadly. "Undena Orethi. I am a pilgrim in search of the perfect tomato. It is my grail, and I shall follow it all my life."

Wrothken didn't know what to say. He wanted someone to talk to, but really? Tomatoes? He gave her a nod and continued on his way.

As the path took a sharp curve, a thought came into his mind suddenly. Kirsty was right! I haven't thought about Atrea all day! Then he stopped. "Dammit!" he shouted, stomping his foot. Those thoughts were always counter productive, as his mind always became flooded with memories of the Altmer. Anytime he closed his eyes, he swore he could feel her golden hair on his cheeks. He could still see her pale green eyes staring at him, though he was miles away from her. He still smelled her flowery scent--

"Stop it!" he said aloud. He forbade his mind to bring her up again. Obviously Skingrad wasn't far enough.

He glared at the ground as he walked until a round stone caught his eye. It was white and smooth, just laying on the path. Curiously, he nudged it with his foot. It rolled over, greeting him with empty eye sockets and a malicious grin. A skull. He instantly felt a chilling numb throughout his body. He nudged it again, turning its gaze elsewhere. Only a few minutes had passed when he came across another. He ignored it, forcing himself to keep his head held high, though it was hard to resist the urge to slink back to Kvatch.

"Stop it," he repeated, this time in a harsh whisper. "She is not worth it. I'm stronger than this. Kirsty was right, I can beat this on my own." His heart pounded angrily in his chest. "Traitor," he growled.

He stomped up the path until he came across two headless skeletons in front of a cave. On either side of the cave was a stake with three skulls impaled on them. More skulls hung from ropes alongside the rickety door. Contrasting them were heart-shaped leaves with budding violet flowers, wrapping beautifully around the door and even on the poles holding the skulls.

Curiosity was almost overwhelming him. He put his hand on the knob, pressing his ear to the door. He could hear shuffling and throaty grunts and whispers. He couldn't make out any words. As he twisted the knob, a saying popped into his mind: Curiosity killed the Khajiit. He considered skipping it and heading back to the path, but he remembered that Kirsty always added: But satisfaction brought it back.

He took his hand from the knob and took his torch from his back. He concentrated hard, feeling warmth in his heart. The warmth blossomed within him and felt as if it was trailing down his left arm and bloomed in his hand. He used the small flame to ignite the torch. He didn't know what exactly was in there, but with his mace drawn and a pounding heart and quivering legs, he burst in.

A pair of goblins were a few yards ahead of him, apparently arguing over a fresh rat corpse. However, Wrothken's arrival brought them a new source of food, or so they thought. They both ran at him, one holding a rusted dagger, the other a wooden club. Wrothken had heard of people getting extremely sick from rust-infected wounds, so he focused on the bladed one first.

He was thankful for his steel cuirass. Even though it had seen much better days, it reduced the pain of the whacks he got from the club, as he attacked the first goblin. After it went down, he turned quickly, giving the second goblin a well-earned beating. The goblin chose to remain and take it until Wrothken's final blow. As it fell, Wrothken heard a clinking noise. A few gold coins and a lock pick fell from its rags. Seeing as how the goblin no longer had use for either, Wrothken picked them up and continued inside.

The first room was quiet. Most likely the two goblins were in the area before the rat came along. The first thing Wrothken noticed was a large mound in the corner with bright silver veins wrapping around it. Excited, Wrothken searched the area for a pick. Maybe if I harvest enough silver, I can convince Atrea to come back! he thought. "No, no, no!" he shouted, hitting himself on the head with each exclaim. He wasn't going to allow himself to crawl back to her. But the silver... oh, yes, he would show her. If he could get enough silver, he could show her exactly what she lost. If only he could find a pick!

In his hunting, he stumbled over a small, wooden chest. He knelt down, setting his mace down in front of him, and tried to open it. He sighed in relief as it opened without the objection of a lock. However, he was disappointed to find no pickaxe. He was rewarded with a handful of gold. "Least it's something," he muttered. With a forlorn glance at the tempting silver, he continued on.

He was caught by surprise when a goblin smacked him in the stomach with an iron mace. It must have heard him in the next room. The blow caused him to stumble a little, but when he got his bearings back, he retaliated, burying his mace in the goblin's gut. The goblin squawked angrily and tried to bite Wrothken's arm with his noticeably sharp teeth. Wrothken quickly withdrew, since his arm was unprotected and he slammed his mace into the goblin's forehead.

He wasn't sure if it killed it or just knocked it out, so he didn't take his sweet time surveying the room. It was a dead end anyway. The only thing of interest was another silvery vein and a chest. Wrothken looked at the goblin and poked it with his foot. It didn't stir. If it was alive, it wouldn't return to consciousness for awhile. Wrothken went to the chest, dismayed to find out that it was locked. Lock picking was never his strong point. Just as he predicted, his first and second attempt failed. The third attempt, he got lucky and the chest opened up. It contained a little more gold, two lock picks, a head of lettuce, and a filthy fork. He wondered why goblins would bother locking that up, but he figured it was silly to expect reason from those creatures.

Wrothken headed the other direction and entered what looked like a primitive kitchen. An empty pot sat over an open flame. Nearby, there was a table with disgustingly dirty utensils. Some sort of meat sat on the table along with a few potion bottles. He was wary of anything created by goblins, so he left them behind.

Suddenly a pot whizzed by his head. He turned and saw a goblin wielding a ladle with suspicious looking fuzz sprouting from the spoon. The goblin angrily picked up a chair and threw it hard at Wrothken. He fell back, crushing the potions and dropping his mace. The goblin recognized the weapon and dashed, snatching it up before Wrothken could get back up. The goblin hit him while he was still down, creating large dents in the armor.

He couldn't tell where it was going to hit next because he was trying to shield his head with his forearms, though he could feel the goblin moving down near his legs, still swinging as hard as it could. Wrothken roughly kicked it and it landed right in the fire pit, the fire quickly engulfing it. It squealed loudly in pain. Wrothken looked at it and felt sorry for the poor creature. He picked up his mace and used a well-placed hit to put it out of its misery. The room was already starting to fill with the stench of roasted goblin. Wrothken felt ready to leave when a larger goblin strolled in.

It held a staff with a severed goblin head attached to it and wore a feathered headdress. It looked at the carnage and then at Wrothken, then back again. It gave Wrothken a look of fury, then turned on its heel and ran. Wrothken was bewildered. Surely that was the chief! Why was it running away? He thought about going after it, but he didn't know how much time he'd spent in the cave. Since he wanted to be in bed at a decent hour, he let the goblin run away and he headed to the door.


Twilight greeted him with such an eerie silence that he wouldn't have been surprised if the headless skeletons rose up and came after him. Paranoia encouraged a quick glance at them and thankfully they remained on the ground.

White-Gold Tower was glowing like a pearl in the distance. Wrothken knew there was no way he was going to make it to the Imperial City before nightfall. His best bet would be to find an inn and set off in the morning.

He felt as if a dark cloud loomed over his head as he continued on his way. He couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. Atrea never mentioned any problems. He didn't know if he should take it as a warning and be happy it ended before they actually married or if he should try harder to get her back, despite Kirsty's threat of beating him up. He was so conflicted. His thoughts were so consuming that he forgot about the path and just headed straight.

He longed to hold her cool, soft figure against his once more. He wanted to bask in the glow of her amber skin. He needed her silken hands-- A fireball zoomed past his head, interrupting his thoughts.

The imp let out chirping sounds, which Wrothken interpreted to be laughter. Did it understand? Was it mocking him? With a guttural growl, Wrothken tried swatting it with his mace. It dodged each blow, tweeting joyfully. It is laughing at me! he thought with clenched teeth. It fueled his rage and he began swatting harder and faster. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he grazed it enough so it fell to the ground, though still alive and alert. Before it could do anything, Wrothken picked it up by the legs and threw it into the forest. It took him a few minutes to feel the slightest bit guilty about it.

"Great," he said, looking around. He was deep in the woods and it was already dark. White-Gold Tower was no longer easily seen. The night was growing chilly. Wolves howled in the distance. Wrothken was tired and he knew that would be a hindrance if confronted by a hungry pack, be it wolves or bandits. "There has to be an inn somewhere..." he said, looking around. Then again, he wasn't sure if he wanted to spend the rest of the night looking for one. He decided to head back toward Skingrad to get his directions straight.

"Hmmm..." He stopped. After about a half-hour walking, Wrothken stared at the Ayleid ruin ahead of him. He turned to a stone fort, which wasn't too far away, and said, "Now, I vaguely remember that...but this wasn't here before, was it?" How he wished Kirsty was with him. She was much better with directions. Sadly, he was left to his own instructions. "Maybe if I head this way..." he said, walking where he thought was southeast.



He knew his feet hated him. If they could, they'd probably jump off his ankles and run away. With each throbbing step, Wrothken knew they'd pay him back tenfold in the morning. He trudged along until he caught a buttery scent. He could tell it was something baked. His stomach growled loudly, scolding him for not eating since gobbling up the sandwiches Kirsty had packed. He no longer cared about the inn. All he wanted was a taste of that food. He followed his nose until he was able to see a point of light.

It didn't flicker, like a campfire. Instead it was steady, telling him it was likely a building. For the first time in ages, his heart rose. Ignoring the burning protests of his feet, he broke into a run. Even when his torch finally blew out, he didn't stop. He followed the light as if he were a moth.

A modest building soon came into view. Two windows were lit. A single horse sat outside the door, under a swinging sign. It read: The Inn of Ill Omen. Suddenly Wrothken was a little put off. Ill Omen? Did the owner want to scare off customers? Still, it was late and the scent was stronger than ever. He opened the door, almost wanting to sleep right there on the entrance floor.

"Well, I'll be a spotted Snowbear," the man at the counter exclaimed. "A customer!"

Wrothken nodded wearily. Atrea used to refer to him as her "snowbear," but he pushed the thought away before it could distract him further. He sat at the counter and asked, "What is that smell? Whatever it is, I'd like some."

The man paled. "Oh... you mean S'Jirra's potato bread?"

Wrothken gasped. "Potato bread? Sounds wonderful!" His mouth watered just thinking about it.

"Ahh..." the man rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, the thing is, I don't sell it here. It's actually the inn up the road..." He trailed off.

Wrothken groaned. It was so tempting, seducing him with not just fresh bread, but potatoes... He loved potatoes! But he was so worn out. "You know what, I'll just eat here. What do you have?"

The color flushed back in the man's face. "I can fix you up some crab's meat! Just add some spices and it'll be the best crab you've ever had!"

"Fine, and I need a drink."

The man nodded, heading to his stove. "Name's Manheim, by the way." He didn't give Wrothken a chance to answer. "And as you probably saw, this here's the Inn of Ill Omen. Funny name, I know." He took out a leek and chopped it up. "But it's too late to change it now." He put the leek in a pan, along with some crab meat and a sprinkling of cheese. "Say, you wouldn't happen to need a room, would you?"

Forcing his eyes to stay open, Wrothken answered, "Yes, actually, I do."

"Great!" Manheim set the food on a plate and gave it to Wrothken, along with a bottle of ale. "I have one upstairs. You interested?"

"Yeah, I'll take it." He took a fork and began shoveling the food in his mouth. He was done in what felt like seconds.

Manheim laughed. "Now that's what I like to see! A man with an appetite!" Wrothken paid for his meal and the room, glad he found extra coin in the goblin cave. Manheim pointed up the stairs. "Alright, first room on your left. The washroom is down the hall to the right."

Wrothken nodded and walked up the stairs.

The room was no bigger than a closet with a bedroll on the floor. He was almost irritated that he actually paid for this instead of just sleeping outside for free. He stripped out of his armor and his shirt, then he sat on the bed. He swished the bottle around for a few moments as he thought. No going back now. Tomorrow, I'll begin anew. He wasn't sure what, but the Imperial City had to have something for him. He raised the bottle up, as if toasting to himself, and chugged it down.

He crawled into the bedroll, clutching the pillow tightly. Almost instantly, he drifted to sleep.


Posted by: SubRosa Jan 15 2011, 07:39 PM

A fight with a bandit that ends with them running away rather than fighting to the death with suicidal intensity? Yaay! It is so nice to see a touch of realistic behaviour from the characters in a fan fic. It shows us that Wrothken's world is a real place, and not a game.

However, he was wasting precious sunlight standing out there so he hurried away.
This reminds me of an old John Wayne cowboy movie (The Cowboys?) "We're burning daylight!"

He also didn't know if Bosmer had a preference toward "white meat."
laugh.gif

Kvatch would burn, and she would remain, rebuilding with her own tiny hands if she had to.
This feels prophetic, given the circumstances...

Undena Orethi was a cunningly placed piece of foreshadowing. Very thoughtful of you to place an encounter with her on Wrothken's path. She is a harbinger of the madness that waits for him.

A wonderful description of Wrothken's spellcasting!

a ladle with suspicious looking fuzz sprouting from the spoon
Ewwww! wacko.gif

All in all, lots of fun to see my favorite spotted snowbear back!

Posted by: mALX Jan 17 2011, 08:18 PM

QUOTE

Well, I'll be a spotted Snowbear," the man at the counter exclaimed. "A customer!"



I went into Manheims one day and he got stuck on that line, just kept repeating it over and over again - I thought it was funny the first time, but after a while it drove me nuts! It was either leave or kill him and reload the save, lol.

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

Great Write ... but .... GAAAAAH !!!!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Jan 17 2011, 09:52 PM

Man man man man manly man man man...

Wrothken sound so much like your typical male... burly, scruffy, and always thinking with the stomach or... you know... that other thing. I like him already. hubbahubba.gif hubbahubba.gif

As the path took a sharp curve, a thought came into his mind suddenly. Kirsty was right! I haven't thought about Awour all day! Then he stopped. "Dammit!" he shouted, stomping his foot. Those thoughts were always counter productive, as his mind always became flooded with memories of the Altmer. Anytime he closed his eyes, he swore he could feel her golden, hip length hair on his cheeks. He could still see her pale green eyes staring at him, though he was miles away from her. He still smelled her flowery scent--

And down the slippery slope you go! Start thinking about a woman and there's almost nothing in the world that can make you stop.

He wasn't going to allow himself to crawl back to her. But the silver... oh, yes, he would show her. If he could get enough silver, he'd be as rich as the emperor himself! Oh, he how he would rub her nose in it, like dog after soiling the carpet. If only he could find a pick!

Bad breakup?

"A perfect tomato... one taste, and it is gone forever. And then... a lifetime of searching for the next one," she said sadly. "Undena Orethi. I am a pilgrim in search of the perfect tomato. It is my grail, and I shall follow it all my life."

Sounds like this girl's a bit mad, don't you think? tongue.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 18 2011, 12:44 AM

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~

QUOTE
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 wink.gif

Thomas Kaira~ Meeeeeeen!!! (not a bad show tongue.gif) 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 tongue.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

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."


Posted by: SubRosa Jan 18 2011, 02:20 AM

He just had to know what was there, otherwise it would drive him crazy.
And it might just do that anyhow! wink.gif

Once again I loved the rain of cheese that heralded the arrival of the strange door in Niben Bay. That was a good touch. So very Sheogoraic. Also again I liked how Wrothken is drawn to the door like a lodestone. He makes excuses to just go look, but it is clear that something deeper is drawing him in.

Well, Wrothken sure knows how to start a new life! But I don't think this was quite what Kirsty had in mind! laugh.gif


nits:
Wrothken was about to ask the guard what was going on, when the guard cut him off
You have a repetition of guard here. You might want to replace the second instance with something like soldier, or swordsman, other man, etc...

Posted by: mALX Jan 19 2011, 11:29 PM

I'm so glad you kept the cheese in there - that was one of the first clues to me that your story was going to be AWESOME !!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 21 2011, 03:00 AM

The cheese rain was a huge thing since I thought the arrival of the door was just too plain for Mr. Rain-of-flaming-dogs. And Wrothken does love his cheese... smile.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Three: We're All Mad Here



Wrothken felt like a child filled with wonder as he walked the path in the Isles. Even though it was daylight, the sky was littered with golden stars. Sometimes when he walked, shimmering bursts would appear, swirl around in the air and then vanish. Of course, he knew it couldn't be all stars and sparkles. The plane of Madness had to have a few undesirable things about it, which made him happy that the door leading back to Cyrodiil remained, just in case he had enough.

It wasn't long before he came across... something. It was short and green. It looked like the result of a love affair between a goblin and a slaughterfish. Wrothken noticed it had pants on. Maybe it's a resident? It looked appropriate given the area. The creature didn't seem to notice him, so Wrothken walked over to it. "Good day," he greeted.

The creature replied by taking out a primitive-looking dagger and growling. Wrothken felt a flutter in his heart as he realized he left his armor back in Cyrodiil. He still had his mace, so he took it out and swung. The creature was quicker than him. It spun and slashed his arm deeply. He didn't feel it at first, so he kept swinging, eventually hitting it mid-spin. When he finished, he started to feel the stinging in his arm.

He closed his eyes, focusing on a cooling feeling in his heart. It wrapped down his arm, and he soon felt it heal. He sighed. First thing he needed to do was get some armor.

He winced, staring at the blood oozing from his arm. He cursed himself for not bringing along a health potion. He focused his magicka again, just the way his grandma had taught him so many years ago. Feel love in your heart. Think of all the love I have for you and grab it! As soon as you have it, I want you to release it, like I'm giving you a big kiss! The memory made him smile and he did so, only until it stopped bleeding. If it scarred, it was fine with him.

The path was long and winding. On both sides there were broken pillars. When the pillars were new, it must have been majestic, he thought. At night it must be really beautiful... It brought to mind evening walks, which reminded him of strolls with Atrea after a date. He sulked, remembering how she used to swoon over some of the actors when it was Theater Night at the arena. There was the first sign of the issue that he just didn't seem to notice. It wasn't that he objected to her finding other men attractive. That was natural. The problem was that she would do it so blatantly, and then proceed to describe just how much more handsome and perfect they were in comparison. In fact, he recalled her going through a similar phase when meeting Bacchus for the first time. "There's nothing more alluring than a man in metal," she had said, batting her long eyelashes. He felt so stupid. He should have known.....

He stopped in the middle of the road. They didn't matter. He was in a new place. Time for the new life to begin. He took a deep breath, picturing in his mind a small figure sweeping out a large pile of garbage, symbolizing his memories.

Now that he stopped that destructive thought process, he started remembering what Haskill had said. In order for him to see Sheogorath, he needed to go through the Gate of Madness. In order to do that, he had to get through the Gatekeeper, who apparently disliked strangers. Perhaps he can be reasoned with, he thought.

He entered a small settlement. There were only a handful of tumbledown shacks, all around a larger building. So many people were around it that he figured it to be an inn.

A Redguard walked up to Wrothken with a big smile. "Hello, I'm Shelden. I've been here the longest. That's why I'm the mayor of Passwall. That, and because I'm the best at being in charge. Welcome to my town! The place was pretty deserted when I got here. Of course, once I was here, others followed. Can't say I blame them."

"Oh, you're the mayor?" Wrothken asked. "So you'd know about the Gatekeeper, right?"

"The Gatekeeper?" A nearby dark elf asked. He was a few feet away, so he had to raise his voice in order to talk to them. "He's pretty scary, isn't he? He's actually about to destroy a group of adventurers right now. Let's watch him in action."

"Wait, what?"

Sheldon and the dark elf ran up the hill. Wrothken ran to catch up with them. He froze when he saw the Gatekeeper. It was two, maybe three times his size. It had a head, but no face. Just soft tissue where the eyes, nose, and mouth should have been. Instead of a right hand, it had a large, bloody sword attached to its arm. It wore a metal collar that connected to a piece going down the center of its chest and then wrapping around its stomach. In its chest, Wrothken could see scabs shaped like large keys.

A group of adventurers clad in steel armor, stood by the Gatekeeper, barely reaching his knee. The Orc leader commanded them to fight and they obediently did so. Wrothken was horrified as the Gatekeeper threw them around like rag dolls. He had to help. He rushed in, beating the Gatekeeper's leg with his mace. The Gatekeeper didn't even seem to notice. It continued to crush the adventurers until they were motionless. Only after they were dead, did it look down at Wrothken. He didn't wait for it to attack. He ran down the stairs, stumbling over his legs. The Gatekeeper followed him only to the last stair. It grunted, standing as if to show where its territory begun.

Wrothken panted hard, trembling.

"Pretty scary, huh?" The dark elf said. "Jayred Ice-Vein's planning on killing him. I don't know how... the Gatekeeper looks indestructible to me."

"Well, good luck to him!" Wrothken said. He didn't want anything to do with it. It was unbeatable!

He entered the inn, taking a seat at the counter. The publican was an Altmer, who also happened to be blond. Wrothken pretended not to notice, though it made his heart sink.

"Hello, I'm Dredhwen," she said. She had large bags under her eyes. "No one was running this place when I got here. They left plenty of things behind, though. What do you need?" She asked with a loud yawn.

"Nothing, now," he said, attempting to gather his thoughts. As he looked around the room, his eyes were caught on a bust of a mustached man and the piles of lettuce and yarn around it.

"Hey."

Wrothken turned to see a brown haired Nord standing behind him. The Nord knelt down to whisper to Wrothken. "I haven't seen you 'round these parts. You here about the Gatekeeper?"

This must be Jayred, Wrothken thought, recognizing the last name as of Nordic descent.

"I was," Wrothken said. "But after seeing him--"

"Before you get scared, let me tell you something. The Gatekeeper had a brother."

Wrothken folded his arms. "Oh, did he?" He had no idea how that was supposed to dispel his fear.

"Yes, but he's dead now. His bones have spoken to me." He sounded almost seduced. "And they've told me how to kill the Gatekeeper!"

"....his bones spoke to you?" Wrothken shook his head. "Are you--" He was about to ask if he was insane, but then remembered where he was. "I mean, how can the bones help?"

"They say the Gatekeeper is magical. I don't believe in magic, but I do believe in bones. And the best way to kill something is with the bones of its own. I can see the bones of a dead Gatekeeper in the courtyard of the Gardens of Flesh and Bone. Come with me and I'll show you how we can kill him."

Wrothken stared at him hard. Any other day, if a crazy person would have asked him to accompany them anywhere, especially with a name like "Gardens of Flesh and Bone," he would have run, not walked, away. However, there was something about Jayred that seemed sincere, though a little creepy.

Finally, he asked, "Why are you willing to include me in this? Why not do it yourself?"

"Because I'm an archer. The Gatekeeper doesn't allow for long-range combat for too long, so I would be unable to take him on by myself. But you!" he grabbed Wrothken's large arm. "I know this isn't just bone! With the two of us, I bet we could take him easily! So what do you say?"

"Alright then, show me this garden."



"Here we are!" Jayred announced. It wasn't much of a garden. It was a large fortress with skeletons piled up in the enclosed yard.

Jayred ran up to the gate, reaching toward the bones. "I know, I heard your calls. I'm here now. Shhhh...." He said under his breath. He turned back to Wrothken. "Hurry! Pick that lock open. I can hear them in there! "

"Pick? You never said anything about it being locked!"

"Well, of course it is! If it wasn't, I would have had the bones already! Think logically, man!"

Wrothken fumed. A man with a bone fetish was telling him to think logically? Still, he needed his help. First he tested it, shaking the gate hard. He noticed the bottom hinges on the left side were loose. He sighed in relief. He was no Gray Fox, but he was sure he could pry the gates open. He pointed out the hinges to Jayred and together they were able to pull the gates open enough for them to crawl through.

"Here I am!" Jayred cried, rushing past Wrothken once they got in. He sat by the large skeleton, rubbing his hands all over it. "Yes, yes, you knew I'd come, didn't you?"

Jayred spent plenty of time delicately gathering up the bones. Before adding each one to the pile in his arms, Jayred would coo to it and occasionally giving one a kiss. Please don't let me turn out like this, Wrothken thought.

"Alright," Jayred said, acting as if his behavior was the most normal in the world. "From these bones, I can make the arrows. Just give me a few hours and I'll be ready."

Wrothken closed his eyes, trying to force away the hideous image of what he suspected Jayred might be using the "few hours" for. "Right," he said. "See you then."

Jayred headed back to Passwall. "I've been waiting so long for you. Let me get you in my nice warm house..."

Wrothken shuddered. If this was just the fringe of madness, he was almost afraid to see what would happen once he got to the heart of it all.


Posted by: Thomas Kaira Jan 21 2011, 11:30 AM

Jayred headed back to Passwall. "I've been waiting so long for you. Let me get you in my nice warm house..."

Come on man, it's just a bone... err... I think it is at least.

Wait, that totally came out wrong... huh.gif

Umm... he's... boned?

Oh gods, get out of my head, Dhertee Innu-Enndo! rollinglaugh.gif

Haskill was always my favorite character, simply because he is so used to the Madness of the realm he's bored of it. Such contrast always got a good grin from me whenever I spoke with him.

I especially look forward to when Wrothken starts having fun summoning him. biggrin.gif wink.gif cool.gif

Posted by: D.Foxy Jan 21 2011, 12:01 PM

See? I told you I was catching!!!

:meh:

Posted by: Grits Jan 21 2011, 04:19 PM

He was about to get dressed when he caught a glimpse of his full body in the mirror.
hubbahubba.gif

Wrothken felt like a child filled with wonder as he walked the path in the Isles.
Exactly how I feel reading this story. I haven’t been to the SI yet, and your descriptions make me see it in my mind! smile.gif

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 21 2011, 04:47 PM

TBH, I found the Shivering Isles and the whole Madness questline to be quite disturbing. I've only played it twice, as it's hard for me to swallow my own moral constraints and give myself up to the game. Both characters that I've played SI with were amoral folks who just didn't care. Probably for that reason, I didn't care so much about them.

I know many people find this place a wonderful world, and the plants (especially on the Mania side) are so amazing. Yet the undercurrent of insanity that marks Sheogorath's realm makes me very uncomfortable. My hat's off to the game developers for pulling this off so well, and I have only respect for those who make it as interesting as you do. As the only sane person in a world full of insanity, it's mostly incomprehensible to me. Yet it's ironic, really - isn't that exactly how insane people feel?

I enjoyed Wrothken's confusion with Jayred's bone obsession. To continue in TK's and Foxy's vein, I suppose there are women who share the same obsession for bones. Heh.
*ducking and running*

That scene with the Gatekeeper really recaptures my feelings the first time I saw the creature. I remember thinking now HTF am I supposed to get past that? Then someone tells me Jayred has an idea, so I go to see him. I found him in his house, and yikes, is that creepy or what? Bone decor?? I ask him about his idea, and he starts talking about bones. WTF?? Yes, you brought back plenty of memories in a pretty vivid manner, all right.

Sometimes I think Haskill is the only sane person in a world full of insanity. Makes me wonder if that makes him abnormal by SI standards? I do wish I could have his blasé attitude toward the goings-on in this world.

Posted by: D.Foxy Jan 21 2011, 04:56 PM

To continue in TK's and Foxy's vein, I suppose there are women who share the same obsession for bones. Heh.

Well, mah deah, your own avatar is swallowing his tailbone...


...


blink.gif


EEEEEEK!!!


He's GAY!!!

panic.gif

Posted by: mALX Jan 21 2011, 05:03 PM

EW! Kisssing the bones! Blech !!! I'm still laughing at Wrothken's getting seen doing the "hokey-pokey"

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 21 2011, 05:33 PM

I really enjoyed your description of Wrothken's healing. Using his grandmother's love as a symbol for it was truly inspired. you not only gave one of the most basic acts in the game a real measure of depth and interest, but you also showed us a little bit about Wrothken in the bargain.

His later musings about Awour were also a good bit of realism. When you have a bad breakup like he did, it is not something you just forget overnight. Once more, his concentrating on the symbol of cleaning up the garbage was an excellent touch! Your own knowledge of Witchcraft really shines in this segment. smile.gif

if a crazy person would have asked him to accompany them anywhere, especially with a name like "Gardens of Flesh and Bone," he would have run
Sounds look good survival instincts there!

Wrothken fumed. A man with a bone fetish was telling him to think logically?
biggrin.gif


nits:
Not really a nit, but instead of saying that Jayred has a fetish, you might want to go with another word, like fixation or obsession. Fetish often means something sexual, a meaning I can see some of the other commenters are fixated upon themselves... wink.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 21 2011, 10:01 PM

Thomas Kaira~ I think there was a show or a movie in the 90's where someone would say "Bonerific" I believe Jayred would describe it that way tongue.gif And I love writing Haskill. His sarcasm and seriousness in the Isles is pretty hilarious.

Foxy~ Dirty Mind? Clean it up with Orbitz! -fanfare- For a good clean feeling, no matter what! tongue.gif What shall we call the outbreak of dirty thoughts? Maybe Foxy-flu?

Grits~ I'm glad you can imagine it clearly. I often wonder if I'm descriptive enough but your comment is assuring smile.gif

Haute~ I thought the same thing when I first saw the Gatekeeper. I expected a person or something not a giant orange thing... That'll teach me to expect something reasonable while in the Isles...

mAlx~ Well, I was going to have him do worse with the bones.... but I decided to leave it to the imagination wink.gif

SubRosa~ Aww there you go making me blushy... happy.gif I've actually done the imagery with the lady sweeping garbage away when I can't sleep. It really helps! And the fetish thing...well, Wrothken does suspect something funny going on when he says he'll need a few hours alone with the bones ohmy.gif



~~~♥~~~
http://i117.photobucket.com/albums/o46/Jacki_Dice/Wrothken-1.jpg <---New picture smile.gif

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Four: Gatekeeper Gets Boned



While Wrothken waited for Jayred to finish, he stared up at the sky. It was almost pitch black, spattered with clusters of stars of every color. He wished the sky in Cyrodiil looked that way. If only he could have shared it with-- No, her name is not allowed, he reminded himself. A deeper, uncontrollable part of his mind retorted with, Yes, but you can't stop me from showing you...

He saw her again. He always felt he was lucky to find someone ready to settle down so quickly. Elves especially tended to wait longer, since they had much longer to live. At first, they just seemed to fit. Sure, there were a few changes he had to make. She didn;t care much for his temper, but that was fair. And he worked on it. Perhaps too much. After all, he didn’t grab her lover and beat him in the streets as he would have done once upon a time. Maybe that was her real problem. Maybe she wanted someone she could push around.

He grunted, violently shaking his head. He didn't want to remember! He just wanted to forget it all and be done with it! Jayred's taken long enough, he thought.

After getting directions from Sheldon, who bragged that he knew where Jayred lived because he was the mayor, Wrothken headed straight to Jayred's house. He banged on the door.

"Uh... Who is it?"

"It's been hours," Wrothken snapped. "Are you done yet?"

"Oh, sure, sure!" Jayred opened the door and let him in.

Wrothken expected some sort of strangeness, but not to the extent it really was. Skulls, rib cages, and all sorts of other bones sat carefully arranged in bowls and on shelves. His table seemed to be constructed entirely of bones, along with a set of matching chairs. When he looked closely, Wrothken noticed that the bowls were actually skull caps. When his eyes drifted toward what he assumed to be the bedroom, Wrothken wondered if he would find a complete skeleton lying in the bed. He shuddered.

"The arrows are ready," Jayred announced, showing him the two bundles before sticking them in his quiver, on which Wrothken saw tiny bones forming a design of a larger bone. Wrothken had to admit, they looked pretty good.

"You don’t seem like an archer, so let me give you something else," he said, heading to a large chest in the corner of the room. He opened it and motioned for Wrothken to look inside. The chest held a full set of steel armor. "I was going to use it to model some bone armor, but since you'll be up close, I think you'll need it more."

Wrothken looked it over. It was in good condition. Since he and Jayred were a similar size and build, he thought it would fit well enough. He wanted to ask where Jayred had gotten it, but something told him it would be better not to know.

"Now, let's go kill the Gatekeeper. We might die. But there's worse things."

Wrothken couldn’t think of anything more horrifying than him dying and his bones becoming the immediate property of Jayred.

"Just remember to keep the Gatekeeper off me. The key to killing him are these precious bones."

Jayred led the way up the hill, just as a Dunmer woman in an extravagant black dress was walking the opposite way. She was sobbing softly into a napkin. Wrothken wondered if she had lost her husband to the Gatekeeper. She glanced at him and her molten eyes clearly said "Stay away." He did so, continuing up the path with Jayred.

The moment they crossed the invisible line that separated the town from the Gatekeeper's territory, they heard a roar. The Gatekeeper rushed toward them.

"I'll take your bones!" Jayred yelled, as he started shooting his arrows.

The Gatekeeper howled as the arrows sunk deep into its flesh. It was a disturbing muffled noise, as he had no true mouth. As it turned toward Jayred, Wrothken struck its knee with his mace. Unlike last time, the mace made a difference. The Gatekeeper grabbed its leg, howling miserably. Before he knew it, Wrothken was hurled into the air. As he hit the ground, he saw the Gatekeeper running after Jayred. He dragged himself up, trying to focus. Thankfully, even with blurred vision, he was easily able to make out the giant orange mass.

Wrothken stood behind the Gatekeeper, beating its legs. He learned to duck underneath it anytime it turned. Eventually, he scored a lucky his and shattered one of its kneecaps. The Gatekeeper let out a piercing cry, so loud that all of Passwall emerged from their homes to watch.

Wrothken knew he had to hurry. He had no idea if Jayred was running low on arrows. He looked around, and suddenly had an idea. He ran to one of the trees and started climbing.

"What are you doing?" Jayred shouted.

"Just trust me! I need you to get it over here."

Jayred grumbled, but did as he was asked. He walked backwards, shooting hise arrows at the Gatekeeper, until it was close to the tree Wrothken sat in. When it was close enough, Wrothken jumped from the tree, grabbing onto the Gatekeeper's collar. He pulled himself up and used all his strength to whack the Gatekeeper repeatedly on the side of the head. As the Gatekeeper was falling, Wrothken realized that he didn't think it through enough. He had nowhere to go, except down with the giant.

The ground sent a flash of pain throughout his body. He sat up, throbbing. He desperately wanted to heal himself, but couldn't focus enough to do so.

"We did it!" Jayred cried. He slapped Wrothken hard on the back. "Congratulations! I was afraid it would be your bones coming out instead of his. Don't worry, though. I would have taken good care of them..."

Wrothken didn't answer, for fear of snapping at the Nord for hitting him so hard.

"Anyway, the honor of taking the keys from his corpse is yours."

Wrothken looked at the dead Gatekeeper. "Actually," he said to Jayred. "There are two keys. Why don't we each take one?"

"Sounds like a plan to me!" With gusto, and probably some bone fondling, Jayred ripped out a large turquoise key.

Wrothken was a little more hesitant, and even more so when the crying dark elf from earlier threw herself on the monster's body. "My baby!" She sobbed. "My poor, poor baby!"

He tried to be discreet as he reached in to drag the other key out. "You beast!" The dark elf fumed. "You'll rue this day, I swear it!"

Wrothken wasn't sure how to respond when she burst into tears again, cradling the Gatekeeper's head against her chest. He picked up the red key and looked at the two doors. He was about to go through one of the dark walkways when Haskill appeared behind him.

"So, you've managed to kill the Gatekeeper. Pity," he said, looking at the slain beast. "Well, you'll now be able to enter the Realm proper. You'll notice there are two doors. One leads to the lands of Mania. The other to Dementia. Your key leads to Mania, which is the door on your left. The lands are quite distinct, but both are Sheogorath's domain. You'll want to seek out Lord Sheogorath. I believe He has plans for you." He looked Wrothken up and down, adding, "Try not to disappoint Him. You will find Him in New Sheoth, in His palace. It is best not to make Lord Sheogorath wait. His whims are fleeting, and should He decide you are no longer necessary, it would be to your detriment."

Wrothken felt the urge to punch him, but he resisted. "Where can I find New Sheoth?"

Haskill sighed exasperatedly. "Must I do everything? Here, take this." He handed Wrothken a map. Passwall was on the western part of the Isles and New Sheoth was far to the east. "I'm sorry that it isn't colored. It's all I have."

Wrothken thought he saw a very slight smirk as he growled. He turned and entered the gates to Mania. It was time to see what Sheogorath had in mind for him.


Posted by: SubRosa Jan 21 2011, 11:43 PM

Goddess what a title! laugh.gif

He wanted to ask where Jayred had gotten it, but something told him it would be better not knowing.
I am with Wrothken on that!

Wrothken wondered if she had lost her husband to the Gatekeeper.
Not quite! An excellent addition of Relmyna here.

A rousing battle with the orange giant. For a moment I thought Wrothken was climbing up the tree to finish it off with with a http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EGRJccENfxk&feature=related

I'm sorry that it isn't colored. It's all I have.
I love Haskill! Also a nice dig on your part, at how the vanilla maps are not colored. wink.gif


nits:
he scored a lucky his and shattered one of its kneecaps.
I think Haskill stole the "t" in hit, and replaced it with an "s".

Posted by: D.Foxy Jan 22 2011, 03:17 AM

Mah Dear Jacki....have you take a look at exactly HOW Wrothken is holding his ... 'Mace' ???

Freudian-Drawing now are we?

Hmmm, as I said before, Jacki Dice may be in the "House" or it may be... hee hee... the other way around!!!

whistling.gif

Posted by: mALX Jan 22 2011, 04:04 AM

I love the new drawing of Wrothken !!!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Jan 22 2011, 05:53 AM

Goddess what a title! laugh.gif

I take full responsibility, Dhertee Innu-Enndo is a highly infectious beast. indifferent.gif

Haskill sighed exasperatedly. "Must I do everything? Here, take this." He handed Wrothken a map. Passwall was on the western part of the Isles and New Sheoth was far to the east. "I'm sorry that it isn't colored. It's all I have."

Well... mine's colored! biggrin.gif Nevertheless, I'm with Rosa on this one, loved the little shot at the maps.

Wrothken felt the urge to punch him, but he resisted.

No, don't do that! Just wait until you can summon him, Wrothken. Imagine the revenge you can take on him [/i]then.[i] laugh.gif

Posted by: mALX Jan 22 2011, 09:02 AM

QUOTE(Thomas Kaira @ Jan 21 2011, 11:53 PM) *

Goddess what a title! laugh.gif

I take full responsibility, Dhertee Innu-Enndo is a highly infectious beast. indifferent.gif

Haskill sighed exasperatedly. "Must I do everything? Here, take this." He handed Wrothken a map. Passwall was on the western part of the Isles and New Sheoth was far to the east. "I'm sorry that it isn't colored. It's all I have."

Well... mine's colored! biggrin.gif Nevertheless, I'm with Rosa on this one, loved the little shot at the maps.

Wrothken felt the urge to punch him, but he resisted.

No, don't do that! Just wait until you can summon him, Wrothken. Imagine the revenge you can take on him [/i]then.[i] laugh.gif



I used to summon him over and over just to tick him off, lol.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 23 2011, 08:11 AM

SubRosa~ biggrin.gif Well, you have to admit the title is quite fitting... After all, Jayred uses bone arrows tongue.gif

Foxy~ It was innocent! I promise! whistling.gif

mALX~ Thank you! THe last one, he came out looking so skinny! And feminine... hopefully he's a bit manlier looking now. Too bad my camera doesn't get good pictures of the TV :/

Thomas Kaira~ Too bad Haskill doesn't really do anything. Could you imagine summoning him in the middle of certain things? I bet the dialogue would be priceless biggrin.gif




~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Five: Madness Incarnate



The path of Mania looked colorful from the distance, but the path in Dementia looked like it was a quicker trip. He would have time for sightseeing later. It was nearly midnight when Wrothken reached the entrance to New Sheoth. A tall, slender woman stood at the gate. Her skin was a creamy blue, like a Dunmer, but she had light blue eyes, like Wrothken's. He could tell that she wasn't man or mer because her pupils were slit, much like a serpent. Her helm looked like metallic hair slicked back into jagged spikes and the rest of her armor reminded him of a dragon’s scales.

"Madgod's blessings," she greeted. Her voice reminded him of thick syrup.

"Thanks." He consulted the map. "Is this New Sheoth?"

The woman smiled at him. "Yes. We Mazken guard Crucible in New Sheoth. We ensure the Demented remain orderly and respectful of our Lord Sheogorath. "

"Crucible?"

"New Sheoth is a symbol of our Lord; divided, yet perfect. The southern half is known as Crucible." Wrothken felt like he could listen to her talk all night. Unfortunately, his body ached and demanded sleep. Daedric prince or not, Sheogorath would have to wait until morning.

"Is there an inn that I can stay at tonight?"

"Head straight through the gates and it'll be the first door on your right."

"Ah.. Thank you," he said opening the large doors.

"Walk with our Lord."

Wrothken was surprised by the appearance of the city. It gave off a feeling of such depression, like the rest of the path of Dementia, though he wondered if it was because of how late it was. He was pleased to see that the inn, Sickly Bernice's Taphouse, was just where the Mazken said it was.

It was large and would've been borderline fancy, if not for the dust bunnies and cobwebs in the corners. The entryway was dimly lit, with more light coming from downstairs. He heard a woman cough and the clinking of glasses, so he knew someone was down there.

He followed the sounds and saw a middle aged woman behind the bar. She wore a deep violet corset with long sleeves with black fringes on the cuffs. The hooped skirt was layered with the black fringes as well. The poor woman looked miserable and she kept coughing into her sleeve. Her face was etched with lines, though none indicated smiles. Her face told a story of constant worry. That had to be Sickly Bernice.

Seated at the bar was a woman who made Wrothken's heart skip a beat. She had jet-black hair that cascaded down to her wide hips. Her skin was a smooth caramel color. Her outfit was much simpler than the proprietor's; a tight band across her chest, as if she was trying to flatten herself, and a pair of dingy brown pants. When Wrothken entered, she turned for a moment and he noticed her bright green eyes. He couldn't stop staring at her. It was as if Atrea stepped into a mirror only to come out looking like her opposite.

Wrothken glanced at her repeatedly as he approached the bar. When he sat down, the older woman cautioned, "Don't get too close now, dearie. You might catch what I have."

"Oh," he said, scooting back a little. "Are you sick?"

The girl next to him chuckled a little and his face went red.

"Be nice now, Rheyna," Bernice said. "He's never been here before, so he doesn't know yet." She turned to Wrothken and said, "Well...it seems I am dying.” Her voice cracked a little. “Yes, these may be my last days in the Shivering Isles. That is unless someone like yourself could help me find the cure. But no one has taken me upon my offer, even with the promise of a reward.” She sighed. “Ah, well it's been a good life I suppose..."

He knew what she was getting at. She seemed like a sweet old lady, but he was so tired. He didn't think he could stay awake long enough to even remember any directions given to him. "Can I have a room please?"

"Oh..." She sounded disappointed. "Alright then. There's one upstairs, first on the right."

"Thank you, “ he said, placing his money on the counter. He wasn’t sure he wanted direct contact with her if she was as sick as she said. “Maybe you can tell me about the cure in the morning."

"Oh, sure, sonny. That is, if I make it..."

Wrothken felt bad, but he knew it would be better hearing it when he was fully awake. He took a final glance at Rheyna and headed upstairs.



Right when he woke up, Wrothken headed back downstairs to talk to Bernice. It was more crowded than it was the previous night and it smelled of strange flavors. He was surprised to be disappointed that Rheyna was nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, dearie," Bernice said as soon as he sat down. "Fancy a quick meal?"

He looked at the other plates, but didn't recognize anything. "Um..."

"Oh, silly me. I forgot that you're our newcomer." She coughed violently into a handkerchief. "Excuse me. Now, how about I get you some grummite eggs with some toast? Though I really shouldn't cook it. I might pass my sickness on to you..."

"Wait, Bernice about that. Can you tell me about the cure? I'd be willing to help."

She looked surprised for a moment. Maybe she didn’t think he would actually ask about it. "Well, it's the miracle remedy for any disease! I was told about this wonderful solution by a recent patron of my establishment. He said if I let him stay for free, he'd tell me how to cure my sickness! How fortuitous, right?”

“That certainly was convenient.”

“There's only one place in all the Isles to get the cure for what I have... Knotty Bramble. There, on the lowest level of the place, is a pool containing the cure: aquanostrum. Legend has it that it bubbles up from an old statue."

"Knotty Bramble,” Wrothken said nodding. “Is that a store around here?"

She started to laugh and cough at the same time. "Oh, no, dearie. Here, do you have a map?"

He nodded and pulled it out. "It's right about here," she said, drawing an "X" near the road coming from Passwall. "Apparently it only exists at the bottom of that cave. So close, yet so far."

Wrothken looked at the marker and nodded. "It's really not that far out. I'll go out there soon."

For the first time, he saw her face light up. "Really? Oh, thank you so much!" She sounded like she wanted to hug him. Handing him a silver flask, she said, "Now, how about I fix you up your breakfast. You'll need it if you're going to be heading out to Knotty Bramble. Oh, and dearie?"

"Yes?"

She leaned in slightly. "Be careful."

Wrothken stiffened. "Are there creatures down there?"

She laughed. "Oh, come now. You defeated the Gatekeeper, didn't you? A few grummites shouldn't be a problem for a strapping young man like yourself!" She lowered her voice a little. "I saw you looking at Rheyna last night. Don't give me that look; I'm sick, not blind. There's something strange about that one... Just promise an old woman you'll be careful."

Wrothken looked around, noting everyone here was a bit strange, though he wondered if they must have each thought themselves normal. "Alright, I promise," he said.



The palace of New Sheoth was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. The castle and walls were made from smooth gray stone. The right side was lit with blue fire and Mazken walked around. On the left, gold dominated the area, with bright flame and gold skinned women wearing gold armor. In the center of the area, there was lush green grass. A couple benches sat at the edges, one of them occupied by a Redguard with his nose in a book.

Though it was silent and serene, Wrothken sensed hostility. He watched the women carefully, noticing the hate in their eyes any time they looked at each other.

"Mortal!"

He jumped, seeing a golden woman walk up to him. She was nothing like the Mazken he spoke to before. Her golden eyes were filled with contempt. "What business do you have here?"

"Sheogorath--"

"Lord Sheogorath to you, mortal."

"Okay..." Wrothken said, irritation present in his voice. "Lord Sheogorath wants to see me."

She huffed. "Are you the one who slew the Gatekeeper?"

He nodded.

"Very well. He is in the center doors of the palace. Now go."

Wrothken stared at her as she walked away. Who spit in her whiskey? he thought walking down the path to the doors. There were two of them with a woman from each group standing guard. The Mazken smiled at him as he approached, and the other one glared. He walked to the Mazken.

"Do not allow them to bother you. Their attitudes are most disgraceful to our Lord Sheogorath." She sneered at a passing gold woman. "The so-called Golden Saints will one day be expelled from the realm once Lord Sheogorath finally recognizes their bull-headed stupidity." Her final words were accompanied by a sneer to the Golden Saint opposite her.

He nodded and entered the castle. If each Golden Saint could be replaced by a Mazken, he would be highly pleased.

Just like outside, the interior was divided. The right side had yellow flames and the carpet leading to the throne was bright red. The left was lit by blue fire and had black carpet. Even the stained glass windows were opposite designs, the right bright, colorful, and cheery, the left all doom and gloom. "Well, look who's here! You! How about that?" A man seated on the throne cried. Wrothken recognized his voice from the door in Cyrodiil. Haskill stood at his side, his expression dull and indifferent as ever.

He was clapping as Wrothken approached. He appeared to be a wise man, with gray hair neatly slicked back, a distinguished beard, and a few wrinkles. However, one look in his amber eyes told him he was exactly the opposite. He wore a silk suit of purple and gold, though the colors swirled into each other so much that it almost seemed like a whole new shade. He jumped up, seeming to be as spry as a sixteen year old, though he walked with a cane. The top of it looked suspiciously like an eyeball.

"A new arrival!" He shouted, clapping him on the back. "A shame about my Gatekeeper. I'm so happy, I could just tear out your intestines and strangle you with them."

Wrothken felt a chill inside and he wanted to take a step back, but he was held tightly in place.

"I suppose an introduction is in order. I'm Sheogorath, Prince of Madness! And other things. I'm not talking about them." He said, folding his arms and pouting childishly for a moment. "You've probably figured that out by now. Let's hope so. Or we're in real trouble... and out come the intestines. And I skip rope with them! But, perhaps now's not the time. You've made it this far. Farther than anyone else. Well done! Take this trinket of mine. Perhaps it will serve you well. Or look lovely on your corpse." He handed Wrothken a silver amulet with a gem that flashed red, blue, or gold, depending on the angle it was held in. It felt warm and when Wrothken put it on, he felt a slight tingling sensation around his skin. "It'll protect your delicate future-corpse from burns, frost, and shock. Enjoy it."

Sheogorath didn't wait for Wrothken to say anything before continuing. "I've been waiting for you, or someone like you, or someone other than you, for some time. I need a champion, and you've got the job," he said, poking Wrothken in the chest. "Time to save the Realm! Rescue the damsel! Slay the beast! Or die trying. Your help is required. A change is coming. Everything changes. Even Daedric Princes. Especially Daedric Princes."

"Change?" He asked. "What kind of change?"

"Daedra are the embodiment of change. Change and permanency. I'm no different, except in the ways that I am. The Greymarch is coming. And you're going to stop it."

"The what?"

"The details aren't important.” He waved his hand dismissively. “At least not right now. Eternity is on a rather tight deadline. We'll get back to that later."

Wrothken's head was spinning already. To say this man was off-balance was an understatement. He wanted something stopped, yet the details weren't important? He didn't press because he wasn't sure what would happen, what with talk of skipping rope with intestines.

"Okay, so what should I do now?" Wrothken asked.

"Now? You run an errand for me. An important one. Of course, anything I tell you to do is important. My Realm, my rules. You're going to Xedilian, one of my favorite spots in the Isles. It's a little place I use to take care of unwanted visitors. And some are more unwanted than others."

Wrothken wasn't sure if he had been one of those "unwanted visitors," but if it would keep his innards in place, he was willing to do anything.

"What's in Xedilian?"

"The Gatekeeper took care of most of the unwanted, but he's dead. We'll have to remedy that soon, as well...." He cleared his throat. "Anyway... there are those that have other ways into my Realm, and they're on the move. We don't want them here. Trust me. So, you're going to get Xedilian up and running. Here's a little book to tell you how, and the Attenuator of Judgment. You'll need that, too." He handed Wrothken what appeared to be a tuning fork and a book. "Of course, you can always get more details from Haskill. He's a detail-oriented type of person. A big help. And a snappy dresser. Now, get going. Before I change my mind. Or my mind changes me."

Wrothken looked at Haskill. There was no way he was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was confused.

He opened the book and headed back to Crucible.



The book caught Wrothken's full attention. Not only did it explain what exactly to do, it showed a few sides to Sheogorath. The writer seemed almost fearful of any consequences he might pay for the slightest mistake. Just as he was about to turn the page, he collided with someone, knocking her to the ground.

He gasped, seeing Rheyna glaring up at him. She was dressed the same way as before, only her pants were rolled up, exposing her toned legs. "Oh.. I'm so sorry! Here," he said, holding his hand out.

She ignored it, and got up on her own. Her eyes were like daggers, saying everything her mouth wasn't. She turned and headed away from him. It took a while to realize that he was staring after her. He regained control of himself and shook his head violently. Maybe it was her stark contrast to Atrea that was attracting him to her, but he promised Bernice that he would be careful... though there was no harm in looking, right?

He sat down outside a shop and pulled out his map. Xedilian was a ways away, located southeast of Passwall. He was happy to see that Knotty Bramble was on the way. As he folded up his map, he heard someone call to him.

"Hey you!"

He looked over at a blond man hiding around the building's corner. "Come over here. I need to talk to you."

Wrothken looked around and walked up to him. "Yes?"

"I've got a proposition for you. Best not to talk about it here. Meet me at the sewer grate northeast of the Sheogorath statue. Come after dark. Come alone." He then walked away.

Wrothken stared after him. What was the proposition? And why did he want it alone and night? Well, there was the obvious... But he didn't think it was that. The man looked and sounded miserable. He shrugged. There was no time to think about it now. He had a few important errands to run.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Jan 23 2011, 08:51 AM

I see you didn't make too many changes to the Madgod's dialogue, but you know, does it really need to be changed? He's such a character, and it was great to see how Wrothken reacted to giddy insanity. laugh.gif

Good job capturing the differences between the Aureal and the Mazken, and the animosity that is brought about by it.

Could we have a potential love interest here? It seems Wrothken has caught the luv-bug for Kalila! biggrin.gif

Nits:

I've noticed some word repetitions:

QUOTE
He followed the sounds and saw a middle aged woman behind the bar. She wore a deep violet corset with long sleeves with black fringes on the cuffs.


You have "with" twice in the same sentence here. Watch those prepositions, they have a nasty tendency of sneaking up on you from time to time.

QUOTE
On the left, gold dominated the area, with bright flame and gold skinned women wearing gold armor.


In this sentence, "gold" has been used three times in a row, which is a bit much. Using the same noun too many times in the same sentence lends it a stagnant feeling and because this is Mania you're describing, it does not really fit. Perhaps this would work out better with something like this?

The left side was dominated by brilliantly yellow grass and amber leaves, with bright flames and honey- skinned women wearing golden armor.

(I was a little unsure if you meant for "flame" to be singular or plural here, as well, so I pluralized it. If you prefer it to be singular feel free to ignore that.)

Posted by: mALX Jan 23 2011, 12:35 PM

Your rendition of Sheogorath is so apt, lol. I loved his character - tried to assassinate him a dozen or more times in different ways with some fun results, lol.

EW! Sickly Bernice cooking the eggs, coughing over them - I pictured that dying woman from the movie "Michael" while reading that, lol.

Ok, summoning Haskill at an awkward time:

*POOF* "Er, Haskill ... I seem to have run out of tissue paper, could you bring me a roll please?" - ROFL !!


Great Chapter!! You have really captured the essence of the Madness in the Isle!!

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 23 2011, 09:31 PM

A fun introduction to the capital of the Shivering Isles, and especially to the head lunatic!

So Wrothken met his first Mazken. I am with him. I can listen to their voices all night too. Not to mention do other things...

There's something strange about that one.
I think that advice goes for everyone Wrothken will meet in the Isles! laugh.gif

Who lit the fuse on her tampon?
laugh.gif I always think the same thing when I have to deal with the Aureals! You really capture the diametrically opposed natures of the Aureal and Mazken well.

Eternity is on a rather tight deadline.
This has always been one of my favorite Sheo lines

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 24 2011, 07:24 AM

Thomas Kaira~ I love writing with Sheogorath. He's so animated. Its a shame there's no body language in the game. It would have brought him to life in such a wonderful way.

mALX~ laugh.gif I was shocked at what happens when you hit Sheogorath. It gave me a few laughs!

SubRosa~ The funny thing is, my Wrothken actually likes the Golden Saints better! They remind him of valkyries. Never mind their snotty attitudes... ugh!


~~~♥~~~
http://i117.photobucket.com/albums/o46/Jacki_Dice/kirstyandlilitu.jpg

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Chapter Six: Desperate Times



Kirsty wiped the counter impatiently, though she had just cleaned it fifteen minutes ago. Wrothken had been gone for a few days and not one single letter from him, letting her know he was okay. He was a big boy and could take care of himself, but still. He promised.

She watched the courier and his sack of letters pass the bakery yet again. She huffed and threw the rag down hard. As soon as he came back, she was going to beat him silly.

A sweet, spicy scent filled the area, letting her know that the sweet rings were done. She carefully took them out and set them in a basket that sat on the counter. A few people were already starting to gather and in moments they were sold out. Some left disappointed that the latest favorite was gone, but Kirsty was happy to sell them chocolate filled croissants or strawberry muffins instead.

She almost forgot her sour mood when Atrea entered with one of her friends. Kirsty took a deep slow breath, trying hard not to fantasize about jumping over the counter and beating some sense into her. Atrea didn't dare ordering anything, which was good. Kirsty wouldn't risk her shop by poisoning her, but there were so many other vile things that could be done to a person's food.

The pair sat at one of the tables in the center of the room. "I still can't believe he left like that," the other girl said.

Atrea shrugged. "I almost couldn't either, but then again, he wasn't much of a man in the first place. Now, Bacchus..." She smiled. "Now, that's a man! You know he left last night for the Imperial City? He's training to be a legionnaire."

Kirsty's heart pounded. If Wrothken and Bacchus were both were heading in that direction and happened to run into each other, then there would be a new reason to call it the Red Road.

"Least Wrothken did something good, though," Atrea continued.

"What?"

He left these," she said, lifting her hair up to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. "And this," she said, showing off a topaz ring. "I'm gonna go sell them tomorrow, though." She laughed. "He ran away and he doesn't know that he'll still be supporting me!"

The two of them laughed loudly.

"Excuse me," Kirsty said, her ears burning. "After all the hard work he put into saving up to buy that jewelry for you, you're just going to get rid of it like that?"

Atrea scoffed. "Look, I know you're friends with him, but what I do with my things is frankly none of your business."

Kirsty shook with rage. She had a point. Like it or not, they were hers to do with what she wished, but after the weeks of saving and scrimping Wrothken had done...

"Speaking of," Atrea continued. "Where is he anyway? His clothes are way too big to fit Bacchus and I don't want them cluttering up my house anymore."

"Your house? He's the one that bought the place!"

"And he's also the one that ran off without and word and with his tail between his legs, so by default, the house is mine now, along with all the stuff that I can sell off."

The tremors in her body were visible to anyone watching. She glanced at her chopping knife, wishing with all her might she could teach her. Wrothken was a great man, with a heart that was obviously too big for his own good. If he wasn't so brotherly toward her, she would've scooped him up immediately.

"You know what? I know one thing for sure. Once he's recovered from your selfish betrayal, he's going to be glad you did what you did, and he's going to find someone a lot better than you. Not that it's going to be difficult. You set that bar very, very low. Now you, and the trash you brought with you, can get out of my bakery before I call the guards."

Atrea stood up with her jaw clenched. She knocked over her chair and then she and her friend left. Kirsty's sour mood had turned completely bitter.



By late evening, Kirsty was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she repeatedly mixed up orders. Most people were understanding; they thought she wasn't used to working alone. In reality, her conversation with Atrea made her really stop and think about the black and white in which she had previously saw stealing.

Her entire life she was taught that with hard work, you could have anything. Her mother died during childbirth, so her father had to work twice as hard to support his young daughter. He was often gone from the time she was awake until she had fallen asleep at night. When he was home, he had to fill the role of father and mother. Through everything he did, he was able to give her a comfortable life. She always ate and had beautiful clothes.

When she was old enough, she decided to move to Cyrodiil. She lived close, so the journey wasn't expected to be hard. Her problem was surviving when she got there. Her first job was harvesting grapes for wine near Skingrad. Eventually she saved enough to have a little cart so she could sell pastries outside of the arena in Kvatch. After years of skipping meals just to have enough spare septims to make more pastries and perfect her recipes, she finally bought the Iron Champion bakery, conveniently located across the road from the arena. In all that time, she never resorted to stealing. In her not-quite-so-humble opinion, the Gray Fox, if he was indeed real, should hang. She said it often and believed it...until now.

When the bakery first opened its doors, Wrothken was there to ensure that things stayed under control because, when a busty Bosmer with a high-pitched voice tells a group of drunken idiots to shut up, they laugh and pay her no mind. When a tall, broad shouldered Nord says it, mouths shut and drunks magically sober up a little. It wasn't his dream job, but he never complained. In fact, he was happy to do it so that he could buy little gifts for his beloved. It made Kirsty sick to imagine them pawned off so she could lay about all day. As much as she hated to do it, she needed expert help with what she was about to do.

After locking the doors behind her, Kirsty set off for the alleys in the west side of town. She draped a cloak over herself with the hood covering her face as much as possible without blocking her vision. More than a few people glanced her way, as if they could sense and interloper. Kirsty quickly averted her eyes, keeping them at the ground.

She walked to a man laying on the ground in ratty clothes. "Um...excuse me," she said. "Are you a beggar?"

The man snorted and rolled over, facing away from her. "Listen, I need to speak to the...." She cleared her throat. "The Gray Fox. Can you tell him that I need some things stolen?"



Cheers, clinking of glasses, and roars of laughter echoed in the Dancing Minotaur. It was the same every night, but special to each of them none the less. Each night symbolized another day survived and a chance to drink away their worries until morning when they returned.

Lilitu Serano sat at in the center of the room, toasting not just to another day, but to her new position in Kvatch.

A drunken Redguard lifted her glass high and said, "To never again having to take a long trip with our goods!"

The crowd roared, toasting up their glasses and bottles.

"Hey, hey!" The Orc woman behind the counter called. "Don't forget today is Little Frankie's birthday!" She nudged a quiet Breton, smiling shyly behind light brown waves.

The crowd cheered as she brought out a small cake with nineteen candles in it. Frankie blew it out and as everyone toasted once more, Lilitu asked, "Did you make a wish?"

"I did, can you make it come true?"

"Depends. What'd you wish for?"

He blushed and smiled. "A kiss from you."

Everyone hooted and hollered as Lilitu gasped in mock indignation. "Oh, aren't you smooth!" She winked. "But alas, Armand Christophe has banned me from bedding anymore guild members."

"He banned you?" The Orc asked. "Good grief, what did you do to those poor men?"

Lilitu smiled slyly. "Who said anything about the men?"

As the room resonated with laughs, Lilitu caught sight of a robed person speaking to a beggar. Something about it looked off to her. An Imperial joined Lilitu, staring out. "That's Kirsty," he said. "She's got a bakery on the other side of town."

Lilitu looked at the Imperial. He was slightly shorter than her and very stocky. He had auburn hair that fell around his face in a way that suggested he just got out of bed that way. His light skin was spattered with red-brown freckles. While he stared at Kirsty, his eyes seemed to set on fire.

"How do you know her?" Lilitu asked. "And if she lives in that upscale area, what's she doing talking to a beggar? And who are you anyway? Not Thieves Guild, I'm guessing."

"Name's Capaneus. Capaneus Tempestius. I'm not with the guild, but believe me when I say I know everything there is to know about everyone around here. 'Cept you, of course. Not yet, anyway." He grinned widely, a smile that would have charmed Lilitu if the statement didn't creep her out. Last thing she needed was another stalker. "I've had my eye on Kirsty since she came here.... I'm not sure what she wants with that guy though. Maybe he stole something of hers."

"It would make more sense for her to call the guard when it happened, not wait until now." She put her hand on her hip, squinting. "He looks like he's getting irritated. I better have a look."



Stubborn old goat! Kirsty had done everything from throwing coins at him to pleading, but he wouldn't tell her where to find the Gray Fox! With every second wasted, she became increasingly aware of people staring at her. If she shouted, would the guards hear her over that seedy tavern across the road?

"Listen, I really need help with this and he's the only one that can do it!"

"Listen," he spat. "I ain't got time for your little troubles! If you don't get away from me--"

"What's the trouble?"

Kirsty nearly jumped, hearing the other voice. It belonged to a Dunmer, who walked next to the beggar.

"This little busybody keeps pestering me about the damn Gray Fox! Everyone knows that's just a myth, don't they?"

"Of course," she said, winking to the old man.

"Please," Kirsty said. "I just need to speak to him!"

"Why?" The Dunmer asked, her eyebrows arching up.

"I need him to steal something for me."

“Do you now?" She said thoughtfully. "Alright, just come with me."

Kirsty hesitated. "Where?"

"To discuss this privately. After all, the Gray Fox isn't the only one with eyes and ears, if you catch my drift."

"Right," she said.



The house wasn't as grand as the ones near her bakery, but it wasn't as worn down as the houses in the seedier parts of town. It was slim, sandwiched between others like it, and made of dark stone. There was a small yard enclosed by a wooden gate.

The dark elf knocked twice on the door. "Dolce, unlock."

After a moment, there was a loud click and she opened the door. "Good girl!" She cooed. A short dog jumped onto the dark elf, her tail wagging with delight. However, once it saw Kirsty, it barked ferociously, her hackles raised.

"Dolce, no!" The dark elf said. "Get in bed."

The dog growled softly, but turned and went back inside.

"Sorry," she said. "Dolce is like a man in that the only way to her heart is through her stomach. Anyway," she said, offering Kirsty a seat at the table. "We haven't been properly introduced. My name is Lilitu Serano. And you are...?"

Kirsty hesitated.

"I know you're trying to be anonymous, with that...outfit, but seriously, if I posed any danger, I'd rob you and lock you up in the basement and no one would say a peep." Kirsty went numb at the very thought. "Just think of this as an ordinary business transaction."

"Okay, I suppose. I'm Kirsty," she said, removing her hood.

Looking around, Kirsty was surprised at how much red the Dunmer's house contained. Red curtains, red table cloth, red candles, red cushions on the reddish couch. In the light of the house, Kirsty noticed that her hair was red, though her black eyebrows revealed that the color was unnatural. She wore a red corset with black pants. Her lips were stained dark red. The only gems on her jewelry were rubies.

"Oh wow..." She said. "It's so...."

"Red?" Lilitu smiled. "Well, except Dolce's things. They're all blue." Lilitu stroked the petals of a red flower in a silver vase. "Someone once told me that colors can attract certain things. Blue is said to be calming and protective. My precious Dolce is my protection and the gods know she needs to calm down some."

"And red?"

"Desire, energy, excitement..." Her eyes glittered for a moment. "But about the items you want stolen..."

"Aren't you going to tell the Gray Fox?"

Lilitu laughed a little. "If people knew where to find him, he'd be in a lot of trouble. After all, people can easily infiltrate to spy on us. It happened all the time back in the Imperial City. What usually happens is someone contacts a doyen, and the doyen picks out a thief to go do the job."

"Oh." Kirsty was surprised to see that it was somewhat organized. "And are you a doyen?"

"Not yet," she said. "I'm a fence. However, as the doyen here is... occupied, to put it politely, why don't you tell me what it is you want and I'll pass the word on?"

"Right, well, they're in town. It's just a couple items that I'm concerned about. A pair of diamond earrings and a topaz ring. The problem is, I don't know if she sleeps with them on or not."

Lilitu nodded, twirling the curled end of her ponytail. "Don't worry, our thieves are highly talented. Who's currently in possession of the jewelry?"

"Her name is Atrea. She's got really long blond hair, longer than yours even, green eyes--"

"Today, was she wearing a light green dress, with long sleeves and silver trim around the cuffs? An attitude problem? Accompanied by a brunette woman most of the day?"

"You know her?"

"I wouldn't say know her... I just moved here a couple days ago, but I did meet her this morning. She caused quite a scene earlier. She was rather insistent petting Dolce. My precious baby doesn’t like strangers very much and, well, she almost pulled back a stump. Then she had the nerve to try and report her as a dangerous…. mutt." The word seemed to bring out a certain anger in Lilitu. “Anyway, I’ve been looking for just the right way to pay her back, so I'll take care of it myself. You'll have the jewelry tomorrow morning."

Kirsty stood up. "I… Thank you." She went to the door, pausing to say, "You know, I never thought I'd ever do something like this."

"You think I pictured myself working for the Gray Fox? Some things just happen. Just one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"I need to know where she lives."

Kirsty led her outside. "It's that house there," she pointed. "The one with the purple curtain."

"Great. See you tomorrow."

Kirsty nodded and went back to her bakery. She couldn't help smiling as she passed Wrothken's house. She envied Lilitu. She would've sold her soul to be the one to rob Atrea blind in the middle of the night.



When Kirsty left, Lilitu found herself staring after her. That girl is certainly blessed by Dibella, she thought. Dark, shiny hair, cool brown eyes, a cute little beauty mark above her plump lips. And that figure! She'd kill for it. She sighed, shaking her head. Some girls have all the luck, she thought.

She opened her curtains and placed a chair so she could keep an eye on Atrea's window. First step was waiting for her to fall asleep. Shortly before meeting Kirsty, the chapel bell rang ten times. Sadly, without the opportunity to watch her for days, she had no idea what time she usually went to bed or if she slept alone. She considered asking Capaneus, but she knew if she went back to the Dancing Minotuar, she'd get caught up in the merrymaking and forget all about Kirsty's request.

Lilitu couldn't tell how many minutes had passed, but she knew that she couldn't stare at the window too much longer. She was starting to get antsy. Her favorite book sat on the table by the couch. She leaned over and grabbed it, opening it up to where she left off.

Before she knew it, the bells chimed twelve times. She set her book down, wondering where eleven o'clock went. She must have been so focused in the book that she didn't notice. Atrea's window was dark, but she wasn't sure for how long. She smiled, opening the book back up. Just three chapters and she'd get ready. That was plenty of time for Atrea to sleep.

Three chapters became four, since Lilitu couldn't stop once it got good. She didn’t just read books, she devoured them.

She went up to her room and slipped into more comfortable clothing. She pulled her hair back into a bun and put a cowl on over it, to avoid letting any red strands loosen and fall to the floor. After grabbing her lock picking set and a silver ring enchanted with night eye, she left the light on in her bedroom to make it appear that she was still home. She blew Dolce a kiss, as she always did before leaving her alone in the house. Not only was it a way of saying goodbye, it let Dolce know that it was time for guard mode. Dolce sat in front of the door, ready to do her job. As she exited the house, she put her lips to the door. "Dolce, lock." After a click, she whispered, "Good dog."



Not many people were on the streets so late at night. The occasional guard passed by, but they paid her no mind. No one would likely even recognize her in the morning if they passed each other again.

When the area was clear, she stopped in front of Atrea's door. She placed her hand on the knob and barely twisted. It was locked. She looked around to make sure no one was around. She double checked and then took out her pick. Slowly, she slipped it into the lock, gently moving it around to get a feel for the pins inside. She laughed softly, when she realized that it wasn't even that strong of a lock. Sometimes she enjoyed low hanging fruit. She made quick work of the lock and after looking around once more, she went in.

She slipped the ring on, cursing in her mind as it was still slightly too big. Damn her skeletal fingers. She balled her fist tightly to keep it from falling off. When she blinked everything was light blue.

The place was simply furnished. A loveseat in front of the fireplace, a little table next to it. In the kitchen, there was a small, round table and two chairs. The flowers on top were wilting and brown. A short shopping list was pinned to the wall. Something about it touched Lilitu's heart. It seemed so cozy, though very cluttered. Dishes sat on the kitchen counter and there was trash strewn about.

She proceeded up the stairs into the bedroom. The door was unlocked, so she sighed in relief. She didn't want to spend too much time sneaking around. Her book was waiting.

The first thing she saw was a large bed with Atrea sprawled out in it. A large axe hung up on the wall. Lilitu had a hard time imagining Atrea even lifting it. She tiptoed over to the slumbering Altmer. She slept with her hair in a braid, leaving her ears visible. No earrings. If she didn't need to be silent, she would have sighed in relief. Yes, the Thieves’ Guild had talented members, but that didn’t mean it would have been easy to pry the jewelry off a sleeping person and not get caught. No ring on her fingers either. She looked at both night stands and neither of them had a jewelry box on them.

There was a large chest under the window. It was locked, but Lilitu managed to open it quickly. All she found were men's shirts that were twice as wide as she was and reached her knees. She put them back and shut the chest.

She was about to check the wardrobe when a sparkle caught her eye. On the desk were the earrings and the ring along with a note. Clearly she had been shopping around for the best prices. She must not have been done with the comparisons.

Lilitu picked them up, note included and stuffed them in a small pouch. She turned to leave when she noticed a small mountain of ripped or crumpled papers by a wicker basket. Lilitu glanced at Atrea. Did she just come across potential blackmail fuel? She picked up a few of the crumpled ones and smoothed them out.

Love notes. All of them filled with the sweetest wishes, dreams and hopes for the future. Thankfulness for a relationship budding into something stronger. All of them signed “Wrothken” at the bottom.

Lilitu was breathless. Some of them were so sweet that she wanted to weep. What in Oblivion were they doing crumpled on the floor? She looked a couple of them over once more, recognizing the name at the bottom as a Nord’s. She looked back at the axe and remembered the giant shirts. Obviously, the two had ended things. Her bias made her want to believe that Atrea was at fault, but she had no way of knowing for sure.

Lilitu walked over to the bed once more, staring down at Atrea. She shook her head. To let go of a man who could write like that... if that was what happened.

Atrea stirred in her sleep, cuddling up with her pillow. Lilitu took that as a sign that it was time to go. When she was out, she carefully walked down the stairs. She felt her way toward the door and opened it slightly. A guard was passing by, but he didn't notice the door opening a crack. He continued down the street, turning at the corner. Lilitu slipped out and casually walked back to her house.



After pouring ylang-ylang oil into the bath, Lilitu sat in the steamy water, remembering the notes. Each time, she felt her heart quicken. She wanted to know where he was. She heard of people who can decipher everything about a person based on their handwriting. All Lilitu could tell from the writing alone was that it was likely written by a man. She had also heard of people who can hold something belonging to someone and then connect mentally with the person. If only she had that power.

In her life, she had loved only twice. A hopeless romantic, she yearned for the feeling once more to be loved, cherished, caressed... It had been for too long, she thought.

The thoughts accompanied her to bed that night and she couldn't help but wonder if one day, someone with a heart like Wrothken would as well.

Posted by: D.Foxy Jan 24 2011, 11:25 AM

This time I caught the nits first!!!

She almost forgot her sour mood when Awour entered with another other girl

Awour didn't dare ordering anything


Getting careless, are we? And this your second time around, too! fie, fie!!

nono.gif

tongue.gif

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 24 2011, 03:06 PM

hello, Dan Fogelberg fan! I remember him well (okay, so I'm nearly as old as Julian). He had some pretty cool stuff out when I was much younger!

I remember you introducing Lilitu the first time around and enjoying it quite well. She's the kind of self-reliant woman I can't help but respect. Kristy is endearing in her own way, and I loved how she had to restrain herself when Awour came into her bakery (meow!). The fact that she is so protective of a big guy like Wrothken just makes me smile. He's pretty stupid for not seeing the differences between the two women.

I look forward to more!

Posted by: mALX Jan 24 2011, 03:16 PM

I love the drawings (and pics, Dolce) you are incorporating into your story now !!!

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 25 2011, 01:49 AM

If Wrothken and Bacchus were both were heading in that direction and happened to run into each other, then there would be a new reason to call it the Red Road.
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Wrothken was a great man, one of the last "nice guys" that she knew. If he wasn't so brotherly toward her, she would've scooped him up immediately.
Aww, who's Kirsty trying to fool? She won't jump Wrothken's bones for the same reason Awour is dumping him. He's one of the last "nice guys". The kiss of death for a straight man.

When a tall, broad shouldered Nord says it, mouths shut and drunks magically sober up a little.
Yup!


Lilitu smiled slyly. "Who said anything about the men?"
Hawt! The whole scene in the Dancing Minotaur was excellent addition. Not only because we got to see Liltu enjoying her promotion (to fence?) with other members of the guild, but we also had an introduction to Capaneus as well. Now I can see why you wanted to go back and rework things. Additions like this make it worth it!

It also fits in perfectly with Kirsty's fumbling attempts to find the Grey Fox from a beggar! tongue.gif

Dolce unlocks the door for Liltu! I love it! And the way you tied her into the Sirens of Anvil was perfect!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 26 2011, 11:08 PM

Foxy~ -sniff, sniff- I can't believe that got through! And I spent the most time on that chapter specifically! For shame!!!

Haute ecole rider~ I love Dan Fogleberg!! My mom has one of his records and I would play Longer to death! -swoon-

mALX~ Thank you! I figured since the story was getting redone, the pics should too!

SubRosa~ This was one of the biggest things I wanted to re-do. After awhile it hit me that I didn't touch on any other thieves! It didn't make sense to me. And I needed Capaneus to have a bigger role in it smile.gif


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Chapter Seven: Cures and Crystals



As Wrothken walked the dreary path toward Knotty Bramble, he finally had time to think. Sheogorath chose him as his champion. How he would love to go home and shove that in people's faces. Champion of a Daedric Prince. A completely insane one at that! That had to come with perks and boy, would Atrea be sorry then!

He imagined strolling down the walk in Kvatch dressed in the fancy suits several men in Crucible wore, Rheyna on his arm-- He blushed, thankful no one was around to see it. What could it be about her that drew him in? Sure, there was the parallel to Atrea, but was there anything else? Kirsty constantly told him that the best way to get over anyone was to get under someone else. He smiled, knowing that he wouldn't mind one bit finding that out, this time without the aid, or detriment, of whiskey.

He looked down at his map and saw that he was close to Knotty Bramble. He looked to his left and saw nothing. He walked over a hill and was just about to leave when he caught sight of a round spot attached underneath the tangled roots of a tree. The circle was covered in shiny bumps that didn’t look like it could be a natural part of it. It had to be the entrance to Knotty Bramble. Remembering Bernice mention creatures called grummites, he took out his mace and raised his shield, and he went in.

The interior was among the strangest places he'd ever been to. Inside the tree, other plants flourished, as if the tree were merely a host. Everywhere he turned, he ran into giant mushrooms, or glowing orbs as big as his head. He came to a fork in the tunnel, but one was blocked off by thick roots. He tried hammering his way through, but they were too strong. He had no choice but to go the other way.

As he headed into the depths of the tunnels, he came across one of the goblin-fish creatures. Those must be the grummites, he thought. It was walking toward him when their eyes met. The grummite ran up to him, wasting no time as it began to hack at the air between them. Wrothken watched it and when its arm was down, he gripped the mace tightly and slammed its arm and then hit its head.

Two more waited for him further down. The moment they saw him coming, they rushed him, slashing him so fast that he could barely get any hits in. They're quick little bastards, he thought. He kicked one of them hard and focused more on the one still in front of him. As it became worn down, the other came back, but it was easier to deal with a quick one and a weakened one than it was to deal with two of them at their prime.

He wandered around until he came across another door similar to the one outside. Once he opened it, he heard the sound of rushing water.

His heart rose as he followed the sound. He was on a higher level with the pool directly below him. For a second, he considered just jumping in, but he decided against it due to his armor and not knowing how deep or shallow it was. Instead, he continued through until he was able to reach the pool.

A few grummites took notice of him and after beating them, he took out the flask and he made sure to fill it to the top. He closed it tightly and put it away. "That was simple enough," he said, walking back to the exit. Then he noticed several egg sacks floating in the water. He frowned, realizing that the grummites were probably just protecting their eggs. He felt slightly bad, but he knew he couldn't beat himself up over it. If he didn't defend himself, the grummites would have killed him without any remorse at all.



Daylight greeted him as he stepped back outside. He wondered for a moment if he should run back to Crucible and give Bernice her cure, but he decided against it. There wasn't much of a point to walking all the way back to Crucible and all the way down to Xedilian. Hopefully Bernice's illness could be just a little patient.

As usual, while he was walking, unbidden thoughts crept into his mind. He wondered if Atrea noticed he was gone? She must have, he thought. You don't go from seeing someone daily to not seeing them at all and not wondering about it. He also wondered if Atrea did anything to set Kirsty off.

Wrothken remembered when he told Kirsty what happened. He had been crying so hard that his words were incoherent so he had to repeat himself several times, which just made him cry more. Someone once said that redheads have the worst temper. Whoever said that obviously never met Kirsty. Either that or they made her so angry that they never had the chance to tell the tale. The short brunette was livid and Wrothken only stopped crying because he didn't have the strength to bawl and hold her in her chair. He begged her not to do anything but she wouldn't promise. She swore up and down that if Atrea said one word or even glanced at her the wrong way, she was going to beat her into the next era.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Atrea had just been honest instead of sneaking around. He didn't even know how long it had been going on. Part of him wanted to go back and ask, but he was afraid of the answer. He didn't want to hear that it went on for months or with multiple people. He didn't want to worry that it was his fault or that he just wasn't good enough. He had been far too scared to find out the truth, even though he hated asking himself why or what he did to cause it.

He shook his head, remembering that he banished her from his mind. Besides, there was plenty of other fish in the sea. Of course, the first image to pop in his mind was Rheyna. He could tell she didn't like him, but what he would give to spend some time with her and get her to give him a chance. Maybe it was the fact that Bernice had warned him about her. It gave her the "forbidden fruit" appeal. If he could get Rheyna to go to Kvatch with him and rent a room somewhere.... Oh, that would get Atrea's panties in such a twist! She was jealous enough over Kirsty, but if he was openly with someone else? It gave him momentary happiness, but then his heart sank as he realized that she probably wouldn't care. After all, she was the one who left him, not the other way around. Even still... he thought. He knew he wanted to get close to Rheyna, if not to make Atrea jealous, then to at least keep his mind, and body, occupied.



The bridge leading into Xedilian was guarded by a grummite. Wrothken was taken by surprise. He had been expecting adventurers, if anyone, to be there instead. After taking care of it, he proceeded inside.

It was nearly black inside. Wrothken was faced with the choice of using a torch or using his shield. He set his shield down by the door and hoped he wouldn't need it. Torch in hand, he walked up to a door. He tried pushing it open, but it wouldn't budge. It was metal, not wood, so he couldn't break it down. "What in Oblivion...?" he muttered, feeling the door for a knob. Eventually he came across a brick with a red face sticking out slightly. He pressed it and the door opened up right away. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for more of those.

The old fort looked like something he would have seen in Cyrodiil. Old tapestries hung on the walls. They looked like they were once fiery red, they were now covered in mold and dust, faded with time. At one point, a gold crest decorated the bottom of each tapestry, but he could only see the faint tracings. Every corner was home to a large, smelly mounds that Wrothken tried his best to avoid, as he didn't want to imagine what it was for.

It wasn't long until he came to a room with three grummites inhabiting it. Two of them wielded daggers and the other simply disappeared before Wrothken's eyes. He was so surprised, that he didn't react in time to the two quick ones. They nearly backed him into a wall with their attacks. He tried focusing on one at a time, but it was harder than he thought, as they kept bouncing up as they hacked at him. He finally finished them off and looked around for any sign of the invisible one. He got his hint as soon as he was struck with lightning. His body tingled painfully as he caught sight of the last grummite. It held a long spear with a jagged crystal at the end of it. A focus crystal, he thought. The book had instructed him to use those to activate something the writer called Judgment Nexuses. That would reactivate the Attenuator of Judgment and restart the “heart” of Xedilian. He ran over to the grummite holding the crystal, not even caring about the mound of filth it stood on, and he took it out with a blow to the head.

He picked up the crystal and looked around, trying to find where it belonged. He found it in the next room, where a conical fountain, made of intricately carved purple-gray stone sat with a bright glow at the top. That had to be a Judgment Nexus. He placed it on the glow and it floated there, making a soft humming sound.

One down, two to go.

He headed down the stairs where he saw three more grummites. They were facing a fire pit with three large totem poles in the center. They bowed and occasionally made movements as if they were having seizures. Wrothken tried looked beyond them to see if there was a way he could sneak around them, but it was too dark to tell. His only choice was to go in and look for himself.

Like he expected, the moment the grummites saw him, they rushed to attack. Two of them came at him with their daggers and the third remained behind as it readied its bow and arrows. This time, he was more prepared. He was able to get good hits on the first one, taking it down quicker. The other one required more time, and it was happy that the other grummite obviously couldn't see him, as the arrows flew feet away. Once he took care of the second one, he headed for the archer. It didn't even try to run away as he bludgeoned it to death.

As he walked, he started feeling a prickling in the back of his neck. It felt like something was behind him, but each time he turned, there was no one. It made him wonder if there was another invisible grummite silently stalking him, waiting for the perfect time to strike. He could almost see it every time he started walking.

"Oh, snap out of it!" He said. "Stupid place is making you paranoid."

He came to a split in the path. Two metal doors were on either side and a push block was directly in front of him. He looked at either one, wondering which it opened.

Only one way to find out...

He pressed the button, only to feel the floor vanish from beneath him. He landed hard on his back, crying out when he saw the body of a dead grummite.

He sat up, clutching his throbbing head. It took him a few moments to focus properly in order to fully heal himself.

There was no way to get back up to where he was, so he walked around, hoping for the best. He was half relieved when he found another trio of grummites, one wielding a crystal staff. He almost laughed when the staff user was in such a hurry to attack, it accidentally shocked one of the grummites to death. This time, Wrothken took out the staff user, just to ensure it didn't turn invisible on him. After that, he took care of the other one. Once again, he attached the focus crystal to another nearby altar. Just one more.

The halls led him to another room with a couple of grummites. He was starting to get used to them and found it a lot easier to dispatch them. Inside the room, there was a flight of stairs leading to nowhere, leading Wrothken to think that it might have been a throne room once. He was about to leave when a sparkle caught his eye from the top of the stairs. Curious, he went to check it out.

The sparkle came from a round topaz. His heart sank. He used to call Atrea his precious topaz, due to her golden skin and hair. He chucked it across the room.

The next place he came to was a large door that opened normally. He wanted to be relieved that he was almost done but the topaz, and the memories associated with it, was bothering him. Instead, grummites relieved him, since he could easily take his anger out on them instead.

He bashed them in repeatedly until the halls were cleared. With the last crystal in place, let out a loud sigh of relief. All he had to do was tune the crystal and he could go and relax. After glancing down at his beat up armor, he added something else to his to-do list.

Walking down the hall, he heard the all too familiar croaks of grummites. Three of them guarded the resonator at the end of the room. He was so tired, but the thought of a hot bath at Bernice's gave him the drive to go forward and fight. The first two were dagger-users and the last was an archer. The two grummites hopped up in his face, repeatedly slashing at him. At that point, he stopped trying to focus on one at a time and just delivered the beatings to whoever was closest. The archer remained where it was, pelting him with arrows. He wished he had the shield with him, but he knew that wishing it wouldn't get back it to him. Luckily, arrows that hit him bounced off the armor. Clearly grummite arrows weren’t the best quality. They would probably be better off used as small spears.

Just like the last archer, it didn't run or switch weapons. It took the beating until its death.

Wrothken took out the Attenuator of Judgment and hit the cluster of crystals once. Immediately, it began to hum loudly. The sound was so pleasant that Wrothken strongly considered taking a nap underneath it. He wanted to sleep so badly, but since he was finished, he was ready to leave Xedilian.

To his right, a door opened up, revealing a red glowing tile. He went to look at it, hoping it was an exit, but there was no door underneath it. He was going to head back, but the door shut behind him and wouldn't budge. He banged on it repeatedly until he remembered the red push block from when he first entered. All he had to do was push this one and he would be home free! Since it was on the floor, he assumed it would need a lot of weight to activate it. He stood on it and suddenly, he only saw bright red shimmers before him. Time to relax, he thought happily.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 26 2011, 11:40 PM

How he would love to go home and shove that in people's faces.
I loved the entire first paragraph! That has to come with perks indeed! biggrin.gif

My most recent character in the Isles - Morrigan - always made it a point to take every Grummite egg she could find. Even if she could not use it to make any potions. She just hates them.

Someone once said that girls with red hair have the worst temper.
They must have met Teresa, or Athynae! biggrin.gif

she was going to beat her into the next era.
I love this phrase!

Again, you show us Wrothken's turmoil very well. He is walking through one of the strangest places in the multi-verse, and thinking more about his ex-girlfriend than anything else! Which is to say, just like any real person would. Good job bringing Wrothken to life here. His finding the topaz in Xedillian, and then throwing it away because it reminded him of Awour was wonderful!



Nits:
When we last saw Wrothken he was reading the book about Xedillian and bumping into Kalila. You said that the book told Wrothken what to do. But you never told us what that is. Now he is gathering focus crystals, but we the readers do not know what they are for (Well, us who have not done the Shivering Isles MQ). Perhaps you should go back and put in a sentence or two explaining how he needs the crystals and activate the resonator with the attenuator, etc... Or work something like that in this chapter.

Posted by: TheOtherRick Jan 26 2011, 11:43 PM

I haven't read the whole story yet. As a matter of fact, I have only read the prologue and the first chapter. But I had to post anyway, and I am going to catch up before you know it. This story is AWESOME!

Posted by: mALX Jan 29 2011, 04:26 AM

SubRosa already caught my favorite line:

"she was going to beat her into the next era."


Great line !!! Wrothken's meandering mind and desire to sleep under the red light seem to be leading him down the path to the madness that is a part of Shivering Isles - Huge Write !!! Great Chapter !!

Posted by: Grits Jan 30 2011, 12:25 AM

The short brunette was livid and Wrothken only stopped crying because he didn't have the strength to bawl and hold her in her chair.
What an image!! laugh.gif

She said she couldn't and then started to rant about how girls like Awour were the reason she can't stand to be around other women.
Preach it, Kirsty!!

He shook his head, remembering that he banished her from his mind.
Mmm hmm. Until he sees a topaz. rollinglaugh.gif

Time to relax, he thought happily.
I like him so much! smile.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 30 2011, 02:13 AM

SubRosa~ I didn't even think about that! I edited it a bit, so the book becomes more helpful. smile.gif

TheOtherRick, mALX, and Grits~ Thanks so much ♥ smile.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Eight: Decisions, decisions



When he opened his eyes, he expected to see the beautiful sky and the path that would lead him back to Crucible. His eyes widened and he looked around, halfway hoping that he did actually go to sleep beneath the resonator, and was just dreaming. Sadly, his aching body told him otherwise. Instead of being outside, he saw that he was still inside the fort, only there was a Dunmer with him.

He walked up to Wrothken with a wide smile and said, "Finally, Lord Sheogorath has sent someone to assist me! But where are my manners?" He cleared his throat, muttering, "Must get into my professional tone..." He cleared his throat once more and spoke in a deeper, more even voice. "Welcome to Xedilian, I'm the dungeon caretaker, Kiliban Nyrandil."

Wrothken sighed deeply. "Why am I still in here?"

"Xedilian would normally have sent you back to the entrance when you stepped on the pad in the Resonator Chamber. Since you're up here, I can only surmise that adventurers are already entering the dungeon as we speak." Kiliban seemed almost pleased.

"That's nice, but that doesn't really explain why I'm still here."

"I'm afraid until the adventurers are dealt with, Xedilian will keep you here. Even I can't will its doors to open. To put it bluntly, you're stuck here for the moment. No disrespect intended."

He sighed. His bath would have to wait. At least this man was polite, unlike certain chamberlains... "Alright. How do I deal with them? Should I just go out there and tell them to shoo? I warn you, I'm too damn tired to fight off a bunch of adventurers."

"Oh, heavens to Betsy, no!" Kiliban laughed. "The adventurers must go through a cycle. All you need to do is decide what becomes of them. Will you drive them insane or will you pull the life from their bodies?"

Kiliban held his arm and led him to a transportation tile. They arrived in another area overlooking a large room with a small tree-creature. It was nothing like the spriggans found in Cyrodiil. It looked like a dead tree with three roots for legs and strange white berries on its head. The room itself must have been another section of Xedilian. It was clean and save for the tree-creature there wasn't anything in sight.

"Now, these adventurers seek a place to live here in the Isles," Kiliban explained. "Since that horrid Gatekeeper isn't around anymore, it's become easy for just anyone to stroll in and set up shop. As you know, Lord Sheogorath only welcomes those He sees fit for residency. Now, it's up to you to decide whether or not they're worthy." He patted him on the shoulder. "I bet you're just tickled pink! Now, about the buttons. When you push the appropriate button, an event will unfold for the adventurers to experience. One is physically harmful, usually lethal traps or creatures, something relished by the residents of Dementia. The other choice is more mental. They are designed to make the adventurers lose their grip on reality, much like the residents of Mania."

"What?" Realization hit Wrothken like a bucket of ice water. He pulled out the book, flipping to the end pages. "Oh, no...." He said, his eyes widening.

"Oh, I see you have my book!" He said. "Oh, my stars, I can't tell you how flattered I am that you've read it."

Wrothken wasn't too fond of the available options as described in the book. What had those poor adventurers done to deserve death or even madness? He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened to him if he hadn't had to fight the gatekeeper, but come through Xedilian. What would the one in charge have chosen? "Why don't we just talk to them and judge from that?"

"A splendid idea indeed," Kiliban said, patting Wrothken's shoulder. "But I'm afraid it can't work that way. This is how Lord Sheogorath desires it and far be it from me to disobey Him. He'd have my head....literally! Oh, look! Here they come!"

A group of three men entered. The first was an Orc in a suit of Orsimer armor. He carried a large claymore on his back. The second to enter was an Dunmer wearing aqua robes, and the last was a brown-haired man. Wrothken couldn't tell what race he was.

"...now keep your weapons ready and watch your backs. Do what I say, and we might just get outta here alive." The Orc said to the other two.

They stopped and stared at the small creature. The Orc began to laugh.

"Awwww.... ain't it cute! What in Oblivion is that thing?" He continued laughing.

"This is one of the 'horrid guardians' of which the stories spoke?" The third man asked.

"Be careful," the Dunmer warned. "There may be more to this creature than meets the eye."

Kiliban nudged Wrothken. "Press a button," he whispered.

Wrothken looked at both of them. One was smiling and one was frowning. The book explained that the frown was the physical torment and the smile was mental. Self-defense was one thing, but he couldn't bring himself to decide to kill them just for fun. Was it any better than causing them to lose their mind though? It was a purely selfish thought as it made him feel guilty being the one to take away their sanity. Sure, they’d be alive and likely find themselves a home in the Isles, but doing this was quite the burden to place on him. He didn’t think being Sheogorath’s champion would have this kind of a cost. Obviously, he didn’t think it through all the way. He was too distracted at the thought of rubbing people’s noses in his newfound status. Figuring it was better than murdering the newcomers, he pressed the smiling button.

"What a joke," the Orc said, walking past it. "Let's be rid of this thing and continue on our way."

Wrothken heard a faint hiss, but he didn't think they could hear it. The other men did double takes at the small creature.

"Are my eyes playing tricks, or is the creature growing?"

It didn't look any bigger to Wrothken. He looked at Kiliban, who was smiling widely. "The button you pressed released hallucinogenic spore gas into the chamber. It's tricking them into believing the gnarl means to kill them. Don't worry, its bark is far worse than its bite." He chuckled at his little joke.

Wrothken looked back at the chamber where the men were scrambling, desperately trying to get away from the gnarl. The hissing soon stopped. The adventurers calmed down and the gnarl crawled into a corner, likely more afraid of them than they had been of it.

The Dunmer panted hard. "All this time it was merely an illusion," he said wiping sweat from his brow. "How clever."

The Orc turned around and walked slowly toward the other man. "Wait... what's wrong with Lewin?"

Lewin was on the ground, desperately trying to crawl as far away from the gnarl as possible. He stared after the creature. "...ma-makes no sense...should be d-dead...what...who..."

The Dunmer frowned. He walked over to the Orc, placing his hand on his shoulder. "I think this place got to him... perhaps we should leave."

The Orc shook his head. "We'll pick him up on the way out. He'll have to fend for himself."

The remaining men entered another room, leaving Lewin behind.

"Watching them run from the little gnarl gets me every time," Kiliban said happily. "Another chamber, another victim to eliminate. Hurry, the anticipation is overwhelming!" He led Wrothken to the next platform.



The first thing Wrothken saw was a pile of gold and jewels the size of Kirsty's bakery. Instantly, he made a mental list of all the things he could buy with such a large amount. The only problem was that it was locked up in a large cage. When the Orc and Dunmer entered the room, Wrothken knew they were thinking the same thing.

"Look!" The Orc pointed. "I told you! Treasure! Let's have at it, Syndelius."

They ran up a flight of stairs leading to it. The Orc grabbed hold of the bars and shook them hard. "Blast! The cage is locked. If only Lewin were here... he could get us through this in no time."

Syndelius reached through the bars, but he couldn’t reach even a single coin. "Do you think you can pry the door open?"

The Orc descended the stairs. "Forget it! This is obviously a trick! Let's get out of here."

Wrothken looked at Kiliban, who nodded his head. He pushed the smiling button. Surely they wouldn’t think the gold was going to attack them, right?

"To be so close, and yet so far,” Syndelius lamented. “If only we had the key! Wait.. do you hear something?"

A vague jingling sound started to grow louder and louder until hundreds, maybe thousands, of keys spilled onto the floor.

Syndelius whooped loudly. "Look! Keys! One of them must open the gate! We're rich!"

The Orc folded his arms. "Let's get out of here, Syndelius. This is obviously a trick to waste our time!"

Syndelius ignored him. "I'll know it when I see it!” He picked one up and rushed to the lock. “Yes... it must be here!" The key must not have worked, because he dropped it and headed back to the pile.

The Orc grabbed his arm. "They're all fake! Just come with me, now!"

Powered by his lust for gold, he wrenched free and grabbed a fistful of keys. "...find it... yes... I must find the key... rich beyond all my dreams..." He laughed under his breath.

"Bah! Suit yourself!" The Orc shot him a dirty look and walked off.

"Must find the key! Must find the key!" Syndelius sang as he started testing each one.

“Too bad none of those keys fit the lock...” He burst out into laughter. “Last chamber... this should be entertaining."



After getting on the pad, Wrothken was transported to a room that looked like it had been taken from nightmares. The floors and parts of the wall were stained with blood. Rotting corpses were hanging from their neck or attached to the walls. Some were scattered across the floor. Wrothken had to fight to keep his breakfast down.

The Orc walked down the stairs, obviously a little disturbed. "Steady, Grommok... steady," he said to himself. "You've been through worse before. What more could this place possibly throw at you?"

Wrothken was horrified of what it would do, but he pressed the smiling button. Purple light flashed and Grommok froze.

"What!? How in Oblivion can I be dead? This is impossible! Nothing killed me!" He cried out a little, looking at his hands and then around the room. "I didn't even get a chance to fight! No chance to defend myself? No chance for battle? Why?”

Kiliban nodded. “One of my favorites,” he said. “It’s a spell that makes the target translucent in their own eyes. Grommock here believes himself to be a ghostly victim! Incredibly unsettling, wouldn’t you say?”

It had to be more than just unsettling. Grommock was beginning to panic. “Impossible!” He cried. “This is impossible... Grommok has never lost a fight! Never!" He knelt down, clasping his head. "No! This is all wrong! This isn't how it's supposed to be!"

The light flashed again and Grommok jumped, but he kept mumbling to himself.

Kiliban patted Wrothken on the back. "You've made short work of the intruders. Sheogorath should be proud to have such an efficient apprentice." He led him to the last pad.

Sheogorath could be proud, but Wrothken felt terrible. This was far from what he thought Xedilian would be.



They arrived in another room that was near the entrance. Kiliban stood in front of a large chest. "As is the tradition, you are to be awarded a focus crystal as a token of your fine work. I'll have it sent to the palace and placed in the main hall, if you wish to take a look at it."

"Alright... and you mentioned some earnings?"

"Oh, yes... of course. It seems a most unusual weapon was recovered from the Orc warrior, Grommok. Never seen anything like it, but perhaps his journal can give you some useful information. Beyond that, take whatever else you need from the recovery chest... you've earned it!"

Wrothken opened the chest, hoping the unusual weapon would be a battle axe or a hammer. He was disappointed to see a large claymore with a violet gem on the guard. He held it up, admiring its beauty. It was a lovely weapon and though he had no use for it, at least he could sell it for a decent price. Among the other treasures, he found an amulet, gold, some lock picks, and a strange black cube with swirling blue patterns all over it. He decided to leave the journal behind. He didn’t want anything that would further guilt him for destroying Grommock’s sanity.

"You're free to go at any time of course, just up that hallway," Kiliban said shaking his hand. "Good luck to you!"

Wrothken nodded and was relieved to be able to go home and even more relieved that he had to fight the Gatekeeper rather than endure the same trials as those poor men. As he walked down the hall, he heard a harsh, metallic scraping. Before his eyes, a large crystal rose from the ground, looking like a giant version of the focus crystals he took from the grummites. He found it strange, but he kept going. Within seconds three armored beings ran at him. It looked as if their armor and weapons were made from the crystal. They didn't utter a sound as they descended on Wrothken, attacking with long lances. Kiliban must have heard the commotion as well. He gasped when he saw them and began flinging spells at the men. Once they were down, Kiliban rushed to check on him.

"That was quite a battle. I hope you are uninjured."

Wrothken looked at his armor. It was dented and cracked badly. "I'm fine, I guess. Who were those people?"

"You've not heard the legends? How could that be?" Kiliban looked at the men in disgust. "Those 'people' as you call them aren't people at all. They are the soulless abominations known as the Knights of Order," he spat.

"Knights of Order?" Wrothken tilted his head.

Kiliban didn't answer. Instead, he pushed him toward the door. "You must proceed to Sheogorath at once and tell him the Knights have returned! Quickly now... go!"

He pushed Wrothken out and slammed the door shut. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. The Knights of Order must mean very bad news.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 30 2011, 04:19 AM

Sadly, his aching body told him otherwise.
I really liked this line. So very simple, but elegant.

He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened to him if he hadn't had to fight the gatekeeper, but come through Xedilian. What would the man in charge have chosen?
Uh oh, feeling empathy for others is not a good idea for a Champion of Madness... I think Wrothken is going to discover that he has gotten far more than he bargained for by coming to the Isles.

I always drive them insane too. It seems like the lesser of the two choices. Besides, it is the Realm of Madness after all, not that of Murder. I always thought the keys trap was a good touch.

And finally the Knights of Order. The end of the world is on a short timetable indeed!

Posted by: mALX Jan 30 2011, 07:25 PM

I absolutely hated this quest - first time in any game I entered a dungeon and couldn't get out without doing something distasteful first. Couldn't kill innocents, so I chose the madness route too - but GAAAAAH!!! You did a Great rendition of Wrothken's turmoil at having to be the one to make the choices!!


Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 2 2011, 02:45 AM

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 smile.gif

~~~~~♥~~~~~

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."

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 2 2011, 04:30 AM

Once again, I loved Wrothken's reaction to seeing the Madness Armor. I want it! biggrin.gif

I loved seeing Cutter. She is one of my favorite residents of the Isles. You would think there would be more goth people there, but she seems to be the only one. And Kalila makes an appearance, in what I believe is an all new scene? rawr! I wonder what she might be doing with Cutter... wink.gif

Wrothken flexed his hand. He was going to have a lot of fun.
I loved this! Haskill, karma is a umbrella seller! laugh.gif

He actually began to laugh as he envisioned her beating him with a rolling pin.
This had me laughing out loud!

Posted by: mALX Feb 4 2011, 01:02 AM

QUOTE

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




EW !!! Cutter wouldn't speak to my character, her husband had just died or something, and she would tell me to leave her alone. I never was able to make her speak, so if she had a quest (I didn't get it), lol. I should not have eaten before reading the part about her, YUCK !!! GAAAAH !!!


Great Write, Jacki !!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 4 2011, 07:42 PM

SubRosa~ I love Cutter too smile.gif She says the starngest things. Ad Kalila was there before, though I think I changed some of the wording. ♥

mALX~ Did you happen to visit the Orc in Bliss first? They get upset if you visit the each other. Cutter flat out threatens you I think ohmy.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Ten: Raining Cheese, Indeed!



Kirsty could hardly sleep at all. Her stomach was knotted with worry. After lying in bed and thinking about it for a few hours, she couldn't believe that she allowed some stranger to break into Wrothken's house and take jewelry. Maybe Lilitu-- if that was even her name-- wasn't a thief after all, but an undercover guard trying to put a stop to the Thieves Guild. Or maybe she and Awour were old friends, looking to catch Kirsty in something, just so they can report her later. Maybe she really was a thief, but was going to run off with the spoils.

Realizing that sleep wasn't going to come to her, she decided to get to work.

She walked downstairs to the bakery and stood at the counter with a quill and parchment, checking her sales for the previous day. She made around fifty sweet rings yesterday, but didn't have enough for everyone who wanted one. She could try for seventy-five...but then again it was Tirdas. For some reason, Morndas always sold more sweets than any other day. "Sixty rings," she decided, writing it down.

Immediately she set to work. She found a large bowl and emptied a sack of flour into it. She was so happy to have left Valenwood. Flour, since it's grain, is forbidden by the Green Pact. Instead, they used bonemeal. It wasn't bad, but it didn't give the bread that fluffiness she loved. She took out a jar of honey and mixed it in, creating a thick paste. After forming the rings and soaking it in wine, she put them in the oven.

While she waited for them to cook, she started preparing some croissants and chocolate muffins to be baked as well. By time she was finished, her apron and any unprotected part of her dress was covered in powder.

A knock on the window caused her heart to rise, then sink instantly. Lilitu wasn't outside but Yyaevonnte was. She felt guilty at her lack of excitement. Why should she be less disappointed to see her best friend than a thief?

She let the Redguard in, locking the door behind him.

"Kirsty! I was worried about waking you up, but I forgot that you're always up this early," he said, taking a seat at the bar.

Kirsty shrugged.

Yyaevonnte leaned back. "Just got back from one hell of a mission. A group of guys went exploring in some goblin cave and got in over their heads and lost their healer. I had to fight four of them off the poor girl and by then she was shaking so bad, she accidentally healed the dead goblins!" He laughed. "Should have seen the looks on their faces! They were dead but the wounds healed and everything! She nearly wet herself!"

"Hmmm," Kirsty said absentmindedly.

He leaned in. "Then we stripped the goblins down and had ourselves a good old time!"

"That's nice," she mumbled. "Wait," she looked at him. "What?"

"Testing you. You didn't hear a word I said before, did you?"

Kirsty shook her head. "Sorry, Yyaevonnte. I'm just a little stressed."

"Why? Wrothken still gone?" He sighed. "Why did he go anyway? If you ask me, he should have beat Bacchus out of his bed and put Awour out on the street!"

"I know... I thought he should clear his mind, though I'm still waiting on that letter from him!" She sighed, laying her elbows on the counter. "Yesterday, I heard Awour say that she was planning on selling some jewelry Wrothken gave her."

He shrugged. "So?"

"I couldn't let her do that so..." She bit her lip and wringing her hands.

Yyaevonnte narrowed his eyes. "So what?"

"I... I kinda hired a... a thief--"

"You did what?" Yyaevonnte jumped up. "You didn't!"

Kirsty looked away, starting to mince some strawberries. "I couldn't let her do it. Not after all Wrothken did for her."

"Kirsty, that's illegal! A thief? Oh, dear gods!"

"Oh, like you've never broken the law before," she hissed.

"Not like this! Nothing really harmful!"

"It wasn't harmful," she said, pouring the strawberries into a bowl. "I hired her to steal not kill."

"And what do you think happens on the roads outside of town? Never stops those thieves from killing."

"Shut up, will you? And don't you dare breathe a word of this to your guildmates! Last thing I need is for all of Kvatch to know." She huffed, folding her arms defensively. "Besides, it was the only way I could get them back for Wrothken!"

"Oh? And where is the jewelry now, huh?"

"That's the thing," she sighed. "Not here yet."

"Why am I not surprised?" He buried his face in his hands for a moment, then ran his hands through his buzzed black hair. "How long ago did you...?"

"Late last night. I know I'm probably being paranoid--"

"And with good reason."

"But," she said with a growl. "It is still pretty early in the morning. She's probably still asleep."

"Makes sense," he said. "Not like thieves have any sort of honest work to do."



After the breakfast rush, though Lilitu still hadn't shown, a man carrying a sack full of papers walked in. Kirsty's heart raced. Did Wrothken finally send her a letter?

"Morning, miss," he said, handing her a copy of the Black Horse Courier. "Special edition," he said with a nod.

He walked away as Kirsty caught the headline.


IPB Image

SPECIAL EDITION!
Ricotta Rain! Transdimensional door appears! Coincidence?


An ordinary, peaceful morning on the Niben Bay was suddenly turned upside down when a downpour of cheddar cheese coated the immediate area. Locals from Bravil and the Imperial City scrambled to get a basket of the cheese, but by time they got to the area, guards had been sent to keep people from consuming it until it could be tested for poisons.

At the same time, it was reported that a strange door opened up on a mysterious island in the bay. Plants not found anywhere on Nirn were discovered, prompting a mass gathering of mages to examine and gather them up for potions. Several adventurers arrived on the scene as well, seeking to find out where the door came from and what its purpose is. Few have come out, and those who have seem to be driven mad by whatever is inside.

A guard from Bravil, who has been posted at the door, was quoted, saying, "I keep telling them that nothing that enters come out right. They don't listen. Stupid kids got their heads filled with ideas of fame and fortune. Guess who gets stuck cleaning it up."

The obvious madness in the victims has caused many to wonder if the door is something from Sheogorath. However, because all who have entered have become too disturbed to talk, it has been difficult to confirm.

Chana Mona, the priestess in Bravil's chapel of Mara, has been conducting her services outside by the bay, warning people to stay away. At first her words were unheeded, but seeing as how most have either gone insane or haven't returned at all, more are gathering to listen to her sermons.



"Can you believe this garbage?" Kirsty said, looking at Yyaevonnte. "What's next? Strawberries in the sewers? Corn from the clouds? I certainly hope they figure out who printed this joke and send a retraction!"

Yyaevonnte scanned it. "I don't know. Those boys are usually on top of things. Besides, while I was in that cave, one of the guys mentioned it. I thought he was just drunk, but..." He tapped the paper. "There's only one way to find out. I'll check it out if this thief ever shows up."



Lilitu couldn't remember her dream, but she saw glimpses when she concentrated. A slender blond wrapped in soft sheets. A kiss before rushing out of the house after a secret night together. Such a soft kiss... Vivica... Lilitu remained wrapped in red sheets, her lips longing for another brush from those soft petal lips, but she knew it would only happen in dreams. She would just have to settle for that. She sat up and found the poem lying next to her, right on her pillow. Could that have been the cause of her dream? With it being the only explanation, she locked it in her nightstand, though not without reading it once more.

She hadn't even got out of the bed when Dolce bounded in, jumping up on the covers. She panted heavily, filling Lilitu's nose with the stench of morning-doggie breath. "Off!" She said, pointing at the floor. "By the Nine, your breath is awful! Remind me to give you some parsley before bed."

After Dolce returned to the floor, Lilitu got up as well, pulling a red robe over her nightgown. She went to the kitchen and chopped up some beef. Dolce quivered as she tried to refrain from jumping up on the counter. Lilitu set the beef in a blue dish on the floor. Dolce immediately pounced, greedily eating it as if she hadn't been fed in days.

While she ate, Lilitu got dressed. "Come on, Dolce," she said, after she finished. "Time to make a delivery."



When Kirsty finally saw Lilitu, she felt a wave of relief, along with a slight flash of jealousy. Lilitu was wearing a red high-necked corset top, which recently became fashionable in the area. Kirsty had been highly disappointed to find that it was impossible to stuff herself into one and a custom made top would have been far too expensive. She looked down. Sometimes the blessing so many girls envied and men lusted for was much more of a curse.

"There she is," she whispered to Yyaevonnte.

"The red one?" He raised his eyebrows. "Damn...she doesn't look like a thief! I thought they were...you know, dirty. Scruffy. She must be pretty damn good."

"Why do you think I hired her?" She said, trying to regain a sense of control of the issue.

Lilitu smiled, taking a seat in front of her. Without prompting, Dolce sat down as well.

"Special delivery," Lilitu said, handing Kirsty a small coin purse. She opened it, gasping sharply when she saw the earrings and the ring nestled inside. "You look surprised."

"No, I just..." She couldn't admit that she thought Lilitu would deceive her.

"She thought you were gonna skip town with them," Yyaevonnte piped up.

"Figures," Lilitu said, without a trace of anger. "Most people who hire thieves for the first time don't expect the merchandise to come, especially if they have no experience with the guild. And you are?"

"Me?" Yyaevonnte stood up. "I'm Yyaevonnte, Swordsman of the Fighter's Guild and fastest man in Tamriel..." he leaned in, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows. "At everything."

Lilitu's eyebrows raised. "That's not exactly something to be proud of."

Kirsty's cheeks reddened, and not from Yyaevonnte's most-used and most-unsuccessful pick-up line. She had worried herself silly over nothing. "Here, I know you wanted to do this for free, but at least take this, on the house." She handed Lilitu a fresh sweet ring.

When she took a bite, Lilitu's cherry red eyes suddenly seemed to glaze over and she moaned softly. "What is this?" she asked, quickly taking another bite.

"Just some sweet rings. I haven't come up with a good name for them just yet."

"I can think of some, but they're more suited for the bedroom than the kitchen. This is amazing!"

Kirsty reddened a little. She was usually too busy to hear people's compliments. "Um.. here's something for your dog, too." She stepped from behind the counter and set down a slab of ham.

Dolce sniffed it curiously and took a hesitant lick, as if she wasn't sure she could trust it. She looked up at Lilitu, who nodded. "Go ahead, baby." As soon as permission was granted, Dolce ate it up like she hadn't eaten in weeks.

"Something wrong with your dog?" Yyaevonnte asked. "I've never seen an animal question meat before."

"She was poisoned once," Lilitu said, her eyes blanking for a moment, as if lost in the memory. "She was sick for days after, even with potions."

Kirsty gasped. "That's horrible! I'm so sorry," she said, placing her hand on Lilitu's.

"Not to worry, she recovered and the man who did it is rotting away in prison as we speak."

"Huh..." Yyaevonnte said. "I didn't know it was illegal to kill a dog."

Lilitu's eyes twinkled. "It isn't."

Dolce just panted, wagging her tail happily. Kirsty stiffened as Dolce hopped onto the counter, rubbing her wet nose on her hand. "Don't worry," Lilitu said. "Remember what I said last night? Her heart is in her stomach. She'll love you forever now."

They were quiet for a moment before she said, "So, I'm just going to come out and ask. Who's Wrothken?"

"Wrothken?" She asked. "He's my brother."

Lilitu raised her eyebrows. "Your...brother?"

Kirsty shook her head. "Not exactly. I mean he's been like a brother. You know, looking after me and helping me out with stuff." She set her head on her hand, sighing. "He helped me run the place. Drunks listened to him more then they did me."

"Was he intimidating?"

Yyaevonnte laughed. "He's more like a big teddy bear, but people don't know that. All they see is a giant Nord with hands big enough to squash them like roaches!"

"I see. So, he's your brother, who lived with the high elf, and you wanted me to steal jewelry from their house." She looked outside. "She broke his heart, didn't she?"

Kirsty nodded. "He caught her in bed with another man."

Lilitu continued to stare outside. "How sad. Where is he now?"

"I suggested he go to the Imperial City to clear his head...but he was supposed to write me when he got there, and I haven't gotten anything yet."

"I still say he should've just thrown her out the door..." Yyaevonnte said.

Kirsty nodded in agreement. "He should've, but if we list all the things that should have happened, we'll all go insane."

"Hey," a voice behind Lilitu said.

She jumped, seeing Capaneus behind her. "What... Hi," she forced out. "What are you doing, sneaking up behind me like that?"

He just smiled, looking at Kirsty. "Did you break into Awour's house last night?"

Kirsty looked like a deer caught between a wall and a starving bear. "Oh...well, you see..."

Lilitu exhaled loudly. "She didn't break into anything. Why?"

He shrugged. "Awour's furious. Seems someone broke into her house last night and stole some jewelry. In fact, she was just at the Dancing Minotaur demanding that the doyen of the Thieves' Guild present themselves. Of course, she got laughed out of the place when she suggested that you did it."

"She what?" Kirsty shrieked.

"Calm down," Lilitu said. "First off, she has no proof it was anyone. The guards won't waste their time on speculation, especially since officially, we don't exist. Second, even if she did have proof, no way would I turn you in. There is honor among thieves."

"She's right," Capaneus said. "Turns out she knows exactly how far the Guild would go for anyone they consider an ally," he said, winking at Lilitu.

She narrowed her eyes. She knew what he was getting at, but how did he find out? Creepy, nosy fetcher.

"Hey there," he said, noticing Dolce. The moment his hand lowered with the intent to pet, Dolce barked loudly, snarling and trying to back away as far as she could.

"Dolce!" Lilitu said, hoping to calm her down. For once, Dolce ignored her mistress, continuing to bark. "N'chow!" She swore, looking at all the patrons staring at them. "Just give her this," Lilitu said, placing a slice of ham in Capaneus' hands. Capaneus threw it to Dolce, but she refused to acknowledge it. "Damn," she spat. She led Dolce away, saying to Kirsty, "I'm so sorry, she must be cranky. Just don't worry, everything will be fine." She nudged Dolce, saying, "Come on, baby."

Dolce growled the entire way out the door, staring hard at Capaneus. As soon as they were outside, Lilitu knelt next to the calmed dog and scratched behind her ears. "You don't like him, either?" She asked. She knew animals, especially dogs, had a sixth sense when it came to danger. People included. Dolce had been right once before. Lilitu couldn't help thinking that Dolce may have had good reason for her reaction to Capaneus.



"What in Oblivion was with that?" Yyaevonnte asked, looking back at Kirsty.

Kirsty shrugged.

"Probably lack of real training or maybe I just smelled funny," Capaneus offered.

"Maybe," Yyaevonnte said. "Well, I'm off, Kirsty. I'm gonna go check out that cheese. I'll see you later."

As soon as Yyaevonnte left, Kirsty felt more alone than ever. She licked her lips nervously, glancing up at Capaneus who remained at the counter. Something about him offered comfort, though she had never met him. She smiled weakly and was rewarded with glistening brown eyes and a grin that made her knees weak. He reached over and took her hand in his and suddenly, she didn't feel alone anymore.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 4 2011, 08:56 PM

Oohh, smooth operator!

And Yyaevonnte (now how on Nirn do you pronounce that??) and Lilitu and Dolce up and left Kirsty alone with that slimeball?

Believe me, the dog knows best.

Posted by: Grits Feb 4 2011, 10:58 PM

"Maybe," Yyaevonnte said. "Well, I'm off, Kirsty. I'm gonna go check out that cheese. I'll see you later."

Just one of many enjoyable lines from Yavon... Yevonn... Yyaevonnte! rollinglaugh.gif

I love how Kirsty makes a mess of herself when she bakes. Somehow it's endearing. smile.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 5 2011, 12:15 AM

Instead, they used bonemeal.
When those wood elves shout: "I'll grind your bones to make my bread!" - they really mean it! biggrin.gif

"Then we stripped the goblins down and had ourselves a good old time!"
Kinky! I like Yyaevonnte already. I can pronounce the name (I think), but it sounds like a girl's name. I guess his parents were like Julian's, and gave him a name of the opposite sex to toughen him up. wink.gif In any case, I think he was a good addition to the story. Little things like him make starting over worth it.

btw, you can post inline images here, so you might want to add in the BHC logo to your copy of the broadsheet. Just reply to this and copy and paste the code below:

IPB Image


So Vivica is it? Yum! I like how you juxtaposed Lilitu's erotic dream with waking up to Dolce. As ever, her canine sidekick is simply adorable, morning doggie breath and all!

Lilitu's eyebrows raised. "That's not exactly something to be proud of."
Exactly what I was thinking! laugh.gif

All in all a fun episode bursting with extra flavor that the original lacked. You have introduced us to more new characters, making Kvatch feel like a larger place. Also underscoring the tragedy in store for the city on the plateau.



nits:
Plants not found anywhere on Nirn were found
You have a repetition of found. Perhaps you could change the second case to discovered or observed?

Chana Mona, the priest in Bravil's chapel of Mara
Unless Chana has a surprise under her skirt, I think you mean priestess?

Kirsty looked like a dear caught between a wall and a starving bear.
You have the wrong kind of deer here.

Creepy, nosy b*stard.
You might think of replacing this with an ES term like fetcher, or bounder.

The moment his hand lowered with the intent to pet, Dolce barked loudly, snarling and trying to back away as far as she can.
You have a change of tenses at the end, going from past to present. You ought to change that to could, to keep it all past tense.

Posted by: mALX Feb 5 2011, 05:36 AM

What a great twist you threw in there with Kirsty, and the BHC article was Awesome !!! I think Cutter did threaten me, so I must have talked to that Orc for whatever reason, lol. Great Chapter !!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 6 2011, 08:52 PM

haute ecole rider~ I'm actually unsure how to pronounce it :X A friend of mine found out about the fanfic and asked that I name a character after his middle name...and this conversation happened over text message tongue.gif I'll have to ask him how its said

Grits~ Wrothken thinks its cute too when I cook and I come back with flour all over my clothes smile.gif

SubRosa~ Yyaevonnte was actually supposed to be in the original draft. At one point, he was going to be a resident of the Isles, then a thief that Lilitu takes under her wing, then a friend of Awour's...but he didn't fit proper! So when I did the redraft I added a Breton friend of Kirsty's....but then the light went off and -ding!- perfect place for him!

QUOTE
So Vivica is it? Yum! I like how you juxtaposed Lilitu's erotic dream with waking up to Dolce.


Nothing like waking up from a steamy dream to a dog (or these days a very vocal tuxedo cat!) pouncing on you and ruining it tongue.gif


mALX~ Thanks mALX ♥ Though my BHC has nothing on yours! tongue.gif



~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Eleven: Understanding Madness



Atrea stood in front of the arena, watching as Lilitu disappeared down the bustling street. What was a girl like her, who hung out in dumps like the Dancing Minotaur, doing in such a posh place? And the very one owned by Kirsty.... She narrowed her eyes. Lilitu must have had something to do with her stolen jewelry. Now that she thought about it, Kirsty wasn't the type, but everyone knew who exactly hung out at the Dancing Minotaur. There might as well have been a Thieves' Guild banner flying over it.

She wanted to follow her and see if she still had her jewelry, maybe even steal it back, but she was afraid she would be too obvious. She was no thief, after all. Maybe after a few days, when her guard was down, she could find a way to get them back. Instead of stalking, she turned and went home.

She frowned, looking into the messy living room. Remnants of last night's lunch and dinner was still sitting on the coffee table, next to a pile of books. Crumpled papers littered the floor.

The kitchen wasn't much better. A bouquet of flowers, once fresh and fragrant, now smelled sickly sweet and the lightest brush on a petal nearly turned it to dust. Empty bottles were all over the counter, along with pots and pans caked with burnt food.

As usual, she felt the sudden urge to clean so she could entertain friends, but a few minutes into it, she gave up and left for Erissanda's house. She promised herself she would clean later on, though she had made that same promise nightly ever since Wrothken left their house.

Erissanda was home, thank the Gods. Atrea knew that if she had to look for her in the marketplace, she would be out of money by the end of the day. As Erissanda greeted her cheerfully and let Atrea in, Atrea was taken aback by how beautiful her home was. Sunlight bathed the living room from behind white lace curtains. The rose couches were so inviting, as was the wine and food platter sitting on the chestnut coffee table, as if Erissanda had been expecting her.

"Sit, sit!" Erissanda said, pulling Atrea to the couch and taking a seat next to her. "What brings you here? I thought you were going to get your jewelry back from Kirsty!" Erissanda snorted, tucking her brown hair behind her ear.

"You know," Atrea said, taking a slice of cheese onto a cracker. "I don't think Kirsty has it. Could you imagine her sneaking around anywhere? It’s a wonder she doesn't knock around everything in front of her!" She said, cupping her hands in front of her breasts.

Erissanda laughed a little. "Then who has it?"

"I think it was someone from the Thieves' Guild."

"Oh, please! You don't actually believe in that, do you?"

Atrea shrugged. "It's the only explanation I can think of." She sighed, laying her head in Erissanda's lap. "I miss Bacchus. If he were here, no one would have broken in.... or lived to tell about it!"

Erissanda stroked Atrea's long hair softly. "How long is his training?"

"A whole year! Can you believe I'm already getting so lonely? I don't know how much longer I can wait for him!"

"Awww, poor baby!" Erissanda said, starting to braid a lock of Atrea's hair. "Meanwhile you've bedded how many men this year?"

"Just two, thank you very much."

"Two more than I have," Erissanda muttered.

Atrea shrugged. Nothing she could do about that. She turned slightly, looking out the window. A man with an axe walked by the road and Atrea remembered Wrothken's axe still hanging up on the wall. Her heart fluttered, remembering his strong arms...those big hands...broad shoulders...plump, soft lips... She growled softly. Why didn't he fight back? Of course, she knew exactly why and she wanted to kick herself for it.

"What?" Erissanda asked, starting a new braid.

"Oh, just Wrothken."

"That he's vanished off of Nirn without so much as a goodbye or at least getting his dreck out of the house?"

"Not exactly.... I'm just wondering why the hell he had to run off like that instead of fighting."

Erissanda snorted again. "You just wanted to be fought over?"

"No!" Atrea said defensively. Of course that would have been nice, she thought.

"Look, I think it’s pretty obvious. You had dear Wrothken's balls in your purse! What did you expect from a guy like that?"

Atrea stood up and looked out the window. "It's not his fault. It's all mine."

"How so?"

Atrea turned around, her eyes shimmering. "Would you believe that Wrothken used to fight in a dirty pit back in Bruma?"

"They've got an arena up there?"

"Pfft." Atrea placed her hand on her hip. "More like a seedy little tavern with a huge basement. You should have seen it! It was packed full of men betting on people beating the daylights out of each other."

"And Wrothken was part of it?"

"He was a main event!" she looked up at the ceiling. "When I first laid eyes on him it was like someone lit a fire in me. His eyes..." Atrea sighed as she stared out the window. “The thing was, I was too scared of him to approach but one day, he came over to me and you can imagine my surprise when it turned out he was just the sweetest thing.

“Wrothken was just so kind and so very eager to please. Turns out he never really had a girlfriend before me. Well, there was one, but that was only for a week so she doesn't count. I mean, the only thing was, he had a bit of a temper problem, but I figured that if I could get him to get rid of it, I'd have the perfect guy! After all, he really was sweet under all that violent behavior and he spoiled me quite a bit. Soon enough he got out of the pit fighting."

Erissanda poured them both some wine. "Sounds just like your type!"

"Exactly!" She laughed. "I mean, it took a long time. The littlest things would set him off, but all I had to do was cry big, juicy daedroth tears and whimper, 'Wrothken you're scaring me,' and he'd calm down." She crinkled her nose. "Then he'd start to cry. By the Nine that was irritating. That's where I went wrong, though."

"How?" Erissanda asked. "You got him away from those bad influences, you got his temper in check, what could possibly be the problem?"

Atrea sighed. "He lost his spark." She leaned in, lowering her voice even though they were alone in the house. "Before, we used to have the most fiery passion you could imagine. He was rough, demanding, oh by Dibella it was..." She grunted, balling her fists. "But....afterwards..." She sighed. "It wasn't what it used to be, I guess."

"That's normal. All relationships go through that."

Atrea shook her head. "Not like we did. Not that I don't want Bacchus!" She added quickly. "He's gorgeous! And Wrothken put on a little weight when he started hanging around Kirsty. And while Bacchus is perfection in that department, he's nowhere near as good as Wrothken was in bed. Even with the fire doused, at least he was attentive, pleasing."

Erissanda took a sip of her wine. "Then why'd you keep at him for so long? I remember a couple months ago you were trying to figure out how to dump Wrothken and get with Bacchus as quick and as painless as possible."

"I know, I know!" Atrea groaned, burying her face in her hands. "But when Bacchus left for the night, it was wham, bam, thank you ma'am," she said, clapping her hands. "And that was it. With Wrothken, even if it was for just a few hours, he made sure I was taken care of, whether it was leaving me septims or just leaving food out for me. And my gods, can he cook! And he cleaned too! Without me even asking. Not to mention he bathed regularly. Do you know how bad it is when Bacchus came back after exercising? Or even just a romp in the sack? He smelled awful! But good luck convincing him of it," she said, crinkling her nose again. "And maybe he could live off stale arena food and beer, but I certainly will not!"

She leaned on Erissanda. "But why in Oblivion am I even thinking of Wrothken? I made my choice."

"Yeah, but you don't seem very pleased with it. Lack of passion aside, you've got to admit that Wrothken sounds like the better match for you. He's a nice guy."

"Exactly!" Atrea moaned. "I don't want a nice guy! They're so boring! I need a man who will light my fires, pounce me like an animal, who will make me scream! If I only knew what would happen, I could have avoided this mess in the first place."

Erissanda shrugged. "Oh, well. You can't have it all."

A spark lit up Atrea's eyes. "Or can you?" She stood up and began to pace. "You can't change a man, but you can train them. After all, that's just what I did to Wrothken. Well, what if I can untrain him? Find ways to bring back that part of him that I so stupidly repressed." She smiled. "It's certainly worth looking into, don't you think?"

"Sure," Erissanda said. "That is, if he ever comes back."



Kirsty was glad to have Capaneus with her all day. She had been tense, jumping each time a guard entered the bakery for a quick snack, but it was like Capaneus could read her thoughts and he never hesitated to say something to make her laugh. So strange that he was able to put her at ease so quickly.

He even helped her close and before leaving, he bowed and kissed her hand. What a gentleman!

Kirsty had always been too busy to even consider dating and each time she was witness to a horrible break up or its aftermath, she would be thankful that she had avoided such heartbreak. Capaneus, however made her feel so blissful. His compliments, not a single one related to her figure, were wonderful. His jokes hilarious. His very presence was powerful, though he wasn't a large man at all. Even still, a voice deep within her told her that something was wrong.

As she sat in her bathtub, she recalled Dolce's sudden outburst. The previous night when she had been the target of the dog's vicious growls, Dolce was instantly calmed by Lilitu. She had not only quieted, but immediately retreated back to her bed on command. Even the fact that Dolce walked just at Lilitu's side, without a leash, showed that the dog was well-trained. Then again, he did smell a little funny. And Lilitu mentioned that Dolce had been poisoned, she rationalized. Capaneus could remind Dolce of her assailant.

She spent the entire bath trying to give herself reasons not to worry until she realized what she was doing. As she crawled into bed, she simply chalked it up to nervousness about these newfound feelings. However, the voice refused to silence and it carried on until she entered the blackness of her dreams.


Posted by: mALX Feb 6 2011, 09:03 PM

ROFL!! Nothing sexier than a man that cooks and cleans ... unless they can also fix your car horse-drawn carriage of course. But...what about Wrothken's ...deformity ... GAAAAH !!!


Posted by: SubRosa Feb 6 2011, 10:44 PM

Its a wonder she doesn't knock around everything in front of her!"
laugh.gif

Of course that would have been nice, she thought.
Yep, that is a straight girl for you.

I don't want a nice guy! They're so boring!
And so is that!

The scene with Awour was so much better this time around. The addition of Erissanda as a sounding board to bring out Awour's feelings really made the entire thing flow so much better.

So Cap is working his magic on Kirsty then? Such a complicated web of relationships you are building up back in Kvatch! If Wrothken ever gets back, I doubt he will recognize the place! (assuming it is still standing that is).

Posted by: D.Foxy Feb 7 2011, 12:25 PM

May I interject that a boring guy might be quite good on the tunneling side...


whistling.gif

Posted by: mALX Feb 7 2011, 04:26 PM

QUOTE(D.Foxy @ Feb 7 2011, 06:25 AM) *

May I interject that a boring guy might be quite good on the tunneling side...


whistling.gif



SPEW !!! Er ... er ... [covers mouth with hand, gives discreet cough to camoflage talking] "Oxy-Fay ... O-nay ... Ot-nay Othken-Wray - OFL - Ray !!!

Posted by: Grits Feb 8 2011, 12:00 AM

The dead bouquet of flowers is so sad.

Awour plots to get Wrothken back, I like it! Still would like to give her a slap, though. dry.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 11 2011, 04:51 AM

mALX~ Lol! poor Wrothken! Maybe she's into "deformed" ones.... In fact I'd be willing to bet that she has seen many like it wink.gif

SubRosa~ I think it will take Wrothken some time to adjust...though there is something I have in store for him upon his return that will be sure to distract him!

Foxy~ Well, if he's that good, then he certainly can't be all that boring wink.gif

Grits~ Ah, Awour does tend to have that effect on people


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twelve: Green Lines


"Mania? Or Dementia?" Wrothken wondered, looking to either side. He watched the arrogant Golden Saints walk around with their chests puffed out and their noses stuck up so high, if it rained, they'd all drown. He didn't want to be anywhere near them, honestly.

On the other side, he saw the Mazken sashay around their half of the Palace district. They were the epitome of strength, confidence, and authority. Wrothken couldn't help feeling a slight attraction to them.

After thinking about it on the way to pick up his armor from Cutter, he still couldn't figure it out. It wasn't a life or death decision, but as he wasn't sure what to expect, he was nervous. After all, the last job had been nothing he had been prepared for. He sat down once he was back in the Palace district for another fifteen minutes before deciding to summon Haskill.

"I see you couldn't be bothered to walk the extra twenty feet to the palace," he said with a sigh. "What is it you require?"

Wrothken didn't bother repressing a smile. "I just wanted to ask you who I should visit first."

With an exaggerated eye roll, Haskill replied, "Thadon is aware you are here, and should be waiting for you. See him at once. Would you like me to accompany you? Hold your hand, maybe?"

Wrothken clenched his fists. He should have known that there would be a smart comment along with it. He tried to avoid making it obvious that Haskill got to him, as the chamberlain vanished. When there was no longer a trace of him, Wrothken headed to the House of Mania.



The House of Mania was the picture of decadence. As Wrothken entered the smoke-filled place, he saw a banquet table filled to its edges with roasts, pastries, fruit, bottles of wine, eggs, and anything else Wrothken could ever imagine eating. As people stuffed their faces while smoking pipes and what appeared to be rolled pieces of parchment. Nude women poured wine for the people at the tables and some sat amongst themselves feeding each other sugar cubes and looking around the room as if they were seeing the most wonderful things in the world. The Golden Saints stood at the door, their expressions neutral, as if this happened all the time.

Wrothken was so busy staring at the women that he nearly bumped into a fully clothed Argonian woman. She was dressed in simpler clothes than the others, a gold gown with embellishments around the collar and a blue skirt with amber trim. Small horns wrapped around her head with ribbons hanging from the backs. Her pupils were so dilated that it appeared her eyes were black with a thin orange ring around them. "How can I help you..." She squinted at him. "Sir? Miss?" She shook her head. "You all look alike to me. It's so hard to tell." She waved her hand. "I am Wide-Eye, Steward to His Grace, the greatest Duke of Mania in all of history, Thadon. He is my reason for being. My purpose in life. Are you here to see him?"

He nodded, his eyes drifting toward the other women.

She nodded as well. "I heard that you were coming, looking for Thadon. Yes, yes. Heard it all. Bored to tears by it. He's waiting for you. Unless he isn't. He wasn't, but then he was. Maybe he still is."

She motioned him to the end of the table, where a Bosmer in a large throne was sitting, surprisingly without any female company. Out of all the guests, he was like a proud peacock in his turquoise and gold finery and crown. When Wrothken approached, he stood up, smiling widely. Wrothken couldn't help noticing a dusting of green powder on his nose and several lines of it on a small tray by his full plate.

"Ahh yes, there you are!” He said lazily to Wrothken. “You couldn't imagine how long I've been waiting for you. So little to do, and so much time. Hmm, could you, in fact, imagine just how long I've been waiting? I don't think you could, but I might be wrong. I might also not care. Which is it?"

Wrothken tilted his head. "Not very long?"

"Hmm... It felt like rather a long time, but then long times get longer when you're standing around thinking about them. A curious thing, that. Long roads get longer too, if you're thinking about them, but what about long words? They don't change nearly as much." He shrugged. "Long, short -- it all ends up the same. Dust and tears. Usually tears first, then the dust. Dust can't cry, you see. That would be... well, amusing." He chuckled, then abruptly stopped. "You know what's not amusing? I don't have my Chalice of Reversal. It makes me sad," he said, dragging his finger from his eye to his chin. "When I get sad, I don't care to do much of anything. I certainly don't care to help people who show up on my doorstep wanting something. Are we getting the picture here?"

Wrothken sighed. He got the picture alright. "Do you know where your Chalice of Reversal is?"

"Oh, so you've heard of it?"

"No."

"You haven't heard of it, yet you know its name? What a strange creature you are." Wrothken didn't bother pointing out that Thadon gave him the name. Somehow, he knew it wouldn't do any good.

"One of my favorite toys," Thadon said. "Does wonders for creativity. Well, not by itself, but it helps. Those Elytra, clever little bugs that they are. Is this making sense?”

Wrothken shook his head. Not very much made sense lately, but this was even worse.

“Look, you eat the Felldew, then use the Chalice, and find the world a much brighter and happier place. Honest. But I don't have it. So I can't eat Felldew, because that would just be bad. I mean, really bad. Damn her!" He snarled, glancing to his left.

Wrothken looked over as well, but he didn't suspect either of the women, who were feeding a roasted leg to a large man, had anything to do with the lost Chalice.

"Do you know who took it?"

Thadon looked back at him with a sly smile. "Opposites repel, strangely enough. All that... pleasure... and pain locked away now, as if it never happened," he said bitterly. "Unfortunately, the Chalice is locked away as well. I have no wish to retrieve it myself, but fetching it might do you some good." He groaned. "My head is positively throbbing now... can you see it? I need to lie down. Find someone to tell you the rest of the story. Get the Chalice." He stood up and wobbled to a door in the back.

Wrothken's head was starting to throb as well. He took an empty seat to try to sort out what Thadon had told him. Thadon's Chalice of Reversal was missing. The Chalice helped him eat something called felldew. A woman took it, after a love affair, which is now being treated as if it didn't happen... Sympathy ran through him for a moment, but that still didn't tell him where the Chalice was hidden.

Wide-Eye returned, taking the seat next to him. "You've been speaking to Thadon. I can tell. He has a certain... effect on people. Did he mention me, perhaps?" She asked hopefully. When Wrothken gave her a confused look, she asked disappointedly, "Or was there something else you wanted to discuss?"

"He wants me to get his Chalice of Reversal."

"It's precious to him, and that's all that matters. It's his own business. But, didn't he mention where it is?” Wide-Eye paused for a moment. “Oh... I see. How brilliant of him." She seemed to be swooning every time she praised him. "This is for you as much as it is for him. Oh, very good Thadon! Dunroot Burrow is your goal, my friend. And what a goal it is."

"Dunroot Burrow..." He said, taking out his map. "Where is this place?"

She pointed. "Yes, right there. A most unique place. Of course, the Chalice would be there!" She cupped his face in her scaly hands. "Don't you see? It's the Elytra! They're the reason. The Chalice, Felldew, Elytra... it's all connected." She poked his nose. "One without the others is no good, poison. Oh, a rough road awaits you. Some Elytra there are... different. You'll need to get Felldew from them, and eat it. Can't get in without it. But once you do... He wants you to learn for yourself. Learn, grow, experience. It's his way. I shouldn't say more."

Wrothken looked around the table. "What's felldew?"

She tapped her lip, lowering her eyes. "Well, perhaps Thadon would want you to have a bit more guidance. He did say that you should talk to me, did he not?" She stroked his cheek softly. "Felldew is a poison, little one. A very dangerous drug. You'll feel good at first, but that wears off, and if you go long without it, you'll suffer."

Wrothken felt a numbing throughout his body. A drug? Thadon was trying to get him addicted to drugs? Without a word, he got up and dashed outside.

He paced by the stairs, trying to think of another way. He didn't want to risk it. He just couldn't. After all, he was able to keep a hold of his sanity so far. Why would he risk losing it to addiction?

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 11 2011, 06:24 PM

Once again, Haskill does not disappoint!

Are we getting the picture here?"
We are now! Thadon is the manic whirlwind one would expect from a Duke of Mania.

Opposites repel, strangely enough. All that... pleasure... and pain locked away now
A nice little bit of foreshadowing about Thadon's relationship with another Bosmer, (but this one not a blond bowgirl from Bravil).

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 12 2011, 12:23 AM

Oh, Thadon, Thadon, Thadon. So full of life, so full, so full, and yet, empty. 'Twould make any mortal Manic.

With another fanfic I'm caught up on, I am realizing more and more that my own personal rules of not reading others' stories for Oblivion and Oblivion related material was a mistake. Glad that's corrected now...

I find myself perplexed by Wrothken. While I've known a few men put through his sorrows, I've never actually known one that had been truly, absolutely in love with a woman, only to have her stomp on his heart. As a character, he intrigues me, and his already shaky psyche means he could trip and fall into either of the halves of the Madgod's Divided Mind.

Nit:

QUOTE(Jacki Dice @ Feb 10 2011, 10:51 PM) *

As people stuffed their faces while smoking pipes and what appeared to be rolled pieces of parchment.

This is a sentence fragment, you may want to drop the "As" at the beginning. It suggests that there should be more to the thought to make this a whole sentence.

Posted by: mALX Feb 12 2011, 01:37 AM

Makes you wonder if Wide-Eye isn't the one that hid the Chalice, lol. You made a very memorable character with her - and even though I did that quest I did not remember her from the game, lol. Awesome Write !!!!!

Posted by: Grits Feb 12 2011, 03:01 PM

After thinking about it on the way to pick up his armor from Cutter, he still couldn't figure it out. It wasn't a life or death decision, but as he wasn't sure what to expect, he was nervous. He sat down back in the Palace district for another fifteen minutes before deciding to summon Haskill.

This makes perfect sense to me, since he doesn’t have Kirsty to tell him which way to go. smile.gif And Haskill’s snarky response, very funny!

He paced by the stairs, trying to think of another way. He didn't want to risk it. He just couldn't. After all, he was able to keep a hold of his sanity so far. Why would he risk losing it to addiction?

I like to see Wrothken’s thought process here. He does seem to be one who stomps around smacking himself in the head instead of staring moodily off into space when he’s agonizing over a decision.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 13 2011, 08:36 PM

SubRosa~ I love his "Are we getting the picture" remark. At least he's straight forward about it

Captain Hammer~ I'm glad to have you reading as well that you are intrigued by Wrothken smile.gif

mALX~ That would be an interesting twist of events. She makes it clear through other dialogue that she is insanely jealous and furious with Syl...

Grits~ Lol! Its true. If Kirsty were there the Greymarch would be done before it even began!


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirteen: Bliss



After hours of deliberation, Wrothken decided to make the trip to Dunroot Burrow. After all, Sheogorath made it pretty clear that he was to do what the duke asked him, under threat of bodily harm. He would just have to find a way to get through it minus addiction.

He walked down the steps to the door leading to Bliss. He expected it to look like Crucible, but he was completely surprised.

Bliss reminded him of Kvatch, only nowhere near as bustling. No horses, no vendors, no arena. The streets were clean, the buildings were in good shape. Everything looked positively normal.

"Sa-weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet rollllllllllll!"

Wrothken was jarred by the call coming from an old Bosmer man.

"Fimmion hungry!" He said, holding his hands out. "Fimmion wants sweet roll!"

Wrothken sighed. What was he thinking? He'd find normality around the Shivering Isles when Kirsty joined the Thieves Guild. "Sorry, I don't have a sweet roll."

Fimmion sighed. "Fimmion saaaad....."

Wrothken walked around Bliss, squirming inside every time a Golden Saint glared at him. Something about their accusing eyes made him worry if he actually did something wrong, though the rational part of his mind knew he had done no such thing. With each stare, he would quickly lower his eyes to the ground, as if to disappear from their view.

He sat in front of a tavern in order to think of his predicament with Thadon. There was no other option then to get the Chalice of Reversal in Dunroot Burrow, where he was supposed to get addicted to a drug. He buried his face in his hands. There had to be another way. There just had to. He refused to become an addict.

He looked around and to his surprise, he saw a sign for a bookstore. People actually read here? He wondered. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't imagine anyone he'd met sitting by the fire with a good book. Even still, there was a small chance that there would be something relating to the Chalice in one of those books. Without further hesitation, he ran inside.

The bookstore itself was dilmly lit with red and black candles on every available surface, save an empty table where a whip and a set of shackles sat. Books were on the sides, set on the shelves in disarry. The room was filled with the pungent scent of sweat and body fluids, causing Wrothken to gag slightly. He noticed shackles hanging from the ceiling, directly over the desk and on the walls. As domineering as it was, it had nothing on the woman inside it.

She was an Altmer in a strapless corset that pushed her breasts up almost to her neck. Her eyes were light hazel, with a green hue, covered in heavy black liner and thick black lashes. Her pupils were dilated heavily, suggesting the use of belladonna drops. Around her neck, she wore a red collar with a long chain attached to it, connecting to a ring on her thumb. Her skirt was the tightest and shortest he'd ever seen in all his life. Her shapely legs were covered in black netting. Her lace-up boots reached all the way to her knees. Her ponytail was tied tightly back.

"Hmmm... how do you do?" She said, looking him over. "I'd say, very well from the looks of things. I'm Sontaire. Spend one night with me and I'll remind you why they say 'love hurts.'"

His jaw nearly hit the floor. She was direct at least, and even though he liked that in a woman, there was no way he was getting involved in....that. Not with a stranger, anyway. "I.... No, thank you, though, but..." He shook his head. "Do you have anything on the Chalice of Reversal?"

She pouted at his rejection. "A book? Is that what you came here for?"

Wrothken felt like slapping himself. Of course it wouldn't be an ordinary bookstore. No, that was far too much to ask for.

A devilish smile returned to her face. "Honey, I don't know if you've heard, but men don't come down here to read. No, they come for much better things." She stepped closer, peering down his armor. "Oh, my. I love me a big, hairy beast of a man," she said, pressing her body against him.

Wrothken nearly jumped out of his skin. She sure was persistent. "Sorry, but... um..." He tried to think of something other than "you're creeping me the hell out." He backed away, placing his hand on the knob. "You know what? I have a... a thing. So why don't I just go?"

"Go if you want, but I know men. You'll be thinking of me later tonight when you're alone. Just remember where my shop is. I'll give you a night to remember."

He laughed nervously. "Yeah, sure," he said, quickly dashing out the door. With no other ideas, he opened the gate leading out of the city to Dunroot Burrow.



The terrain leading to Dunroot Burrow was the complete opposite of the area that led to the Fringe. Where the Demented path was dreary and almost always cloudy, the Manic path was covered in bold colors and bright sunshine. Rich colored flowers and plants ruled the area. He wrinkled his nose at it. At the moment, he preferred the depressing scenery of Dementia.

For once, Atrea wasn't the one haunting his mind, at least not directly. Instead, the requirements of Thadon's request brought to mind the last time he spoke to his mother.

She had hated Atrea almost from the moment she met her. At the time, Wrothken was very defensive, thinking that his mother just wasn't ready to cut the apron strings. After several months of constant arguments that usually left at least one of them in tears, Wrothken left with Atrea to Kvatch. The last words his mother had said to him was, "You're going to be just like your father."

Those words stung more than any physical blow ever did. He was told that his father was a dealer in skooma and moonsugar. His deals and association with bandits were why his mother had to take his sister from Skyrim to Bruma. She could have been jailed for her association with him if the authorities suspected she was part of the dealings. His father stayed with them for a while, until Wrothken's mother revealed that she was pregnant. That was when he chose the drug to his own family.

Though he never spoke of it, Wrothken hated the man for his choice. He spent his whole life trying to make up for the lack of a male figure in his home. He was the one who went out and hunted their food with the other men in Bruma. He even prepared and cooked it. He did his best, but when he was faced with the choice of being her little boy forever, or so he had thought, or beginning his own family, he felt it was time for him to move on.

Though he told Kirsty that he wouldn't even consider it, he had originally longed to return home. He just couldn't bear the guilting that he was sure he'd receive. Instead, when he returned home, it would be with his head high.

"You're going to be just like your father." The words rang in his mind once more. If he did develop an addiction to felldew, would she be right? No, this was different, he told himself. After all, his father's addiction had nothing to do with Sheogorath. This was a life or death dilemma and working with the felldew was what was going to save his life! But didn’t most addicts believe their drugs were lifesavers?



When he arrived at Dunroot Burrow, a large ant-like creature was standing by the entrance. He wasn't sure what to do until it rushed over him, green gel bubbling around its mouth. The rest of its body had an unnatural looking green glow around it.

It let out a shrill noise, crawling over to him quickly in a way that plainly said it was not friendly. Wrothken took out his mace, and swung it, hitting its side. It’s tough exoskeleton remained intact and it grabbed Wrothken's arm with its pincer. If he didn't have his gauntlets on, his arm would have been crushed.

He reached over, grabbing the mace with his left hand. It felt wobbly, but he gripped it the best he could, hitting it weakly. The insect gripped tighter, trying to pull him in closer to its mouth. It wasn't fazed by Wrothken's shaky blows. He tried to pull back, but to no avail. He needed to figure a way to beat it. He wasn't good left handed, but what else was there?

His heart froze with fear when he figured out a way. He focused on the cold feeling in his chest, allowing it to blossom into his hand. A frost ball exploded into the insect's face, shocking it into letting go. Wrothken held the mace in his right hand and swung it at its head. The insect raised its pincers and he bashed them out of the way, making room to get to its head. Finally it went down.

Wrothken panted, putting his mace away. The insect's mouth bubbled with green ooze. Wrothken stared at it, and the unnatural green glow around its body. Could that be the felldew? He decided to ask Haskill. There was no way he was putting that stuff in his mouth without being absolutely sure about what it was.

"Yes, is there something you need?" Haskill asked impatiently.

Wrothken pointed to the insect. "What is this?"

Haskill sighed. "That is an elytra. They are found in high concentrations in root tunnel systems and near caves, but inhabit almost the entire Isles. They can block weapon attacks and walk on water. Their spells can be potentially damaging if you meet one unexpectedly."

"Alright..." Wrothken said. "And this green stuff?"

"That is felldew, a highly addictive drug. I wouldn't recommend it. It may be a little much for you to handle."

Wrothken rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, well that's all I needed."

"My work is never done..." Haskill muttered as he vanished.

Wrothken removed his gauntlet and scooped a handful of felldew. His sniffed it first, shuddering at the foul smell. He was tempted to fling it off his hand and wipe the rest on the ground, but he knew it was necessary in order to find the Chalice. Crinkling his nose in disgust, he stuffed some in his mouth.

"Mmmm..." He said licking his lips. It wasn't the taste he was enjoying. That was horrible, though with each lick it was starting to grow on him. It was like lemony kerosene. It was the feeling that he enjoyed. He felt relaxed, calm... happy even. He licked his hand clean of the remaining felldew. He felt a pleasant tingle all over his body. "This isn't half bad."

He approached the door to Dunroot Burrow. He couldn't think of why he was so worried in the first place. He felt great, better than he had in a long time. As he entered, he considered grabbing as much as he could, just so he could remain in such a great mood.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 13 2011, 09:04 PM

@ Grits: instead of staring moodily off into space when he’s agonizing over a decision.
This reminds me of something Willow once said about a boy she was smitten with in the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (or maybe it was the second?) : "He can brood for forty five minutes straight. I timed him!"

Sheogorath made it pretty clear that he was to do what the duke asked him, under threat of bodily harm.
The whole playing jump rope with the intestines is quite a motivator!

when Kirsty joined the Thieves Guild.
He might be in for a surprise when he gets back! biggrin.gif

I loved your description of the intimidating presence of the Aureals. How they make Wrothken feel guilty even when he had not done anything. So very true to life!

Bliss was wonderfully described. Especially Sontaire and her 'bookstore'! I love the BDSM slant you put on it, and her! I was grinning the entire time I read it.

The part about Wrothken's father was again powerful. Here we see another piece in the puzzle that has made Wrothken who he is today. At the same time, it puts an entirely new amount of depth into what is otherwise another fetch and carry quest in the game. The final sentences are chilling, as Wrothken eats the felldew.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 13 2011, 09:05 PM

QUOTE
Wrothken sighed. What was he thinking? He'd find normality around the Shivering Isles when Kirsty joined the Thieves Guild. "Sorry, I don't have a sweet roll."
Oh, the irony of this in view of recent events in Kvatch just made me bust out laughin'!

I couldn't remember ever meeting Sontaire the two times I went to SI, so I went over to the UESP wiki to look her up. The dialogue she gets is downright delicious! And I loved what you did with it - the shop, her behavior, all of it!

And Wrothken's musings about daddy are interesting. So his father abandoned the family? That does explain quite a bit of Wrothken's tendency to overcompensate in certain areas.

And I won't even discuss the discomfort I felt at the scene with the elytra and the felldew. Ugh.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 14 2011, 01:46 AM

So Wrothken meets Sontaire, and comes away walking without problems? I could just imagine what would happen if you put her in a room with Awour. Maybe have Sontaire bring some oil. Let Awour bring the mud...

*The Cap'n hurries off to his cold shower.*

Ah, okay, back, and better now. Ahem, interesting run-in with the bookstore proprietrix in Bliss. And more of Haskill's razor-sharp wit and melancholy on display. Always useful to have him around to explain things.

And so we also learn about Wrothken's background, and why he doesn't go back to Bruma. Great material here, especially about Wrothken's need to be everything his father wasn't.

Posted by: mALX Feb 15 2011, 02:25 AM

QUOTE

Wrothken walked around Bliss, squirming inside every time a Golden Saint glared at him. Something about their accusing eyes made him worry if he actually did something wrong, though the rational part of his mind knew he had done no such thing. With each stare, he would quickly lower his eyes to the ground, as if to disappear from their view.



Like a state trooper in your rearview mirror, lol.

Poor Wrothken, it seems his 'deformity' is in high demand in Shivering Isles, lol. You covered a lot in this chapter, and have a huge gift of being able to describe Wrothken's emotions throughout - Awesome Write !!


Posted by: Grits Feb 15 2011, 03:54 AM

"Sorry, but... um..." He tried to think of something other than "you're creeping me the hell out."
laugh.gif

He backed away, placing his hand on the knob. "You know what? I have a... a thing. So why don't I just go?"
Oh, on the knob. embarrased.gif

The last words his mother had said to him was, "You're going to be just like your father."
A mother’s words can be so hurtful. She was right about Awour, but still. kvleft.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 15 2011, 11:54 PM

SubRosa~ Oh yes, Sontaire is another of my favorites in SI. If you check out her bedroom, there are indeed chains and shackles!

haute ecole rider~ smile.gif I wonder how Wrothken would feel if she were secretly the Grey Fox? biggrin.gif And I love her dialogue too! I guess they figured since they have an M rating, they could give it a reason other than the naked mods

Captain Hammer~ My word, what interesting imagery.. Awour and Sontaire...? tongue.gif

mALX~ laugh.gif Exactly! Once I was on the side of the freeway with a blown tire and no clue how to fix it and when the CHP officer came to see what was wrong, I swear I thought I was in trouble!

Grits~ mellow.gif Oh my I didn't even think about the "knob" laugh.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fourteen: Drugs Are a Bet With Your Mind



Wrothken stood in front of the door to Dunroot Burrow. It still wouldn't budge when he tried pulling the hole open. He tried hitting it with his mace, but it got caught in the hole. He stopped and stared at it for a moment and a chuckle escaped his lips. He wiggled the mace around a little and laughed more. He pulled it out and placed it back in repeatedly, laughing so hard, he couldn't stand straight. He leaned on the door and the hole expanded to allow him entry, causing him to fall on the ground as he laughed. When it finally died down, he picked himself up and entered the burrow. He had a good feeling about it.

The halls of Dunroot Burrow were similar to Knotty Bramble. It was dark and dank, though Wrothken was pleased that it didn't smell like grummites. Instead of croaking, the tunnels were filled with the sounds of rapid skittering. Normally, he would've felt a little jumpy, but it didn't bother him at all. In fact, it was almost soothing. Was he getting used to explorations? Or was it just the felldew? He couldn't be sure. He didn't even care, really.

It wasn't long before he came across an elytra. It didn't glow like the one outside did, but it was just as hostile. Wrothken lifted his mace, surprised that it felt lighter than it used to, and made sure to go for the head. He was easily able to dodge its pincers and take it out. Was that thanks to the felldew as well? Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all.

The slain elytra didn't start to spout felldew, much to Wrothken's disappointment. He had a craving for some more, though he supposed it could wait a moment. First he needed to figure out where to put any extra felldew. He couldn't hold handfuls of it while he fought or he might lose it.

"Hmmm...." He said looking around. For a brief moment, he considered using his boot to hold it, but he didn't want to risk stepping in anything foul. "What to use, what to use?" He growled when nothing around him seemed to be suited for carrying around. Maybe I'll come across something later...

He continued down the tunnel when he ran into another elytra. This one, to his delight, was glowing. The strange thing was, it didn't attack. It didn't even seem to notice him. Either way, he needed more felldew. "No," he corrected himself. "I want more felldew."

He eagerly swung his mace at the elytra until it died and the felldew glistened off its mouth. Wrothken shoved its pincers to the sides so he could easily gather it all up. Prepared for the foul taste, he shoveled it in his mouth, swallowing it quickly. Within seconds, he was feeling even better than before.

He went deeper into the tunnels when he came across a tree stump with green mist sprouting from the top. He got closer and prodded the round green top with his mace. It jiggled for a moment before it spread open wide. Inside, he saw a few pink bottles filled with liquid, along with a ring, a spoon, a tomato, and a doll. He emptied the contents of the potions to the floor. "Here we are," he said, sticking the bottles in his pack. He also took the tomato for later. Strange thing about it, it was hard as a rock and glittered like a gem. He wondered if the felldew made him perceive it that way.

He looked at the doll. She was dressed in a velvet green and amber dress, complete with ribbons and lace. Her brown hair was curled perfectly and tied up into pigtails. Wrothken turned her over and saw a string in the back. He had seen dolls like that before. They were supposed to make a strange wailing sound when the string was pulled. Something about them drove little girls crazy. He didn't get their appeal. Wrothken pulled the string anyway. Her eyes opened and seemed to look directly at him. "My name is Talking Tina," she said in a child's voice. "And you're going to die down here."

Taken aback, Wrothken tossed Tina to the ground. What sort of thing was that? And how could the doll have spoken? He couldn't believe it! The doll couldn't have said such a thing! His mind had to be playing tricks on him. He picked it up and pulled the string again. "Throw me again and I'll snap your neck, snowman."

Wrothken's insides froze up and he buried the doll in the tree trunk. As he walked away, he was sure that he had heard a voice call out, "You'll be sorry!"

The halls were quiet for a while. No elytra, glowing or otherwise, skittered around. At first, he was fine with it. He actually welcomed the silence. After a while, something began to gnaw at him. He didn't feel as strong as before and it suddenly felt like something was sitting on his chest. He felt almost sluggish. When a glowing elytra walked toward him, he didn't hesitate to kill it and gather all the felldew he could get. After scooping some into his mouth, he squeezed the rest into the bottles.

He grinned as his heart fluttered. It had been far too long since he felt anything like that. He felt a strong urge to lie on the ground and just revel in the feeling, but he continued on. The Chalice was necessary, or else Sheogorath would not be pleased. "Who cares?" He said. "It's his realm, why is he sending me to do his dirty work?!"

His heart pounded angrily as he thought more about it. Daedric prince was just another term for god, right? A real god would stop a realm destroying crisis himself! Why should he be the one to carry the weight of the Isles on his shoulders? Why couldn't Sheogorath do it himself? Or, better yet, he could send that pompous, smart-mouth Haskill to do it.

All he wanted was a break. Not to get sucked into some apocalyptic scenario, having to save a realm he didn't really care for. Besides, it wasn't what Kirsty had meant when she suggested a break... Or was it?

Could it have been possible that she had known all along what would become of him? Did Sheogorath come to her in dreams with promises of enchanting recipes in exchange for a hapless champion? Was the whole ordeal a carefully made plan?

The brief paranoia drained as Wrothken began feeling sluggish. He passed by a tree trunk with gold resin crusted on top. He looked down at it and fury began to bunch up in him. When he looked into it, he saw Atrea's face. Why in Oblivion was there so much damn gold in the Isles?!

"Dirty, rotten, hussy," he growled through clenched teeth. "Filthy tramp." His breathing grew ragged as he stared into the resin. Every second he spent staring into it, the more visions flashed before his eyes.

Finally, the Iron Champion closed for the night and it was time to go home. His feet ached, but his stomach was filled and he got his share of the septims for the night. Instead of heading straight home like usual, he stopped to buy some flowers for the kitchen. Atrea recently mentioned that the house looked a little plain compared to other people's house. This would be a good start until he could take her shopping.

He was late, but not by too much. He knew she wouldn't worry. That wasn't like her at all. He just hoped she would like the flowers. He didn't know her favorite kind. The lady had called these ones irises. They were the prettiest ones he'd ever seen.

The door was locked. Strange. She didn't usually lock up until he was already home. As much as he tried, he couldn't think of why she would lock it. Good thing he always carried his key, just in case.

The first thing he saw was a dress on the floor by the stairs. He felt a rush of excitement, imagining her waiting for him in bed, or even better, in a hot, scented bath. He set the flowers on the table and as he headed upstairs, he heard a light gasp followed by hurried whispers. He went numb. He looked back at the table, finally seeing men's clothing scattered across the kitchen floor.

He ran up the stairs and pushed the door open to see Atrea rolling off of Bacchus, covering her body with a blanket. The same one they purchased together upon first buying their house.

Millions of questions ran through his mind all at once, but nothing escaped from his dry mouth. This isn't happening, this isn't happening, his mind roared.

"Wrothken, I can explain," she said. "I.. We got caught up in the moment." She stood up, still covering herself and reached out for his hand.

He slapped it away, unable to meet her eyes. He turned and left before his fury led him to do something he would be imprisoned for. It wasn't until he was down the street, halfway back to the bakery, that it hit him. He sank to his knees and cried.[i]

Wrothken picked up his mace and bashed the trunk repeatedly while screaming out words and phrases that would make Molag Bal blush and reprimand him for such talk. As the golden chips littered the ground, he tossed his mace to the side and just began beating the trunk until it was nothing more than a pile of broken wood.

He panted heavily, tears streaming down his face. He didn't even know he had all that in him. Maybe the Isles finally got him....or maybe it was time for his bottle of felldew.

He didn't even finish the thought when he pulled out the bottle and guzzled it down. His heart slowed down. He stopped crying. He smiled. Everything was fine again. All he needed was felldew.



Back in a good mood, he entered another section of the cavern, where it was flooded. He had forgotten that Haskill had told him that the elytra can walk on water, until he saw a small group of them. Not one of them was glowing and all of them rushed over to attack. It wasn't long before they had him pinned against the wall, each of them thrusting their pincers at him at once, as if they could smell the juice of their brethren on his breath.

By the time he finally killed them, he was feeling down again. How long was it going to be until he finally got the Chalice? He looked down at his armor, unsure of how much more it could take before breaking. He heaved a sigh, not even hesitating to drink the last of his felldew. It was such a great pick-me-up.



Wrothken's heart raced with worry. The entire hall was filled with regular elytra. Not a single drop of felldew. His body was covered in a greasy sweat as he ran down the halls looking for a glow. He ran aimlessly, trying to evade the elytra. He didn't want to waste time on them. Time was precious. Time demanded felldew. Felldew or he would die in the tunnel.

He would do anything...anything to get his hands on more. He cursed himself for drinking it all so quickly. Why didn't he save some, just in case? He walked along until he passed another steaming trunk. A thought suddenly occurred to him. The top was green and mushy... it had to be made of felldew! With a burst of joy, he popped up and took a bite, retching in disgust. It wasn't felldew! It tasted like...tree!

He spent too long spitting the moss from his mouth and picking chunks of it from his teeth. His body didn't want to move anymore. His vision started to blur. His body demanded that he find more felldew, yet he remained where he was, his vision blackening.

When his sight finally came back to him, he looked around and saw wooden walls all around him. A few simple paintings hung on the wall, mostly warm pictures of summer days and cozy homes. He was laying on a bearskin rug, facing an old woman holding a young, blond child. Though her face was etched with age, her hair remained a deep auburn with only a few streaks of silver. Her clothes weren't fancy; just a pale yellow shirt with long sleeves and a long beige skirt. Her blue-green eyes twinkled at the little boy.

"My diamond-eyed bear cub," she cooed. "You know I love you very much. My precious dove."

The little boy grinned with delight and hugged her close.

"Diamond eyes..." Wrothken repeated, his body still refusing to move. He reached toward the old woman. "Grandma...."

The little boy turned and faced him, his piercing blue eyes clouded with disgust. Wrothken recognized himself in those eyes. What was going on?

"You're a bad man!" Little Wrothken declared, pointing. "You were thinking bad thoughts!"

His skin crawled at the way Little Wrothken looked at him, and the fact that he had indeed been thinking bad thoughts earlier. He pulled himself up and was barely able to stand straight. "Felldew," was the only word he was able to get out.

"Oh, dear," his grandma said. "It looks like someone's been dabbling in drugs." She tsked, shaking her head. "What do we do to those people?" She asked Little Wrothken.

"They go to the cornfield."

"That's right,” she said, ruffling his bright golden hair. “Good boy!"

Little Wrothken glared at him. Wrothken turned to run, but couldn't move. In fact, he couldn't even feel his body anymore. He looked down and to his horror, he had been turned into a doll, with his lower half stuffed in a box! This isn't happening, can't be happening!

"Nice work, honey," his grandma said. "Now banish him to the cornfield."

The room faded away and was replaced with the caverns of Dunroot Burrow. His body was back. There was no sign of the house in Bruma, his grandmother, nor himself as a child. He shuddered uncontrollably. [i]Wide-Eye wasn't lying when she said felldew would mess you up,
he thought. He still could barely move. Part of him just wanted to curl up and die in the caves. It would be less painful than going on.

He was reduced to crawling when he saw it. The glowing elytra was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It skittered towards him, unfazed by his presence. He was so happy, he didn't have the heart to kill it. Instead, he crawled over to it and suckled the felldew directly from its mandibles.

It was the strangest feeling in the world. They continued to move rapidly while in Wrothken's mouth. When they were sucked dry, Wrothken stood up feeling absolutely disgusted. Was this what he was reduced to? It was almost no different than degrading acts performed in alleys in exchange for a bit of skooma. He wanted to sink back to the floor and cry, but he knew he didn't have time. He had to get the Chalice before the cravings got too bad.



Sanctum of Decadence. Wrothken stared up at the words in awe. At the end of the maze-like tunnels stood a sturdy wooden door, complete with carvings of a party, most of them naked, and drinking from jeweled goblets in front of a large banquet table. It was very similar to what he had seen in Thadon's palace.

He opened the door and was assaulted by a pungent smell. It wasn't an animal. It was people. People who must have skipped bathing for a very long time... and by the nauseating mound in the corner of the room, couldn't do "business" in a sanitary manner.

When he headed up the stairs, he saw it. A large goblet sitting on top of a pedestal. The Chalice of Reversal. All he needed to do was drink from it and he'd be cured.

He ran toward it and it was inches away from his fingers when he was struck from behind with a chair. He stumbled, almost knocking the Chalice over. He looked behind him and saw a naked man, wild with fury. The man grunted and three other people, just as insane as he was, rushed out from the other room.

Wrothken pulled out his mace and backed up so he could see all of them. As he glanced around, he caught sight of several plates, bowls, cups, and bottles of felldew. He didn't understand. If they had their felldew, why were they acting so hostile? Maybe if I show them I'm not here to hurt them... He set his mace down and raised his hands up. "I just want the Chalice," he said.

The leader looked to his comrades and at once the atmosphere changed. When the first pitcher was flung at him, he scooped up his mace and thrust it forward, forcing the people to back up. He grabbed the Chalice, which sent them into an uproar. He looked around, seeing a door at the other end of the room. First things first, he thought. He looked into the Chalice, surprised to see a bit of felldew inside it. As he dodged a plate, he took a drink from the Chalice.

This time, the felldew made him feel different. He felt back to normal, both with the good and the bad. Then he felt the sting of a silver bowl across his face.

He looked back at the people and felt a wave of pity. They must have been so strung out, they weren't thinking straight. He rushed to the door and slammed it shut behind him. If they came after him, he wasn't sure what would happen. On one hand, he was weighed down by his armor and they were naked as jaybirds. On the other, that made them more susceptible to weather, creatures, and the Golden Saints. He didn't wait to see the outcome. He ran down the trail as fast as he could.

Posted by: King Coin Feb 16 2011, 02:45 AM

I love your story! I can't wait for the next update!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 16 2011, 03:09 AM

I have never been in Sontaire's bedroom. An oversight I must correct! Unfortunately, since I always play female characters, she is never very friendly.

Wrothken's entry to the Burrow was good. It would not open until the felldew began to take its effect on him. Then it let him in, recognizing him as belonging. Excellent and creepy!

In fact, it was almost soothing. Was he getting used to explorations? Or was it just the felldew? He couldn't be sure. He didn't even care, really.
This was a nice example of the wonderful way that you showed the effects of the felldew on Wrothken, rather than told them to us.

He couldn't hold handfuls of it while he fought or he might lose it.
As is this!

Talking Tina was lovely! She reminded me of The Exorcist, when the girl looks at the astronaut and says: "You're gonna die up there."

It tasted like...tree!
laugh.gif

As before, the flashback to Wrothken discovering Awour was excellent, and perfectly placed in the midst of his felldew delirium.



nits:
He just hope she would like the flowers.
I think you lost the 'd' in hoped.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 16 2011, 05:44 AM

I echo what's already been said.

And it seems I'm the only one who read this:

QUOTE
It still wouldn't budge when he tried pulling the hole open. He tried hitting it with his mace, but it got caught in the hole. He stopped and stared at it for a moment and a chuckle escaped his lips. He wiggled the mace around a little and laughed more. He pulled it out and placed it back in repeatedly, laughing so hard, he couldn't stand straight.
My mind went to a place that was XXX rated. hubbahubba.gif

Dhertee Innu Endo strikes again!

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 16 2011, 05:47 AM

Wow. You really capture the mood here. Felldew is...something else. And yet you nail the atmosphere perfectly, and you bring to life Wrothken's psyche with amazing skill. The flashback to Wrothken's discovery of Awour's infidelity is the icing on the cake here.

Posted by: Grits Feb 17 2011, 03:15 PM

Wrothken going from trying not to taste the felldew to sucking directly from the elyta was very effective and disturbing. As was Talking Tina. Yikes! And yeah, I had to laugh at Wrothken macing the hole in the door. laugh.gif

Posted by: mALX Feb 18 2011, 03:23 AM

QUOTE

suckled the felldew directly from its mandibles.

It was the strangest feeling in the world. They continued to move rapidly while in Wrothken's mouth. When they were sucked dry, Wrothken stood up feeling absolutely disgusted.


GAAAAAAH!!! I remember this part from the original ... and still gagged !!! Awesome Chapter !!!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 18 2011, 06:26 AM

King Coin~ Aww thank you ♥

SubRosa~ Talking Tina is actually a doll from my favorite Twilight Zone episode (Living Doll). I figured there was no better place than the Isles to see her smile.gif

haute ecole rider~ Unlike most of the innuendo that one was intentional tongue.gif

Captain Hammer~ Thank you smile.gif This chapter took longest out of all the ones in the original posting to do. And I figured it would be the best place to put the memory since he was already hallucinating

Grits~ That part was disturbing to write...and imagine mellow.gif tongue.gif

mALX~ Lol! I'm glad it got the point across!



~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fifteen: The Walls Have Ears...and Eyes Too




It was early in the evening when Wrothken made it back to Bliss. As much as he wanted to hurry up and be rid of the stupid Chalice, he desperately needed a break. He entered the Choosy Beggar, a stark contrast from Sickly Bernice's Taphouse. It was bright, like the rest of the city and spotless. In the center of the room was a low arch which didn't seem to serve any purpose.

Walking around the tables, there was an Argonian man dressed in light green pants and a pale pink shirt. As Wrothken sat down, an Argonian woman rubbed his shoulder and said, "Good to see you. We should drink together sometime," with a wink.

The man growled as the woman sauntered away. "What do you want?" He barked. "Other than my wife!"

Wrothken looked at the Argonian woman, who was seated with another man downing shots. "Your wife?" Wrothken looked back at the man. "No, I don't want your wife--"

"What?! Is my sweet Sheer-Meedish not good enough?"

"No, I didn't mean..." he stopped himself. As his grandmother often said, there was no reasoning with crazy. "I just came in for a drink."

The Argonian huffed. "Just like all the men around here. Some women too! Just know that I'll be watching you, snowman," he warned, running his hand over his short sword. "Now what do you want?"

"Just some beer."

The Argonian muttered under his breath before slamming a bottle down in front of Wrothken. Any other time, he would have gotten upset and chewed him a new one, but the addiction and exhaustion of getting back to civilization wore him out too much. Instead, he quietly sipped his beer.

As he was finishing, a shaky Breton approached the table. He was crouched down, eyeing the room suspiciously.

"Hey, Raven Biter?" He said, tapping the table. "It's me, Amiable. Can I get my usual?"

The Argonian, still in a mood, huffed again and set a cup of black coffee on the table. Amiable felt around for it, daring not to stand up. Wrothken looked down at the man and moved the cup closer to his hand.

"Oh, thanks friend. Usually by time I find it, it gets cold and I have to buy a new one. It’s a vicious cycle."

"No problem, but why don't you just stand up and get it?"

Amiable looked at Wrothken as if he had just asked the stupidest question in the world. "Don't you know?" When Wrothken didn't say anything, he continued. "You don't, do you? Well, it's lucky you met me. Here you've been walking around as if nothing could happen!"

Uh-oh... Wrothken thought. What can of worms had he opened this time?

"It's the walls, you see. They've got something against me. I know too much, it seems. If I stand up, they'll tumble down and squish me like a bug! At least crouched down like this, I can hurry under a table or something."

Wrothken looked around the room. The walls looked perfectly fine. No cracks, no dents, nothing that would hint that the walls were anything less than sturdy.

"Don't look! They'll know I'm talking to you," Amiable hissed. "I haven't slept properly in ages! If the walls catch me off guard, they'll crush me for sure!"

"Why not get out of the city then?"

"I've tried that," he said, his grainy eyes darting from wall to wall. "Let's just say, they won't let me out alive." He took a gulp of coffee. "To be honest with you, I'm not sure how long I'll be able to go on like this. If I'm going to win this damned war, I need to sleep so I can think clearly."

All the sleep in the world won't help with that, Wrothken thought.

"Please," Amiable said. "If you can find me a safe place to sleep, I'll give you something that I’m sure will help you out."

He wasn't quite sure what he meant and was almost afraid to find out, but Wrothken felt bad for him. He couldn't imagine being unable to indulge in a good sleep at least once in a while. That would drive anyone crazy.

"Please?"

"Alright," Wrothken said. "What do you have in mind?"

"I just really need someplace to sleep. I’m not picky. I've seen some people sleeping out on the street, but they huddle too close to the walls. I need someplace safe. I can't just sleep anywhere. There're walls and statues and all sorts of things that can fall on me. Can't have that. Nope. But... if you find me a good place to sleep, a safe place -- outside -- I'll reward you!”

Wrothken nodded. "Then I’ll keep my eyes open for a bed."



When Wrothken entered Thadon's palace, he was greeted by another large party. This time, instead of snorting green powder, Thadon was smoking what appeared to be a large glass vase with tubes sprouting from the top, from which Thadon and other guests were inhaling musky smoke.

"The triumphant champion returns!" Thadon said. He offered Wrothken one of the tubes. Wrothken declined. He had his fill of Thadon’s vices. "So, do you feel any different? Now that you've been through this experience, I mean. You know what it's like now... Always wanting that next fix, hating it but craving it at the same time, and hating yourself for all of it.” Thadon took a long inhale from his tube. “Ah, well. All over now. The Chalice helps, doesn't it? Indeed it does, and I could use some helping right now. I'll just take that back from you," he took the Chalice. "And as a token of my gratitude, I grant you the role of Courtier of Mania, with all of its entitlements. Which is to say, none."

"Wonderful. A pleasure meeting you," he said sarcastically. He was beginning to understand the source of Haskill's attitude.

Posted by: mALX Feb 18 2011, 06:54 AM

QUOTE

The male growled as the female sauntered away. "What do you want?" He barked. "Other than my wife!"

Wrothken looked at the Argonian female, who was seated with another man downing shots. "Your wife?" Wrothken looked back at the man. "No, I don't want your wife--"

"What?! Is my sweet Sheer-Meedish not good enough?"


ROFL !!! That had me rolling !!!

Posted by: Grits Feb 19 2011, 02:54 PM

Poor Amiable! I’m with Wrothken, I’d have to help the guy sleep.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 19 2011, 10:17 PM

Uh-oh... Wrothken thought. What can of worms had he opened?
I think that question applies to much more than Amiable!

This time, instead of snorting green powder, Thadon was smoking what appeared to be a large glass vase with tubes sprouting from the top, from which Thadon and other guests were inhaling musky smoke.
I feel like I walked into a Cheech and Chong movie!

A fun episode, with the beginning of one of the simpler, and few non-evil, quests in the Isles.

nits:
He was could almost understand the source of Haskill's attitude.
I think Haskill slipped in that extra was when Wrothken was not looking!

Posted by: mALX Feb 19 2011, 10:22 PM

QUOTE(SubRosa @ Feb 19 2011, 04:17 PM) *

Uh-oh... Wrothken thought. What can of worms had he opened?
I think that question applies to much more than Amiable!

This time, instead of snorting green powder, Thadon was smoking what appeared to be a large glass vase with tubes sprouting from the top, from which Thadon and other guests were inhaling musky smoke.
I feel like I walked into a Cheech and Chong movie!

A fun episode, with the beginning of one of the simpler, and few non-evil, quests in the Isles.

nits:
He was could almost understand the source of Haskill's attitude.
I think Haskill slipped in that extra when Wrothken was not looking!



ROFL !!! Haskill the Scapegoat, lol.

Posted by: King Coin Feb 20 2011, 02:39 AM

The Shivering Isles was fun but I preferred Cyrodiil over it. I really like it though Wrothken's eyes though.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 20 2011, 04:17 AM

And Wrothken learns more about Mania. I wonder how he's going to enjoy meeting Syl. At least the paranoia about the walls, vs. the paranoia about the people guarding one's walls, should help him a little.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 22 2011, 01:41 AM

mALX~ tongue.gif Those kinds of arguments are always fun!

Grits~ Exactly! To be unable to sleep is a shame ohmy.gif That poor man! Though too bad you can't just slip him some NyQuil....

SubRosa~ Damn Haskill always causing trouble tongue.gif I hope I got the hooka description okay...I've yet to try one

King Coin~ I'm glad you're enjoying Wrothken's trip smile.gif

Captain Hammer~ Very true. Once you've dealt with a paranoid person you can almost get used to it...that's been my experience anyway...


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Sixteen: The Lady of Paranoia



Lilitu awoke to the scent of pumpkin bread. At first she thought maybe her neighbors might've made it but it was too strong. There was no doubt it came from her own kitchen. But how? She was paranoid enough to not just lock the door, but add a chain and stick a chair in front of it. Windows were also locked tight and the door leading to the basement did only have one lock, but after hearing Dolce's ferocious barks most people would run. And why on Nirn would they make pumpkin bread in her house?

He's back... The thought came unbidden from her mind. She shook her head, trying to keep paranoia from taking over. After all, he was in prison. That and she certainly didn't tell him where she had left. And she had moved twice since then. Besides, he couldn't bake if his life depended on it.

Could have bought the bread and poisoned it... "Stop it!" She hissed, holding her hands in front of her ears, as if trying to block out the words of a ghost.

If he were here, or anywhere nearby, Dolce would go crazy. Like her sudden reaction to Capaneus weeks before, Dolce hated him with a passion. If he were to have somehow gotten past the locks, Dolce would have woken her up with her barking or at least have run in the bedroom and woken her up.

She crawled out of bed, grabbing a silver dagger that was kept behind her headboard at all times. She held it in the sleeve of her robe as she opened the door.

Silence. Not even a peep from Dolce. That was the most unsettling part. If she didn't manage to get in Lilitu's room in the morning, she always ran upstairs the moment the door opened. Her stomach started to flutter.

"Dolce," she called. No answer.

Poisoned again...

Her heart raced and tears began to well up in her eyes. He tried to poison Dolce once before. The monster. Abandoning her stealthy approach, she ran down the stairs, mental images of Dolce's dead body sprawled out on the floor, refusing to go away.

"Dolce!" She dropped her dagger at the sight of the dog.

"Woof!" Dolce looked up at her, halfway through a basket of meat. She sat, staring at Lilitu with her tail wagging and a smiling pant.

Lilitu snatched it away, ignoring Dolce's whine. "You know better than to eat food from..." She saw a basket of bread on the counter. It was still warm and smelling of pumpkin. There was a note attached.

Lilitu,

The Gray Fox is in need of your expert services. Meet him tonight at Durzum gro-Khazor's house, here in Kvatch, at eight-thirty pm.

Signed,
X



She relaxed, giving Dolce back her meat. "X" was the way that man in Anvil signed his name. Not helpful in the least. For some reason his name was always just beyond the tip of her tongue. She could remember the name of her every friend, enemy, lover, or even most acquaintances, but his... She shook her head.

She took a slice from her basket when it finally hit her. The Gray Fox himself wanted to meet with her! She grinned. She needed to find something nice to wear.



Eight-thirty came and Lilitu was a bundle of nerves. The Gray Fox, the man who she had emulated since joining the Guild years ago, wanted to speak with her specifically. She saw an Orc standing outside. "The Gray Fox is inside," he said as she approached his house.

She nodded. "Dolce, stay," she commanded.

Dolce snorted indignantly but sat on the porch anyway.

Lilitu stepped inside the house. She was taken aback when she saw him. The Gray Fox. He was a Colavian man, wearing the infamous Gray Cowl. The words, "shadow hide you" were inscribed in glowing letters down the center of the mask. He wasn't dressed in jewels or finery, as most would expect from a master thief. Save for the Cowl, he could have passed for an ordinary man on the street.

"Lilitu Serano, I presume," he said. "Have a seat, please."

She sat across from him, her heart racing. "It's an honor to meet you," she said breathlessly.

He smiled. "I am well aware of your devotion to the guild. Though I know you are no longer an active thief, I have need of your special gifts. There is an item, hidden away in a remote monastery. I need you to go get it for me. The monastery is extensive and well-guarded, so you should make sure to be well prepared. Should you succeed, I will pay you well for your services."

Her heart sank. She had been promoted over a year ago, well before her transfer to Kvatch...but how could she refuse him? It would be like refusing a favor from the emperor himself! Except Lilitu held the Gray Fox in a higher regard than the emperor. At least he did more than loaf on a throne all day, stuffing himself with suckling pig. "Of course," she said.

"Capital!" He clapped his hands together. "The monastery is called the Temple of the Ancestor Moths. It is where retired, blind Moth priests go to wait out the rest of their days.” He pulled out a map of Cyrodiil.”It’s up here, north of Cheydinhal." Lilitu tried to mask her shock at just how remote it was. "I need you to acquire Savilla's Stone. It is a large crystal with special properties that I need to gain... advantage." He handed her a drawing of what looked like a large crystal ball. "Remember," he said while she looked it over. "Do not shed innocent blood. However, there is no blood price for slaying the stone's guardians, human or inhuman. When I receive word that Savilla's Stone is missing, I will be here waiting for you."

Human or inhuman? Given it was a monastery, she hoped he simply meant some rats. Lilitu folded the drawing and the map and nodded. "I'll leave at dawn," she said. She glanced away for a moment, about to ask him a question but when she looked back he was gone. She left the house, sighing. A quick look at the map showed her that it was on the way to her family home, just a couple of miles from Cheydinhal. Oh this was going to be a long trip.



Dawn was breaking. She was already in her leather armor. It had been so long since she'd worn it, that she had forgotten how comfortable it was. It was like slipping into a second skin. Tight, but not overly so. Her favorite part about it was the plush rabbit fur lining on the inside. Not only was it incredibly soft, but it kept her toasty warm.

She grabbed a tan guar-hide sack that rested on top of her wardrobe. She crinkled her nose at the dust caked on it. "Disgusting," she said. After making a mental note to dust the house upon her return, she shook it clean and packed her supplies for the trip. Judging by the map, she would most likely reach the monastery the next afternoon, if she didn't make any detours. Detours included, extremely late next night she would reach Savilla's Stone.

"Dolce!" She called. The dog trotted up the stairs and sat, looking at Lilitu with a gleeful expression. She had obviously seen the mound of meat and rice overflowing in three separate bowls. "I need you to be a good girl while I'm gone. Don't cause a fuss. Don't eat everything at once. And for the love of all things holy, do your business on the papers. So help me if I find mess in my bed! I want you to behave for Caminda. She'll be checking in on you until I get back." Dolce's expression didn't change, save for the wagging tail. Lilitu got on the floor and held Dolce tightly, tears threatening to fall as she rubbed her cheek on her soft fur. "I love you, my baby." Dolce returned the sentiment by licking Lilitu's cheek repeatedly.

After making sure all the windows were locked and curtains shut tightly, Lilitu left. "Dolce, lock," she said, not moving until she heard the latch lock into place. She hated to leave Dolce behind, but she couldn't have her running off trying to take on bandits or worse, wild animals. Before leaving the gates, she looked back toward her house, her stomach knotting. She'll be fine, she thought. She's stayed home alone many times and everything is always fine. Besides, Caminda is trustworthy. Still, she worried. She didn't know how she would live if anything ever happened to her.



Capaneus plopped himself right at the bar, his head resting on his hands. Kirsty said yes! He couldn't believe a girl like her would actually agree to see him...then again she hadn't yet seen the inside of his house. But he bet she wouldn't care. In the week that they'd been seeing each other, he was able to tell that she wasn't like other girls. The ones that bothered him about bathing, cleaning, cooking. He snorted. That was woman's work! And boy, was she good at it!

"Need anything?" She asked.

For a moment, Capaneus could only stare. Her hair was tied back in what was once a neat bun. Now locks had escaped and framed her face. She was wearing a simple violet shirt under her apron, and it was covered in flour. Her eyes sparkled. He could tell at a glance that she loved what she did.

"Are you okay?" She leaned in with a smile. He realized his stare had gotten blank as he got lost in thought.

"Yeah!" He said sitting up and clearing his throat. "I'm just thinking."

She smiled and went to the basement for a moment. While she was gone, he sighed. What would become of her when Lord Dagon walked? He lowered his eyes. Unless she agreed to join the Mythic Dawn, she would likely die along with the rest of Cyrodiil. He wanted to spare her, but he knew Mankar Cameron would not allow it. He had been warned about consorting with the unsaved. But what was he supposed to do? He was a sleeper, not dead!

Kirsty returned with a large sack or cocoa powder and she poured it into a large bowl. The chocolatey clouds surrounded her and she sneezed a little. Capaneus sighed. Even her sneezes were adorable...

He closed his eyes. There had to be a way to save her. There just had to.



Lilitu walked down the Gold Road, head high, chest out, the very epitome of confidence. However, she was jumping at every twig's crack, wind's sigh, or animal chatter. When in the city, sure she was paranoid, but at least she could duck into alleys or even houses if needed. Out in the wilderness, she felt more than unprotected. She felt like she was a naked target and all of Cyrodiil was watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Going on foot was a mistake.

Looking around, it was a pretty sight. Everything was green and the sky was cloudless. Bright flowers sprung up from the ground and birds chirped merrily. It should have been calming, but it wasn't. She needed the security of walls and crowds.

As the Gold Road curved, Lilitu was able to barely make out the Waterfront of the Imperial City. She walked off the path onto the beach, staring ahead. "If only I could swim," she said aloud. She took her smooth ponytail in her hands. If she got so much as a drop on it, it would blossom into wild curls. She couldn't have that.

Though she desperately wanted to find an inn before nightfall, she couldn't help sitting down and getting lost in thought. While she certainly didn't miss living at the Waterfront, she did miss Methredhel immensely. The very thought of the Bosmer brought a smile to her face. Naughty little imp, she thought. It was Methredhel who had introduced Lilitu to the hidden world of the Thieves Guild. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, as Lilitu couldn't persuade Methredhel to join her in Anvil years ago. She understood, though. Methredhel came to the Imperial City seeking fame and fortune. She wasn't leaving until she got it.

She half considered making a quick visit, but as she'd have to go all the way to the bridge and possibly run into some people she'd rather not see, she decided against it. After all, Dolce didn't know the meaning of restraint and probably already ate up all the food left over for her so she wanted to get back quickly. Maybe she could go another time. Definitely on a caravan.

She continued onward, wishing with every fiber of her being that she had at least brought Dolce. Then she could talk to herself without really talking to herself. Breathing heavily, she figured she needed a way to distract herself. She collected a handful of flowers.

"He loves me," she said, plucking a petal. "He loves me not. He loves me, he loves me--"

A Redguard stepped in front of her. "Your money or your life." His hand rested on his hand axe. Lilitu knew only too well where this was supposed to head. Even if she gave him her money, there was always a chance of him attacking anyway in order to keep her from coming back with a legionnaire.

"Come on, wench, I don't got all day!"

He was much bigger than her and he was suited in heavy armor. Her dagger would have to get him in a weak spot to do lethal damage. Besides, she hated using it. The idea of the squish from driving a blade into human flesh always repulsed her.

She knew what to do.

She held out her purse. As he reached to snatch it from her hand, she reached around his neck, pulling him in for a firm kiss.

The Redguard was not prepared for that, nor was he prepared for the paralysis holding his body in place. Lilitu wasn't prepared for the awful taste of the man's mouth. "Oh, good gods!" She gagged, spitting on the ground.

She pushed him to the ground and knelt down next to him. She looked his axe over and stuck it in her bag and took his coin purse "Hmmm..." She said, looking inside. "Only fifteen septims? You know, you'd do a lot better joining the Thieves Guild." His armor was beaten and filthy, but looked like it was once expensive. She would have loved to strip him and sell it, but she would never be able to carry it all. She took the axe and flung it deep into the woods.

"I'm....gonna....kill....you..." He forced out with great effort.

She believed he would if given the chance. Luckily, by time the spell wore off, she'd be long gone. She dragged him into the brush to keep him from watching as she continued down the road.



She could have hugged each and every person at the Faregyl Inn. At last, people! Not as many as in Kirsty's Bakery, but enough to put her mind at ease.

Most people were already in groups at the table, either singing along with the bard or talking amongst themselves. Something each group seemed to bring up was a door.

Maybe someone busted the door down recently? Lilitu couldn't imagine why. Inns and taverns weren't hot spots for thieves. Quite the opposite, really. Making sure her crimson locks were tucked away behind her hood, she took a seat at the bar.

A Khajiit woman behind the counter approached her. After bringing Lilitu a plate of food and offering a bed, she asked, "Is the huntress here for the door?"

Lilitu raised her eyebrows. "What door?"

"It hasn't heard?"

Lilitu shook her head.

"Some moons ago a door appeared out in the water. S'Jirra has not gone to see it but many travelers come, seeking gold and fame. It has been said that they become touched by Skooma Cat and never come out the same."

She looked around and indeed most of the people in the inn were young men, each with the glow of hope. Listening closely, she could hear some of them brag about what they'll find and how nothing will tamper with their minds. They were stronger than that.

One in particular caught her eye. A young Colovian, possibly of Nordic descent. He was big and broad shouldered, with brown hair and green eyes. His shirt was untied at the top, allowing a patch of brown hair on his chest to peek out. He was delicious.

He caught her eye and approached her. "Are you in the Thieves Guild?" She asked.

He laughed. "Why, are you going to accuse me of stealing your heart?"

She shook her head. He wasn't in the Guild. He was fair game.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 22 2011, 02:14 AM

Once more, I love how you described the way Lilitu could not recall the name of that man from Anvil, no matter how hard she tried!

Also again, I love the depth you put into Lilitu's relationship with Dolce. That is exactly the same way I feel about my cat.

The ones that bothered him about bathing, cleaning, cooking.
Ewwwww!

If she got so much as a drop on it, it would blossom into wild curls. She couldn't have that.
Yep, welcome to girlsville!

And again, her use of her birthsign against the bandit was just perfect!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 22 2011, 02:16 AM

And we see darling Lilitu Marleen yet again. I really enjoyed this tidbit from her perspective. It just makes her even more mysterious in my imagination, and that's just how I like her.

But why do I have a sinking feeling about her leaving Dolce behind? Is it because I feel the same way about leaving my own two kitties behind when I go out of town on a trip? Let's hope it's just that!

Posted by: King Coin Feb 22 2011, 04:21 AM

Lilitu is taking an unusual way to Cheydinhal, but I can see why we would want her to hear about the door....

Posted by: mALX Feb 22 2011, 04:45 AM

Edit:

Ah yes, the Italian mother who gives her son two ties for his birthday. No matter which he tries on first she says, "What's wrong, you don't like the other?"


***

In game I have never taken that birthsign - I have to agree with SubRosa, your use of it in the story was Awesome !!!


*

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 22 2011, 07:34 PM

QUOTE(Jacki Dice @ Feb 21 2011, 07:41 PM) *

One in particular caught her eye. A young Colovian, possibly of Nordic descent. He was big and broad shouldered, with brown hair and green eyes. His shirt was untied at the top, allowing a patch of brown hair on his chest to peek out. He was delicious.

He caught her eye and approached her. "Are you in the Thieves Guild?" She asked.

He laughed. "Why, are you going to accuse me of stealing your heart?"

She shook her head. He wasn't in the Guild. He was fair game.



I laughed when I read that. I wonder what Lilitu will think if/when she meets Wrothken. Will he be fair game by that point, or not? Can't wait to find out.

QUOTE
"Capital!"


Yep. She's definitely talking to the Grey Fox. Nobody else on Tamriel uses that word so effectively.

Great chapter. The dialogue is entertaining and flows extremely well. You don't tell us what thoughts are flitting through your characters' heads, you show us. Very well done.

Posted by: Grits Feb 23 2011, 06:24 PM

Wow, that was some way to wake up. I’m glad he left her some pumpkin bread for the upset he caused her!

Capaneus in the mythic Dawn, aha! Of course Dolce was right about him!!

She took her smooth ponytail in her hands. If she got so much as a drop on it, it would blossom into wild curls. She couldn't have that.
Abiene would say that curly hair doesn’t want to be straight! tongue.gif

I loved Lilitu’s calm handing of the highwayman. So different from the bloodbath that usually follows his opening statement. smile.gif

Posted by: TheOtherRick Feb 23 2011, 07:47 PM

What I have read of this story (through Chapter 5) is FANTASTIC! goodjob.gif Which makes this post a little sad for me, because I think I am going to stop reading it for a while. I can always come back to it later. The reason is that I have never played the SI expansion, and the spoiler factor is weighing on me. I do hope you will understand, but I want to see SI for the first time and not know what to expect. I look forward to returning this great writing in the not-to-distant future.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 28 2011, 04:39 AM

SubRosa~ That feeling with Dolce is easy to recapture. All I've got to do is look at her picture or think of what I would do with Melaina ♥ And would it be girlsville or curlsville? tongue.gif

haute ecole rider~ Ohh not to worry, Dolce is a tough cookie smile.gif

King Coin~ Well, ingame, I had her go this way. Its up the Gold Road, then the lower half of the Red Road then up the Blue Road to Cheydihal. It may be the way the roads all point to the Imperial City.

mALX~ Thank you! Its my favorite one to use, as its gotten me out of quite a bit of trouble at times

Captain Hammer~ By Lilitu's standards Wrothken is indeed fair game so long as he doesn't join the Thieves Guild... He may want to consult a certain other blond Nord about sleeping with Dunmer women before he acts though. Seems they have a tendency to wear people out! tongue.gif

Grits~ Dogs are like that. If they just do not like someone, I've noticed there may be a reason for it. And oh I can attest that curls do not want to be straight! They're about as stubborn as a certain Nord...

TheOtherRick~ I understand completely ♥ In fact SI's ending is quite a twist so I wouldn't want to ruin it for you ♥



~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Seventeen: Heading Home, Part One



Lilitu awoke with the arm of the Colovian draped over her chest. She gently moved it so she could sit up. She silently dressed and took her bag. As she opened the door, he awoke.

"You leaving?" He asked.

Lilitu turned. "Yes, my dear Jodin. Duty calls."

"Duty calls?" He echoed. "What are you, in the Fighters Guild?"

Lilitu smiled. "Sure," she said with a wink.

When she entered the washroom, she lowered her hood and loosened her hair so she could recomb it. She sighed a little feeling the slight grit and slickness of unwashed hair. She supposed it could wait a bit longer. It wasn't like she was heading out for a date. Then again, she hadn't been looking last night either...

"N'chow!" She swore, noticing that she had forgotten to bring her make up with her. "Wonderful," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Gods, I've been out of practice for far too long." She looked at herself in the mirror and pressed her lips together and pinched her cheeks until they were slightly reddened. Of course, that wouldn't last all day. She decided to buy some lipstick and maybe some khol once she reached Cheydinhal. Sure, she was just going for another long walk to her destination, but there was something about a coat of lipstick that made her feel better. Not to mention it kept her from habitually licking and biting at her lips. She didn’t want them chapped, which would only cause her to lick and pick more. It was a cycle.

She left the inn, purposely avoiding the gorgeous eyes of the Colovian boy, who was eating breakfast. As much as she would have enjoyed a morning delight, she needed to be on her way.



The sun was high when Lilitu reached Cheydinhal. It was her favorite place in all of Cyrodiil. The buildings were elegant with their white walls trimmed with burgundy and straw roofs. Best of all, there was a romantic river in the middle of the city. Many couples spent weekend afternoons having picnics and during the summer, several weddings took place on the banks. Ever since she was a child, she had sworn her own wedding would take place there as well.

Across the river, she headed for her grandparents' shop, Little Vvardenfell. Even from afar, she could always point it out. It was the only store that always had a steady flow of mainly Dunmer patrons.

Her grandfather was the first one she saw. He was on the yard, sawing some wood for what looked like a cabinet. Her heart sank as he had noticeably aged since she last saw him. His bald spot had gotten more prominent and the stubborn brown patches of hair around his temples were finally giving into the silver the rest of his hair had become. His face, even though he was relaxed, was creased deeply with wrinkles. When elves began showing signs of age, they were really old.

She approached cautiously, not wanting to startle him, especially while sawing. When he saw her, his eyes lit up and he hugged her warmly. He stepped back, taking a good look at her. She couldn't help but smile. He made several signs with his hand. She had never learned all of his signs, but she got the drift of what he was communicating.

He looked toward the back door to the shop and called out. "Mamamamama!"

A chorus of snickers caught her attention. A group of boys pointed and laughed at the old man. A flash of anger swept over Lilitu. She balled her fists and was about to go see what exactly was so funny, when her grandmother came out.

Mindyne was a large woman dressed in a bold red blouse with black and gold trim and a deep red skirt that swished when she walked. Her dark brown hair was stylishly flipped at the edges.

"M'ija!" She said, wrapping her arms around Lilitu. She leaned into her ear, whispering, "Ignore those s'wits. Just come in and we'll talk inside."

Lilitu glared at the boys, who were imitating her grandfather's call. She was near trembling with anger.

As Lilitu was led into the store, her anger vanished almost instantly. Though she had only known Morrowind for five short years, the very scent of the store filled her heart with a burst of comfort and home. The shelves were lined with bottles of matze, shein, greef, jars of scrib jelly and kwama cuttle, and even a few bottles of Telvanni Bug Musk. Boxes holding ash yams, hackle-lo leaves, marshmerrow, saltrice, racer plumes, scrib jerky, sat in neat aisles. Chitin shields bearing the crests of the great houses sat along the walls. A flag decorated with a scarab beetle, the symbol of House Redoran, proudly hung above the counter.

Mindyne sat down in a cushioned chair, sighing loudly. "Those boys are nothing but trouble, M'ija." She shook her head. "Your cousin got into a bit of a scuffle with them the other day over the things they say about your grandfather."

Lilitu gasped. "With all of them? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, you know him. He may be little, but he's smart. He could grow up to be head of the Fighter's Guild one day. Unfortunately for us, one of them is that fetcher, Ulrich Leland's son. Guess who got a five hundred septim fine over it."

Lilitu's jaw dropped. "Five hundred? Are they insane?"

She nodded. "They've been fining like crazy around here. It’s ridiculous. And does the count care?" She huffed. "As long as he has his suckling pig on the table, he doesn't give a damn." She looked outside for awhile before saying. "By the way, how is your store doing?" She said, obviously wanting to get off the subject.

"Good," Lilitu half-lied. "That's actually what brought me here. There's an item up north that a customer would like."

She shook her head. "Why don't you hire someone else to go get it for you? The roads are no place for a young lady." Lilitu silently agreed. What with all the marauders and bandits on the road, it was no place for anyone, really. "Or, better yet, why don't you open a general store like this one? People can still order whatever it is they want from you but then you'll have a steady flow of gold. I worry that you'll run out between orders."

"Well, actually, I don't normally go get orders anymore. It's a...special request."

"Hmm..." She said, still disapproving.

"Trust me, I'm doing fine."

"I know, M'ija, but I worry, not just for the money, but for you. You're all alone out there, all the way in Kvatch. I don't know why you didn't just stay in the Imperial City or move back home."

"I'm not alone, grandma. I have Dolce."

She snorted. "You have the dog still? Aren't you ever getting rid of her?"

"Never," she said defensively. She could understand not liking Dolce. The dog didn't seem to care much for Mindyne either, but she couldn't grasp why her grandmother was so vehemently against her.

"By the way," She said flatly. "Whatever happened to that young Imperial you were....seeing?"

Lilitu's insides went icy for a moment. She hated discussing him, especially with her family. "We broke up years ago. In fact, he's going to be serving time in the Imperial City prison for awhile. It’s one reason why I moved from there."

"Hmph. Good, I'm glad you're rid of him, M'ija. I was worried you'd actually marry him. Could you imagine?" She leaned in, lowering her voice. "What if you'd had kids with him? You turned out lucky, being able to pass for the most part, I suppose, but you've seen the teasing your brothers get for being obvious half-breeds. Not to mention what it’s cost this family..."

The ice inside of Lilitu turned to a quick fire. She hated that term. Yes, her mother was an Imperial and in the eyes of the census, Lilitu was as well, since children were marked down as the race of the mother. However, in looks, in culture, in her heart, she was was a Dunmeri woman. A whole person, mixed blood or not. Certainly not an animal that could be bred. Besides, it wasn’t her fault the traditionalists in House Redoran despised her father’s choice in marrying an Imperial and showed it. She certainly didn’t ask for it! Though Mindyne didn’t say it directly, Lilitu was always vaguely aware of the resentment held towards her birth. She took a sharp breath, wanting to say something when her cousin entered the store.

The boy grunted in greeting, heading straight up the stairs.

"He must still be angry," she said, forgetting the previous subject.

"Can't blame him," Lilitu said.

"You know the worst part? The fetchers that started this whole thing got a slap on the wrist. Three nearly grown men picking on a ten year old who just wanted to defend his deaf grandfather. Where's the honor in this place? I'll tell you, it’s in their pockets! So help me, if it wasn't for your brothers living practically by themselves in that secluded hole your father insisted on building, I'd pack my things and head back to Morrowind!" She stood up, as more people entered the store. "Why don't you go talk to him? Maybe you can offer some comfort."

Lilitu nodded. "I'll see what I can do," she said.



Mamisi sat on his bed, staring out the window. Lilitu couldn't see his face, but she could tell he was fuming. She sat next to him.

"It’s not fair," he said. "It’s because he's the captain's son. That's why he didn't get in trouble." He looked up at her. "And I heard Mama talking to Grandma... they don't know how they're going to pay for it. If they don't," his large red eyes welled up. "They might lose the store!"

Lilitu placed her arm around him. He was right. It wasn't fair. It was infuriating...but she had a plan. "Come on. Why don't you show me where those fetchers live?"



The following morning, the screams of three young men pierced the air, followed by those in their households. Not only had they been robbed, but each young man woke up with a knife planted firmly into their pillows, right beside their heads. Each knife held a note:

I could have easily done it. Leave the old man alone, or next time you will wake up in the void of Sithis.
Sweet dreams.

Though it was unheard of for the Dark Brotherhood to leave warnings instead of corpses, the Sithis warning left little doubt to who it had been. The Count insisted that crimes relating to the Dark Brotherhood be prosecuted if caught, but it was all talk. Nothing more, especially if it involved anyone seen in that supposedly abandoned house. Since there was no one to prosecute, Leland could only heed the note and move on. The boys didn't speak of it to each other, but they each knew they had all received the same warning. From then on, they wouldn't so much as look at the deaf old man without a chill running down their spines.

Meanwhile, a plump sack of gold sat on the counter of Little Vvardenfell. There was no note attached, but somehow, Mindyne knew that when she counted it out, she would find five hundred coins inside.


Posted by: SubRosa Feb 28 2011, 04:55 AM

I just love seeing the girls play.

So Liltu's morning after was not too awkward I see. Although she did forget her makeup! ohmy.gif Her homecoming to Cheydinhal was sweet. I especially liked the addition of Little Vvardenfell.

Plus you gave us a wonderful introduction to the Corruption quest in Cheydinhal, including Ulrich Leland's son as a bully and bringing Liltu's family into it. Liltu's solution to the immediate problem of them losing their store was wonderful, especially the touch of the note with Sithis mentioned. An excellent way of sidetracking the fetchers.


nits:
She sighed a little{,} feeling the slight grit and slickness of unwashed hair.
I think you meant for a comma where I inserted it above.

The buildings were elegant with their white walls trimmed with Burgundy and straw roofs
I think you meant for a lowercase burgundy there?

Chitin shields baring the crests of the great houses sat along the walls.
The Grey Fox heisted your 'e' in bearing.

We broke up years ago
He snatched the period at the end of this sentence too! Stop Thief!

The Count insisted that crimes relating to the Dark Brotherhood be persecuted if caught.
I think you meant criminals? That should also be prosecuted - taking one to court for a crime, rather than persecuted - which is doing nasty things to groups of people.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 28 2011, 03:18 PM

Loved this latest installment. Lilitu is turning out to be quite the character! I loved meeting her grandparents and her cousin - he reminds me so much of Midave Sendal - small but tough and determined to fend for himself.

While Lilitu's plan of warning is a bit over-the-top, it is perfect for the target audience. Boys love nothing more than big, dramatic gestures. I was a bit surprised to see that Ulrich had a son though - in game he never struck me as being the family man type. But you made it believable, and that's what matters.

Great job!

Posted by: mALX Feb 28 2011, 05:23 PM

Lilitu has her own way of handling things that is really interesting - and have to agree with SubRosa - Loved the addition of Little Vvardenfell !!

Another thing SubRosa beat me to - Love the way you slipped in background for Leland's corruption quest - Awesome chapter !!!

Posted by: King Coin Mar 1 2011, 12:39 AM

Alright an update! Nice to see Lilitu taking care of business in Cheydinhal.

Posted by: Grits Mar 1 2011, 11:12 PM

Wow, Lilitu really gets it done!! It seems she has a complicated family. I’m intrigued by her brothers’ living situation. I love your description of Cheydinhal. It’s so pretty! I can picture the outdoor weddings and the bridges all decorated with flowers. smile.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Apr 9 2011, 03:37 AM

SubRosa~ If only Lilitu had more time, then maybe she could have worked with Llevanna and come up with a fitting punishment.

haute ecole rider~ Well, originally it was Leland's son, but some other guard...but I wanted to tie in the corruption in Cheydinhal and he was a good fit.

mALX~ She certainly does, and its not always the most legal way in the world, but it gets the job done wink.gif

King Coin~ smile.gif

Grits~ Complicated indeed, but aren't all families to some degree? smile.gif

Everyone~ I'm sorry its been so long. I got burnt out on it and once I was ready to continue writing, I got writer's block! Here's the update ♥

~~~~~♥~~~~~


Chapter Eighteen: Heading Home, Part 2



Lonely. Secluded. Isolated.

Words that should never describe the warmth and comfort of home, yet Lilitu could think of no other ones as she headed up the path toward the Serano Manor. It was three miles north of Cheydinhal and a mile away from the nearest neighbor.

She wanted to go get Savilla's Stone before going to visit, but her plans changed when a small figure came running toward her. It was almost like a black-clad skeleton with a head of unruly, dark brown curls.

"LILITUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"

She couldn't help but smile. Relemus caught her. She would have to stay for at least a little bit.

She remained in place with her arms out as the young Dunmer crashed into her. She wrapped her bony arms tightly around her waist. Lilitu smoothed her hair, smiling softly. "I missed you too. Have you been behaving yourself?"

She looked up at her older sister with impish brown eyes, her smile not even trying to hide. "Maybe," she said.

"Maybe," Lilitu echoed. "I see..." She attempted to run her fingers through her curls, but was halted by knots. She frowned. "When was the last time this was brushed?"

She shrugged and looked around. "Where's Dolce?"

"She's at home."

"Oh." Her face fell, her eyes lowering to the ground. "So you're not moving back?"

Lilitu sighed, kneeling to the ground. "I know you don't understand now, but eventually everyone moves out and starts their own lives. It’s what adults do."

Her brows furrowed. "Then why hasn't Titi moved out of Grandma's house?"

She blanked. Relemus did have a point. "Come on, let's go see Vardas," she said, changing the subject.



Lilitu crinkled her nose at the sight of the house. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in days! Dirt and muddy snow was tracked from one side of the house to another, stamped with footprints, large and small, and paw prints. Stacks of books sat in disarray on the table and on the floor, one dangerously close to the roaring fireplace. The Redoran flag, their father's pride and joy, hung crookedly above the mantle. Dishes were everywhere and a pile of animal bones remained by a dog bed. "What happened? Did a drunken troll run through?"

"No," Relemus said, bounding up the stairs.

"Where's Mama?"

"Chapel."

Of course. Lilitu buried her face in her palm. Where else would she be? "And Papa?"

"He left for Morrowind a few days ago."

"So its just the two of you, then?"

"Yeah." Relemus stopped at a door and began pounding on it, unnecessarily loud. "Hey fat fetch! Quit choking your chicken, and get out here!"

Lilitu's jaw nearly dropped. Was her mother insane, leaving the two of them alone together?

The door burst open, Vardas like a giant with his fists up, ready to knock Relemus into a wall. He was a large man, and his gut spoke of a love of sweet rolls. He face was much rounder than common Elves, though it was just as likely that was due to his mixed heritage as it was from his weight. His eyes, chocolate brown like his younger sister's, were blazing with rage. His wild look was matched by near-black curls tied back in a long, messy ponytail. Luckily, Relemus was quick enough to slip out of reach of his swing.

"Ahem!" Lilitu cleared her throat loudly.

Vardas dropped his fist and smiled. "Oh, hi Lilitu."

She sighed exasperatedly. "Relemus, apologize for that."

"What?" Relemus folded his arms. "It’s true! I caught him reading a dirty book and his hand was on his pants!"

Vardas went lavender, though Lilitu could tell it was more out of embarrassment than anger. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't care and would rather not hear about that sort of thing. You've been told about making fun of his weight, haven't you?"

"Yes.... Sorry Vardas."

"And you," she looked at Vardas. "Do be a little more discreet for goodness sake!"

Relemus stifled a laugh, clapping her hand over her mouth as her older brother and sister cast her glares.

Vardas looked back into his room. "Saint, come here, boy!"

A large black dog with a white muzzle and white going down his chest came running down the stairs. He jumped onto Lilitu, sniffing her, then licking his nose. Lilitu smiled and scratched his ears. "Oh, what a good boy! Though I see someone needs a diet!"

"He's not the only one..." Relemus muttered.

Vardas responded with a swat on the head. "Aren't you supposed to be practicing?"

Relemus sank. "Yes..." He groaned.

"Then get to it!"

Muttering strings of swears under her breath, she went down to the basement.

Lilitu cleared a pile of wrinkled clothes from the couch and she sat down. "I see not much has changed."

Vardas didn't bother moving the clothes. He plopped right on them. Lilitu was about to say something, but stopped herself. They weren't her clothes after all. Saint curled up on top of them, his head resting on Vardas' lap. "Nope. Mama spends all day at the chapel and when she gets home late at night she's up in her room buried in Lessons of Arkay." He rolled his eyes. "She still quotes that damn book every chance she gets! Sometimes I just want to toss it in the fire but it would do no good. She's got it memorized!"

Lilitu sighed deeply, looking up at the wall where a portrait of the Divines hung proudly. It was the only one in the house that wasn't crooked, caked with dust, or both.

"Papa is still making deliveries for Grandma's shop," Vardas continued. "Ever since you left he's been home more often, just to make sure things don’t get too out of hand. Relemus never listens to me anymore. Of course that means he can't pick up as much so it limits the money the shop makes. Not by too much, but enough for mama to complain. She says it’s your fault."

"Oh? My fault?" Lilitu said through clenched teeth. "Of course. Everything bad that ever happens around here is my fault. And I bet she wonders why I never come to visit."

"She says it’s your pride."

"Oh yes," she said her cheeks flushing. "Never mind that every chance she gets she has to start a fight. Or that she always has to throw everything in my face." She folded her arms, willing her heart to stop pounding.

"So what brings you up here, anyway?" Vardas asked, sensing that it was past time to change the subject.

"Gray Fox wants me to get something called Savilla's Stone." Lilitu leaned back on the couch. "It’s in a monastery up north."

"I thought you were a fence."

Lilitu smiled. "I am...but the Gray Fox asked for it in person."

Vardas gasped. "You actually saw him?"

She nodded.

"Did he have the Cowl?"

"Of course he did!"

Vardas suddenly sprang to life. "Lilitu, do you even know where he got it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "He stole it from Nocturnal, didn't he?"

Vardas nodded his head. "It’s an actual Daedric artifact!" He paused, calming down some. "Then again, I'm not sure if that one would be a good one to have. She cursed it, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"You see, whoever wears the Cowl no longer exists."

"What are you talking about? Of course he exists! I saw him the other day."

"No, no. He exists in the physical sense, but that's all he is. When he takes off the Cowl, he is no one."

"Of course he's no one. He wouldn't want to stand out."

Vardas sighed. "Lilitu, I mean he is no one to anybody. His wife, his kids, his own parents won't know who he is, even when he's not wearing the Cowl. Its like he never existed. He could stand in front of his wife with his name written above him in flames and still nothing. She would have no idea who he is. The curse wipes whoever wears it from history."

Lilitu looked down. "My goodness...." She looked back up at Vardas. "And to think at one point I wanted that Cowl." She chuckled a little. "I had little daydreams of swiping it from him and gallivanting around Cyrodiil, even robbing the Emperor..." She didn't include the part of the fantasy where she was subdued by a handsome guard and taken to be locked away, though not in a jail cell. She smiled, thinking about it. When she saw Vardas staring at her she cleared her throat. "Anyhow, it hardly seems worth it."

"Lilitu, I'm done," Relemus returned to the living room. Her plump cheeks were faintly violet.

"Done with what?"

"She's supposed to be practicing her fireball," Vardas said.

"Oh. Can you do it?"

She pursed his lips and looked away. "Not really." She sat on the couch, like Vardas, on top of the clothes. "Fetch it."

"Do you talk this way in front of Mama?"

"Are you kidding?" Relemus asked with wide eyes. "She'd kill me!"

"Alright, now let's see if we can help you with the fireball."

Relemus groaned loudly. "Do I have to?"

"It’s the law. Everyone had to learn it, just like everyone has to learn to heal themselves. You can't always count on weapons and potions to keep you safe."

Posted by: haute ecole rider Apr 9 2011, 05:16 AM

Welp. I didn't think one could be racy and still be PG-13, yet somehow you pull it off so flawlessly.

Choking a chicken? blink.gif

Subdued and punished by a handsome guard? Would that handsome guard happen to be Savlian Matius? Oooh, now my inner editor's getting jealous! wink.gif

So learning the flare and the heal thyself are required by law? Like a license is required for driving?

I'm liking Lilitu more and more. Her interactions with her brothers are delightful and fun to read.

Glad to see more of her (and of your writing)!

Posted by: King Coin Apr 9 2011, 03:33 PM

YAY! To be honest I thought this story died. I so happy to be wrong! Well done

Posted by: SubRosa Apr 9 2011, 10:27 PM

I wonder if the Serano's nearest neighbors are the Rugdumphs?

I nice, quiet visit home for Liltu! Well, maybe not nice, or mostly quiet. I loved the pigsty the place is, and the whole dysfunctional nature of her family. It is no wonder Liltu wanted out.

A nice bit of background on the Cowl of Nocturnal, and its curse. I wonder if Liltu will want to finish the Thieves Guild questline now!

nits:
Hey fat [censored]
The [censored] does not look very good. I know you want to use a stronger word than the forum allows. I suggest using a ES term, like n'wah, or s'wit. That bypasses the swear filter, and adds some setting-friendly flavor at the same time.

Posted by: mALX Apr 11 2011, 03:25 AM

Great lead in for the Savilla's Stone quest in this chapter !! I have to mark this chapter as one of my faves due to the completely natural and believable dialogue - Awesome Write !!

Posted by: Grits Apr 12 2011, 12:22 AM

Oh my! I’m not sure which I like more, Lilitu’s dialog with the boys, or her mental side-trips. Subdued by a handsome guard! laugh.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Apr 21 2011, 02:13 AM

haute ecole rider~ Thank you smile.gif Its not too difficult to pull off the raciness when you're used to having to be somewhat discreet whistling.gif And I imagined the flare and healing law somewhat like how you have to wear your seatbelt or not ride in the bed of a pick up truck (at least here in California). It was really the only explanation as to why literally everyone in Cyrodiil can do it

King Coin~ This won't die until the grand finale biggrin.gif I'm too stubborn for that.

SubRosa~ Actually yes, the Rudgrumphs are the nearest neighbors tongue.gif I'll fix the cenoreds soon. I just wanted to display that Relemus is at the age where every sentence must be a swear

mALX~ Yay! Thanks mALX ♥♥

Grits~ Would you believe some of that dialogue was based off actual, constant fighting?

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Nineteen: Fire



They stood in the backyard. Lilitu set an iron bucket at the target. Lilitu and Relemus stood in front of it, while Vardas and Saint sat on the sidelines.

Lilitu clapped her hands together. "Alright, now show me."

Relemus sighed heavily, slumping her shoulders. She flung her arm forward only to be rewarded with the dry hiss of a failed spell.

"See?" She said, her voice going up several octaves. "I can't do it!"

"Calm down and lower your voice!" Lilitu sighed. She tapped her lip. "Let's see, you were born under the Lord... Vardas, is there any negative effects on magicka under the Lord?"

Vardas shrugged.

"N'chow!" She swore. "Okay, watch me." She flung her arm out and a fireball zoomed onto the target. "Just a simple fling."

Relemus groaned. "Even you can do it and you're just a thief!"

"A little louder please, I don't think they heard you down in Leyawiin."

Relemus giggled a little.

"Alright, when you cast your fire, what do you feel?"

"Like I'm wasting my fetching time."

Lilitu pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright, let's start this way. What is fire?"

"Hot."

"So how does it feel?"

Relemus looked at her flatly. "Hot."

Lilitu sighed deeply. "No, I mean... fire is anger, strength, passion..." She looked at Vardas. "Help me out here."

Vardas stood in place for a moment before silently walking over to Relemus and he slapped her over the head.

"Hey!" She cried, rubbing where she had been hit. "What in oblivion was that for, you dumb s'wit?!"

"What are you doing?" Lilitu hissed.

"There's a method to my madness," Vardas said softly. He hit Relemus again.

"Stop it, you cow!"

Vardas hit her harder, then pushed her in the snow.

"You fat son of a guar!"

"You angry?" Vardas asked, shouting in her face.

"Yes!"

"You want to beat me up?"

Relemus stomped her feet, gritting her teeth. "Yes!"

"Then throw your fire! Do it now!"

Relemus swung her fist, but instead of hitting Vardas, she was rewarded with a large flaming blossom headed straight for the target. She gaped at it before hugging her brother tightly. "I did it! I fetching did it!"

"Good," Lilitu said, clapping her hands. "Remember how you felt when you cast it? You need to feel it every time until you're used to it. Now for healing. Can you do that?"

She nodded.

"Good." Lilitu looked over the Jerral mountains, disappointed to see the sun setting. "I've been here this long? Damn!"

"Why don't you stay the night?" Relemus asked.

"Because, I have to hurry. I've already taken too long. Remember, Dolce is waiting for me."

"How long do you think it will take to get the stone?" Vardas asked.

Lilitu pointed up. "The monastery is a few miles up and depending on how well hidden it is, it could take several hours."

"So, steal the stone and I'll watch for you and when I see you I'll unlock your window. You get some rest and then sneak out in the morning. Sounds good?"

She nodded, smiling. If Vardas was the affectionate type, she would have hugged him.



She was thankful for the warmth of her leather armor, but as she walked to the monastery she longed for the Grey Cowl, if only to keep her bare face warm. The mountain was steeper than she thought and the higher in altitude, the colder it got. About a mile up, snow began to fall. First in light flakes then quickly into fluffy flurries.

The cold wind stung her nose into numbness and penetrated her warmth until it sat in her bones. Her lips were freezing and she kept licking them, knowing full well it would only make it worse and chap them. By the gods it was obscenely cold! She looked up north, wondering how on Nirn the Nords put up with it, especially the so-called bare-sarks, who supposedly ran around in nothing but furry boots. It was insane.

As her teeth chattered uncontrollably, she cursed Savilla's Stone for being in such a barren place. Why couldn't it have been stashed away in Leyawiin or Anvil? Because that would have been too easy that's why. And maybe, she thought. The Grey Fox is testing my loyalty... Unlikely as it was, Lilitu repeated that thought in her mind. It was the only thing that kept her going until she finally reached the small settlement. She fell to her knees happily.

"You alright, miss?"

Lilitu looked up to see a Nord dressed in a white robe, staring down at her with kind blue eyes. He didn't shiver. Lilitu could nearly feel the warmth from his hand as he lifted her out of the snow. "What's a girl like you doing so far up here in the middle of nowhere?"

Lilitu bit her chapped lip. "I'm a student."

"Oh..." He said, raising his snow-flecked eyebrows. "What's a student doing way up here, so far from civilization?"

"Well, I'm doing a report."

"Ah, I see," he said. "Here, let's get you inside where it's warm and you can tell me more."

He led her to a small house where a few other monks were. The blazing fire warmed her up so much that she almost curled up in front of it and napped. She resisted the urge and followed the monk to a small table. She took the seat across from him.

"Oh, goodness me, we haven't been properly introduced! I am Brother Holger."

"Sadisa Nerethi," she said. She had a roster of false names prepared for times like these.

"So, what's this report you're doing?"

"It's on sacred artifacts."

One look in his eyes told Lilitu that he knew what she was getting at. Holger leaned back in his chair. "Alright, well..." He shifted in his seat slightly. "What do you need to know?"

"Well...." She began twirling her ponytail. "All I really need is confirmation that Savilla's Stone is hidden away here."

Holger looked her up and down for a moment. Lilitu forced herself to remain calm and cool. "You walked all this way just for someone to tell you that?"

"It was the only way to find out... other than breaking in and stealing it!" She added with a laugh.

He laughed a little. "Oh, you don't want to do that. The monks may be blind, but they're still a force to be reckoned with." He paused, lowering his voice. "The blind monks in the catacombs guard it. They say it might have special powers."

"Really?" Lilitu said breathily. "Could you just show me where they live? Please?"

He pursed his lips. "I really shouldn't... but I suppose I can just show you the door. I mean, you came all this way. I would hate for it to have been for nothing. Just don't tell anyone. I could get banished for this."

Lilitu jumped up, clasping her hands and smiling. "Thank you so much! Don't worry, my lips are sealed if yours are."

He nodded and led her out to a large chapel. Once inside, she followed him downstairs to a large ornate door. Moths and robed people worshiping them were carved into the wood. "They live down here, in the catacombs. It’s dark as night down there. but since they're blind, it doesn't bother them."

"I see," she said, placing her hand on the door. "It's so beautiful... I'll show myself out. Thanks again."

Holger nodded and after placing a finger to his lips, he went back to the house.

After she was sure that she was alone, she pulled out her lock pick and went to work.

Posted by: Grits Apr 21 2011, 03:33 AM

"A little louder please, I don't think they heard you down in Leyawiin."

Relemus giggled a little.


Grits giggled a lot. smile.gif And then some more at the rest of Relemus’ and Vardas’ antics!

Oh, Lilitu’s journey made me cold. I’m looking forward to seeing her at work in the catacombs!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Apr 21 2011, 05:44 AM

Ahh, that ponytail twirl! Never fails! It's like the Korean OPW! wink.gif

And I loved the siblingness between Relemus and Vardas. And yes, that's what it takes to get the kid to fling a flare!

Posted by: SubRosa Apr 21 2011, 04:16 PM

"A little louder please, I don't think they heard you down in Leyawiin."
laugh.gif

I liked how you used hot emotions to unlock Relemus' learning to cast fire spells. I guess it is a good thing it was anger that Vardas decided to elicit in him, instead of lust! ohmy.gif Or course now the next time the kid gets ticked off, he will burn the house down...

I loved Liltu's frustration over her cold, mountain climb. It makes sense that Dunmer, who are resistant to fire and probably very happy in hot climates, would be even more uncomfortable in the snow than other people. Her thoughts that the stone had to be in the mountains just to make it harder for her were just priceless!

Very quick thinking on Liltu's part, not only throwing off the suspicions of the monk who found her with her story of being a student, but even using him to help her find where the stone was!


nits:
Moths and robed people worshiping them was carved into the wood
That should be were, as the subject - moths and robed people - is plural. Was is for singular subjects.

Its dark as night down there.
The Grey Fox heisted the apostrophe in It's. Remember this word is an weird case, not having the apostrophe for a possessive, but always having it when a contraction for "it is".

Posted by: King Coin Apr 21 2011, 07:56 PM

The interaction with the brothers is just wonderful!

Lilitu was fortunate to run into such a trusting Brother. That was easy!

Posted by: ghastley Apr 21 2011, 08:29 PM

QUOTE(SubRosa @ Apr 21 2011, 11:16 AM) *

Moths and robed people worshiping them was carved into the wood
That should be were, as the subject - moths and robed people - is plural. Was is for singular subjects.

However, if you rewrite it as An image of moths, and robed people worshiping them, was carved into the wood then the image is singular, so it would be valid. Was that what you intended? It works just as well either way.

I'm a little surprised that Vardas wasn't ducking the fireball when it (finally) happened. All's well that ends well.




Posted by: SubRosa Apr 21 2011, 10:57 PM

QUOTE(ghastley @ Apr 21 2011, 03:29 PM) *

QUOTE(SubRosa @ Apr 21 2011, 11:16 AM) *

Moths and robed people worshiping them was carved into the wood
That should be were, as the subject - moths and robed people - is plural. Was is for singular subjects.

However, if you rewrite it as An image of moths, and robed people worshiping them, was carved into the wood then the image is singular, so it would be valid. Was that what you intended? It works just as well either way.


Indeed. In that case the subject would be the image, not moths and robed people. smile.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice May 19 2011, 05:28 AM

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty: Turning a Blind Eye



It was the strangest feeling. Her eyes were open but all she could see was blackness. She could hear soft footsteps and voices from another room. She reached out in front of her, afraid to take a step forward for fear of falling and making a ruckus. She reached in her bag and felt around her her ring of nighteye. Once she slipped it on her finger, the room seemed to be illuminated with blue light. She carefully went down the stairs.

The empty room she was in seemed to be a sanctuary of sorts. Benches sat in rows in front of a pulpit. Behind the pulpit stood a large, headless statue holding a book. Cobwebs draped over the hard, stone walls. Faded drapery decorated the walls. Even from a distance, Lilitu could tell it was made of silk.

There was a door to her left. It was sturdy and heavy. When swung open, it probably makes a lot of noise, Lilitu thought. Since there was no other way in, she had no choice but to go through it. Indeed it creaked loudly after it was unlocked. She whispered thanks to Nocturnal that no one was around to hear it.

She headed straight down the first hallway and entered the first room on the right. There were people inside. All of them robed, like Holger, though instead of tonsures, their heads were shaven except for a small ponytail on the top of their heads and they wore blindfolds over their eyes. They were mostly seated at a table filled with fruit and bread. This must be the kitchen. Lilitu took a step back when someone turned toward her.

"Who's there?" The monk demanded. The other monks turned as well, silencing themselves.

Lilitu pressed her lips together, her eyes focused on the long sword on his back. Its slim, curved blade was about as long as she was tall. All of them were armed with the same sword. She backed up slowly and silently and stood behind the wall.

"Damn rats..." He muttered turning away. With that, the other monks returned to their conversations.

Lilitu wanted to sigh in relief but she didn't want to get caught again. Her legs had just stopped shaking when another monk headed in her direction. Lilitu pressed herself against the wall, taking in shallow breaths when she saw a rat coming toward her. Don't come near me, don't come near me!

The rat looked straight at her, and then ran across Lilitu's feet, settling on her toe for a moment while it cleaned its face. She bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. The urge to fling it from her foot was overwhelming. She squeezed her eyes shut until it continued on its way into a hole on the wall. Lilitu sighed a little and then remembered the monk. He turned midway and went back to where he had come from. She continued down until she wound up back in the kitchen.

Damn it! I went in a circle! She looked around until she saw a door. It wasn't as heavy as the first one had been. With her eyes trained on the one who had nearly caught her, she slipped past the priests and went out the door.



The next room seemed to be for storage. Boxes were piled high with barrels littered around them. Three monks stood around talking amongst themselves. Lilitu walked silently around them, not even daring to breathe until she was down the hall.

The hall led her to what must have been their sleeping quarters. Beds were lined up in rows. A blond monk sat inside. Though she wore a blindfold, Lilitu could tell her face was delicate and gentle. She sat on the bed, her legs crossed, humming softly. Lilitu stood up and watched her as the humming graduated to soft singing.

She had the voice of a siren. Lilitu walked toward her, her heart beating fast and her cheeks reddening. One word escaped her lips in barely a whisper.

"Vivica?"

In that moment she forgot all about Savilla's Stone and imagined herself saving Vivica from the remote monastery, where she was undoubtedly being held against her will. They would run out together and once they were safe, they would celebrate their reunion in a nice little inn, sipping wine in front of a blazing fireplace.

Then she noticed a lack of freckles and fine lines around the monk’s lips. Don't be silly, she thought, backing away silently. Of all places, here? Get a grip and focus for Vivec's sake!

With a final look at the singing monk, she turned toward a rickety looking door and went through.

Lilitu descended into a cavern. It was even colder than the catacombs and something about it felt strange. Glowing mushrooms sprouted around the tall stalactites. She looked back at the door, almost wanting to turn back, but she knew it was too late. She came too far for that. She looked back ahead and almost tripped a thin rope tied from one end of the tunnel to the other. Looking up, she could see three heavy maces poised to come tumbling into the poor soul who would have set the trap. Another rope was just a few feet ahead of the first, probably to get someone who got careless after eluding the original.

Quite an odd trap on a place where everyone is blind. As she went on, it dawned on Lilitu that the trap wasn’t for the monks, but for someone like her. The thought gave her goosebumps.

She turned the corner, happy to see no more traps. No monks roamed the caverns, either. In fact, it was completely empty. It should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. A strange creaking sound only furthered the eerie feeling. The sound wasn’t from a door or just natural cave noises. It was something else.

When she found her answer, her legs trembled. She clapped her hand in front of her mouth to silence the scream building up inside her. A skeleton stood less than ten feet away. Its back was turned from her and in its bony hands it clutched a battle axe.

Lilitu was frozen in place. It had no eyes and no ears, but somehow she knew she wouldn't be able to sneak past it. Her eyes began to well up as she drew out her dagger. She blinked them away before they could blind her. She needed to be able to see if she was going to get through.

Nocturnal, please guide me. Please keep me hidden... She bit her lip and tip-toed toward it. Though she swore she made no sound, the skeleton turned anyway. It opened its mouth, making a horrible hissing noise.

Lilitu didn't bother to try and be quiet. As it brought down its axe, she screamed, rolling out of the way. Its eyeless sockets followed her as she crawled backward. With every movement, its bones creaked, echoing throughout the cave. It came toward her, its axe raised high above its head. She looked at the dagger, knowing it wouldn't do much damage from afar. The creaking began to sound like mocking laughter. The skeleton stood directly in front of her, its mouth hanging open.

"Get away!" She screamed, kicking its kneecap. It shattered under the force of her kicks. The skeleton screamed, falling over. Lilitu got up quickly and began stomping on its head until it cracked open.

She sank to her knees, her entire body trembling. She choked back sobs, her eyes refusing to leave the skeleton. It rose from the dead once, what would stop it from rising again, with or without a head? It’s not like the lack of a brain, or eyes and ears had stopped it in the first place. She nudged it with her foot a few times before picking up the axe and sticking it in her bag. That way if it did rise again, heaven forbid, it had no weapon.

She continued down the cave, though she kept looking back to be sure nothing followed. When she saw another skeleton she nearly screamed. It was only until she saw it was just a corpse that had been caught in a trap that she calmed down.

Before her, a narrow path went through several sharp spikes. A large chest sat in the middle of a group of them. The poor soul embedded in the spikes seemed to be reaching for the chest. The path was too narrow for her or anyone bigger than a Bosmeri toddler to get through easily and far too long to jump over. There was no other choice but to plow through.

First she threw her bag across the spikes, so she wouldn’t be weighed down. Then she set one foot in front of the other, holding her arms out to balance her. She looked at the chest, wondering what could be inside, but she figured it was probably an empty lure for greedy people looking for loot.

“Alright,” she said, once past the spikes. “A skeleton, spikes, what else could be lurking in here?”

A ghost.

She knew what it was the moment it swooped down the tunnel. She breathed in short gasps, unable to believe it. What in Oblivion did the Gray Fox get her into? She clenched her fists, at that moment wanting nothing more than to throttle him for sending her out into the cold, isolated, and haunted dump for a stupid stone!

She waited for the ghost to come her way, but after it drifted down another tunnel it didn’t come back. A part of her wanted to fall to her knees and thank the gods, but she didn’t for fear of wasting any more time. She went ahead to another door, so rickety she could have easily broken it down if she wanted to.

The door led to her an open cavern. An altar was below her with a floating black stone above a solitary man, kneeling before what appeared to be a crystal ball. It matched the Gray Fox’s drawing of Savilla’s Stone. No ghosts, no skeletons, and no rats stood between them. This is it, she thought with a sigh.

She circled the area, looking for any other doors rather than going back the way she came. Sure enough on the opposite side there was a path with a trap door on the ceiling. She descended silently, watching the monk carefully.

The black floating stone started to glow. Lilitu stared at it and when it was at its brightest, it hit her with a frost spell. It was so cold that it burned, even through the leather armor. She ducked down under the wall, clenching her teeth. Once the pain lessened, she stood back up, this time watching the stone as well as the monk.

The monk was armed with the same sword as the others, but given the fact that he was the sole guardian of Savilla’s Stone, Lilitu figured that he would be much stronger than the others. There was no telling what spells he knew, so it wasn’t enough to stay farther than his sword could reach.

How could she get the Stone with him and the frost stone guarding? One more hit from that thing and she was sure to cry out. She bit her lip when the idea came to her. She tiptoed up the stairs to the altar, just behind the monk. Please, let this work.

She grabbed and dipped him, planting a big kiss on his lips. The monk fell down the stairs, unable to pick himself up once he was on the ground. “Sorry!” She called out, grabbing the Stone and running off with it. She ran up the stairs across from the altar and ran to the trap door.

“Come back with Savilla’s Stone!”

She looked back and saw the monk getting up, his sword drawn. Her paralyzing kiss wore off on him much quicker than she thought.

She saw a ladder and a hatch at the top. She climbed up and pushed the hatch open. It was almost as dark outside as it had been in the monastery. She bolted down the hill and the painful burn of frost hitting her arm told her the monk was still trailing her. She looked back and saw that he was catching up. “N’chow!” How was he able to chase her if he couldn’t see? She wondered if there was some sort of magic he was using to be able to sense where she was.

She started to panic. Her first instinct told her to throw things in his path. That way he would trip and fall if he couldn’t dodge in time, but the path was so clear that if he tumbled down he might knock her over as well, and that would be the end. She bit her lip as she ran. That’s it!

She turned and cut through the forest. Even if he somehow sensed her, there was so much to have to jump over or dodge. She pumped her legs, hoping with all her might that she didn’t run into a spriggan, a hungry bear, or worse a spriggan and a hungry bear. She half hoped the monk would, then felt a little guilty for thinking it. The monk was only doing his job, after all. She certainly would be upset if someone stole a precious stone from her.



By the time she reached the Serano manor, she was ready to collapse. The monk must had long since gotten lost or given up because there was no sign of him. She dug through the snow until she found a small rock and she threw it against Vardas’ window. A light appeared and she saw him for a second before he disappeared and showed up in Lilitu’s old room. He opened the window and lowered a rope.

Lilitu groaned. “Can’t you just open the door?”

“Do you want to explain to Mama what you’re doing here in the middle of the night, looking the way you do?”

Muttering a string of swears, Lilitu pulled herself up the rope. When Vardas stumbled a little from supporting her weight, she nearly screamed. “Don’t you dare drop me or I’ll beat you!” She grabbed the windowsill with one hand and Vardas’ arm with the other and she plopped on the hard floor. She panted, wiping the sweat from her face.

She was surprised to see that her room had gone mostly untouched. Her bed remained neatly made with the same sheets as her last night in them. Little statues of winged women in dark gowns sat on a shelf, caked with dust, but in their original positions. Her chests were shut tight with the padlocks intact and Dolce’s bed still sat in the corner in front of the fireplace.

“So, how’d it go?”

Lilitu looked up at Vardas. “I’m going to smother the Gray Fox in his sleep for this!” She opened her bag and handed him the axe she confiscated. “I had to fight a damn skeleton! And there was a ghost! And monks that were blind, but wielded swords!” She pulled out Savilla’s Stone and set it on her bed. “All that for this little trinket!”

Vardas picked it up, looking it over. “Well, it’s a nice trinket.”

Lilitu huffed. “I’m just glad it’s over with. Oh and if a blind man comes down here looking for me, throw rocks at him until he goes away.”

Vardas chuckled a little before leaving her alone in the room. She laid on the bed, her body worn down but her mind racing. She reached under her pillow and sure enough, a small key was under it.

She sat up and opened a large chest by the bed. The scent of lavender rose up mixed with old parchment. She picked up a stack, bound by a red ribbon. It was one of many attempts at writing. She untied it and read the first few pages and laughed at how unbelievably awful it was. She remembered it being the best thing she had ever written, but looking back it just reflected misery and a deep desire to escape and live a life of glitz and excitement.

And how would that story write now? She wondered. Now that glitz and excitement have shown their costs?



The Gray Fox erupted into a smile as Lilitu placed Savilla’s Stone before him. “Capital!” He said, clapping his hands together. “Now I can see past the palace defenses. It's a good thing the Emperor didn't know they had this stone. He would have had it destroyed or taken it from them and kept it under lock and key in the palace. When I have learned what I need to know, I will call for you again. Let us leave Helvius' house now. He has served me well and deserves his peace.”

Lilitu cleared her throat, tapping her foot.

“Oh, right. Don’t think I forgot your pay. Here you are,” he said, setting a large sack on the table.

She picked it up, looking at the coins. She decided to count it later while cuddling with Dolce. “By the way,” She said as she turned to leave. “Is it true what they say? About your cowl?”

“What do you mean?”

“My brother told me that Nocturnal cursed it. That without it, you don’t exist.”

The elation disappeared from the Gray Fox’s face. He slumped in his seat. “I suppose there is no hiding it from you.” He paused. “No hiding. What a joke! My whole life is hiding. Everything he told you is true. My identity cannot be known.” He paused once more. “I just told you my true name twice, but I bet you don't remember it. You and I have even met before, when I was not wearing the cowl. To your clouded memory he and I are two different people. My own family doesn't even know me. I would give much to be rid of the Gray Cowl and its curse."

Lilitu felt the urge to console in that instant, but refrained. “I see,” She looked away. “Well, I look forward to seeing you again soon. Shadow...ah…”

“Shadow hide me?” He laughed a little. “You bet She will.”

As she walked home, thankful to be done with her job, she couldn’t help wondering when was it that they had met. It bothered her the whole night.

Posted by: treydog May 19 2011, 12:25 PM

I promise to edit and extend my comments when I am able to read more deeply. But for now- I just want to say- WELCOME BACK!

It is so wonderful to see you working on your story once more, and I see much to like in this installment.

Posted by: haute ecole rider May 19 2011, 03:34 PM

This is a great take on one of the more spooky quests in the game. What's with those blind priests, anyway? I swear they have noses like bloodhounds and ears like bats!

You did a great job showing us Lilitu's responses to her environment, and how it scared her to the point that she was so angry at the Grey Fox for making her run the gauntlet for a silly stone. Having just completed the Miscarcand quest in the game, I was struck by the similarities between the two quests. Yet my PC wasn't angry at Martin for sending her against a badbutt lich. Instead, it seemed she understood the importance of the Great Welkynd Stone. Thinking about it, it struck me that Martin and the Grey Fox are two different men. Martin was honest and forthcoming about his reasons for needing the GWS, while the Grey Fox was more circumspect about his need for Savila's Stone. I think I'd be pissed too, if I had to go through what Lilitu did to get a lousy stone, not knowing its real value!

Lilitu's interactions with her brother when she got home was hilarious! Typical siblings!

Then the discussion about the Grey Cowl's effects at the end of the chapter was interesting. In game he never struck me as being a chatty guy, and yet here's Lilitu dragging the grief out of him. Huh. That was a great touch.

Posted by: King Coin May 19 2011, 04:38 PM

Exciting chapter!

I guess thieves aren't very good at fighting are they? lol
The part about the rat was a nice (and funny) touch.

Good job smile.gif

Posted by: SubRosa May 19 2011, 05:38 PM

I loved Liltu's breathless encounter in the kitchen, followed by the rat! ohmy.gif

Vivica? I wonder who that is?

“Alright,” she said, once past the spikes. “A skeleton, spikes, what else could be lurking in here?”

A ghost.

I loved this. Isn't it interesting that the Ancestor Moth priests are also necromancers? I remember when I did this quest, the ghost was the only one I could not sneak by, because it was literally blocking the tunnel.

By time she reached the Serano manor
I watched Ghost In the Shell: Standalone Complex last week, and one of the companies in it is Serano Genomics. Does Liltu come from a family of micro-machine (nanite) manufacturers? wink.gif

if a blind man comes down here looking for me, throw rocks at him until he goes away.”
laugh.gif

Posted by: Grits May 23 2011, 09:00 PM

I loved the tension throughout this episode, I could really feel Lilitu’s stress. They only time I did this quest, it turned into an absolute bloodbath. Lilitu showed that the Grey Fox chose well!

That was a close call with the singing monk. I was so nervous that she would attack Lilitu! Then the skeleton battle was nerve-wracking. The fact that she is not an eager fighter in addition to her other skills makes her so appealing.

She pumped her legs, hoping with all her might that she didn’t run into a hungry bear, or worse a spriggan and a hungry bear. She half hoped the monk would, then chastised herself for thinking it. The monk was only doing his job, after all.

I loved this whole thought process. She is such a city girl!


As she walked home, thankful to be done with her job, she couldn’t help wondering when was it that they had met. It bothered her the whole night.

Yeah, that was really creepy. Yikes. I also loved the detail about her attempts at writing. It gave us a hint about her past and made her even more real. smile.gif



Posted by: Jacki Dice May 24 2011, 03:06 AM

treydog~ Thanks treydog! smile.gif Its good to be posting again

haute ecole rider~ Poor Gray Fox. He could have explained from the get go what it was for, but that wouldn't be like the sneaky thief at all

King Coin~ The rat was a mix of an in game rat that just hangs around the tunnels and my reaction to wild rodents. Cute from a distance, but no disease-breeders on my feet!

SubRosa~ I haven't seen Ghost in the Shell... is there a Serano Manor there too?

Grits~ My first playthrough of this quest turned out to be a blood bath too. Turns out heavy boots aren't good for sneaking around ohmy.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty One: Wrothken's Deformity



Home again, home again, piggity pig.

After a long nap and a refreshing shave, he decided to take a walk around the city before he had to see the Duchess in the morning. He felt relieved as he walked through Crucible. Though the buildings were just as shabby as Bravil and the streets barely paved, he had come to love them. To him, they were warm and welcome. Even a little cozy. He was even considering making it a permanent home while he was in the Isles. That was, if he survived Sheogorath's tasks.

What in Alduin's name did he get himself into anyway? He sighed. At least he didn't have to kill innocent people. That would be truly mad.

A few people were out, though it was well after dark. At a distance they all seemed peaceful...and normal. As much as he was starting to want out at times, he couldn't let these innocent people suffer at the hands of Jygglepuff or whatever his name was.

He was about to head up the street back to Bernice's Taphouse when he saw the blond Imperial who wanted to have a private word with him. He considered hightailing it away from him, but he was spotted. The Imperial smiled a little and walked up to him.

"Ah, I'm glad you came," he said, leading Wrothken back to the statue. "Name’s Hirrus. So, are you interested in earning some loot?"

Wrothken was hesitant to answer. He imagined all sorts of scenarios that would earn him loot and so far none seemed pleasant. However, he decided to see what it was before refusing.

"Sure, why not?"

"Great!" He cried out. He hugged Wrothken tightly before composing himself. "There's a... a simple task. Yes, a simple task that you must perform." He took a deep breath. "This life, it's... well, it's too painful. Everywhere I look, I see death, dying, and decay. When I dream, I see a world without sunshine. I’m constantly on the verge of retching up, or falling asleep, or screaming at someone who doesn't deserve it. I'm just so fed up with it all. Look, there's no point in talking about it. Action must be taken. You must…” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “I need you to kill me."

Wrothken was stunned. "What? You... no way..." He took a breath. This was unbelievable. He was just thinking about how glad he was to not have to go around killing people! "Why not just... you know... do it yourself if that's how you feel?"

"Have you seen those miserable souls on the Hill of Suicides? Do you think that kind of existence is any better than this?”

Wrothken furrowed his brows. The Hill of Suicides? That implied Sheogorath actually punished people for ending their own lives. It felt cruel, especially considering that would be the only true escape to someone trapped here for their entire lives.

“No,” Hirrus continued. “You must kill me. I don't necessarily want to see it coming. And I want to die here in the city so all these people finally believe me. They'll wish they were nicer,” he said bitterly as he clenched his fists. “You probably want to do it without spectators though, so you don't get in trouble. Best to make it look like an accident. But remember, I don't want to see it coming. Take me unaware."

Wrothken shook his head and when he lifted his arm to move his hair from his face, the man suddenly cowered before him.

"No! Not like this!" He screamed. "Please, no!"

"One...two...three..." Wrothken closed his eyes and counted through clenched teeth. He needed to get back to bed before he accidentally made his wish come true.





As he was heading back to the taphouse, he heard someone shout, "Kick him in the shins!"

He looked around, but no one was nearby. It sounded like it was coming from the roof. He walked behind the building and saw a flight of stairs. He ran up to see what was going on, and was surprised to see Rheyna in the center of a circle of excited people, beating up an Orc twice her size. When she kicked him onto his back, the crowd cheered and toasted their drinks. Rheyna panted heavily, wiping her hair from her face. "Alright, who's going next?"

Rheyna... With everything going on, she had slipped his mind, but with her standing before him, skin glistening with sweat and her hair plastered to her face. He recalled just before he left to get Thadon's Chalice, she mentioned that she liked his innocent look and wanted to get together later... His hand immediately flew to his cheeks. He wondered if she would notice.

"I'll go again," Cutter said, shoving through the crowd.

"You lose on purpose!" the Orc said, brushing himself off.

"He's right," Rheyna said. "Besides, I've already got someone in mind. You," she said, looking at Wrothken.

An Altmer scoffed. "He's not in the group! You can't!"

Rheyna growled. "I can and I will. Come on."

Wrothken froze for a minute, finding him to be the center of her attention for the second time. Again, he was reminded of the stark contrast between her and Atrea. Atrea disapproved of sparring. Apparently, only delinquents did that. What the silly elf didn't understand was that it was a way to bond. He smiled, eager to bond with Rheyna.

He stepped in the chalky circle, remembering his sparring days with his friends. It was several years ago, but once he got in position, it felt like just last week.

He faced Rheyna and, as was customary, at least in his circle, he bowed deeply. Rheyna responded with a slap to his head. The crowd roared in amusement. "What are you doing? We're fighting, not dancing!"

Obviously, she wants to start now... As he lifted from his bow, he threw a punch at her face. She pushed it up, leaving his side perfectly exposed for a hit to the ribs. He grunted, but didn't back down. Instead, he threw a quick jab, hitting her cheekbone.

She stumbled to the side as the onlookers gasped. While she rubbed her head, Cutter shouted, "Go for neck!" The others began to shout where else she should attack.

Rheyna rushed forward, her fist headed for his nose. Wrothken blocked with his right hand, redirecting her punch, and grabbed her wrist and pulled her downward. He then pushed down on her head, making her fall on the ground.

She got up, fire in her eyes. "Oooohhh..." the crowd said. She swung several punches at him and he dodged or blocked each one. Though he was doing quite well, Wrothken was starting to get goosebumps every time their eyes locked. He could feel something different about her. Instead of punching him, she began grasping him. The crowd had quieted down and a quick glance at Cutter's furious expression told Wrothken something was up.

Finally, she spun around with a kick. Wrothken caught it and she pulled him close. His heart pounded out of control as he realized what was about to happen.

She roughly pressed her lips onto his. She pushed him off and said, "Your bedroom now."

He was only too happy to oblige.



Wrothken's mind spun as her lips hungrily covered his face and neck. When they crossed the threshold to his room, Rheyna slammed the door behind them.

"Get your shirt off," she demanded, pulling her clothes off.

He did as commanded and didn't object when she roughly pushed him on the bed. As she explored him, his mind wandered off.

As Rheyna stripped him the rest of the way down, he thought, If only Atrea could see this! I bet she thinks I'm wallowing in misery still. Ha!

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Rheyna began screaming in terror.

"W-what's wrong?"

She cowered in the corner, looking at him with wide eyes. She continued screaming as he took a step toward her. Before he could get another word out, she ripped the door open and ran downstairs sobbing.

He quickly put his pants back on and headed to the stairs, where he could hear her screams.

"He's...deformed!" She cried out.

"Dearie, what are you talking about?"

He heard mumbling and then Bernice's laughter. "Oh, sweetie, that's not deformation. That’s rather common among men."

"It's repulsive!" She made a gagging noise. "I never want to see anything like it again!" The patrons chuckled a little.

Why, oh why did he even think for a second it would end well? His fantasy shattered, he went back to his room. He screamed into his pillow until he tired himself out and fell asleep.


Posted by: Grits May 24 2011, 03:31 AM

Oh, it’s great to see Wrothken again!

"Oh for the love of..." Wrothken threw his arms up.

"No! Not like this!" He screamed. "Please, no!"

"One...two...three..." Wrothken counted through clenched teeth. He needed to walk away before he accidentally made Hirrus’ wish come true.


This is hilarious. Poor Wrothken. A simple task, too good to be true!

Then the very promising start with Kalila did not end at all well for him, Wrothken has had a bad day! And thinking about Awour at that moment, now he’s probably stuck imagining Awour laughing at him. Yay for the update, I’ve missed him!! smile.gif

Posted by: Captain Hammer May 24 2011, 06:46 AM

Finally caught up. Loved Lilitu's sojourn to the east of Cyrodiil, her navigations through family in Cheydinhal, and duty in the mountains.

QUOTE
“I’m just glad it’s over with. Oh and if a blind man comes down here looking for me, throw rocks at him until he goes away.”


Now, is that any way to treat a nice, blind old monk that's just looking for a small trinket that he claims was 'misplaced' by a younger member of the order? Lilitu really should have remembered Rule #1: "Do not act incautiously when confronting little bald wrinkly smiling men!" I'm sure the Blind Moth Prelate was all of these.

And then we return to Wrothken. First, he gets asked to kill somebody. Not another person, no, the person doing the asking wants himself killed. And he doesn't want to see it coming. AND it really should look like an accident. I just hope the guy knows how dangerous bath-tubs can be! biggrin.gif

Then, Wrothken gets to see something that reawakens an old passion in his heart. And he finds that it's just like riding a, er, learning to swim. Only the fight turns out to be less of a brawl, and more of a crazy seduction.

QUOTE
He heard mumbling and then Bernice's laughter. "Oh, sweetie, he's not deformed. All men have that."


So Kalila is really just putting on an act? Or has she always been so obsessed with all the gimmicks and extraneous techniques that she's never even experience the basics?

Shame, really. Except for that, she's my kind of woman.

Posted by: King Coin May 24 2011, 07:05 AM

QUOTE
suffer at the hands of Jygglepuff

rollinglaugh.gif

Like Grits, I'm happy to be seeing Wrothken again.

This really isn't Wrothken's night is it? Kalila isn't what I expected at all laugh.gif

Posted by: SubRosa May 24 2011, 07:24 PM

There is a Serano Manor. You see it briefly in one episode when the Laughing Man kidnaps Mr. Serano for a second time.

I liked Uungor. But being a Bosmer man is already one huge strike against him in the sanity department. Methinks he protests too much on that score. He is probably the looniest one in Bliss!

What in Alduin's name did he get himself into anyway?
Nice touch, using the old world-devouring dragon's name here. goodjob.gif

At least he didn't have to kill innocent people.
Just wait...

Ahh, the rooftop Fight Club. At least Wrothken did not hold back against Kalila. Obviously she likes it physical, considering that she ended up in bed with him! Still, quite a surprise she had! Poor girl. I feel her pain. She needs to stick to women.

I also loved the fact that even when he is getting it on with Kalila, Wrothken is thinking how he wishes Awour could see! I can just hear him thinking in Homer Simpson's voice: "In your face!" biggrin.gif


nits:
"Go {the} for neck!"
I think you wanted a 'the' where I inserted it above.

Posted by: Jacki Dice May 29 2011, 02:12 AM

Grits~ He probably was sad.gif That sort of thought seems to back fire often

Captain Hammer~ Kalila originates from a whole different story. In the version I borrowed her from, she completely devotes her life to her studies becoming a great battlemage, but severely stunted at matters of the heart and others. It ended differently for the love interest in the other story though

King Coin~ In the Shivering Isles, it never seems to be Wrothken's night tongue.gif

SubRosa~ rollinglaugh.gif Wrothken's mind: In your face! In your face! In your-- uh-oh! Dammit....



~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-two: The Conspiracy


Wrothken woke up at the crack of dawn and slipped out of Bernice's Taphouse. He couldn't bear facing anyone after last night.

He was on his way to meet Syl, duchess of Dementia. As he headed toward the palace door, he hoped his visit with her wouldn't be as trying as with Thadon.

He traveled up the stairs and was surprised to see Hirrus standing at the top. Wrothken groaned and tried to sneak past him. Unfortunately, steel boots make quite a racket, even while tiptoeing.

"Sometimes I come up here to think," Hirrus said sullenly. "Everything looks so small from up here. Makes me feel better, you know? Like I'm not so small myself. But that feeling only lasts for a little while. Then I start thinking about how miserable everything is, and then all I want to do is step off the ledge." He sighed. “But I can’t. Don’t want to end up on the Hill. But I hope that someday maybe a big gust of wind will come and push me off so I can end it all. I often wonder what it'd be like, to fall to the ground so far below. I bet it'd be like flying - - then suddenly falling into a deep, blissful sleep."

"Yeah...." Wrothken said, nervously rubbing the back of his head. "Good luck with that."

"Pfft. Whatever."

Wrothken shook his head. He felt sorry for the guy, but he wasn't going to kill him. He couldn't, no matter how much he begged.



Like their cities, the palace of Dementia was the complete opposite of the palace of Mania. Syl's lair was lit with blue flames, giving off the feeling of cold gloom. There was no party, no feast, and no topless women. Syl sat in the center of the room. She wore a long black dress with spines along the plunging neckline.

"Why do you approach the Duchess of Dementia?" She snapped. "Do you seek death?"

Maybe Hirrus should come by, he thought. Deciding against suggesting that to him, Wrothken said, "Sheogorath told me to speak to you."

"The Madgod sent you, did he?” Syl’s voice lost its edge. She regarded him for a moment. “Then you're safe for now. Speak to no one unless I instruct you to." She walked over to him, leading him down a hallway. "None of them can be trusted. Do you hear me? None! Surrounded by traitors and spies, I am. Always, always." Her eyes shifted around nervously. "They watch and wait, eager to slip a knife into my spine when I'm not looking."

"Who is?"

She led him to a small room and after checking to be sure no one was around, she said, "Could be all of them. Every last one. None can be trusted. But they'll never take me down. Never! I'll see them all rotting in shallow graves before I let my guard down!" Her face lit up slightly as an idea formed. "You... you will help me. Yes, yes. You will be most useful."

"Useful?!" Wrothken sputtered. He was getting sick of being used for other people's dirty work.

Syl didn't seem to notice. "You're going to find out who knows. You're going to learn who keeps secrets, who conspires against me. You will be my Grand Inquisitor." She made a knighting motion with her hand. "Expose the conspirators, and they will be punished, I assure you. Find out who keeps secrets, and what they are. Speak with Herdir. He will help you. Do you understand what is required of you? If no one is found, you will be held responsible."

"I..." He sighed. If he didn't do it, he would still have to answer to Sheogorath and he didn't fancy having his intestines being used to skip rope with. "Okay, fine. I'll find them. Where is Herdir?"

"He is in the dungeon. Downstairs and to the left. Go now and find them."



The dungeon was more of a torture chamber. Instead of traditional cells, there were small cages with spatters of blood on the floor. By each cage, there was a small table with various blades and pincers, each crusted and filthy. By the door, there was a plush chair with a table full of food.

When Wrothken walked in, the first thing he noticed was a bald Imperial smelling a long, serrated knife, touching it almost intimately. He was a bit embarrassed to say anything, so Wrothken just cleared his throat.

Herdir jumped, dropping the knife on the floor behind him. "Oh, oh my!" He smoothed his head, a habit likely left over from when he still had hair. He cleared his throat. "What brings you to this delightful corner of the House of Dementia? How may I help you?"

"Um... I'm the..." He sighed. "Grand Inquisitor."

"Are you? Hmm." He looked Wrothken over. "I'd expected an entrance with a bit more flair." He shrugged. "Ah, well. Perhaps you'll grow into the role. One can hope, eh?" He laughed, nudging Wrothken a little.

Wrothken couldn't help but notice that Herdir was the happiest person he had come across in all the Isles.

"Now, we've much to do. Lady Syl is not a patient woman, as I'm sure you've seen. Shall we begin?"

"Alright, but what exactly should we do?"

“Isn’t it obvious? We need to search through Crucible, looking for these traitors. Talk to whomever might have information. If they’re reluctant to help, you just say the word and I’ll do my best to.... persuade them. Really, we should be going. Her ladyship expects results!”

"Wonderful," Wrothken said. He really hoped the conspiracy, if there was even one, would remain in the palace.



Herdir followed him out onto the palace grounds. He nudged Wrothken and gestured toward a Redguard reading a book. "That's Kithlan, Lady Syl's steward. If I may be so bold, I would suggest we start with him, Grand Inquisitor."

Wrothken nodded. "Alright." He headed over to Kithlan. "Excuse me, do you know anything about a conspiracy against Syl?"

He didn't look up. "I don't know anything about one, but Anya has been acting strange lately. You might want to check with her." He nodded toward a Breton walking along the pathway.

Anya was tall and blond and wearing a beautiful dress. It was deep purple with a bodice that seemed to force her body into an exaggerated hourglass. The skirt poofed out, making her hips appear larger. Wrothken knew Kirsty would love one like it, but he didn't know her exact measurements.

Anya smiled at Wrothken, but when she saw Herdir, her smile flickered for a moment. "Hello, I'm Anya Herrick," she said to Wrothken.

"I'm Wrothken, Lady Syl's..." he sighed. "Grand Inquisitor."

"I, too, serve Lady Syl," Anya said, a light tremor in her voice. "She allows me to remain protected within the House of Dementia. I'm so grateful to her."

She knows something, Wrothken thought. She seemed way too nervous and it sounded as if she were reading from a script.

"Well,” Wrothken said in a voice that he hoped sounded sincere. “As you’re so grateful to her, then you'd want to tell me if there was a conspiracy going on, involving her demise, wouldn't you?"

"What?" She took a fearful step back. "N...No. I don't know anything about anything. I'm sorry, I can't help you." She turned quickly and broke into a run.

"Let me take care of this," Herdir said. A bolt of lightning sprung from his hand and flew into Anya's back.

"What in Oblivion did you do that for?!" Wrothken cried. He rushed over to Anya and helped her to her feet. "I'm sorry, I--"

Anya sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye. "Please. I am not involved... I didn't do anything! They wanted me to get them close to Syl, but I wouldn't abide them!"

Wrothken looked around. The palace grounds were empty except for himself, Herdir, and guards from Mania and Dementia. Given the apparent rivalry between the two houses, Wrothken suspected the Golden Saints or people from Thadon's court.

"Who approached you?"

Anya bit her lip, looking around nervously. "I..." When Herdir came closer, she spat it out. "It was Ma'zaddha," she whispered. "He said he was working on behalf of someone else. He told me I needed to help him, or there would be repercussions." Tears formed in her eyes again and spilled down her cheeks. "I didn't know what to do. Turning on Syl could cost me my life, but if I don't help, what will Ma'zaddha do to me? You must do something!"

"I will, don't worry."

She nodded and wiped her eyes. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, of course," Wrothken said. "Just go on about your business."

With a glance at Herdir, she quickly walked back to the palace.

Herdir chuckled. "Anyone ever tell you you're too soft?"

Wrothken fumed. He had indeed heard that plenty of times from several people. "Oh and it's not a little too much to just attack people like that?"

"It got what we needed, didn't it?"

"Well, it did, but..."

"Just relax," Herdir said, rubbing Wrothken's shoulder. "By time this is over, you might even come to enjoy it a little..."

Wrothken groaned. This was going to be a long day.

Posted by: King Coin May 29 2011, 02:39 AM

QUOTE
"Wonderful," Wrothken said. He really hoped the conspiracy, if there was even one, would remain in the palace.

lol! I really enjoyed this line.

I was surprised in the game when there actually was a conspiracy. I figured it would be haul some innocent person in just to make Syl happy.

I like how Wrothken goes about being the inquisitor. Very... direct to say the least.
QUOTE
"By time this is over, you might even come to enjoy it a little..."

I doubt it.

Good chapter! I remember this was one of the quests I enjoyed quite a bit in SI.

Posted by: mALX May 29 2011, 07:14 AM

I finally got some free time to catch up on everyone - Yeah! Wrothken is back !! Great Write !!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jun 4 2011, 07:15 AM

King Coin~ I was surprised too! I thought she was just going crazy with paranoia. I was shocked to see that she actually had a reason for it!

mALX~ Thanks ♥ Its always hard to switch back to Wrothken but its so worth it once I'm back in his head tongue.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-three: Caught Red Handed-- Err Pawed!



As he followed Herdir through the streets of Crucible, Wrothken couldn't help noticing the giggles from various people. Though he didn't miss a step and kept his head high, his rosy cheeks betrayed his nonchalance.

It didn't help that Herdir seemed to notice. "What'd you do, streak through the streets?"

"None of your business," Wrothken muttered.

Ma'Zaddha's house was easy enough to find, as the Khajiit carved his name in the door. Wrothken knocked a few times and when there was no response, Herdir kicked the door in.

The door wasn't the only thing with Ma'Zaddha's name carved in it. The walls, pictures, bowls, cups, furniture, even the food all had his name carved in.

"What? What do you want?" Ma'zaddha demanded, rising from a cozy chair in the living room. "Why are you looking at my things?" Ma'Zaddha squinted at Wrothken. "Aren't you the guy with the deformed hoo?"

"It's not deformed!" Wrothken snapped.

Herdir laughed. "You'll have to explain that to me later on," he said to Wrothken. To Ma'Zhaddha, he said, "We are here on official business."

"Right," Wrothken said, still fuming. "I'm acting as Syl's Grand Inquisitor. An anonymous source tells me you know of a conspiracy involving the assassination of Syl."

Ma'Zaddha scoffed, his ears flattening against his head. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

Wrothken stared at him. Of course he wouldn't just confess. However, he remembered the look in Anya's eyes and the fear in her voice while she was confessing. As much as he didn't want to call anyone out, he didn't have much of a choice. "Are you sure you don’t know anything?"

"Yes, yes," Ma'Zaddha said dismissively. His ears perked back up. "Though since you're nosing around, perhaps you can find out who's been taking my stuff. They think I'm stealing, but I just want it back."

Wrothken stared in his eyes. "You're lying," he said.

"In that case," Herdir said gleefully, shoving past Wrothken. Like with Anya, he shot a surge of lightning at Ma'Zaddha. He hissed and doubled over, panting hard when he got up.

"You may continue to do your worst, Inquisitor," he spat. "But unless you have some evidence of this preposterous conspiracy, you'll get nothing from me."

Herdir walked up to him. Their noses almost touched. He narrowed his eyes as he stared down Ma'Zaddha. "He's right,” he said after a few moments. “I've seen ones like this and, sadly, I don't have the tools needed to break him. Come on."

Wrothken glared at Ma'Zaddha before leaving. He knew something, alright. In fact, Wrothken was willing to bet that he was behind it all.




Even though Wrothken didn't want to, Herdir insisted that they go to Bernice's Taphouse to grab some food and figure out how they were going to continue the case.

Wrothken slumped down at the bar as Herdir looked around, trying to appear inconspicuous as he listened in on conversations.

"Oh, there you are, dearie," Bernice said to Wrothken. "I was hoping to talk to you this morning, but you disappeared." When a reddish tinge spread across his face, she added, "I know, honey, I can't blame you for sneaking out. I warned you about her, remember?” She sighed, rubbing his shoulder. “Oh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to rub it in, but the thing is, Rheyna... well, she's never... you know... made whoopie with a man. Trust me, I'd know. I know most business that goes on around here."

"Doesn’t matter,” Wrothken said. "Still doesn't change that the whole town thinks I've got some sort of deformity lurking in my pants."

"I know, I know. Just give it time, and it'll blow over." She looked up and saw Herdir, leaning back in a chair, obviously trying to overhear a couple conversing. "Who is that man you came in with? Something sure seems a little off about him. He’s got the face of a lunatic!"

Wrothken nearly buried his face in his palm at the sight. If Herdir leaned back any further, he was going to fall. "He's supposed to be helping me with… with something."

"With what? He looks like he's spying and if there's anything I can't stand, it's an obvious busybody. He could at least be discreet about it."

"We're....” He gasped as something Bernice had said dawned on how she could help. “Hey, Bernice, earlier you said you know everyone's business around here."

It was her turn to blush. "Well, sure, it comes with the territory..."

"Okay, look," Wrothken leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I need your help. Sheogorath has me helping Syl out and she wants me to find out who's been conspiring against her, and if I don't find out who, I'm as good as dead. Can you help me?"

"Hmmm..." She tapped her lip. "You know what, I don't know anything, not for certain. But I hear that Ma'zaddha has been seen talking to Syl's Guard Captain, Nelrene. I haven't seen them in person. Not wise for me to be outside late at night; too easy to catch another cold. At first I thought they were just smitten, but the other day I heard him talking about Anya Perrick real threatening-like. Could be nothing, but it seems a little fishy to me. If the rumors are true, you should keep an eye out for them."

Wrothken felt a surge of relief. He might be able to catch Ma'Zaddha after all. "Thank you, thank you," he said.

"Remember, you didn't hear that from me," she said with a wink. "And something else you didn't hear from me, leave your friend at home. He doesn't seem to be very good at eavesdropping and you don't want to get caught. Besides, he makes my veins wiggle."

"No problem," Wrothken said. "Thanks again, Bernice."

She smiled kindly. "Anything for you, dearie. Just get that man out of my taphouse!"

"Will do," Wrothken said. He lifted Herdir by the arm. "Come on, I have the information we need."

"What? How? You were..." Herdir looked at Bernice, who wrinkled her nose at him. "Oh... I get it. You tortured that old lady without me! How could you?" He pouted.

Wrothken sighed. "I didn't torture anyone. Just meet me at the castle later, okay?"

"Fine, fine. I have some.... business to take care of. I’ve got this new thing I wanna try out called the Pear of Anguish. You stick it up—“

Wrothken held his hand up and shook his head. “Don’t care.”

Herdir shrugged. “Prude,” he said as he turned to leave.

With urgency, he dashed up the stairs and through the doors to the palace grounds. Relieved to be away from Herdir, Wrothken set out to find a good listening point.



Several hours passed before the meeting happened. Wrothken was concerned that his milky skin would be too visible even in the shadows, so he crouched on the ground, curled into a ball, facing away from where Bernice said they would be. It was only after most of his body fell asleep that he heard footsteps.

"Have you made any progress?" Wrothken heard the syrupy voice of a Mazken. "Will Anya assist us?"

"No, that blasted Inquisitor got to her," Ma'Zaddha said. "We'll need to find someone else."

"See that you do so immediately. This is the one task which you were assigned. If you cannot complete it, you will be removed. Are we clear?"

"I will, I will! I want to see Syl dead just as much as you do. She cannot be allowed to survive, after what she's done. It's despicable."

"Good. I shall expect a progress report soon. And keep your head down; the Inquisitor must not become involved."

With that, he heard footsteps leaving the area. It took great effort to ignore the prickly feeling in his numbed legs and even more effort to walk, but he made his way to Ma'Zaddha.

"What? What is it now, huh?"

"I need to talk to you about the conspiracy."

He snorted. "I thought I told you, I don't know anything. You can't prove a thing!"

"Bull. I heard you just a second ago."

Ma'Zaddha's ears quickly perked up and his eyes widened fearfully. "What? I... I... It's for the good of Crucible! You must see that!" He grabbed Wrothken's shoulders. "Please, spare me! I'll do anything!"

"But why?" Wrothken asked. "Why do you want Syl dead?"

"You don't know, do you? She's kept it a secret even from you! She and Thadon..." His ears folded angrily and his nose crinkled up in disgust. "They've been meeting in secret. They've been doing things together. Consorting. You understand me?" Wrothken remembered Thadon's allusion to it. "It cannot be permitted! She must be stopped!"

He had all kinds of questions for that. He didn't understand the big deal. If anything, it could unite the cities. Wasn't that a good thing? He'd have to get the answers later. "Who else is involved?"

"I don't know, besides Nelrene. She's taking orders from someone, but won't tell me who. If I find out, will you promise to spare me?"

As much as he knew what Syl wanted, he just couldn't sentence the man to death. "Yes, of course. Just get me the names."

"Okay, okay. I'll get the names, and then you'll see. It will be worth it, I promise you! Meet me in my house tomorrow at midnight. I'll have information for you. Just please spare me."

They shook on it and Ma'Zaddha ran quickly to his house. Wrothken decided to head back to the Taphouse and get some rest. He passed Rheyna and Cutter on his way to his room. Rheyna quickly looked away, but Cutter seemed rather pleased as they entered the room across the hall. It seems Thadon and Syl aren't the only ones consorting, he thought glumly. He laid awake, waiting to hear a shriek and sobs of deformity, but none came. Just the other night he pictured himself with pride while Atrea was left with Bacchus. This night he envied her. At least she wasn’t sleeping alone.

Posted by: Grits Jun 4 2011, 01:37 PM

"Um... I'm the..." He sighed. "Grand Inquisitor."

Oh, poor Wrothken!! This is not his kind of place at all. laugh.gif

"Fine, fine. I have some.... business to take care of. I’ve got this new thing I wanna try out called the Pear of Anguish. You stick it up—“

ohmy.gif I’m with Wrothken on this one!! wacko.gif

I love how you’ve intertwined Wrothken’s personal story with his quest. The humor and Wrothken’s enjoyable personality balance what could be a very depressing series of events. smile.gif

Posted by: King Coin Jun 4 2011, 09:59 PM

Another good chapter!

Wrothken's doing a pretty good job chasing down this conspiracy despite his unenthusiastic attitude laugh.gif

I liked Herdir poor attempt at eavesdropping.

Posted by: mALX Jun 5 2011, 04:39 PM

I'm not sure if it is Wrothken's personality or his anti-personality - but he makes me laugh every chapter he is in with it !! Great Write !!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jun 7 2011, 10:03 PM

Grits~ Thanks I'm glad he's able to balance the story out smile.gif

King Coin~ tongue.gif Herdir didn't seem to be the subtle type so it was pretty easy to picture him literally sticking his ear in people's conversation

mALX~ Thank you smile.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-four: Syl Wins! Fatality!



The next night Wrothken headed to Ma'Zhadda's house. He hoped Ma'Zhadda would be true to his word and the conspiracy would be foiled and he could be done with his task. However, the ever growing cynic inside him told him not to expect any simplicity.

He knocked on the door. Nothing. He knocked harder and when there was still no answer, his insides began to churn. He looked around, wondering if he should get a Mazken to help. After some thought, he decided against it. He didn't want to alert them about the conspiracy, especially since one of their own may be involved.

He tried the back door, but it was locked. He rattled the doorknob as hard as he could, ramming his body against it until the door gave way, its lock and handle hanging limply out of the wood.

"Ma'Zhadda?" He called out as he crossed the threshold. As soon as he propped the door back against the frame, he was overwhelmed by the stench of blood. "Oh no," he whispered.

He ran down the stairs and saw Ma'Zhadda lying in a pool of his own blood. There was a single stab wound in his chest.

Wrothken knelt by the dead Khajiit, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He promised his life would be spared if he got the names. Guilt washed over him. Even though he wasn't the one who had stabbed him, he felt like might as well have. If only he didn't coerce him into naming the head conspirator. If only he hadn't agreed to be Sheogorath's champion. If only he hadn't entered the damn door in the first place!

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. The saying popped in his head as he pressed his hands on his face. There was nothing he could do now except bring the conspirator to justice. He closed Ma'Zhadda's eyelids and headed to the door.

"Maybe that creep Herdir can figure out where to go from here," he said to himself. He was heading back up the stairs when he noticed a crinkled note half under a bowl on a table by the door.

I haven't got much time. She's coming for me.

Nelrene asked me to hold on to her sword. Said I should give it to Anya and have her do the deed, but Anya wouldn't. Now maybe it can find a better use as evidence. Syl will recognize it.

Muurine is in charge. She's the one telling Nelrene what to do. If I'm not around, I hope this is enough evidence to bring her in.

I hope I'm alive to see it.



"You may not be alive to see it," Wrothken said. "But I'll be damn sure you didn't die for nothing."

He glanced around. It wasn't in plain sight. He'd have to do some searching.

The living room was bare of anything else related to the consipracy and Wrothken was thankful to leave it. He kept expecting Ma’Zhadda’s corpse to rise up behind him.

He followed the stairs to a locked door. Wrothken didn't feel the need to be discreet on the interior door, so he used his mace to bash the doorknob in. If anyone ever noticed, he could always blame it on the killer.

He checked the bed and the chest, but there was nothing. The only thing left was the cabinet, and of course it was locked. He didn't recall seeing a key in the bedroom which meant it was located on Ma'Zhadda. There was no way he was going to fumble around Ma'Zhadda's pockets, especially since it risked himself getting stained with his blood. That would be fun to explain to the Mazken.

He raised his mace high above his head and swung it as hard as he could, cracking the stone doors. He beat it until it smashed. He cleared the chunks and smiled when he saw the sword. It had a curved handle and the edges of the blade were heavily serrated. He hoped a similar one wasn't what killed Ma'Zhadda. Sword and note in hand, Wrothken headed back to the castle to confront Nelrene.



Wrothken was barely able to keep his cool when he saw Nelrene standing by Syl's empty throne. "A word, please," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Inquisitor?” She asked calmly. “How may I serve?"

Knowing that she was definitely a part of the conspiracy made her words feel mocking. That sort of thing was something he expected from a Golden Saint! "Don't give me that!" He snapped.. "I know you were involved. Thanks to this stupid plot of yours, Ma’Zhadda is dead! As far as I know, he wasn’t ‘consorting’ with anyone!"

"Shame," she said indifferently. "However, I'd like to remind you that you have no proof." She raised her head high. "You cannot hold me accountable for anything."

"Oh?" He held up her sword and the note. Her eyes filled with anger as she read it.

"So what are you going to do? I'm not even the one you want." She folded her arms. "Muurine is behind it. You'll need solid proof to pin it on her."

Wrothken dangled the note in front of her face. "I think this and your admission is proof enough."

He could nearly feel the anger emanating from her. Seeing as how she had no problem planning the murder of the Duchess, she would likely have no problem gutting a mere temporary inquisitor so he left without another comment.

He hastily walked back to Crucible, hoping he would be done going back and forth and back and forth again. Not to worry, he thought. After this, it’s time for a little me time. Forget Sheogorath. He can wait a little bit longer.

Hirrus remained at the top of the stairs. He glanced at Wrothken and let out a loud, overly-dramatic, wistful sigh. "Nope!" Wrothken said, passing him by.

"Muurine..." He said, looking around the city. Judging by the name it was likely an elf. He peeked in shops and on the streets when he remembered Bernice and her vast wealth of knowledge. He dashed to the taphouse.

Bernice smiled to him as he took a seat at the bar. "Oh, hello dearie! I've barely seen you all day! Have you had any luck with..." She looked around and leaned in. "Ma'Zhadda?"

Though they were far from friends, the mention of his name stung. "I’ll tell you later," he said. "On the subject, do you know a Muurine?"

She chuckled. "Oh boy," she said. "Sure, I know her. Rather kooky Altmer if you ask me. You know, I heard she's got her uncle living with her?" She said as if that were scandalous.

"So?"

"Seems normal enough except the man died five years ago! And she always smells ripe. Anyway, what about her?"

"Oh, nothing." When she pouted he added, "I'll fill you in later, I promise. I'm just in a bit of a rush."

"Oh, alright. And when you get back you better come and eat something proper! You're looking a bit thin and I don't trust other people's cooking. Sheogorath only knows how they keep their kitchens!"



After asking around a bit more to find her house, Wrothken stood on her porch, mentally preparing himself. He had the sword in one hand and the note in his pocket. Just in case she tried anything, he wore his full set of armor. He knocked on the door.

An elderly looking Altmer answered the door. She looked down at him with a disgusted look. "What do you want?"

"I'm here about the conspiracy."

She smiled dryly and clapped her hands together. "I see you've done quite a bit of work to track me down. Yes, I orchestrated it," she said proudly. "Syl deserves to die a painful death for turning on all of us, and consorting with our enemies."

"I don’t understand,” Wrothken said shaking his head. “What is so wrong with Syl and Thadon 'consorting,' as you all say?"

"My poor boy," she said, patting his head. "You don't get it. You can't. You're not one of us. Haven't you got what you need? Shouldn't you be running off to tattle like a good little servant?." She held her hands out in front of herself.

He was surprised. He didn't need to offer his proof or put up a fight. "Fine, off we go then."



Syl was waiting for him in her throne, Anya and Kithlan seated at each side. "What news do you have to report, Inquisitor?" She demanded. "Have you found who is responsible?"

"Yes," he said, stepping aside to make Muurine more visible.

"Is that so?" She said, stroking her chin with a smile. "Bring her to the torture chamber at once."

Wrothken took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn't make him watch a long, drawn out death. That would be too much.

As the three entered, Herdir looked positively giddy. "Well, well! Looks like we have a visitor!" He clapped Wrothken on the shoulder. "Good job, lad! We'll have to do this again sometime!"

Wrothken squirmed inside, but nodded just to get away from him.

Muurine was led into a cage in the center of the room. She didn't make any effort to escape or even resist. Wrothken knew he shouldn't feel sorry for her after what she did to Ma'Zhadda, but he couldn't help it.

Syl approached her smugly. "You've confessed to attempting to kill me, I understand. The penalty for this treachery is death, and is to be carried out immediately. Do you have any final words?"

"Nothing to you," Muurine spat. "But you," she looked at Wrothken. "Know this, little one: You've chosen a side." She closed her eyes. "You'll get what's coming to you eventually."

Her words sent a chill inside Wrothken. What exactly did she mean by that?

Syl pressed a button and lightning flew from the walls on either side of the cage and jolted Muurine until she fell dead. Herdir checked her pulse and gave Syl a thumbs up.

Wrothken looked away. All this death for something that could have been put to an end with a simple jail cell... The realization that he was grateful to not have witnessed a long, drawn out punishment made him sick. Well it's not called the plane of madness for nothing, Wrothken thought.

Syl didn't notice Wrothken's displeasure. She seemed almost as joyous as Herdir. "You see now what happens when those who oppose me fail, which they always do," she said, poking the tip of his nose. "I am pleased with your work, Inquisitor." She motioned for him to follow her to the throne room. "As a token of my appreciation, I shall spare your life, and make you a Courtier of Dementia. In addition, accept this Bow." She took it down from the wall. It was the same color as Nelrene's sword with an ornate gold decoration on the handle. As she put it in his hands, she said, "May your enemies fear you and never know from where or with what enchantment you shall strike."

"Thank you, Lady Syl," he wasn't sure what to do with it, but he'd figure it out later. First, he had to tell her about Ma'Zhadda. "I didn't do it alone, though."

"Oh, yes I know. Herdir finds his work to be his own reward."

"No, no, not him," he said. "His name was Ma'Zhadda. He was the one who pointed me to Muurine. Unfortunately it cost him his life."

"Oh.” She seemed disinterested, but Wrothken maintained eye contact with her until she got the message. “Well, since he did provide you with her name, I suppose it fitting that his remains are taken care of properly."

"Thank you, Lady Syl."

It didn't quite make up for his death, but it was the best he could do. He left the palace and without looking back, he set off on his own personal journey to relax and make sure his head was still on straight.

Posted by: King Coin Jun 8 2011, 05:01 AM

When I played I was sorry Ma'Zhadda died as well.

QUOTE
so he used his mace to bash the doorknob in

Man do I wish this was an option in game!

I like the role you've made for Bernice. She's kind of adopted Wrothken.

I really liked the bow when I got it in game. It was one of the coolest weapons in the game. I hope Wrothken learns to put it to use.

Good chapter goodjob.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 10 2011, 11:16 PM

Chapter 22
I just love the image of Wrothken tip-toeing in steel boots! laugh.gif

There was no party, no feast, and no topless women.
sad.gif Three strikes, and your out! laugh.gif I loved how you described the palace of Dementia as Syl's lair. It brings an immediate sense of foreboding to the place.

Herdir is delightful in his sadism. He probably is the happiest man in Dementia! With Syl in charge, he has plenty of opportunity to indulge himself.

Chapter 23
Wrothken couldn't help wondering if he had taken it further and sprayed his belongings like a wild animal.
Now that would be a nice touch! biggrin.gif

Seems like everyone's consorting except for Wrothken. sad.gif


Chapter 24
I can feel sympathy for Wrothken as he wrestles with his feelings of responsibility for Ma'Zhadda's death. If he had not turned up the screws on Ma'Z, the khajiit might still be alive. Of course he would be dead for not finding a conspirator... At least in the end he was able to protect Ma'Zhadda's honor, and see to it he was remembered as a hero, rather than as being one of the conspirators.



nits:
made whoopie with a man.
Whoopie is not the best term you could use here. I can see where Bernice might be uptight about sex, many are, and not want to be blunt about it. But I suggest having her say something like been with a man instead.

Posted by: Grits Jun 12 2011, 12:58 AM

I loved the whole passage where Wrothken kneels beside the body blaming himself, then resolves to see the situation to its end. It made me feel bad for him and cheer for him at the same time.

He followed the stairs to a locked door. Wrothken didn't feel like dealing with a lock pick, so he used his mace to bash the doorknob in. If anyone ever noticed, he could always blame it on the killer.

This Nord moment made me smile. He is so upset over what happened to Ma'Zhadda, he has no patience for the lock.

Hirrus remained at the top of the stairs. He glanced at Wrothken and let out a loud, overly-dramatic, wistful sigh. "Nope!" Wrothken said, passing him by.

And of course that was hilarious. laugh.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jun 16 2011, 01:50 AM

King Coin~ That would be a great option for those who aren't good at lockpicking

SubRosa~ Seems like everyone's consorting except for Wrothken. True for the poor Nord. Though maybe things will change for him once he's returned to the land of the sane.

Also I used "whoopie" because it sound right for her with the voice I have in my head. smile.gif

Grits~ Wouldn't it be nice to be able to take your anger out on the furniture whenever the game pissed you off? tongue.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-five: Hunting for Ore



The next morning Wrothken set out to pick up some supplies for his trip. His only stop was at Things Found where he picked up a bedroll and a few torches. Bernice packed him some food. While it looked strange, she swore up and down that it would be the best tasting food in the Isles. The moment he exited the city gates he felt as if a weight had been lifted from him.

He didn't venture far for fear of getting lost. The spot he selected was just a few miles away from New Sheoth, across the path from some old ruins. Having no desire for fighting other than possibly some hunting, he stayed away from it.

For the first time in ages, he was able to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the Shivering Isles. The caps of the mushroom-like tree he settled under were a vivid turquoise and the flowers around him blossomed every shade the rainbow could offer. The leaves of other trees were all the rich colors of autumn and the sky above was cloudless blue, speckled with gold stars. Perfect.

He stretched out on the ground and stared up to the sky. This place was so beautiful yet so dangerous. Who knew that by entering a door he'd be thrust into a world of sex, drugs, and violence? So much violence... People were so eager to group up and plan your demise for something as trivial as who you shared your bed with! No wonder Syl was so paranoid.

He sighed. What he would give to go back and stop himself from entering the door. Maybe someone else would have come around and helped Sheogorath. Someone with a higher tolerance for this. Meanwhile he would be back in his house....

His house! He jolted up. All this time he hadn't realized that now Atrea was the sole occupant of their house! Great, he thought. He had no way of finding out if she had sold it or worse, turned it into a marital home for her and Bacchus. He huffed. At least he'd still have Kirsty... or had his job been replaced too?

Kirsty was tough, no question, but there were times she needed an extra hand to keep the drunks in order, especially after arena fights where they were angry over losing bets. If she had hired someone else, would he be able to work there again? If he had no house and no job, would he be stuck in the Isles forever? He shuddered just thinking about it. He'd sooner stoop to begging. Besides, the Fighter's Guild was always recruiting. Yyaevonnte had always been asking him to give that a shot. He sighed, relaxing again.

Thinking of Kvatch, no matter how dismal things seemed, made him feel a little homesick. He missed the culture, the food...the sanity. How easy it was to take it for granted. He looked up at the sky. He wished he could just slip out of the Isles and pretend this was all a bad dream, but he knew better than to try and hide from a Daedric Prince. Especially ones that would wear his organs as jewelry.

Champion of Sheogorath... He recalled how proud he had felt and how he would be sure to revel in it. Now he wasn't too sure he wanted it. Being the champion of a god had to have some sort of perk, but he had yet to see it. If anything, it was slowly draining his sanity.

A new realization entered his mind. Maybe that was the point. The champion of a lunatic couldn't very well be sane. It wouldn't make sense. Beside, Sheogorath sure seemed to enjoy tormenting him. He wondered if the Khajiit and Dunmer who he had seen outside the door had been attempted champions who just couldn't handle it anymore. Oh what to do, what to do? There had to be a way to come out with his wits still about him.

He tried to think of other times where he needed a way to keep his cool. When family drove him insane, he had his friends or Atrea. When Atrea began to work his nerves, he had Kirsty. So now that Sheogorath and his band of crazies were driving him he had... "Bernice!"

She may be a gossip and the biggest hypochondriac he'd ever seen, but she seemed somewhat sane...usually. If he took it slow and leaned on her when he was losing it, maybe he could come out alright. After all, Sheogorath never said he had to keep everything a secret!


His back was stiff, unused to sleeping on the hard ground, but as Wrothken stretched out he felt refreshed nonetheless. He was greeted by a sky full of golden stars peeking through patches of grey clouds. For a brief second, he nearly forgot where he was. It was too peaceful to be the Isles. Better not jinx myself, he thought.

He opened the basket Bernice packed for him and pulled out what looked like a giant frog leg. Balliwog, she called it. He could tell by its scent that it had been smoked and lightly spiced with citrus and some garlic. It smelled good, but he had a natural aversion to green meat. Still, he couldn’t waste it knowing Bernice had made it especially for him. He licked his lips and took a small bite.

It wasn’t bad. It had a light, fishy taste with a texture like baked chicken. Once he got used to it, it was actually very good, possibly a favorite. He washed it down with a bottle of Alocasia juice. It was sweet, but not overly so. He had to admit, the Shivering Isles had some decent food. Small pleasures.

Tucked into his basket, he found a folded piece of paper. He opened it and it was the list of ore needed to create the armor in Cutter’s shop. The thought of Cutter gave him a strange feeling, but he wanted that armor bad. According to the list he would need sixteen pieces for a full set.

Spirits of ancients souls are trapped in the Ore. Find it in ancient ruins. Grummites are also especially attracted to it. Cutter had said. So if he wanted it, he just needed to find a place with a lot of grummites.

He packed his things and headed into the swamps of Dementia. As he walked, the stars dimmed, until the sky was just a slab of gray. It was nice and peaceful, so unlike the main city. He wondered if he would be better off in a secluded house away from it all. Would he live in peace? Or would it only isolate him more?

Before long, he came to some ruins half in a lake. He saw a chest floating along and when he opened it, he was pleased to see a piece of madness ore and a handful of gold. He didn’t see a door, but he felt confident that a cave or a fortress nearby would have more.

The path started looking a little familiar. At first he thought that he had been going around in circles, but when he pulled out his map, he saw that it was the path to Knotty Bramble, the place where he had found Bernice’s cure.

Come to think of it, Wrothken hadn’t done much exploring there. He just got the aqua-whatever-it-was and left. It was filled with grummites, so it had to be worth a shot. He approached the tree’s entrance and was greeted by a grummite. It drew out its dagger and Wrothken drew his mace, already prepared for what was to come. As soon as he killed it, another showed up behind him just in time.

It screeched at the sight of its dead comrade and it too attacked. When it fell, Wrothken searched the area and he smiled as he came across a piece of the ore. It’s a sign, he thought happily.

He went through the doors, this time unafraid as he knew what to expect. The scent of moss and soil were starting to become familiar to him, as were the giant mushrooms and glowing pods that shared the space with the grummites. Even their stench didn’t surprise him as much as it did before.

Two grummites stood before him and after searching their corpses, he was surprised to find that they both had been carrying gold on them. He pocketed it, wondering whether they had it because it was shiny and pretty or if they were advanced enough to have created a barter system of sorts.

He went down the tunnel and recalled that it led to a nesting area. He wanted to avoid it at first because it didn’t seem right to go and kill the mother who only wanted to protect their eggs from an intruder and second because it was common knowledge that a mother protecting its young was the fiercest creature alive, no matter what species. However, it was the only route available.

Before long, Wrothken came across one of the mossy stumps he saw back at Dunroot Burrow. He grunted at the sheer memory of the place and all he had endured here. If memory, not the drugs, served, sometimes things were inside, buried under the moss. Sure enough, he found a couple ceramic bottles. He looked around. The only inhabitants were grummites. Were they making potions? He hoped not. He put them back in the trunk. He had considered selling them, but he didn’t want to be responsible for some nut drinking them without checking to see their contents. Even if they did check, Wrothken couldn’t be sure that they would be in the right state of mind to care.

He entered the nesting section of the cave. Strange statues of carved grummite heads were erected all over the place. A full grummite statue at least fifteen feet high stood in the middle of the water holding a handful of glowing pods, resembling eggs. Wrothken started up at them in awe. “Who carved these?” He wondered aloud. He remembered seeing similar statues in Xedilian. The grummites had been bowing and convulsing in front of them. Were they supposed to be gods? Wrothken tilted his head.

He looked around before scooping up two pieces of madness ore in front of the closest statue. Luckily, no grummites were around to see. He followed the path leading him into the water, where the floating egg sacs lay. No grummites were around. He left out a sigh of relief and followed the path to a new tunnel.

Just before he crossed the passageway, he came across a beat up chest. It was unlocked and to his surprise a matrix was inside. He lifted the black box and studied it, hoping to tell what piece it was for, but the blue streaks held no clues. He would have to ask Cutter. A dull throb ached in his stomach at the thought of her. He knew her elation at sleeping with Rheyna wasn’t meant to hurt him and, really, he had no reason to be hurt. They weren’t dating after all, but he couldn’t help it. The one person he felt any sort of interest in since Atrea had not only rejected him but thought he was deformed and shared it with everyone at Bernice’s!

He shook his head. Was he doomed to be alone for the rest of his life? What if Atrea truly was the One? He couldn’t imagine begging for her to come back to him, yet he honestly couldn’t imagine himself with anyone else.

“Damn it,” he spat. He had gone so long without thinking too much about her, but the whole Rheyna issue made it hard not to. “Looks like I’ll just have to quit thinking about both of them.”

Easier said than done, he thought as he continued on his way.

He was surprised to see that the tunnel suddenly stopped. The floors and walls became stone and there was no sign of plant life. The smell was gone too, replaced with the stench of decay. It nearly knocked him off his feet.

The first thing he noticed was a black patch on the ground with madness ore sprouting from the ground. He grinned, pulling up three large pieces of ore. At this rate, I’ll have that armor in no time! he thought.

He placed his hand on a piece of rock and fell back in shock. A human skeleton laid on it. Its head and arms were no longer connected to the rest of the body. Wrothken wondered if the beheading was done before or after it death. He approached it carefully. He was told stories of the walking dead haunting their tombs.

“Those are just what they are,” he told himself. “Stories.” A little voice inside his head reminded him that skeletons don’t produce smells.

He kept going down the hall until he saw two bodies lying on the same type of stone the skeleton had been on. The first one’s skin was tight around its body while the other one looked fresher. Both of them wore hooded brown robes.

Wrothken backed away slowly, looking around. Who could have done this? Surely not the grummites. The bodies were too clean, too nicely set. Then again there was a lot of evidence that the grummites just might have a primitive society going on. Were these people sacrifices to those strange statues? Did grummites eat human flesh?

Wrothken looked in his bag and decided he had enough ore for one day. Not wanting to find out first-hand what had happened to the people, he hightailed it out of Knotty Bramble. Seven out of sixteen pieces wasn’t bad.





When Kirsty returned to where Capaneus had been sitting, he forced himself to keep a grim expression. He sighed, just a little louder than normal and placed a hand on his temple.

“What’s wrong?” Kirsty asked, just as Capaneus knew she would.

“Oh, nothing…” he said, looking out the window. “It’s just…” He looked up at her, his eyes brimming with tears. “I really care about you. I want to protect you is all.”

Kirsty chuckled. “I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, listen.” He motioned for her to come closer. She bent down over the counter. “Something will be happening soon. I don’t know the exact date, but it’s getting close.”

“What?”

“A cleansing, Kirsty. A great king will come and rid the world of its impurities and create a paradise.”

Kirsty stood up, an eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about?”

“Please, just hear me out. What do you know about Daedra Princes?”

Kirsty leaned in, suddenly looking at him with a look that bordered on shock. Her brows were furrowed and her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you some kind of Daedra worshipper?”

“What? No, not like that!” He said, perhaps a little too quickly. He wanted to do this carefully. “It’s just…. Lord Dagon is coming and he’s going to remake this world into His paradise. But the thing is, he’s only going to save those who belong to him. If I explain everything to you, do you promise to think it over?”

He didn’t like the look in her eyes. She looked skeptical. Perhaps it was too soon to try and bring her into the fold. It took time to ease people in, to mold them, to build them. He had only been seeing Kirsty for a short time. Nowhere near long enough to gain her unquestioning trust, but he didn’t want to risk it. He felt she was different than the others. She was kind. She was generous. She was smart. He didn’t want to say he thought of her as a challenge, but he enjoyed taking his time slithering into her mind.

“Sure,” she said after a while. “I guess there’s no harm in that.”

Posted by: RainbowVeins Jun 16 2011, 07:17 AM

First off, let me say that I've been reading since Wrothken 1.0 and I've enjoyed the ride so far. I find your balance between Wrothken's thought process and what's actually happening very unique, and his humor is always good for a few laughs.

Poor Kirsty, always worrying about Wrothken and waiting to hear from him. He's thought of her several times since coming to the Isles and he hasn't thought to write her yet... (Unless he has, and I missed it.)

QUOTE
…but he knew better than to try and hide from a Daedric Prince. Especially ones that would wear his organs as jewelry.

laugh.gif

QUOTE
“No, not like that! Its just…. Lord Dagon is coming and he’s going to remake this world into His paradise. But the thing is, he’s only going to save those who belong to him. If I explain everything to you, do you promise to think it over?”

“Sure,” she said after awhile. “I guess there’s no harm in that.”

Ooh. I can't wait to see where this goes.

Keep up the good stuff smile.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 16 2011, 05:52 PM

The champion of a lunatic couldn't very well be sane. It wouldn't make sense.
Indeed not. It would be... crazy! laugh.gif

Still, in spite of his very valid misgivings and natural homesickness, Wrothken does seem to be starting to ease into life in the Isles. He did make a friend in Bernice after all (she is one of my favorite people in the Isles), and is coming to enjoy the land, and at least some of the food. Even the grummites are not repelling him so much.

“I guess there’s no harm in that.”
Eeep! Is Kirsty going to become a cultist! Oh noes! ohmy.gif


nits:
Itnearly knocked him off his feet.
The hungry forum at your space between It and nearly

Wrothken wondered if the beheading was done before or after it death
I am sure you wanted its there.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jun 18 2011, 05:56 AM

RainbowVeins~ Nice to see you reading smile.gif Wrothken has thought of her, but more in terms of thinking of back when things were sane.

SubRosa~ I liked Bernice too. There's something very "grandmothery" about her.


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-six: Cylarne


After a couple well-deserved days of rest and relaxation, Wrothken made his way back to New Sheoth. Well, it wasn't all laying under the trees and staring at the stars. First a hideously emaciated creature came and during the fight it somehow ate away at Wrothken's armor and later on an elytra had shown up. One thing led to another and before he knew it Wrothken had cleared out a cave full of them.

As he made his way to the palace, he crossed a shop called The Missing Pauldron. He looked down at his dented and dingy armor and decided to stop in and see if it could get repaired.

Like everything else regarding Bliss and Crucible, this shop was a stark contrast to Cutter's place. It was clean and well lit. The top floor had stained glass windows. It even smelled like Kirsty’s bakery.

"Hello?" Wrothken called, walking down the stairs.

"Hello!" A gruff voice called back cheerily. An Orc stood behind the forge wearing a pink frilly apron as he wiped the counters. "I'm Dumag gro-Bonk. Best and prettiest smith in town."

Wrothken couldn't help staring at the ribbons tied into his hair.

"Sticky bun?" Dumag offered, lifting the top to a cake dish.

"No...thank you," Wrothken said. "Actually, I was wondering if you could repair this." He motioned to his armor.

"Oh, my word," Dumag said. "Well, take it off and let's see what we can do!"

Wrothken was put off by Dumag's unfaltering stare and thankful he wore regular clothes under his armor as he stripped it off. He set the damaged goods on the counter. Dumag tsked and shook his head.

"Somebody's been a violent bear! Don't worry, I'll have this fixed right up for you," Dumag said with a wink. "Oh and how's that big, heavy mace?"

Wrothken looked it over. It wasn't in danger of breaking, but it was better to repair it before it got too busted up. "That'll need a repair too, actually."

"Alright, well normally this would cost a little over twenty gold, but since you're so damn cute I'll do it for fifteen!"

He handed over the money, happy to get a discount even if it was only because the Orc was being flirty. Dumag took his hand in his and giggled. "What nice hands you've got!" Slowly letting go of them and putting the coins in a box he said, "They'll be about an hour. Why not sit and make yourself comfy?" He nodded to a floral printed loveseat between two suits of gold armor.

"You know," Wrothken said, backing towards the door. "I actually have to go see someone. Why don't I come back when they're ready?"

"Oh, I guess," he said pouting. "I'll see you later then."

As much as he didn't want to see Cutter, he didn't think he'd be able to exclusively go to Dumag. Maybe he could switch between them in order to not overload.



When Wrothken approached the throne, Sheogorath leapt up with a grin. "Well, well," he said walking toward him. "So you've experienced both shades of madness. Wonderful." He clapped his hands together. "You seemed fulfilled. Full of fill." He patted Wrothken's stomach. "Bursting at the seams. Seamless. Now to the meat of your endeavor. The crux of the situation. The reason for your being here!" He put his finger to his lips and added, "And the likely cause of your death."

Wrothken's eyes widened. "What?!"

Sheogorath proceeded on, as if he didn't hear him. "You'll be stopping the Greymarch. Altering the course of events, breaking the cycle! A fly in the ointment. A new cause for a different effect. We're going to change things." He put his arm around Wrothken and hugged him close. "No... things will be different this time around." He released him and poked his chest. "You'll be my champion. You'll grow powerful. You'll grow to be…” He dramatically moved both arms in a circle around his body and with his hands raised above his head, pointed at himself. “Me! Prince of Madness, a new Sheogorath. Or you'll die trying. I love that about you." He pinched Wrothken's cheek.

Getting a little irritated at the constant poking and prodding, Wrothken took a step back and asked, "How can I possibly be you? Or any Daedric Prince even?" He couldn't imagine it, though it did fuel his theory that Sheogorath was purposely trying to drive him insane.

"A fair question," Sheogorath said, rubbing his goatee. "You won't, really. At least I don't think so." He shrugged. "But you'll have power. My power. Try not to lose it. It's a pain to replace. But, for all intents and purposes, you'll be Me. A Me to fight the Him. Since I won't be around. It's simple, really. If you don't think about it."

It took every fiber of his being not to bury his face deep in his palm. A glance at Haskill showed that he was enjoying the show. "Wait," Wrothken said. "You won't be here? Then where in Oblivion are you going?!"

"Not here." Oh really? Wrothken's mind screamed. Sheogorath continued. "Didn't I say that? I'm never here when Jyggalag walks. It's one of the Rules!" To Wrothken, Sheogorath seemed like the last person in the world to be concerned about rules. "I've told you too much for now. Listen to me prattle on. I can see your mortal brain straining." Sheogorath tussled Wrothken's hair. "We'll talk more later."

Straining? Wrothken's brain was sobbing, if anything. "Why me?" He sighed.

Though the question was more to himself, Sheogorath responded. "Because you seem a nice enough sort. And you've made it this far. And if you don't, I'll swallow your soul and vomit it into the Everfilling Chamberpot of the Ageless." Sheogorath leaned in. "But mostly because I asked nicely," he said menacingly, squishing the eyeball atop his cane.

"Fine,” Wrothken said, closing his eyes. Sheogorath sure knew how to create colorful imagery in his mind. Wrothken didn’t like it. It made him feel like the Madgod was worming his way into his brain. That was not what he needed. “What's next then?"

"Now... you've seen the Great Torch that burns brightly over New Sheoth?"

Wrothken honestly couldn't recall seeing a torch over the city. Maybe he was too busy with everything else to notice, but he shook his head.

"No?" Sheogorath said, raising his eyebrows. "Because it doesn't!"

Trick question. Of course.

"It should. But it doesn't. You'll fix that. You'll go to Cylarne and bring back the Flame of Agnon to relight the torch. Oh... and take care with my minions at Cylarne. In their eternal quest to please me, they're constantly fighting over Cylarne. It can be tiresome. But, really, it's divine. Divinely tiresome. Well. That's your problem now," he said waving his hand. "Oh," he leaned in Wrothken's ear, whispering loudly, "Don't forget to make use of dear Haskill. Between you and me, if he's not summoned three or four times a day, I don't think he feels appreciated. Now, off with you. I don't want to see you again until the Great Torch is lit. I wouldn't want to have to hurt you. Much."

Wrothken looked at Haskill and sighed. "Can you tell me where Cylarne is, exactly?"

Haskill sighed heavily as Wrothken took out his map. "Cylarne was once the capital of the Shivering Isles. Perhaps the first capital." Wrothken didn't really want a history lesson, especially from Haskill, but he figured if it would help him not die trying, he would take what he could get. "In any case, the Flame of Agnon here is always used to light the Great Torch of New Sheoth. It has always been so, and presumably always will be so." He gave Wrothken back the map and continued.

"Now, the Flame of Agnon can only be lit by the immortal servants of Sheogorath: the Golden Saints and Dark Seducers of His creation. In normal times, Sheogorath would simply command it and his servants would leap to sacrifice themselves upon the Altars of Rapture and Despair. But, alas, the times are not normal, and Sheogorath has given you this task, without the authority to command it. I'm afraid you may have to be a little bit clever. I know that will probably be a stretch for you."

First order of business when I become Sheogorath, fire Haskill, Wrothken thought.

"Why is the flame so important?" He asked. "If it’s out now, then why bother with it?"

"It is a symbol of Sheogorath's power and a source of great comfort for the citizens of New Sheoth. For eternity, the start of the Greymarch has been heralded by the torch going out. Lord Sheogorath, in His wisdom, wishes for you to relight the Torch, to help ease the worries of the populace."

"Or... he could just talk to his people himself and tell them he's going to have it stopped, right?"

"Aren't you the curious one?" Sheogorath piped up from his throne. "You know what they say about curiosity, though, don't you? It killed the intrepid adventurer who really should just be doing exactly what I say at all times!"

Wrothken sighed. He figured that if he needed more information from Haskill he could always summon him later. Armed with little information, he left the castle trying not to think of it as possibly the last trip he would ever go on.

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 18 2011, 08:31 PM

even though he had a sack full of ore to give her
I'll be he does! laugh.gif

A fun meeting with the prettiest smith in New Sheoth! Good thing Wroth is so cute, look at the money it is saving him! biggrin.gif

Straining? Wrothken's brain was sobbing, if anything.
This is such an excellent way of describing the effects of a talk with Sheogorath!

First order of business when I become Sheogorath, fire Haskill, Wrothken thought.
laugh.gif

Posted by: Grits Jun 18 2011, 11:09 PM

For the first time in ages, he was able to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the Shivering Isles. The caps of the mushroom-like tree he settled under were a vivid turquoise and the flowers around him blossomed every shade the rainbow could offer. The leaves of other trees were all the rich colors of autumn and the sky above was cloudless blue, speckled with gold stars. Perfect.

I’ve never played in the SI, but this passage made me want to go there!

It smelled good, but he had a natural aversion to green meat.

laugh.gif That’s probably for the best!

As much as he didn't want to see Cutter, he didn't think he'd be able to exclusively go to Dumag. Maybe he could switch between them in order to not overload.

I like how Wrothken is figuring out how to cope with his situation, with this idea and with the plan to lean on Bernice when he needs to. I’m starting to think he might actually save himself!!

But now Kirsty in Kvatch talking with Capaneus is very worrisome. I wonder how that’s going to work out. sad.gif


Posted by: King Coin Jun 19 2011, 03:22 AM

25

Despite going off to collect ore, Wrothken keeps brooding about Awour and Kalila.

ohmy.gif Kvatch's time is nearing. I hope Kristy makes it into the chapel or out of the city!

26

laugh.gif That orc is hilarious!

Sheogorath takes the show though. He is sucha great character because he's so colorful. A pleasure to read, but very difficult to get along with as Wrothken is finding out.

I love this line:

QUOTE
It's simple, really. If you don't think about it.
isn't everything?

Posted by: mALX Jun 23 2011, 04:57 AM

Sorry it took so long to get over here and read, this month has been unbearably hectic so far.

QUOTE

He patted Wrothken's stomach. "Bursting at the seams."


This had me rolling! I could picture it! Better yet though - the Orc, and then Wrothken wondering about walking in on the girls together - this whole thing had me in stitches! Great Write !!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jun 24 2011, 05:32 AM

SubRosa~ Wrothken may prefer the pretty Orc, since he doesn't threaten ohmy.gif

Grits~ The scenery in the SI was a great add since Cyrodiil looked so much like Northern California tongue.gif

King Coin~ Sheogorath was a fun Prince to work with, if only because he's so overly colorful.

mALX~ I'm glad I was able to make you laugh with it all. I never thought of myself as funny tongue.gif

Everyone~ I'm going to start including screenshots from the UESP of some characters and places. My main characters might be able to get screenshot if the camera takes a good enough picture of the tv smile.gif

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-seven: Cylarne, Part two



The road to Cylarne was long and scattered with gnarls, which he recognized as the walking trees he saw in Xedilian, and the emaciated creatures, identified by an annoyed Haskill as hungers. Wrothken was thankful that Dumag, uncomfortably flirtatious as he was, was a good smith and his armor was holding up nicely.

He was almost there when he came across a large obelisk, twice the size of the one he had come across when leaving Xedilian. Two Knights of Order were standing guard and a man in a purple robe and Orderly mask knelt between them, as if praying.

There was no way he could take on all three at once and they were smack in between him and Cylarne. He summoned Haskill to see if he had any advice.

"Yes, what is it you require," he said as he appeared by a tree. He looked and saw the Knights. "Oh dear. I suppose you want to know how to deal with them quickly?"

Wrothken nodded.

"Very well," he said, as if Wrothken had asked him to count all the stars in the sky. "The Knights are mere shells. Use that brutish strength of yours to beat them to a pulp. Now the Priest... A bad lot they are. Traitors. They perform rituals at the obelisks to summon Knights to the Realm. Their link to Jyggalag gives them power. As long as their obelisk is active, they cannot truly be killed."

"So, if I can deactivate the obelisk, then they can be killed?"

"Precisely," he said. "Remind me to give you a cookie when you return to the castle."

Wrothken rolled his eyes. "Then how do I deactivate it?"

"You just lost your cookie." Haskill tsked. "You need to place three hearts of order into the obelisk. It will cause an overload of sorts and shut it down."

"Alright...where can I get a heart of order?"

Haskill pulled what looked like a jagged gray stone from his pocket. "This is a heart of order. It comes from, believe it or not, a Knight of Order. I see how you may have been confused. You will find them in the chest cavity of a Knight."

He nodded, accepting the heart from Haskill, while simultaneously picturing bashing Haskill's head in and leaving him in the bushes. Only in dreams. "That's all I needed."

As he started to vanish, he said, "My work is never done."

Wrothken left the bushes, catching the immediate attention of the priest and his knights. "Kill him," the priest shouted. The two knights rushed over.

Both knights slammed their swords down on Wrothken. They landed in an "x" which Wrothken blocked with his mace. The knights pressed hard on their swords, but Wrothken pushed harder, knocking one of the knights down.

The first merely recoiled for a second and Wrothken took advantage of the moment to bash its head. It let out no cry or scream of agony, which gave Wrothken goosebumps. The other knight came running back and was greeted by a mace to the temple.

Wrothken was about to crack open their armor to collect their hearts when he felt a sharp tingling sensation in his body followed by a brief numbness that knocked him to the ground. Trails of lightning etched themselves all over his body.

The priest was backed against the obelisk. "Fall in the name of Jyggalag!" He cried.

Wrothken got up and ran at him, not wanting to feel another shock. The priest took out a small dagger and swung at him, slashing his cuirass. Wrothken blocked his next swing with one arm and headbutted the priest.

"Ow," he said, rubbing his head with the back of his hand. That priest had one good helmet.

When Wrothken felt another charge of lightning surge through him, he roared and swung his mace upwards, getting the priest just under the chin. He flew back, leaving the obelisk undefended.

Wrothken tossed the first heart of order in and was just about to crack open one of the knights, when he felt a blade nick the back of his neck. In a panic, he turned and saw a Knight of Order behind him. After Wrothken took it down, he reached for the fresh wound. It was just a shallow cut. The knight must have swung before it was close enough to do any real damage. Even after casting a healing spell, he shook. His head could have been lopped clean off.

He tried not to think about it as he cracked open the chest cavity of the fallen knight. Wrothken shuddered. There were no organs, no blood. Just a hollow cavity that held the heart. He was told that they were mere shells, but it still gave him chills.

He loaded the second heart into the obelisk and once again, a knight appeared. It was then that Wrothken made the connection that loading hearts brought more knights. Wonderful.

After that knight was dead, Wrothken looked at the priest, who was starting to stir and he grabbed another heart and tossed it in the obelisk. The priest let out a sharp gasp and stopped moving. Wrothken was left with the final knight. "Last one, last one, last one," he chanted as he fought it. As soon as it fell, he collapsed to his knees, panting hard. He sat leaning on the deactivated obelisk for awhile before continuing on to Cylarne.



Wrothken could tell he had reached Cylarne because of the incredible tension in the air. There was a gate on each side, one with Golden Saints and one with Mazken. Since he hadn't yet met a Golden Saint that he liked, he approached the Mazken.

"State your business," she said, glancing at the Golden Saint across the way. "Cylarne is holy ground, unfit for mortals."

"Sheogorath sent me to light the flame," Wrothken said.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled warmly to him. "Then you are free to enter the Shrine of the Flame of Agnon. This key will allow you passage through any door in Cylarne." She handed him a large, deep blue key. The key itself was a work of art. Depending on the angle he held it in, he could see silver swirls dance along the blue shimmers. As Wrothken unlocked the gate, she added, "The Flame is lit from the Shrine's two Altars. Once the Aureals are driven out of Cylarne, it will be our pleasure to light the Flame for Sheogorath. The Grakedrig Ulfri will explain everything. You should speak to her at once."

Wrothken paused. "Drive the Aureals out?” He looked around. “You mean the Golden Saints?"

The Mazken huffed. "There is nothing saintly about them. They are arrogant and bring great shame to our Lord Sheogorath. One day he will see that we Mazken are his only truly loyal servants."

As much as he really didn't want to take sides, she had a point about their arrogance. "Okay, thank you."

The fortress was dark, much like Xedilian had been, except it was as clean as a fortress could be. There were several busts of Sheogorath around, giving Wrothken the paranoid feeling of being watched through them. He shut his eyes and forced the thought away. No way in Oblivion was he going to wind up like Syl.

When he opened a second gate within Cylarne, he was stopped by another Mazken. "A mortal wandering the halls of holy Cylarne... and a male no less," she sneered. "Explain yourself."

Wrothken was taken aback by her remark. "I..." He cleared his throat. "I need to speak with Grey.... Um... Grak..?"

"Grakedrig Ulfri?" She asked impatiently. "What do you want with her?"

"Sheogorath sent me to light the flame."

"Then I am at your service." She said, this time without a trace of attitude. "The Grakedrig Ulfri commands here. You will wish to speak to her at once, no doubt."

She led him to a Mazken with closely cropped brown hair. She was checking the weapons and armor of another Mazken. Upon seeing Wrothken, she said, "Be gone, mortal, or you will soon find yourself between the Mazken and their prey. A most dangerous place to be." She nodded to the Mazken in front of her, granting her permission to leave. "We are preparing to wipe out the arrogant Aureals once and for all. Once they break themselves on our defenses, Cylarne will be ours, a gift for our Lord Sheogorath."

"That sounds great, and I can see you're busy, but Sheogorath really needs me to light the flame. So how about you light it for me and I'll leave you to your war."

"You wish to light the flame?" Ulfri grinned. "Then you have arrived just in time to help us defend the Altar of Despair. Once the strength of the Aureals is shattered, I will be honored to light the Flame as my Lord Sheogorath commands."

He sighed. Haskill said he'd need to be clever, but this was not what he expected. "Look, like you and the other Mazken have noticed, I'm just a mortal… and a male at that. I wouldn't be that helpful to you fighting the Golden Saints...so why don't you just light the flame and I'll be on my way. Please?"

"The two altars, Blessed Despair and Holy Rapture, feed the great Flame of Agnon above us. Only Sheogorath's immortal servants can kindle the Altars, and I am at my Lord's command. But I only hold Despair... for the moment. The Aureals hold Rapture, and are massing to attack us." Wrothken's eyes widened. Ulfri smiled reassuringly. "But never fear, they are no match for us. They'll come down the main passage from the Altar of Rapture." She pointed at a path on a lower floor. "They always do. They are overconfident, as usual. We have prepared many traps and ambushes. It will be a glorious slaughter. Once the Aureals are destroyed, I will light the Flame of Agnon for you. Will you help us defend the Altar of Despair?"

Wrothken stared at her with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. He wanted to ask if she was serious. He really wanted them to just put their fight to the side for fifteen minutes and light the damn flame, but that would be too easy. And he had a feeling Sheogorath knew it. Sometimes Jyggalag and his ways of Order didn't seem so bad.

He sighed, looking at his battered armor. It was already banged up from dealing with the Knights of Order. But what choice did he have? If the Golden Saints were about to attack, then going to them for help would be at the price of attacking the Mazken.

"Alright, fine. Just promise to light the flame."

"This will be a glorious day! Cylarne will finally be free of the Aureals. Follow me. We're expecting the attack at any moment."

She led him to a group of Mazken and to his surprise, there were a few men in the group. "The Aureal plan to attack through their usual passage. We are prepared for them and our Lord Sheogorath has sent us his emissary to aid us, proving that we are His chosen!" Ulfri clapped him on the back and the Mazken cheered loudly. Of course, that was not the reason he was there, but there was no point in lowering their morale.

Metallic footsteps rang through the halls. "The Aureals are beginning their attack! Show them no mercy! Today, Cylarne shall finally belong to us!"

The following ordeal was among the most terrifying things Wrothken had ever experienced. Everywhere he turned, maces and axes were swung. Arrows whizzed uncomfortably close to him, one grazing him just under his eye. Everything was a blur of blue and gold bodies with splashes of red blood. "Et tah, Mazken" and "Et tah, Aureal," rang through his ears until finally, and to his relief, the Golden Saints were defeated. Should they have been the ones to win the battle, Wrothken had a feeling they would immediately execute him, whether or not he claimed to be SHeogorath’s emissary.

"Victory is ours!" Ulfri cried. "I have already instructed my subordinates to kindle the Altar of Rapture. It is my honor to sacrifice myself on the Altar of Despair at Lord Sheogorath's command. I have hoped for this moment since I took command of the Mazken at Cylarne."

"Sacrifice yourself? But...then... why not just have a Golden Saint do it? I mean...you wanted them dead after all."

"The Altars which feed the Flame of Agnon can be kindled only by the willing death of an immortal. Every Mazken under my command would gladly accept this honor, if it was not my own to claim." She smiled gently, patting his shoulder. "You fought well. I would almost grant you the honor of kindling the Altar, if you were an immortal. Farewell. The waters of Oblivion await me."

As the remaining Mazken knelt before the altar, Ulfri stepped onto the altar and took out a dagger that rested at her side. With a smile, she plunged the dagger into her stomach. She fell over and burst into blue-green flame.

When the rest of the Mazken stood up, Wrothken headed outside. He was greeted by a roaring blue-green flame in the center of Cylarne. "Okay..." He said. How could he get the flame to New Sheoth? He snapped his fingers. "A torch!"

He ran to the nearest Mazken. "Are there any torches around here?"

She paused. "There may be. We have no need for them ourselves, but there are plenty of other things around here we have no use for. Look at all the Aureal we dispatched," she said with a wink.

A Mazken with a sense of humor. He'd consider marrying her if she weren't a daedra.

Minutes later, she returned with a torch in hand. He hoped a sudden gust of wind wouldn't blow it out on the way back to New Sheoth. That would be so Sheogorath.

Hoping for the best, he stuck the torch in but to his disappointment the flame wouldn't catch. He put his hand on the end and it was cold to the touch. It wasn’t wet, so he wasn’t sure what the problem was. He held it in once again sticking it in as far as he could, but nothing.

The Mazken had all retreated back to the halls of Cylarne so he only had one option left. He summoned Haskill again.

Haskill appeared with a loud sigh. "I wondered how long it would be until you needed my help...yet again. Though shockingly, you did accomplish your task. There's no denying the Golden Saints are defeated. Spearing fish in a barrel might have proved to be too challenging. So, what was it that you require?"

Wrothken ignored his commentary. "How exactly do I get the flame to New Sheoth? I thought about lighting it with a torch, but it won't ignite."

"Did you try stepping into the flame?"

Wrothken stared at the roaring green flames. "How stupid do you think I am?"

For the first time as far as Wrothken had seen, Haskill smiled. "Do you want an honest answer?"

Wrothken glared at him. "Go into the flame? Why so I can burn to death?"

Haskill shook his head. "You don't trust me? How disappointing. Think, if it's not too much of an effort for you. What good would you be burned to a crisp? Keep in mind that if this doesn't work, I suffer as well. Can you even begin to imagine what it is to endure Lord Sheogorath after finding his realm demolished? You would soil yourself. Now be a good boy and jump in the fire. My Lord will be waiting for your return." With that, Haskill disappeared.

"Not very helpful," Wrothken said, glancing back at the flames. He reached toward it nervously. It was warm, but not scalding. Cringing his thrust his hand in and to his amazement, it didn't burn. In fact, it was rather comfortable. He slowly moved the rest of his body in until he was engulfed in the bright flames.


Posted by: haute ecole rider Jun 24 2011, 04:35 PM

I guess Wrothken now has a glowing personality?

I enjoyed his confusion over the details of the Flame of Agnon. I didn't realize either until the Grey-whazhername killed herself what it took to light the fire. And it was weird helping one group against the other.

I usually choose to help the Mazken, too. I just like their attitudes better.

Posted by: ghastley Jun 24 2011, 05:55 PM

QUOTE(haute ecole rider @ Jun 24 2011, 11:35 AM) *

I usually choose to help the Mazken, too. I just like their attitudes better.

That's why I picked the Saints and made them follow Mirel's recommendation to go through the underdeep. I figured the survivors would learn the lesson better than those who missed most of by being dead.

Posted by: King Coin Jun 24 2011, 06:20 PM

Wrothken finally encountered the Priests. I had a mage character that wore the Priest of Order garb.

I choose to help the Mazken as well. Aureals didn't impress me with their arrogance. I remember being surprised at the ending of this mission when the Mazken sacrificed herself on the alter. Thinking back on it, it really shouldn't have.

Very good chapter. Haskill is hilarious.

Posted by: Grits Jun 26 2011, 04:24 PM

I’d be delighted to look at pictures of your characters on TV. smile.gif I’m in the same situation; a screenshot means a snapshot of my TV screen.

I enjoy Wrothken’s mental asides as he deals with the sarcastic Haskill. I felt bad for Wrothken, stuck in a battle that didn’t concern him, just trying to get his task accomplished. I felt like I was right there with him this whole episode.

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 27 2011, 07:28 PM

Wrothken's first battle with an Order Obelisk. I wound up running away my first time, as I could not figure out how to deactivate it. I never think to summon Haskill to find out how things work.

Since he hadn't met a Golden Saint that he liked, he approached the Mazken.
I suspect this is a feeling shared by everyone who goes to the Isles... laugh.gif

I loved Wrothken's exasperation over the feud between the Sexy Seducers and Boondock Saints. Can't you just light the cursed thing and get it over with? Noooo, of course not. It is another wonderful example of how divided and screwed up the Shivering Isles are.

Haskill is of course, his ever fun self: "Do you want an honest answer?" biggrin.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jul 2 2011, 04:28 AM

haute ecole rider~ laugh.gif I always pick the Mazken as well. The Golden Saints are just too... well you know. Female-doggy.

ghastley~ Good point, but if they're that stuck up after thousands of years, then maybe they're beyond learning

King Coin~ I was surprised as well. I kinda wanted to save her from it, but if it made her happy...

Grits~ It would be an incredibly annoying situation. Luckily it was an even match, rather than him being sent off to fight the Golden Saints alone!

SubRosa~ I rarely summon Haskill during gameplay, just check out the UESP site. It doesn't backsass me tongue.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-eight: Rituals and Rules



Everyone in New Sheoth stared in awe of Wrothken as he headed down the roads. Even the Golden Saints reacted with slightly less attitude than normal, though Wrothken wondered about how they would behave if they knew he had sided with the Mazken at Cylarne. He was directed to the center of town, up a long flight of steps to a sanctuary, where the flame was to be relit.

http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:SI-place-Sacellum_Arden-Sul.jpg

Like Sheogorath’s Palace, it was split down the middle. A set of pews sat on opposite sides with a pulpit in front of each. An altar stood in the center, with two men at each side. One wore a red robe and the other wore green. They looked amicable enough, but Wrothken could feel the tension between them.

When the men noticed Wrothken, they nearly shoved each other over for the chance to greet him. The red robed man reached him first, leaving the other to sulk away.

“You've brought it! The holy Flame of Agnon, the fire of Inspiration and Rapture! If you light the Great Torch on the Mania side of the Sacellum, you will be a hero to the people of Bliss, I assure you!” He shook Wrothken’s hand, apparently aware that the flames would not burn. Wrothken couldn’t help wondering why they had that little nugget of knowledge but no one bothered to mention it to him in the first place. “I am Dervenin, High Priest of Mania. Welcome to the Sacellum of Arden Sul.”

http://images.uesp.net/f/f8/SI-npc-Dervenin.jpg

Wrothken nodded. “You said I’d be a hero of Bliss… wouldn’t it be for all of New Sheoth?”

Dervenin chuckled. “Oh, heavens no!” He pointed to a cage on his side of the Sacellum. “One side will burn for Bliss, the other for Crucible. Trust me, you’ll want to light the flame for Bliss. Those bottom feeders wouldn’t be able to appreciate its glory!”

“Wait just a second,” the green robed man exploded. He walked over to them, his blue eyes blazing with fury. “You decadent lot are the ones too stoned out of your mushy minds to feel a thing!” He turned to Wrothken. “Forgive me. I am Arctus, High Priest of Dementia. I see you burn with the purging Fire of Agnon, the flame of Truth, the flickering beacon of hope in the gloom of despond! Come, light the Great Torch for Dementia. Illuminate the conspiracies! Deepen the shadows! The people of Crucible await their Hero!”

http://images.uesp.net/9/98/SI-npc-Arctus.jpg

Wrothken looked at each man, both of them practically squirming.

“Can’t I just light them both?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Dervenin said. “Once you step into the Great Torch, the flame will leave your body entirely, lighting the way for your chosen city. Now, are you ready to repent of your actions in Cylarne, and light the Great Torch for Mania?”

“Repent?” Wrothken asked, his eyes widening. Did he know that he had sided with the Mazken? How could he have found out so quickly?

Arctus shook his head, patting Wrothken’s shoulder. “Don’t allow that heathen to guilt you. You'll uplift the poor, suffering folk of Dementia with the Flame, won’t you?”

Well when he put it like that….

He looked toward Crucible. If he did light it for them, Bernice would be sure to see it. And frankly, she was the only one he felt any sort of attachment to. Besides, all Sheogorath cared about was that the damn thing was lit.

“I’ll light it for Dementia.”

Dervenin growled while Artus broke into a wide grin. It looked rather painful. “You are truly Demented, as I always suspected,” he said. “Release yourself to your secret fears and desires. Let them rule you, as they must in the end! Now, light the Great Torch as a beacon for those who fear and those who inspire fear. Right this way,” he said leading Wrothken to the Dementia side. He swore he saw Artus stick his tongue out at Dervenin from the corner of his eye.

Wrothken stepped into the cage momentarily and the flame seemed to melt off of him and onto the altar.

“The Great Torch flares with the light of Dementia!” He boomed, his arms spread out. “All of Crucible will be celebrating tonight! Here. Take this. The reward you have earned. Quickly now. It's best if no one knows you wear this.” He thrust a folded black suit into Wrothken’s hands.

He couldn’t help wondering where it came from, or if it would even fit, but he accepted. “Thank you, its very… soft.”

“Aren't you off to a good start?”

Wrothken jumped at the sound of Sheogorath’s voice, so much that he dropped his new clothing. “That's important,” he continued. “For me. Really, your work is going to save me a lot of time.”

“Dammit!” Wrothken growled, picking up the finery. “Can’t you warn someone when you’re about to pop up like that?”

“And take the fun out of it? Don’t be silly. We don’t have time for silliness! The Greymarch is upon us, and the Ordering begins. Armies of Order sweep My Realm.” He made a sweeping motion with his hands. “Death. Destruction. Then I have to pick up the pieces. And there are always lots of pieces. I don't like it, having to rebuild My Realm every era. Sometimes I forget where things go. Like New Sheoth. I can never remember where it belongs.... You'll change that. Break the cycle. You'll stop Jyggalag, and I'll have My Realm to come back to. I've never actually tried that before.”

Wrothken sighed. Every time he was sent out on some journey to supposedly stop the Greymarch, things got out of hand. Wrothken felt that it was all hanging by a thread finer than spider’s silk. How much longer until someone came in with a broom and broke it away? “Are you positive that I can do this?” He asked.

“Why not?” He shrugged. “Something has to work. Once, I dug a pit and filled it with clouds.” He tilted his head. “Or was it clowns?” He shook his head and waved his hands. “Doesn't matter. It didn't slow him down. To be honest, it wasn't the best idea. And it really began to smell funny.” He snapped his fingers. “Must have been clowns. Clouds don't smell bad. They taste of butter! And tears. But, this is all new! A fresh idea! Something I hadn't thought of, until I did. It's sure to work, even though it might not.”

Wrothken should have known seeking reassurance from Sheogorath would be like seeking wisdom from a goblin. “So what now?”

“Now? You'll need the respect of My citizens. They'll need a leader, someone to look up to when I'm gone. They're the backbone of any great land.” He paused. “Except where the backbone is an actual backbone. Ever been to Malacath's realm...?” He asked, crinkling his nose. “Nasty stuff.”

Wrothken made a face of disgust as well. If Sheogorath said it was bad, it was probably a thousand times worse than imaginable.

“But, back to the business at hand.” Sheogorath said. “You'll need to control one of the Courts of Madness. Replace a current Duke. Or Duchess. Whichever. That will command respect! The people will rally around you. You'll have their love, their admiration, their complaints! Whatever. As long as it keeps them on our side.”

Wrothken furrowed his brows. “Won’t Syl or Thadon be upset at my having to replace them?”

Sheogorath waved his hands. “No. No, no, no. Absolutely not.” He pursed his lips. “Well... yes. Absolutely. Bit of a shame for them. But, sometimes you need to break a few eggs. Or skulls. There are rules, though. Even in the Isles. Rituals and rules. You need to follow them. Speak to Arctus and Dervenin, the High Priests here at the Sacellum Arden-Sul. They can explain what needs to be done. And you've always got our man Haskill to call on for help. Faithful like a good hound, that one. And he looks better in a suit.”

Wrothken sighed. Rituals and rules. What could possibly be required? Painting himself with grummite blood and dancing naked in the full moon? Or rolling in animal waste and yowling like a cat in heat in the center of town?

He approached Dervenin, who was giving him a dirty look. “I'm disappointed in your choice. Why you would choose to honor the fetid madness of Dementia is beyond my understanding.”

“I don’t doubt that. Can you explain the ritual for becoming Duke of Mania?”

“Oh, looking to redeem yourself, are you?” His smile returned to his face. “An important part of our history, my friend! I would be glad to tell the tale if you have a moment.”

“Sure, why not?” Wrothken took a seat at the pulpit.

“Arden-Sul was perhaps the greatest Duke to walk our land. Many years ago he decided to hold a night of absolute indulgence, resplendent with dance, wine, and sex to celebrate his fondness for his brethren. The Greenmote flowed like water in a stream as the revelers voraciously succumbed to its rapturous ways.”

“Okay…”

“As the bacchanal reached a crescendo, the people began to clutch their chests as their very hearts exploded! The Greenmote had taken its toll. The ground stained a deep crimson as the sanguine liquid flowed from their lifeless bodies.”

“By the gods,” Wrothken said, a look of revulsion on his face.

“To represent that night, when the ruler of Mania is to be replaced, he partakes of the Greenmote and allows his lifeblood to flow upon the Altar.”

“You want me to what?”

“Not you, Thadon. When the ruler of Mania has decided it is time, he will choose a successor from his court. The successor is invited to a huge celebration... a night of hedonistic revelry; wine, song, and, of course, Greenmote. During this, the exiting regent imbibes three doses of the potent drug. This causes his heart to burst... and his lifeblood flows from his body. The successor then gathers the drug-tainted blood and brings it to the Altar of Arden-Sul in the Sacellum. Once this is done, I will proclaim the successor a Duke or Duchess. Then, Sheogorath gives His blessing, and the cycle is completed.”

“That’s…” Wrothken tried to hide his disgust. “You know, I better talk to Arctus.” Before Dervenin could object, Wrothken sped over to Arctus. Convince Thadon to kill himself with a greenmote overdose? Sure! And afterwards, Wrothken could talk Haskill into helping him braid his hair.

“Well, if it isn’t the Hero of Dementia!” Arctus said, clapping his hands. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yeah, could you tell me about the ritual for becoming duke of Dementia?”

“Seldom is the subject ever bro-... wait a moment, did you want to hear the history of the Ritual?”

“You mean the sex, drinking, and greenmote?”

“What?” Arctus looked aghast. “No, that has nothing to do with Arden Sul! As if he would act in such a manner.”

“Alright, fine. Tell me the history.”

“As it happened so many years ago, my lord Arden-Sul suspected a traitor in his midst. Not wishing to find himself on the wrong end of a blade, he gathered his flock here in the Sacellum. By poisoning the sacramental wine, Arden-Sul was able to suppress any such conspiracy in one fell swoop.”

“Sounds like something Syl would do.”

“Yes. He then removed their hearts from their bodies and used his ancient scrying technique known as visceromancy to read their lifeblood. When Arden-Sul couldn't divine the traitor's true nature in their hearts, he became distraught and took his own life in the same way. From that day on, the Ritual of Accession for the throne of Dementia was set. To become ruler of Dementia, the current leader's heart must be cut out and brought to the Altar of Arden-Sul in the Sacellum. Once this is done, I can pronounce the heart-bearer a Duke or Duchess. Then, all that is required is the blessing of our lord, Sheogorath.”

Wrothken’s jaw dropped. Gathering vials of blood or human hearts? Whatever happened to simply naming a successor?

Wrothken approached Sheogorath. “You're back! How nice for you. Does that mean you've made a decision? Or are you lost? Suicidal? Just let me know.”

“Speaking of suicidal, there’s problem with this. Both priests' stories involved the current ruler committing suicide.”

“And?”

“So, shouldn’t you be talking to Syl or Thadon?”

Sheogorath rocked back and forth on his heels. “Well, the thing about that is that their suicide must be brought on by your hand.”

Wrothken thought about it for a moment. “You mean you want me to kill them.”

“You got it! See, and Haskill says you’re as smart as a rock. I told him that he doesn’t give you enough credit. You’re at least as smart as a grummite.”

There was his limit. So far, he had rationalized everything he had to do by being thankful he wasn’t being asked to murder anyone. “And smart enough to get out of here.”

“What?” Sheogorath nearly fell back. “Where are you going? You can’t leave! The Greymarch approaches!”

“Don’t care. Screw you, screw your Greymarch and screw the Isles.”

Sheogorath took a sharp breath, his eyes livid. “You dare to disobey me?!” He shrieked, raising his cane. “I'll have your skin made into a hat -- one of those arrowcatchers!” It began to glow red as he pointed it at Wrothken. Wrothken backed up. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. He knew Sheogorath was going to kill him for this. It was unavoidable. He stared hard at the eyeball resting in the cane, gritting his teeth and preparing for the worst.

“What he means, Lord,” Haskill interjected, standing in between them. “He needs more time to consider this. It’s a lot for his mortal mind to consume. Give him some time and he’ll be back.” Haskill looked at Wrothken. “Won’t you?”

Wrothken was shaking, not just out of fear, but out of anger for now being indebted to Haskill. That was not going to be fun. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Sheogorath’s anger faded as quickly as it came. “Then why didn’t you just say so? Be more clear for crying out loud! I nearly killed you! And that wouldn’t have been nice for you, now would it? Would have been nice for me. I love those hats! Just don’t take too long considering. I hate indecision! Or maybe I don't. I like the sound of other things, though. Like birds. And bones cracking.”

Wrothken didn’t say a word as he left the Sacellum. There was only one place he could think of to clear his head and get reasonably sane advice on the whole situation.

Posted by: mALX Jul 2 2011, 04:50 AM

I am loving these screens you are adding to the story! There are always funny lines when Wrothken is aboutt, lol. My favorite line in the story:

QUOTE


Seldom is the subject ever bro-... wait a moment, did you want to hear the history of the Ritual?”

“You mean the sex, drinking and greenmote?”




"You mean like sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll?" ROFL !! Great Write !!!

Posted by: King Coin Jul 3 2011, 01:15 AM

Bah! Which one to choose?! I'm betting he'll side with Dementia...

He did! But not for the reason I suspected. Bernice.

QUOTE
“And take the fun out of it? Don’t be silly. We don’t have time for silliness!

Does he actually say that?! I never noticed how funny that line is until just now!

Hey it sounds like Wrothken just might be leaving the isles.

Excellent chapter. I very much enjoy this story.

Posted by: Grits Jul 3 2011, 03:13 PM


He couldn’t help wondering where it came from, or if it would even fit, but he accepted. “Thank you, its very… soft.”

laugh.gif Wrothken’s reactions to things can be so funny. I’m glad he stood up for himself at the end, and even more so that it didn’t cost him his life. I hope he’s going to talk to a busty Bosmeri baker, even though it’s a pretty long walk.

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 11 2011, 08:36 PM

Everyone in New Sheoth stared in awe of Wrothken as he headed down the roads.
As Richard Pryor once said: "When you're on fire, people get out of your way!"

I love the two priests jockeying for the position of who get lit. In the end, Wrothken's decision to light it for Bernice was not only perfectly in character, but so delightfully adorable.

We don’t have time for silliness!
Blasphemy! laugh.gif

You'll have their love, their admiration, their complaints!
Yep, that is rulership for you, except the real thing lacks the first two! laugh.gif

You’re at least as smart as a grummite.
Oh, now there is a compliment alright!

So Wrothken finally reached his breaking point with Sheo and the Isles. Unfortunately, he is in too deep to back out now. After all, where can you hide from a daedra lord? I trust he is off to Bernice, to try to find a way to rationalize who is going to kill. My money is on Syl, but you never know.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jul 14 2011, 08:04 PM

mALX~ If it was Rock n Roll instead of Greenmote, Wrothken definitely wouldn't mind so much. In fact, he'd love Bliss more!

King Coin~ That little part with Sheogorath was actually made up tongue.gif It was a natural response since he does actually seem to pop up out of nowhere once the flame is lit.

Grits~ Everyone has their breaking point though its too bad it wasn't with someone rational. Good thing Haskill calmed things down.

SubRosa~ Wrothken's affection for Bernice is one of the best parts to write about. And it flows right since he did save her life from whatever it was she had.

~~
I was able to create some screen shots. They're not as good as they would be for pc but they work smile.gif

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-nine: Kirsty in Love


Almost everyone knew about what went on in the basement of Sheep’s Clothing. Where most stores kept extra supplies in their cellars, Sheep’s Clothing was set up with a round table and several chairs. A deck of playing cards and stacks of round colored disks sat in the center. A chart of the latest arena combatants was nailed to the wall with a list of names and amounts of septims bet. The door had a small peephole so only the right people could get in. After all, no one wanted the count to officially find out about all the untaxed gambling going on.

As Lilitu sat across from the Gray Fox, she couldn’t help wondering if she could accomplish the same underground area for members of the Thieves' Guild. Only instead of gambling, they could exchange tips on how to pick locks and where the best places to hit were and they would have a safe place to sleep at night and food to eat. It would be like any other guildhall.

“My work with Savilla's Stone has revealed that I need something special for my plans,” the Gray Fox said. “It's a small item in the possession of a powerful court wizard. Will you do this for me? I will pay you well.”

Lilitu knew that was true. She glanced at her new leather ankle boots with the copper buckles going across. And she still had coin left over! Still, was it wise to steal from a powerful wizard? Well, if she could escape an entire cave of Blind Moth Priests, a single wizard wouldn’t be too much harder. Besides, how could she say no to him? “Alright, tell me more.”

“Capital!” He grinned, clapping his hands. “Bring me the Arrow of Extrication. It has a key shaped head.” He passed a drawing of it to her. “Bravil's court wizard, Fathis Aren, recently acquired this unique item. You may kill Fathis if necessary, but not in the castle. My spy network will tell me when you have it. Return here with the arrow when you do.”



The last trip reminded her of all the things she had forgotten to pack. A spare set of clothes, scented cream, and her makeup joined her dagger, map, compass, and usual supplies spread along the couch. She felt better about leaving this time, though it was probably because she was bringing Dolce along. While getting Savilla’s Stone, Dolce had been listless, hardly getting off the couch and fussing when it was time for her walk. Apparently the only time she had perked up was once Lilitu was in the gate.

Lilitu smiled at her dog, cooing to her. “You look so cute in your armor!”

http://lionhead.com/cfs-filesystemfile.ashx/__key/CommunityServer.Components.ImageFileViewer/CommunityServer.Components.UserFiles.00.00.24.26.25/dog-armor.bmp_2D00_550x0.jpg

Dolce snorted and plopped on the ground as if to disagree.

“Well, you can either wear the armor and go with me or be naked and stay here.”

Dolce let out a loud yawn.

Lilitu went back to packing her bag when there was a knock at the door. Dolce stood up and started barking. Lilitu threw a blanket over her things and opened the door.

Yyaevonnte stood there, his expression unreadable.

“Well, if it isn’t the fastest man in Tamriel. What brings you here?”

He smiled slightly at her comment. “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

Lilitu nodded and stepped aside for him. “Dolce, don’t even think about it,” she said, noticing the dog starting to bare her fangs. She growled a little and slumped back into her bed.

Yyaevonnte took a seat at the table and looked around, the same look on his face as Kirsty’s when she had first come in. “So I guess we can tell what your favorite color is…” When Lilitu sat down he sighed deeply. “We need to talk about your friend.”

“Which one?” She took out a piece of parchment and a quill. “And what did they steal?”

“Kirsty.”

Lilitu set her quill down. “What?”

“Capaneus.”

Lilitu groaned, not bothering to conceal her disgust. “He is not my friend! And what do you mean he’s stolen Kirsty?”

“You haven’t heard the rumors?”

“What…” She paused, tilting her head a little. “I did hear that he had a girlfriend… a rather beautiful—Oh dear gods, she isn’t!”

“Oh, she is. It’s been about a month, she says.”

Lilitu shook her head. “Alright, so what’s it got to do with me?”

Yyaevonnte folded his hands. “What do you know about Daedra worshipping?”

She laughed a little, thinking of Vardas. “More than some.”

“Well, it turns out that this guy has been filling Kirsty’s head with stuff about Mehrunes Dagon. Know anything about him?”

Lilitu nodded. “Enough to know he’s not one to toy with.” She paused. “Why?”

Yyaevonnte buried his face in his hands for a moment. “This guy…” He took a slow breath. His hands shook a little. “He told Kirsty that Mehrunes Dagon is coming to cleanse the world.”

Lilitu raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“Oh, it gets better,” he said, raising his hand. “According to Capaneus, Mehrunes Dagon will spare his followers and only his followers.”

“I see where this is going.” Lilitu shook her head. Cults were always popping up. Most of them were just charismatic creeps with a need to control. Though Capaneus sure fit the bill, Lilitu didn’t believe he was the real deal. Someone like him dealing with Mehrunes Dagon? He was certainly a slimy little oaf, but not dangerous. Not bloodthirsty... right? “Kirsty doesn’t believe that, does she?”

Yyaevonnte looked at the floor for a while. “Kirsty is like the little sister I never had. She’s got such a heart and when she loves someone, she loves hard. And this guy has a way with words like you wouldn’t believe. I swear to you, I’m not a gullible man, but if he were to tell me that he was the emperor’s pregnant mistress, I don’t know that I’d disbelieve it right away.”

Lilitu stood up, exhaling deeply. “Well, I could use a drink right now. How about you?”

Yyaevonnte nodded.

She opened her cabinet and took out a small white jug and two goblets. She poured a glass for them both before returning to the table.

Yyaevonnte smelled it before taking a small sip. “Hmmm…” He looked into the glass, sniffing it once more. “What is this?”

“Shein, imported from Morrowind.”

Yyaevonnte took another sip. “So, as you can imagine now I’m extremely worried for Kirsty. I’ve seen the kind of thing these…” He took a large gulp of shein. “Cultists can do. Especially Mehrunes Dagon cultists. They’re so bad that Emperor Septim actually had his statue taken down and banned from Cyrodiil.”

Lilitu swirled her glass. “Listen, I can understand and believe me, I’ve had my share of… experiences with a Daedra worshipper, though thankfully he never got deeply involved with this one, but I’m not quite sure why you’re telling me this. While I pop in for a pastry every so often, I’m not close to Kirsty and I’m definitely not close to Capaneus.”

“So, talking to her is out of the question, huh? I guess it’ll be up to me then,” he said, standing up to leave.

Lilitu waved her arms. “No, no! You can’t do that!”

“What?” He sat back down. “And why not?”

“Haven’t you ever been in a relationship with anyone else sticking their nose in it? All you’d accomplish is pushing them together. It creates this romantic notion that it them against the world. Trust me on that, if you trust nothing else I say.”

“Then what can I do?” Yyaevonnte grumbled. “I can’t just leave her with him, poisoning her mind with that stuff!”

“I know, I know…” She began chewing her thumb as she stared out the window. “Is there anyone she’s really close to? Someone she normally listens to?”

“Wrothken. And I have no idea where he is.”

Lilitu lowered her eyes. “Alright. Then all you can do is just be there and be happy he hasn’t started pushing you out of the picture entirely.”

Yyaevonnte clenched his jaw and folded his arms. “And that’s all? She can be in danger and I’m just supposed to sit and wait it out?”

“If you want to be sure she’s safe, then yes. Trust me on this.”

Yyvaevonnte grumbled a little under his breath before sighing. “I guess if I have no choice.” He stood up. “I’m only doing this because you seem like you know what you’re talking about.”

As Lilitu walked him to the door, he said, “You know, I think I’ll try and get a permit to have him deeply checked out. At least I’ll know a little something about him.”

“Just be discreet about it,” Lilitu said.

She watched him head towards the Fighters Guildhall and then her eyes drifted toward the Iron Champion Bakery. She couldn’t help worrying about Kirsty. As hard as it was, she had to follow her own advice.



Lilitu stopped by the Iron Champion Bakery on her way out of the gates, just to get a basket of pastries for the road. At least that’s what she rationalized.

She looked around, scanning the room for Capaneus. Her stomach soured when she saw him at the bar, Kirsty fawning over him. She took a deep breath, reminding herself why she was there.

Upon seeing Lilitu, Kirsty rushed over to her. She was absolutely beaming. Capaneus caught Lilitu’s eye and winked, grinning that boyish grin of his. Dolce woofed softly, obviously uncomfortable.

“Lilitu, I haven’t seen you in a while,” Kirsty said in a bubbly voice. She didn’t wait for Lilitu to respond. “He has got to be the sweetest, funniest guy I’ve ever met! And he’s cute, isn’t he?”

Lilitu literally bit down on her tongue for a moment. “Well, he’s not my type,” she said. “But as long as you’re happy, right?”

Kirsty looked at Capaneus with a soft smile as she rocked on her heels. “Yeah… So can I help you with anything?”

“Just a pastry basket and some ham slices. Dolce and I have a long trip ahead of us.” She knelt down and scratched the dog’s ears. “Don’t we, baby?”

Dolce didn’t respond with her usual bliss. She continued to stare at Capaneus.

“Alright, it’ll just be a second. Why don’t you have a seat with Capaneus?”

“I better not. You saw how Dolce got last time.”

“Oh,” Kirsty looked down at the dog. “You’re right.” She chuckled. “She looks pretty cute in that armor.”

Lilitu left as soon as she received the basket. Before walking out the door, she glanced back at Kirsty. She had immediately returned to her original position with Capaneus. Lilitu closed her eyes. Kirsty, be careful… please.


Posted by: King Coin Jul 15 2011, 04:25 PM

ohmy.gif Kristy a Mythic Dawn cultist!? Now Wrothken REALLY needs to get out of the Shivering Isles and get back to Kvatch.

The dog armor is hilarious! laugh.gif Don’t give BethSoft any ideas, or else there will be the Official Dog Armor DLC.

Good Chapter!

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 15 2011, 05:00 PM

The Grey Fox is back? Capital! biggrin.gif

So Fathis is next on the chopping block. I hear he has a taste for red-heads, so Liltu is a shoe-in. wink.gif

The dog armor is so cute! I just hope it will be enough to protect Dolce in their upcoming adventure.

Kirsty became a cultist? And I thought Wrothken was with all the crazy people! That picture of her is, well, oh my. Someone get her a crane to hold those things up! Hopefully Kirsty is just acting, and has instead gone undercover for the city guard to expose the cult.

Posted by: mALX Jul 17 2011, 01:56 PM

SPEW !!! ROFL !!! GAAAAAH !!! The dog armor ... .... .... SPEW !!!! ROFL !!!! GAAAAAH !!! There goes my monitor !!! I LOVED this !!! It is very hard to read when your eyes are streaming and rolling on the floor !!! Great Write !!!

Posted by: Grits Jul 18 2011, 12:57 AM

I see why a corset top wouldn’t work for Kirsty. blink.gif Although maybe a feather enchanted one…

Dog armor, oh my goodness. I love the conversation with Yyaevonnte, his mannerisms seem so real. Wrothken needs to come home soon!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Aug 10 2011, 10:16 PM

King Coin~ It would be adorable to have dog armor in Skyrim! Of course first they would need to let us have a dog... -hint, hint, Bethsoft...-

SubRosa~ Ah but crazy people lurk all over Cyrodiil and some people are like magnets to them ohmy.gif

mALX~ biggrin.gif Couldn't you just imagine a tough dog sulking because it looked too cute?

Grits~ laugh.gif Feather enchanted clothing would be quite helpful for her tongue.gif Maybe then she wouldn't get so messy when baking

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty: Lilitu and the Mage


Greetings, novitiate, and know first a reassurance: Mankar Camoran was once like you, asleep, unwise, protonymic. We mortals leave the dreaming-sleeve of birth the same, unmantled save for the symbiosis with our mothers, thus to practice and thus to rapprochement, until finally we might through new eyes leave our hearths without need or fear that she remains behind. In this moment we destroy her forever and enter the demesne of Lord Dagon.



Kirsty sighed, looking up from the book. As hard as she tried, she just couldn’t get into it. She would read the words but had no recollection of what she had just read. It simply made no sense. It was like reading the rantings of a crazy man.

“Greetings, novitate,” she said, trying to read it aloud. “And know first… blah, blah, blah.” She shut the book and set it on her night stand. “This is ridiculous.”

When Capaneus spoke of Mehrunes Dagon, he did it with such a passion that it was easy to get wrapped up in it. He was so certain that it made her certain that what he said was true… until she was alone. Looking back on it, it seemed outrageous.

She leaned back in her bed, staring at the ceiling. What mess did she get herself into? And was he worth it?



Lilitu had forgotten what a pain Dolce could be on a long journey. The dog insisted on stopping at every tree and every bush to see what animal had claimed it and then leave her own mark. “You’re not happy being the alpha female are you?” Lilitu asked, attaching a leather leash to Dolce’s collar. “You have to be alpha everything, right?”

Dolce simply panted, appearing to be smiling widely.

Though the constant stopping to smell the bushes tacked on extra time, Lilitu was glad for the company. Talking to herself made her feel unbalanced, while talking to Dolce felt natural. It was something she had been doing since she got the dog so many years ago.

Her heart sank a little with the thought. Dolce was near eight years old and the lifespan for a dog was around twelve. Only four more years… She looked down at Dolce. She was as spry as ever. Her hearing was sharp as was her vision. Her mind was alert and she was strong. She was going to be fine, Lilitu told herself, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the thoughts.

Still, it lingered in the depths of her mind. Not all dogs die of natural causes. There’s all sorts of diseases or infections. People or wild animals… Poisons, of course. Lilitu looked down at Dolce. Nearly all of those potential killers lurked in the wild. She was suddenly afraid to let Dolce continue sniffing the plants. She was no alchemist. She had no idea what was poisonous to dogs and what wasn’t. And who knew what was lurking beyond the path, just waiting for something to kill. Maybe it would have been better to just let Dolce sulk for a few days. At least she would have been safe.

She looked back, even though she knew it was too late. She had already passed Skingrad and the day was almost gone. She would just have to keep going and be thankful for dog armor.

As her jitters wore off, Lilitu started to finally appreciate the beauty of her surroundings. The trees were so green and vivid. They gave off a sweet, woody scent. The flowers bloomed along the path. Deep into the forest, Lilitu could see ruins. A white structure with smaller ones around it erupted from the ground like scattered teeth. It looked like it had once been beautiful, but now it was dirty and broken in many places. Moss and vines grew on some of the walls and the stairs, though Liiltu had to admit it gave it a certain charm. She looked around and then at Dolce. The seclusion gave her an idea.

“Come on,” she said to Dolce. “Just a quick peek.”

Dolce didn’t whimper or resist. That gave Lilitu confidence.

She cut through the forest, away from the path. Instantly she felt the sudden cool from stepping under the blanket of trees. Instead of the quiet of the path, the forest surrounded her with the sounds of squirrels chittering, birds and crickets chirping, and leaves rustling.

As she got closer, she thought of the hideaway at Sheep’s Clothing. If this place could get restored, could it become a safe haven for those who had nowhere to go?

“Of course it could,” she said to herself. She could get Vardas to help and Methredhel and maybe a few others from the guild.

She imagined it cleaned up outside with a little vegetable garden out front, maybe a few fruit trees as well. Possibly a farm. The interior would have a few bedrooms, a community room, a kitchen. If they were lucky maybe a bath house could be put in… It would be perfect!

Footsteps up ahead caused her to stop in her tracks. Of course she wouldn’t be the first person to think about hiding away in a place like that. She knelt down and pulled Dolce in. The dog began to growl softy. “Shhhh…” Lilitu hushed, stroking her back.

A man in an aqua robe passed by. Lilitu bit her lip, hoping he would simply enter the ruin and give her a chance to leave, but Dolce started barking. Sometimes that dog was so much trouble!

The man looked directly at them and just a single look in his eyes told Lilitu what exactly he planned to do with them. “N’chow, Dolce!” She said, getting up to her feet. “Come on!”

She gripped Dolce’s leash tightly pulling her back to the path. Lilitu looked both ways, hoping to see a wandering centurion patrolling the roads. She was disappointed. It would just be her against the robed man.

She took her dagger out and walked Dolce behind a large boulder. She watched as the man burst through the trees, his skin suddenly taking on an unnatural yellow glow. Great. He’s done something to himself. Probably a shield, she thought. Lilitu had always been afraid of having to fight a mage. At least if someone had a physical weapon it was easy to spot an advantage. With mages she had no idea what to expect.

She wished she could tie Dolce to a tree while she figured out what to do, but the boulder was the only available cover and the dog would not listen to a “stay” command if the mage came too close. As much as she hated to use it, she unsheathed her dagger and held it at her side. If he came around she could surprise him with a jab in the throat. If the shield spell was too strong, she’d just repeat until it sunk in.

The suspense was worse than if he had been chasing her down. Part of her just wanted to just wait until he went away, but she knew she couldn’t. If he was patient enough to master magic, he was patient enough for a kill if he was determined to do so. She poked her head out to see if he was still there. He was and he saw her. He grinned at her, his eyes still twinkling. It made her heart race, and not in the good way. He flung his arm out and a ball of flame flew inches away from her face.

“N’chow!” She cried, grabbing Dolce’s leash. She could either fight him off or try to lose him in the forest. She ran across the path back into the forest. She had planned to keep running until he got lost or tired or maybe mauled by a bear but then it dawned on her that either of those things could happen to her or Dolce. Worse, he might have friends waiting.

She stopped in her tracks. There was no escaping it. She had to fight him dead on. She unhooked Dolce’s leash. “Alright, you run ahead and I’ll find you once I’m done.” Dolce sat down. “No, go! Run!”

Dolce did. She ran straight toward the mage.

“What? No!” She screamed. That damn dog!

She bolted after her just in time to see the mage hit Dolce with a blast of lightning. The sheer force of the spell knocked Dolce off her feet and landed with a thud and a whimper. Rage coursed through Lilitu. Her heart pounded so hard that the logical, rational side of her feared that it might explode. Luckily that part was buried so far beneath her primal urge to protect Dolce so she didn’t lose focus with worry. Though her legs trembled, she ran to the mage with her blade drawn, ready to bury it first in his hateful little hands, then his heart, and then right between the eyes for good measure.

The mage wasn’t put off by her sudden readiness to fight him. Instead, he was excited. He bit his lip and flung a fireball at her. Though it hit her in the chest, it did nothing more than cause a stumble and a burn in her armor.

Dolce got up again, this time angry. She barked at the mage, her body all set to attack again. As soon as the mage looked her way, Dolce leapt up at him ready to tear his throat out but she was flung back by a fireball spell. Again, she landed hard.

While he was focused on Dolce, Lilitu came up from behind and attempted to plunge her dagger deep into his shoulder, but the shield caused a sharp recoil and she stumbled hard, almost losing her footing. She gathered herself and went for another stab, but he turned around just in time to grab her wrist.

He snatched the dagger from her and threw it. He grinned at her. “You’re quite the feisty one,” he said. “Your soul will serve me wonderfully.” His free hand glowed brightly with a large fire ball. Lilitu struggled to free herself but not even kicking him loosened his grip. It was only when Dolce sunk her teeth into his thigh that he released her.

He threw Lilitu to the ground and he hit Dolce with his spell. The dog whimpered as it hit, the force enough to send her rolling.

Dolce! She didn’t have the same resistance to burns as Lilitu did. She clenched her teeth and picked up the first thing she could get her hands on: a large rock.

Lilitu didn’t waste any time slamming it into the base of the mage’s neck. He cried out until his head was nearly severed from Lilitu beating him. She sank to her knees next to his body. She shuddered, choking back sobs, though she was overcome with the flooding joy knowing that she was still alive. It was kill or be killed and she knew it. It wasn’t the first time and with a heavy heart and sickened stomach she knew it wouldn’t be the last if she was going to continue traveling through dangerous trails.

She walked over to Dolce, who was licking her back. The spells tore a hole in her armor and she was bleeding a little. “N’chow,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a healing potion and a cloth. She poured a little bit onto the cloth and pressed it to Dolce’s wound. Dolce snarled and snapped at Lilitu’s hand, causing her to jump back. She huffed. Though she loved Dolce with all her heart, she had to remember that in the end she was an animal.

“I am not going to let this get infected,” she said, straddling the dog. She used one hand to hold Dolce’s head away from the wound and the other to press the rag to it. Dolce struggled for a few moments until the wound closed itself. Lilitu got up and sighed as Dolce went back to her old self. That arrow had better be worth it.


Posted by: King Coin Aug 11 2011, 03:18 PM

What mess did she get herself into? And was he worth it?
NO! bail bail bail !!!
What to do with the dog? Oh just got to the fight. Yeah leaving her home would have been much better lol.

Posted by: Grits Aug 12 2011, 12:32 AM

“Greetings, novitate,” she said, trying to read it aloud. “And know first… blah, blah, blah.” She shut the book and set it on her night stand. “This is ridiculous.”

I love it!! Hopefully Capaneus will demonstrate that he is NOT worth it! I’m relieved, but only a little.

She was suddenly afraid to let Dolce continue sniffing the plants.

I enjoyed this whole series of thoughts. Lilitu is such a city girl. But then she does enjoy the woods, at least until she finds out it was a mage who was lurking just waiting for something to kill. That was quite a fight, and then she had to wrestle Dolce to heal her. Yikes!!



Posted by: SubRosa Aug 12 2011, 01:30 AM

It was like reading the rantings of a crazy man.
And for good reason! That was a relief to read. If Kirsty can still see that Manly-car's book is just a bunch of gibberish, there is still hope for her.

I think Liltu may have bitten off more than she can chew with Ceyatatar. And poor Dolce! Her dog armor won't protect her from lightning bolts! That was too close a call. I hope the rest of this expedition goes better than that did.



Nits:
She would read the words but had no recolection
That would be recollection.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Aug 26 2011, 07:38 AM

King Coin~ As wonderful as dogs are, sometimes they can be a real pain!

Grits~ Like Lilitu, I think the forest is very lovely... from a distance. Too many creepy things and a very vivid and paranoid imagination prevents me from enjoying it up close.

SubRosa~ Manly-car! laugh.gif I included that little part to show that Kirsty isn't in the Mythic Dawn... at least not yet wink.gif

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty-One: Bravil



Once again, the Faregyl Inn looked like paradise once Lilitu entered late at night. She would be in Bravil by morning and hopefully the arrowhead would be easily gotten and she could go home, though maybe by caravan instead of walking it alone.

She plopped in the bed with Dolce at her side and two rolls of potato bread with a side of pulled pork and a bottle of apple juice. Dolce was given her own dish of pork with some rice and carrots mixed in The loaves were the first to be eaten and with each bite, Lilitu felt better about the fight with the mage. She could almost hear her mother screaming at her for seeking comfort from food, especially bread, but just as she did whenever her mother was yelling about something, she ignored it and continued her meal.

However once she woke up, her mouth and stomach felt incredibly sour. “Maybe one roll would have been fine,” she said to herself, her hands rubbing her stomach gently. “And how are you feeling today?” She asked Dolce.

Dolce laid on the floor, still wearing her ruined armor. Lilitu sighed deeply. It would need to be repaired, but of course the only place that had a smith was Bravil and Lilitu didn’t like the idea of her being unprotected during the rest of the trip. “Hmmm…” She bit her lip. “I got it!”

She stripped out of her cuirass and wrapped it around Dolce, covering the hole in the armor. She then dug into her bag and pulled out the jade green, velvet top she had been saving to slip into the castle in. She looked in the mirror sitting by the dresser. It was strange seeing herself in something such a different color than usual, but she didn’t want to make it easy to identify her later on.

She stood up, frowning. It was clear that she loved pastries and breads of all sorts, judging by the stubborn little pooch residing under her belly button. That and her thighs. And the ever faint hints of stretch marks tracing around her hips that, strangely, no one else seemed to be able to see. Still, at least she had never received any complaints. Actually, she reminded herself, she had received many compliments about her “womanly” shape. So if other people like it, why can’t you? She wondered.

She turned away and slipped the blouse on. The matching skirt could wait. She let her hair down and glanced at the large mirror and smiled. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so bad. In fact, she thought with her hands on her hips, I look pretty damn good!



WARNING:

The mysterious portal located at the “island” in the bay is dangerous. It is possibly linked with the Daedric Prince, Sheogorath. Citizens are highly discouraged from entering the portal or even setting foot on the island.

Those who have entered, even for a brief second, have come back maniacal and many are incredibly dangerous to themselves and the general public. The Empire takes no responsibility for any reckless actions. Explore at your own risk.


The sign was littered with graffiti, mostly stating that so-and-so was there. On the back of the sign, a chart had begun. Names and dates of entry were posted. The section for returns was empty. In fact, next to the sign Lilitu noticed several unmarked graves. Is that what became of them?

Lilitu stood near the bay, staring out to where it was. Sure, she was curious but she wasn’t stupid. Besides, the mage from yesterday had given her enough adventure for one mission.



Lilitu never thought she would be so happy to see Bravil. It was like the Waterfront of the Imperial City had expanded itself into a city. Nearly all the buildings were run down shacks seemingly pieced together with whatever planks of wood were available. The air was thick and felt sticky. The stench from the Larsius River that ran through the city could be smelled from miles away. Still, after such a long journey, she couldn’t help but be relieved.

http://images.uesp.net/0/0f/OB-Bravil-PanCastle.jpg

She noted the location of Silverhome on the Water, but first needed to repair her and Dolce’s armor. Based on her last theft, she figured it would come in handy. She headed straight to The Archer’s Paradox.

“Welcome to The Archer's Paradox. Because a perfect arrow flies forever, and that's impossible. I'm Daenlin, and I have no perfect arrows,” the Bosmer behind the counter said.

Though he may not have had any perfect arrows, the shop was full of bundles of arrows. Wood, ebony, silver, glass, even some so beautiful Lilitu couldn’t imagine ruining them by shooting them into a person. There were also several bows, some plain wood and some that must have cost thousands of septims.

Daenlin himself looked like nothing special. He was completely bald up top with a ring of brown hair around his head. Though Elves in general were difficult to age, Lilitu figured he had to be nearing a hundred with all the wrinkles etched into his face. He must have been hard at work because he was covered in sweat and dirt. The forge behind him blazed.

“Well, aren’t you cute?” He said, looking down at Dolce. He knelt down, offering his hand to her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t—“

Lilitu was surprised when instead of getting defensive, Dolce sniffed him and started licking his hand. Daelin broke into a grin and began petting her and scratching behind her ears. Dolce’s back leg began to thump the floor. “What a beautiful dog,” he said. “What breed is she?”

“Mainly Nibenean Sheepdog, though I was told she’s mixed with pit bull and golden retriever.”

Daenlin cupped her face. “A mutt, huh?” He rubbed the top of her head. “Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. I bet she’s still just as good as any other dog.”

Lilitu bristled instantly, though she wasn’t sure if she was more offended for Dolce or by the mere insinuation that a “mutt” would be considered any less than a purebred.

Eight straight hours of sun in the lake had done its damage. Lilitu’s skin was a pale purple and painful to the touch. Same for Relemus and Vardas, though they would freckle and she would get darker for a few days.

Lilitu’s grandmother picked up Mamisi, barely able to walk at the time. “See?” She said, her nose in the air. “Mamisi doesn’t burn in the sun. He can tolerate it, unlike you
half-breeds.”

Daenlin stood up. “So what can I help you with?”

Lilitu snapped back to reality. Without a word she removed her cuirass from Dolce’s back and took Dolce’s armor from her bag. He tsked, inspecting them both. “Looks like a mage got to you,” he said more to himself than to Lilitu. He glanced at Dolce’s side, where a patch of naked skin showed where she had been hit. “Poor thing,” he said. “I can get this fixed up, no problem, though, have you considered having it enchanted against spell damage?”

“I have, but I’d have to rob the emperor to do that.”

Daenlin chuckled. “I understand.” He gave her the price and promised to have it ready in a couple hours.

Lilitu couldn’t wait to get out of the shop. The moment she and Dolce were outside, she knelt in front of the dog.

“Don’t listen to any of that mutt nonsense. You’re the best dog in the world and breed has nothing to do with it.” She paused. “Oh who am I kidding? The emperor could declare you a kagouti-sucking piece of corprus flesh and you wouldn’t care. You don’t even know what any of that means.” She looked around Bravil for anything to occupy her time with, but didn’t see very much. Bravil was no Kvatch, that was for sure.

She passed a statue of an old woman gazing lovingly at three infants reaching up to her. The plaque on the front read “The Lucky Old Lady.”

http://images.uesp.net/5/53/OB-Place-The_Lucky_Old_Lady.jpg

“You’re supposed to kiss her,” someone behind her said.

Lilitu turned to see an old woman, obviously a beggar, staring at the statue. “She gives you good luck,” the old woman said. “I come down here every morning and give her a kiss.”

Lilitu wondered why, if the statue really did give good luck, then why was this old woman still a beggar and not nobility? Then again the statue was called the Lucky Old Lady, not the Lucky Old Miracle Worker. Besides, it could have been a testament to its luck that the woman had lived as long as she had. The streets weren’t known for being places of longevity, especially for women.

“Well, what could it hurt?” Lilitu decided. She walked up the steps and kissed the Old Lady’s outstretched hand.

The beggar smiled. “Now just you wait. Today’s going to be quite lucky for you!”

Lilitu looked toward the castle. “I certainly hope so.”



While Lilitu didn’t feel any different, she did notice many good things happening to her. First, Bogrum gro-Galash, the Orc proprietor of the Lonely Suitor Lodge, didn’t make too much of a fuss about Dolce remaining in the room. In fact the fifty septim animal fee would be refunded if Dolce didn’t soil the floor.

She found a sack containing twenty septims under the pillow and a book so badly torn that no one would notice if Lilitu borrowed a few pages for Dolce. Well, maybe the last part wasn’t something excitingly lucky, but it sure was convenient.

Even with the good things happening, Lilitu wasn’t quite sure if she believed in the statue’s power. The theft of the arrow would be its proving ground.



Dressed in her finery under a pink cloak, Lilitu headed for Castle Bravil. Her armor and weapons were tucked away in her bag. Though she expected to be gawked at, she was surprised to see that no one even glanced at her. She supposed that people may have been used to people coming and going, given the reputation of the count’s son.

The doors opened to reveal an empty throne room. A gold and red carpet led the way to the throne in front of a banner bearing a deer. More banners of the same colors hung from each side. It reminded Lilitu of a warm hearth.

http://images.uesp.net/7/74/OB-Place-Bravil_Castle-Great_Hall.jpg

Staircases on either side led up to three doors. Sadly the Gray Fox didn’t provide her with a map of the castle. She silently rushed up the stairs. Something told her to go in the center door. She quickly unlocked it and slipped inside.

She found herself in an empty hall. Oil paintings of the Niben Bay were hung on walls where there were no banners. Small tables held expensive looking vases with beautiful flowers in them. The sound of steel footsteps alerted her that she would need to move fast. She entered the first door she saw and was greatly pleased to see alchemical items in a corner of the bedroom.

“This has to be Fathis’ bedroom,” she said to herself.

She shut the door behind her and pulled a chest in front of it. The bedroom was empty.

“Well, this was easy enough.”

She looked around. The bedroom was nearly half the size of her entire house! To the right was his large canopy bed covered in lush velvet blankets and pillows larger than Dolce. Benches sat on either side of the bed. Lilitu could only imagine what they were for. There were paintings of Morrowind’s lush greenlands hanging up all over the place and there a few of nude Dunmeri women.

In front of his bed was a large dining table. A single place was set with beautiful silver dishes. Lilitu couldn’t help noticing a thin layer of dust on the plate. It seemed that he hadn’t been home in awhile. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. A bottle of sujamma tempted Lilitu. While she didn’t like the taste, she didn’t mind the relaxed feeling a few glasses gave her. She placed her hand around its neck but decided to leave it. She needed to remain clear headed until she was back in Kvatch. It wouldn’t serve for her to get robbed on the way back because she wasn’t all there while in possession of the arrow.

The other half of the room was divided by two large wardrobes, both of them large enough to hold every article of clothing Lilitu had owned since infancy. The other side of the room was dedicated to alchemy. A table was full of expensive looking equipment. The entire wall was filled with shelves containing jars of ingredients. Lilitu examined a few of them: daedra skin, basilisk eyes, fairy dragon scales, and ghoul’s tongues were just a few of the incredibly exotic things around. She had half a mind to stuff her bag full of the jars. It would bring in mountains of gold from any alchemist, but it also ran the risk of being too hot. After all, who else but a court mage would have access to such things?

She turned her attention to two chests by the door. It was time to set to work. She picked the first one, but it only had books inside. Lilitu picked each up and flipped through the pages to make sure the arrow wasn’t hidden away. Nothing. She went to the other one but the only things that were inside that one were official looking documents from the Mages Guild.

Lilitu searched his wardrobes and even around and under his bed but the arrow wasn’t there. She sat at the table. Something wasn’t right. Of all the jobs she had done for the Thieves Guild, all of them were right about where the item in question would be. The arrow had to be somewhere in the room. She looked around. Maybe Fathis had it, but not in the room. His bedroom was too easily broken into. It wasn’t even locked! Lilitu stood up. Castles were known for their secret tunnels so why shouldn’t Fathis have a little hideaway of his own?

Lilitu checked under the paintings for a switch. She moved candelabras around but still nothing. She sat on a bench under a little arch. Where could the passage be?

She eyed the pillars on either side of her. She pulled one, but it didn’t budge. However, once she pulled the other, the wall rose up and displayed a tunnel.

She changed out of her clothes and back into her armor before entering the tunnel. “Lucky Old Lady, if you want to prove yourself, now would be the best time,” she said under her breath.

Posted by: King Coin Aug 27 2011, 04:04 AM

She’s going to forgo her own armor to protect that pooch? What a liability the dog has turned into! A cute liability at least. laugh.gif

I guess Wrothken wasn’t on the sign eh?

Wait… she’s not planning on bringing the dog with her when she steals the arrow does she?

Hey! Mutts are the best!

I’m anticipating the next update. There are daedra down there if I recall correctly.

Posted by: Grits Aug 29 2011, 01:51 PM

Wood, ebony, silver, glass, even some so beautiful Lilitu couldn’t imagine ruining them by shooting them into a person.

I like this reminder that although Lilitu will defend herself, she is not a fan of violence. Her bread binge followed by remorse and a tummyache, then her critical assessment of her charms followed by putting on makeup like armor make her come to life. I’m so glad she left Dolce behind for this adventure! ohmy.gif


Posted by: SubRosa Aug 29 2011, 08:03 PM

I see Lil is now thinking of traveling by caravan instead of alone. Good choice. Plus she might be able to filch something along the way! wink.gif

but just as she did whenever her mother was yelling about something, she ignored it
In the time-honored tradition of daughters everywhere! biggrin.gif

So if other people like it, why can’t you? She wondered.
Because no woman is ever satisfied with what Mara gives them.

I loved how Daenlin's remark about Dolce being a mutt triggered the flashback of Liltu's. Dark elves get sunburn? At least the half-bred ones. You describe it so well, that I can easily believe it. Not to mention Liltu's quite understandable feelings of self-consciousness about her own mixed heritage.

Then again the statue was called the Lucky Old Lady, not the Lucky Old Miracle Worker.
laugh.gif

I loved your descriptions of Fathis' room. It is just like you would expect from him. Clothes, naked women, and flaunted wealth. Now we are off to his tower!


nits:
She looked in the mirror sitteng by the dresser
A typo in sitting.

A gold and red carpet led the way to the throne in front of a banner baring a deer.
In this context, you want bearing. Baring is to strip naked.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Sep 16 2011, 08:01 AM

King Coin~ If I wouldn't get clawed to death for it, I would gladly give Melaina (my tuxedo cat) my armor ♥ And nope, Wrothken is not listed. The sign was placed after he entered.

Grits~ Could you imagine bringing a vocal dog on a stealth mission? ohmy.gif Lilitu would get caught immediately tongue.gif

SubRosa~ I'm glad that scene in particular was believable. It's definitely one of those issues Lilitu has with herself

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thrity-two: The Wizard’s Lair



Lilitu felt her stomach twist as the wall closed behind her, leaving her in a small room. There was no sign of any personal objects. Not even a rug. Just her and a door. Though physically there was a way back out, given by a chain by the wall, she knew she couldn’t leave until she found the arrow. She closed her eyes and opened the door.

She found herself in a stone tunnel, much like the Blind Moth Catacombs. The similarity gave her chills.

It was silent. No sign of life anywhere. Just Lilitu, the walls, and a faint watery smell. She touched her hair, hoping she wouldn’t have to go for a swim.

A flight of stairs brought her at the perfect place to see a man standing in front of three doors.

Dammit! She stopped. What in Oblivion is Fathis doing just standing here? Unless he knew someone was out to steal the arrow! Her stomach knotted at the thought of walking into a trap.

She knelt down and watched Fathis for what felt like hours. She couldn’t bear to keep in one place for so long yet he was like a statue. It was almost inhuman. Eventually she stood back up. A pebble loosened under her foot and trailed down to the bottom. Suddenly, it was as if the air had gotten ten times thicker. The horrific roar that came from the bottom of the stairs quickly told Lilitu that it wasn’t Fathis at the bottom.

http://images.uesp.net/a/a5/OB-NPC-Dremora_Churl_Melee.jpg

It pulled out a long sword, and started toward Lilitu. As it got closer, Lilitu felt her knees start to tremble. She wanted to scream and run away, locking it back in its chamber. Maybe alert the guards. It couldn’t be legal to leave that thing in there!

She stayed put, drew her dagger, and tossed her bag back down the tunnel, wishing for something longer. How could her dagger match its sword? Especially since it looked like it was heavily armored. She clenched her jaw. She would have no choice but to go for the weaker spots and hope she could bury it deep enough. The man-like creature screamed, its voice like the scraping of metal. Its eyes were literally like fire and its blackened teeth looked like it could easily chew up a sword or two.

It ran up the stairs, its sword out. As it thrust the blade forward, Lilitu quickly pressed herself to the wall on the side, causing it to overstep. Lilitu tried to push it further, hoping to be able to stab it in the back of its neck, but it hit her hard in the side. The force of his arm caused her to fall hard on the stone floor.

She turned over, just in time to see it standing over her. Its sword was raised, ready to be plunged into her. She panicked and kicked him hard in the groin. Any other man would have doubled over in pain. Sadly, this thing was armored and definitely not human. For all Lilitu knew it had nothing there. Luckily, it did stumble back.

She stood up and as it got its sword ready for another attack, Lilitu held her dagger in both hands and tried to ram it into the wall, just hard enough to allow her time to stand straight. Just as it took a couple steps back, it punched her hard in the face. She cried out, but knew she couldn’t leave her back on it for even a moment. As soon as she turned, its sword was in the perfect position to lop her head off with a swing. Without a moment to lose, she jammed the dagger into its armpit.

Blackish-red ooze spurted onto her hands and on her face. She gagged, for a moment forgetting the danger as she tried to spit out the blood. The creature stumbled clumsily before falling back on the wall. A pool of its blood formed around them.

Lilitu wiped her face with the back of her hand, crinkling her nose as it stained her armor. By the gods, it smelled worse than it tasted.

The pit of her stomach threatened repeatedly to spill over until she finally started to feel the damage from its blows. Involuntary tears spilled down her cheeks at the sharp ringing she felt on her face. Every breath drew in throbs at her side. She hadn’t even noticed the coppery taste of her own blood until she felt it trickle from her nose. Lilitu weakly walked to where she had tossed her bag. Luckily it hadn’t gotten stepped on during the fight. She dug for a health potion and forced herself to drink it up, no matter how bitter it was and no matter what the chances were that she was swallowing foreign blood. After a moment her nose stopped bleeding, but the pain stayed. She needed two more bottles before she could comfortably stand.

“Alright,” she said taking out the empty bottles. “That leaves me… two and a half.” She grunted. “There had better not be any more of those things down there.”

She knelt next to the fallen creature and finally got to take a good look at its armor. It was black and jagged all over with large spikes protruding from its pauldrons and gauntlets. The tips were crimson. Daedric! She grinned. Authentic Daedric armor was even more valuable than ebony! She tried removing it but it seemed to be attached to its body. So that meant it could only be one thing.

“A dremora,” she hissed. “What sort of a man keeps a fetching dremora in his tunnel?” She paused. “Someone hiding something he really doesn’t want stolen.”

She turned her attention to its sword. Like the armor, it was Daedric.

[http://i117.photobucket.com/albums/o46/Jacki_Dice/OB-items-Longswords.jpg]Daedric Longsword[/url]

She picked it up. It was much heavier than what she was used to. She stopped using long blades long ago in favor of the small, easily concealable dagger. She wondered if she would even remember how to use it. She decided to take it with her. If she couldn’t use it, she could always sell it later.

She reached the bottom of the stairs where the dremora had stood. There were three doors. One in front, and the others on either side of her. None of them was obviously the right way. She started on the gate in front of her.

It led her to more tunnels, except these were flooded. The water reached all the way up to her thighs. Mudcrabs scuttled about and a few small slaughterfish glided around her legs. Though every so often a slaughterfish would nip at her, she was relieved to see only those things with her. At least a small slaughterfish could be picked up and tossed elsewhere.

The tunnel twisted and turned all over the place. Lilitu feared that she was going in circles until she came to a gaping hole in the middle of the tunnel. There was a slope on the other side, but it didn’t appear to go anywhere.

“Oh no,” she groaned. The distant urge to strangle the Gray Fox with his cowl surged once again. She tightened the buckle on her bag as tight as it would go after making sure her remaining health potions were sealed tightly.

There was no way to ease into it. She stepped off the ground, into the hole. She sputtered at first, grabbing onto the edge. The pressure on her chest made it hard to breathe. It took a couple hesitations before she finally took a deep breath and plunged herself into the water.

It took her a few seconds to be able to open her eyes while under the water. When she finally did, she saw that unlike the rest of the tunnel, this part seemed to be completely natural. She started to wonder just how far underground she was going. Images of the tunnel suddenly caving in refused to go away. She would be trapped forever. She would drown if she wasn’t crushed first. She would die painfully and alone. No one would know where she was. Dolce would eventually be thrown out of the inn where she would be forced on the streets. She wouldn’t survive long. Lilitu felt like crying but that wasn’t an option underwater.

About halfway down to where she could see the ground, Lilitu came across a hole that looked like it led up. Even if it was the wrong way, at least she could get some air and calm herself down. She grabbed on to the edges of the hole and propelled herself forward.

The tunnel was long and her lungs were starting to ache. What she would give to be able to breathe underwater! The thought of breathing made it worse. Her heart started racing even harder than before. Just one breath, her mind pleaded. She pursed her lips together forcing herself to keep going. It felt like hours before she finally saw the top. She kicked harder and pumped her arms until she was able to take in her first glorious breath.

As she greedily inhaled, she was aware of the loud splashing and dropping of water but she couldn’t care. Her lungs ached with each breath, but she enjoyed it. The pain reminded her that she was alive.

The top of her armor, thankfully, didn’t retain any water. It slipped off as soon as she was able to stand. It was her hair that continuously dripped in the thigh-high waters. She sighed heavily. It was no longer sleek and soft. The water had caused it to erupt into vibrant red spirals. She growled. It had taken over an hour and several burns on her fingers and scalp to get it perfectly straight. She squeezed the excess water out. The water splashed loudly on the ground. After it stopped dripping, she tied her hair into a knot on top of her head. It’ll have to do until I can brush it.

She walked down the tunnel, trying not to be too loud. The first thing she saw up ahead was a human skeleton. Remembering the one tucked away in the Blind Moth Catacombs made her hair stand up, but this one seemed to be quite inactive. Its arms were folded over its chest. No hissing or crackling emitted from it. Lilitu noticed a gold band on its finger and a small sack next to its feet. She opened it, smiling at the septims inside. She took the ring as well. It’s not like its got any use for it, she thought.

To the left of her was a set of stairs, thankfully completely out of the water. It led to a path with a door on one end and a curved path on the other. She bit her lip for awhile before choosing the door to her right. “Please don’t be a dremora in here,” she muttered.

It seemed to be a dead end filled only with barrels and cobwebs, but there was a path further down. She walked slowly, freezing inside when she heard a familiar roar.

“I’m going to kill him,” she growled, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking about the dremora, Fathis, the Grey Fox or all three.

This time, she chose the sword rather than the dagger. Since it was made of stronger material, she hoped that it would do more damage to it.

The dremora come from the hall to the right of her. As soon as it saw her, it raised its claymore. Lilitu blocked with her sword, almost caving from the immense strength of the dremora. She was able to push it off for a moment but it came swinging right back.

She blocked again, this time the swords slid and they were close enough to see into each other’s eyes. The dremora grinned, the joy of the fight in its eyes. Lilitu had a feeling that it was enjoying her fear. She pushed a little, but this time the dremora wasn’t budging. By the Nine, it had awful breath. She coughed, knowing they couldn’t stay locked forever. Sooner or later someone would tire first and she knew it would be her.

That’s when she realized it wasn’t wearing a helmet.

Forcing herself to push just enough to be able to let go with one hand, she punched the dremora right it the face. It hurt her wrist, but it got the dremora to stagger a little. She swung at its side, but the sword didn’t even dent its armor. The dremora roared, coming down to swing downward, but she was able to move out of the way quick enough to bury her sword in its neck.

She fell to her knees. “Thank you, Grandpa, for insisting that I learn to fight with a long blade. Thank you, oh dear gods, thank you,” she sighed.

She rubbed her wrist. It was sore, but definitely not broken, so she decided not to waste a healing potion on it just yet.

The dremora left a claymore. She picked it up, wishing she could take it but it was way too heavy to drag it along the whole time and she knew she wouldn’t use it. The long sword was slow enough. A claymore would have been agonizing.

She continued down the path when another sound caught her attention. She couldn’t quite describe it. It was something like a chirp or a squeal, but not from any creature she had ever heard of. Maybe it’s just some mice.

There was a door just around the corner. It would only take a few steps to be out of there, but with every beat of her heart came the sound of scratching and gargling, accompanied by the strange squeal.

“Mice,” she said aloud. “Tiny mice.”

The door was locked. Of course. Worse, the sounds were coming from behind the door. “N’chow!”

She almost turned back and tried the other path, but what would guarantee that she wouldn’t find worse there? Besides, she had already taken down two dremora, what else could possibly be there making sounds like a bird on skooma?

She unlocked it. Lilitu was rewarded by a claw swipe barely missing her face from a large, lizard-like creature. It had a large, flat plated head with a beak. Its long arms ended in three claws, almost like two fingers and a thumb. In addition to its claws, it also had a large, very sharp beak with teeth. A beak and teeth! It’s a damn clannfear!

http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:OB-creature-Clannfear.jpg

In her shock, the clannfear slapped the dagger from her hand. It slid across the floor. Lilitu pulled out the Daedric sword and swung downward. The clannfear accepted the hit, using the large plate on its head to block it. It swung once more at Lilitu’s face and she leaned back, still trying to saw into its head. The clannfear’s arm wrapped around the blade, almost taking it away. If it did that, she knew it would be all over. She rammed the clannfear’s side, loosening its arm and knocking it back a few steps. It screeched and charged forward. Lilitu grit her teeth as she stuck the sword into its stomach.

Instead of falling down dead like both dremora had done, the clannfear simply vanished. Lilitu stared at the ground where it should be, dumbstruck, until she realized that it had to have been summoned by someone. But did dremora summon clannfear? She didn’t think so.

“This man is a lunatic!” She said, picking up her dagger. “Who leaves a damn clannfear in a room full of glassware?”

Like Fathis’ bedroom, this room was set up for alchemy. Alembics and retorts were set on the table, some appearing to be made of crystal rather than glass. This time, she stuffed everything she could in her bag. It would sell nicely and easily.

Looking around the empty room, she started feeling the chill of being watched. Her mind went back to the clannfear. It certainly came from somewhere...

Down the hall Lilitu caught a flash of blue robes. A mage. She sighed deeply. The one from yesterday was enough. Before she had time to do anything, another clannfear ran toward her.

N’chow!” She held her dagger at her side, staring closely at the clannfear’s claws. If it acted anything like the other one, it would be a charger and that would be its undoing.

Sure enough, it raced toward Lilitu and raised its claw to slash at her. She dodged it and plunged her dagger into its belly and dragged it up to its throat. It disappeared right after, revealing the mage behind it: a Bosmer man with a shock of white in his brown hair.

He didn’t bother summoning anything else. Instead, he took out a dagger of his own and came at her,

They crossed blades for a moment. He wound up cutting Lilitu’s gauntlet, but never broke the skin. She punched him, like she did the dremora but instead of being able to stab him, the mage shot a fireball right in Lilitu’s face. She screamed, clutching the burn and she felt him slash her side repeatedly.

She couldn’t die like this. She had just taken down three daedra for heaven’s sake. She could feel the blood trickling down her side. All it would take was one good hit and it was over.

“Help me,” she whispered.

Directly in front of her, a white mist started to take form into an armored man. Lilitu couldn’t see his face, but she knew it was an Imperial. The mage took a step back, obviously surprised. He looked at his dagger, then back at the ghost, then his dagger again. It must not have been silver because he tossed it to the side and began throwing fireballs at it.

The ghost shrugged and walked toward the mage, calmly throwing magic of its own. Lilitu couldn’t tell what kind it was by looking at it but the chill in the air led her to believe it was frost. The mage started becoming more and more frantic, while the ghost remained calm. Why wouldn’t he? Lilitu wondered. It’s not like it can die again.

The mage quickly ran out of magicka, but the ghost didn’t stop. He continued firing at the mage until he stopped moving. The ghost turned and looked at Lilitu. He smiled at her and nodded a little before vanishing.

She placed her hand over her beating heart. Why was it that every time she managed to summon an ancestor, it was always an Imperial? Not that she minded, as long as it got the job done. She just couldn’t help wondering if her Dunmeri ancestors were too disgusted to be helping one whose blood had been “tainted” by Cyrodiils.

Two dremora, two clannfear, and a mage. That arrow had better be made out of solid gold! She looked over at the mage. What if there were more? She couldn’t fight all of them! If only she could sneak by them all… or maybe she could.

She dragged his body to the empty room and removed his robe. She slipped it on. It was a little tight over her armor and way too short, but from a distance she figured she would be passable. She would just need to keep her head down and move quickly.



These mages weren’t at all like Lilitu had imagined. She had been prepared for an evil, sadistic bunch who were likely working on a scroll to make a daedra appear under a child’s bed or something. She hadn’t expected the complete normalcy they showed amongst themselves. They socialized and compared potions. One sat on a bench, reading while she ate a piece of cheese. It was unsettling. Then again, were they truly evil? They were just a bunch of mages studying in secluded caverns, likely not hurting most people. She was the thief and for all they knew, she was there to slit throats and ransack everything in sight.

She continued to keep her head low and her eyes to the ground as she made her way through the maze-like tunnels. Luckily no one seemed to notice the lost red-haired Dunmer in their midst.

Finally, she reached a staircase with a locked door at the top. Hopefully it would lead to the arrow and she could find her way back to Bravil.



The sunlight was blinding. Lilitu hadn’t expected it and until she was able to see the white brick surrounding her she had been worried that she went through the wrong door. The walls were circular and went up several stories. It was decrepit, some walls falling apart along with some of the stairs. If there had ever been a roof, it was long gone. Lilitu almost felt cut off from the rest of the world. There was silence, save for the occasional clinking of glass.

Lilitu ignored the chest on the ground. If Fathis was here, he probably wouldn’t be too happy to catch a thief in the tower with him. She had to get the arrow and go.

She found him on the second floor, focused on mixing potions. He was an older Dunmer, at least fifty years older than Lilitu. His hair remained jet black, though Lilitu suspected he colored it. His face was unwrinkled, but there was something unnatural about the smoothness. Lilitu noticed his hands. Though he seemed to try to attain his youthful appearance in his face, his hands betrayed his many years. They weren’t crooked and spotted like the elderly, but his veins protruded out and they seemed wrinkled.

He held a crystal bottle up in the sunlight. The glass erupted in a rainbow of colors. As he glanced at the array of ingredients scattered about his table, he muttered a little to himself.

http://images.uesp.net/f/f1/OB-quest-Arrow_of_Extrication.jpg

Close to the archway, she came across a bookshelf with a key-shaped arrowhead sitting on top of a small chest. But that couldn’t be it. The Gray Fox said it was an arrow, not just the head. She took it and turned it over in her hand. It looked just like in the drawing he had given her. She shrugged. If it came down to it, it could always be fixed.

Relief rushed over her as she walked down the stairs. Finally she could go back to Bravil and relax. She smiled, even laughed a little… until the large doors leading out refused to open. Her lock picks did nothing to it either.

Great! She thought. He did this to keep thieves from getting out She looked back to where Fathis was. He had to have a key and that key was most likely on his person. She wanted to scream.

One….two…..three…. She counted in her head. It did little to lessen her fury, but it did clear her head a little. She dropped the arrowhead in the breast pocket of her cuirass and headed back up the stairs.

She crept up behind Fathis. He wore a golden cuirass that looked incredibly heavy but valuable. For a split second Lilitu recalled that there would be no blood price for killing him. How the mountains of gold she could make by selling off everything he had if he were out of the way… but she could barely get past one mage, let alone a court wizard.

She saw a set of keys dangling from a ring on his belt. That gave her two options: be subtle or be bold. She looked down at the ground. It wasn’t that high of a jump.

She sliced his belt from his waist and took off.

“What the?” He cried, startled. He dropped his potion and the moment his eyes laid on Lilitu, she jumped from the ledge onto the ground. She was rewarded with an intense pain in her shin, but she forced herself to keep going.

An all too familiar chirp made her almost drop the keys. She didn’t need to look back at the clannfear to know that it was there. She jammed the first key in. It was wrong. The second wasn’t right either and neither was the third.

The clannfear was barreling down the stairs. Oh dear gods it was fast. Lilitu tried the fourth and fifth key and shrieked in delight when the sixth one opened the large doors. She bolted out.

Bravil was straight ahead. Every step sent a sharp pain up her leg, but she knew she couldn’t stop while the clannfear was after her. She hoped and prayed for a legionnaire to be along the path and intervene, but she had no such luck. She couldn’t run forever. Her leg was close to giving out.

She turned around with her dagger out. The clannfear had been closer than she thought and it clawed her cheek. Blood poured profusely and she couldn’t help grabbing her face. The clannfear bit down on her arm and knocked her to the ground, its beak buried deep in her arm.

Lilitu didn’t bother holding In her screams. The pain from her leg, cheek, and arm had become unbearable, but if she didn’t do something quick the clannfear would bite her arm clean off. She used her free elbow to hit the clannfear repeatedly in the side of its head. It took several times for it to loosen its grip for even a second. It lifted up and shrieked loudly before going for her face. Without even thinking, Lilitu blocked with her injured arm, getting herself a fresh bite.

Oh gods, where was her dagger? She saw it glinting in the sunlight inches away from her foot. She couldn’t reach it while trying to stave off the clannfear. She used her elbow once more, this time jabbing it hard in the ribs. Once it lifted, Lilitu kicked her dagger up to her hands and once the clannfear lunged down, Lilitu stabbed it in the chest. It vanished.

She panted and cried a little.

“I hate clannfear!”

Posted by: Grits Sep 17 2011, 04:19 PM

She touched her hair, hoping she wouldn’t have to go for a swim.

Uh oh, now she will. Doesn’t Lilitu know that the best way to make it rain is to flatiron your hair?



“This man is a lunatic!” She said, picking up her dagger. “Who leaves a damn clannfear in a room full of glassware?”

This was a perfect touch of humor in a harrowing trip through the ruin. Good choice for Lilitu to put on a robe and slip past the other conjurers. Wow, that was a tough escape, and very close. You know it’s bad when a thief is hoping to see a legionnaire on the road!

Posted by: SubRosa Sep 19 2011, 05:58 PM

That was a close call with the dremora! I see tauntauns are not the only thing that smell worse on the inside than the outside! biggrin.gif

If the swim underwater was not harrowing enough, it ruined poor Liltu's hair! ohmy.gif Sometimes life is just not fair.

A clannfear! this is really turning out to be more than just a little theft! Good thing Liltu can summon that ancestor spirit. I love that it is an Imperial. It is one more example of her mixed heritage.

That was one nerve-wracking experience! Daedra and conjurers everywhere, not not to mention the despicable Fathis Aren. The Grey Fox better appreciate all she's been through for him!

Posted by: King Coin Sep 22 2011, 04:34 AM

Lilitu got so lucky fighting the much better armed and armored dremora. ohmy.gif

I totally forgot about the ancestor guardian power. Great use of it. I was surprised it was an Imperial though.

Heh, even hostile wizards are people too.

I think Lilitu’s luck is running out. She’s on her back with a hurt leg, several bites on her arm, and her cheek opened up. And I’m sure Fathis isn’t just sitting up in his tower sweeping up the glass.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Oct 4 2011, 01:28 AM

Grits~ Oh, that is one of the most irritating truths out there!

Subrosa~ I think the in-game remark he makes when you give it to him made that chapter so much more fun to do!

King Coin~ The Imperial was a last minute thing, actually. At one point I was thinking of having it be a set ancestor but since she has so many issues with her ancestry I though it would be a nice touch.

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty-three: Healing


Lilitu laid on the ground, panting hard. She wanted to walk but her body refused. She stared up at the sky. After all that, the dremora, the clannfear, Fathis, she was left lying in the path alone and unable to fight. She hadn’t reached in her bag, but she knew her remaining potions had been shattered when she fell. She tried using a healing spell, but all it did was partially close the wound in her cheek. That clannfear must have cut deep.

Her eyes drifted to the edge of the forest. How many scavengers were there hiding behind the trees? She didn’t know. She had spent her entire life only knowing the woods from the safe distance of books. Birds chirped merrily from beyond. How long would it be until they came to peck out her eyes?

Her arm throbbed as the adrenaline wore off, leaving room for brilliant flashes of pain. It was just too much. She closed her eyes for a moment. Sleep makes the pain go away. She turned on her side and curled herself up.

What was she thinking? Her eyes shot open. She couldn’t just take a nap in the middle of the road. She may as well post a sign next to her unconscious body saying “Please rob/have your way with/murder/cook and eat me.” Besides, Dolce was waiting for her. She hated being locked up for too long. Still, once her eyes closed again, they didn’t want to open. In a matter of moments all was black.



Lilitu felt a strong sensation of floating on top of crystal blue water. The pink mist that rose up from the water was sweet smelling, like a bed of roses. Between blackouts, she saw glimpses of a woman. Her hair was bright as the sun with a thin golden crown on her head. She held Lilitu’s head on her lap, gently dipping a jeweled chalice in the water and pouring it over Lilitu’s forehead. The woman was sitting on a rock decorated with colorful starfish. Her mouth moved, remaining in a soft smile. Lilitu couldn’t make out any words.

The last thing Lilitu felt was the woman brushing her lips on her cut cheek. Then the vision was gone.

Night had fallen. Lilitu sat up quickly. Her armor, or what was left of it, was intact and her bag was still there so it didn’t seem as if she had been disturbed at all. When she stood back up, she noticed that she was holding a bright pink starfish.



“It doesn’t make any sense!”

Lilitu stood naked in front of the mirror. After all that, not a single mark remained. No cuts, no scars, not even a single bruise. She looked at Dolce, who simply yawned.

“You should have seen the state I was in by time this was all over. For a moment I seriously thought I was going to die out there and look at me now! I’m damn near glowing.”

She sat on the bed and turned the starfish over in her hands. She held it close to her face. It couldn’t be real. Starfish didn’t live in the Niben Bay. It sure looked real enough, though. She stuck it in her bag.

She knelt next to Dolce. “It’s strange but I guess it’s better than having to crawl all the way back.” She stood up. “Now I better get dressed and get going before the carriage leaves without us.”



By early morning the next day, Lilitu was back where it had all started, the basement of Sheep’s Clothing.

The Gray Fox sat across from her. Lilitu wondered if he had hid here the whole time.

“You made it back in one piece! Capital!” He said with a smile. “I trust you’ve got the arrow?”

“What I could find of it.” Lilitu placed the arrowhead on the table.

The Gray Fox frowned. “Hmmm. I had hoped for the whole arrow,” he said disappointedly. Lilitu felt a flush of rage until he quickly added, “But that is not your fault. I will have to have it repaired.” He turned it over in his hand. His smile returned to his face, his eyes gleaming. “This arrowhead advances my plan to...” He shook his head. “Never mind. I may have need of you again in the near future, if my plans hold.”

“Looking forward to it,” Lilitu lied.

“Here is your reward.” He tossed a large sack of gold to her. Suddenly she wasn’t so angry. “I am also promoting you to Master Fence in the Thieves Guild. Anyone outside of Kvatch will need to be a Master Thief in order to use your services.”

Suddenly, she was elated.



Capaneus laid in bed, happily spent from the night before. He reached to the pillow next to him and inhaled deeply. It smelled of strawberries. He could lay in bed all day. In fact, if she wasn’t going to be busy later in the day, he definitely would.

He could hear rustling of pots and pans downstairs. Was she cooking him breakfast? He chuckled. He could get used to this. It wasn’t a bad way to wait out the days until it was Time.

He was so surprised at her boldness. At first he had no intention of seeing her. He had a prior commitment, after all. But after being so passionately pursued, he just couldn’t say no. He was glad for it. This was the way to live.

He heard her footsteps up the stairs. He sat up and ran his hand through his hair.

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

He grinned. “Morning, Atrea.”

Posted by: SubRosa Oct 4 2011, 04:50 PM

Lilitu laid on the ground, panting hard.
You know, there are so many places I would love to take this! Unfortunately, injured and alone is not one of them! I loved her rumination on the birds coming to peck out her eyes! laugh.gif

I loved your description of Liltu's savior. Mara I presume? Her description reminded me of the Star Tarot card.

Have I mentioned how much I love the name Sheep’s Clothing? It is so perfect for a thieves guild front!

“Looking forward to it,” Lilitu lied.
Reminds me of when I talk to my boss! biggrin.gif

Cap is two-timing Kirsty with Awour! ohmy.gif I love how he is happily descending into hedonism. Usually it is only the leader of cults who get to do that! When the time finally does come to destroy the world, I think he might not be so eager to follow through.



nits:
Starfish didn’t live in the Niben Bay.
"the" seems out of place here. I suggest dropping it.

Posted by: King Coin Oct 4 2011, 05:04 PM

QUOTE(Jacki Dice @ Oct 3 2011, 07:28 PM) *

King Coin~ The Imperial was a last minute thing, actually. At one point I was thinking of having it be a set ancestor but since she has so many issues with her ancestry I though it would be a nice touch.

I loved it.

Who healed her and why? It doesn’t make sense!
I’m happy she was with her reward by the Gray Fox.
Looking forward to more!

Posted by: Grits Oct 5 2011, 11:12 PM

Capaneus and Awour!! Now I’m mad at him for two-timing or dumping Kirstie, even though I wanted her to dump him. And as for Awour…. Hah! I wonder if Capaneus has shared his reading material yet.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Oct 9 2011, 10:12 PM

SubRosa~ I figured you'd catch the Tarot reference, but it was more the Queen of Cups rather than the Star, though I see the similarities in my description. You were spot on with your guess of Mara!

King Coin~ It was the embodiment of Mara, though the why will be hinted at and revealed in later chapters smile.gif

Grits~ Awour in the Mythic Dawn... That will make Wrothken very grateful to be rid of her!



Speaking of Wrothken, since I tend to split sections of Wrothken/Lilitu by a few chapters, I’m going to start posting reminders when we go back and see them smile.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty-four: The Replacement


Reminder: When we last saw Wrothken, he was faced with the choice of murdering either Syl, Duchess of Dementia, or Thadon, Duke of Mania, so he could replace them. Wrothken refused only to invoke the wrath of the Madgod. After Haskill stepped in, Wrothken went to go get some sound(ish) advice from the only source he trusted.


Bernice took Wrothken into her suite in order to give them some privacy. Wrothken had a feeling it would result in some rather unpleasant rumors, but at that point he didn’t care.

http://images.uesp.net/9/9b/SI-npc-Sickly_Bernice.jpg

The walls were painted a glum grey. Most of the furniture was black with an intricate white floral pattern. The same pattern decorated the rugs and chairs.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/antiquelighting/4229164634/

She sat him down on a plush sofa in front of a small coffee table. She joined him with a tea kettle and poured him a cup. “It’s aster bloom,” she said as he took a sip. “I’ve got honey and sugar here if you’d like.”

The tea warmed him up and after some gulps he was finally able to share his story. He started at the very beginning when he first left Kvatch all the way through to his most recent demand. By the time he was done explaining, he was out of breath and felt like the world was spinning. He didn’t know if it was the tea or the fact that voicing his current predicament only solidified it.

Bernice had interrupted only a few times to ask questions about parts that confused her, but was silent for the most part. Once he was finished she took a long gulp of tea. “You had quite the adventure, haven’t you?”

Wrothken nodded. “And now I have no choice but to….” He could barely force it out. “To murder someone! And for what? To get the people behind me? I thought lighting the flame would do it!”

“It would do it for the people in whatever city you picked. Besides, it seems you’re always here so how could anyone in Bliss know who you are?”

“So what do you suggest?”

She poured herself another cup. “I think you should replace Thadon.” She paused. “And I’m not just saying that out of loyalty to Lady Syl.”

Wrothken slumped back in the couch. “So you think I should kill him.”

“Well, no, not exactly.”

“That’s my only choice. It’s not like he’d just willingly give up his throne.”

“Very true, but you told me that he’s addicted to drugs, right?”

He nodded.

“Then he’s destroying himself anyway with it. It’s not really murder when you’re doing it to yourself.”

He knew it was true, but it still didn’t make him feel better about it.

“I know it doesn’t really change things, dearie. But consider this. If you don’t go through with it, then it’s your life in danger.” She patted his shoulder. “That and if you don’t stop this Greymarch, you’ll be destroyed as well. We all will.”



“Sheogorath, I’m ready.” Wrothken said sullenly. Though Bernice made a convincing point, he still took absolutely no joy in what he had to do.

“A friendly word of warning before you choose. Once you have decided which Duke to replace, there's no turning back. One choice. No more, no less. Try not to do something stupid.”

A little late for that, he thought bitterly.

“So, which is it?” Sheogorath asked. “What will it be? Mania? Dementia? The suspense is killing me. Or you, if I have to keep waiting.”

“I’m going to replace Thadon.”

Sheogorath raised his eyebrows and nodded a little. “A safer choice, perhaps. Maybe you'll live through this. Thadon's a bit lost these days. Not that it's a bad thing. It suits him.” He paused. “Until now. Besides, won't it be a grand surprise when you make his heart burst from too much Greenmote? Thadon loves surprises!”

Wrothken closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“Thadon may be in a constant state of euphoria, but I wouldn't underestimate his intelligence,” he continued. “Oh, this is so much fun!” He clapped his hands and jumped up in the air.

Wrothken couldn’t help feeling annoyed at Sheogorath’s excitement. This was not fun whatsoever!

“We're making you into a leader the people can trust.” He clapped Wrothken’s shoulder. “Someone to look up to. Someone to blame! Once I'm gone, things usually get bad quickly. Lots of defections. Lots of carnage.” Sheogorath shrugged. “But with you at the helm, things will be different! Yes,” he said, stroking his beard. “This time, I'll beat him. I can't stand losing. And I don't mind cheating! We will speak when your task is complete.”


After a night of restless sleep, he tried on the black finery he received from Arctus. Surprisingly it fit him like a glove. The shoulders and chest felt like smooth leather, while the sleeves were soft as silk. Brass buttons decorated the sleeves and ran down the stomach. The pants weren’t leather or silk, but were still soft and comfortable to wear. Looking in a mirror, he noticed that the pointed shoulders actually made him look a little bigger than he was, though the quality of the outfit gave him a cleaner, more distinguished appearance.

The best part, though, was that when he walked he didn’t make nearly as much noise as he usually did. He felt faster as well. Feeling a little better, if only because he looked good, he headed over to Thadon’s palace.



In the morning, it was a lot different than the wild party he had encountered last time. Instead, the various guests were sprawled wherever there was space, some alone and some in groups of three or four. Most of them were naked. It smelt of lots of sex and alcohol. It was so potent that it made him want to gag.

A Golden Saint spotted him and made the motion for silence before approaching him. “What business do you have in the House of Thadon?” She demanded. She seemed even colder than before, plainly sneering at him rather giving him a cold look. Word must have traveled back about Cylarne.

Well, one good thing about replacing Thadon is that they have to be nicer to me, he thought. “I’m looking for…” Thadon probably would be too hung over to give him any useful information. Besides, Wrothken didn’t think he could stomach looking into the eyes of the man he was going to kill. “Wide Eye.”

The Golden Saint huffed. “She’s out in the garden. Don’t take too long and stay quiet!”

http://images.uesp.net/2/21/SI-npc-Wide-Eye.jpg

Wide Eye was the only person around who didn’t seem to be paying the price for last night’s party. She sat in the bright garden absorbed in a book.

“Hello, Wide Eye.”

She looked up at him and used her thumb to keep her place as she closed her book. “Good morning. How can I help you this fine day?”

“I need to talk to you about Thadon.”

She smiled widely and Wrothken couldn’t be sure but he thought her scales tinged red. “Such a kind and noble man,” she gushed. “In times like these, it's good to have a leader who still enjoys all the modern pleasures Mania has to offer.”

Wrothken’s stomach sank. Not only would he be murdering the man she was obviously in love with, but he was a perfect fit for Mania. After all, Wrothken would never indulge in felldew, skooma or any other drug Thadon enjoyed. What sort of Duke would he be? “What sort of modern pleasures?”

“Apart from enjoying his painting, reading a good book, or a rousing night of erotic bedroom games? I'm speaking of Greenmote, of course! There is no greater pleasure. If I didn't have such a busy daily routine, I'd likely indulge myself in its pleasures more often.”

A busy schedule would mean a distracted Wide Eye. That was a good an opportunity as any to poison Thadon. “Well, what do you do all day? Maybe I can help.”

Wide Eye hesitated. “At the risk of being rude, I must confess I don't like talking about the specifics of my routine. Thadon has too many enemies that may turn that knowledge against him. He depends on me quite dearly.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well…” He paused for a quick moment. “Well, Wide Eye, you know you can trust me. I’m Sheogorath’s Champion after all. What good would it do for me to harm one of Lord Sheogorath’s court? He’d have my head!”

She looked at him for awhile. Something about her eyes seemed like it was going through him, detecting his lies. I shouldn’t have said that! He thought in a panic. I’m a terrible liar!

“Alright, I guess there’s no harm in telling you.”

His jaw nearly dropped. He couldn’t believe that actually worked. Either she was gullible or he was getting better at lying. He wasn’t sure he liked either one.

“After a bit of reading here in the garden and running my special errand at noon, I like to shop at Books of Bliss.” Wrothken wondered if she was really shopping for books or getting seductive tips from Sontaire. “Around eight, we are served dinner. Gundlar is quite a chef and prepares Thadon's meals personally, adding just a hint of Greenmote. After that, we dance, we sing, or,” she broke into a smile and fanned herself. “We do whatever else suits my lord's tastes.”

So during dinner is when he has his Greenmote. I’ll just need to get to his plate.

“What was that about a special errand?”

Wide Eye closed her book and stood up. “There isn't anything in the world you could say that would convince me to tell you where the Greenmote is located.”

Wrothken raised his eyebrows. He didn’t ask where it was located. Bingo.

“In fact, I must tend to Thadon at once. Speaking to you has already cost me time. I must go.” She quickly headed out into the throne room.

Wrothken sat down. She said she read and then did her errand, which was getting the Greenmote. As he was no pickpocket, he would have to slip in after her and get a few handfuls.



Wide Eye wasn’t exactly a hard target to track. After going back into the palace and barking at everyone to get up and clean up after themselves, she headed out to the courtyard. Wrothken sat at a distance, pretending to admire the twinkling stars.

Wide Eye nodded to a passing Golden Saint, who merely snorted in return. Nice to know they’re rude to everyone, I suppose, Wrothken thought. Wide Eye walked along the stone edge stopping in front of a bust of Sheogorath. She pressed something and it backed up into the wall, revealing a ladder going down a dark tunnel.

http://images.uesp.net/e/e4/SI-place-Greenmote_Silo.jpg

Posted by: SubRosa Oct 10 2011, 08:17 PM

So Wrothken is now shacking up with Bernice! wink.gif Well, at least that is a better rumor than being deformed! I liked your description of Bernice's Victorian chamber. It fits very well with the dresses the women wear in the Isles.

A little late for that, he thought bitterly.
Yep, ever since he stepped through that door in Niben Bay...

The extra contempt the Aureal guard had for Wrothken was a good, thoughtful touch after Cylarne. As was Wroth's thoughts about them having to be nice once he was the new Duke.

Now its off to whack Thadon we go. The one time I did the entire SI main quest I killed him too. I used up a lot of invisibility potions sneaking into his quarters with the greenmote. I wonder how Wrothken will manage that part?

Posted by: King Coin Oct 11 2011, 12:29 AM

I’m glad to be back to Wrothken. It’s been a while, good thing you reminded us what was happening.

I’m going to enjoy the moment when Wrothken becomes the Duke of Mania. Not only does he not fit the role at all, the Golden Saints are going to have to call him Lord.

Posted by: Grits Oct 11 2011, 03:36 AM

I feel so bad for Wrothken. He’s in one of those situations where the only way out is through it. At least he gets to look hot in his new black outfit.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Oct 17 2011, 06:50 AM

SubRosa~ I'd much rather have people think I was shacking up with a much older woman than there be a deformity worthy of screams lurking away!

King Coin~ I decided to do the reminders because I figured that if I'm forgetting what's going on, then other people might be too! ohmy.gif I'm sure Wrothken will enjoy the Golden Saints being forced to be nicer. Maybe they just need a good nap!

Grits~ I was going to take a picture of him in the finery, but not only did the tv glare too much, the shoulders are worse than any 80's style power suit! It was just better to imagine it tongue.gif

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty-five: Poison


Wrothken climbed down quickly. He could hear the rumbling of the bust getting ready to settle back into place.

He stood in the entrance for a moment, so his eyes could adjust. The tunnels themselves were exactly like the others he had been: fragrant, mulchy ground, branches and thorns along the walls, glowing, orange pods sat around the edges. Some green pods were bigger than he was with branches sticking out of the bottom. He could see a bright fire up ahead of him. Every so often a silhouette of a Golden Saint would pass by. He started wringing his hands. Of course the secret drug stash would be heavily guarded. Not even the most careless junkie left their treasure unattended. Somehow he knew there would be more than one.

He took a step forward. There were large fire pits that lit up parts of the tunnel brightly. He was about to swear until he noticed that the focused lights also created deep shadows. Thank the gods he decided to go in his new clothes rather than his shiny, clunky armor. If only he could do something about his pale skin and blond hair.

Keeping his back against the wall, he edged down the hall. The Golden Saint passed by and went down a tunnel to his right. That was just the reason he needed to go left.

The path curved and sure enough another Golden Saint was pacing. After going from left to right, she came toward Wrothken. His insides froze and he backed up behind the curve. Clunk-clunk-clunk! He heard her coming closer. He stood as still as he could. He even held his breath for fear she’d catch it. She was a daedra after all.

Silence.

If he were caught, how could he explain his presence? He closed his eyes exasperatedly. And why was he going through all this trouble to do something he didn’t want to do? Oh yeah, if he didn’t he was dead.

Clunk-clunk-clunk…

He breathed out a slow sigh of relief as he heard her walk away. He peeked out. If he were a stealthier person, he would have simply stalked behind her, but he wasn’t going to press his luck. He waited until she disappeared in the shadows to go further down.

For a quick moment, Wrothken felt as exposed as a baby being born. The fires burned bright enough to nearly blind him. He jumped out, back into the shadows. He couldn’t risk being seen. Something told him Golden Saints didn’t believe in shadowmen.

Once he was able to see again, he noticed a large root leading to a lower level. A stone arch was directly in front of it. That had to be it.

Wrothken tiptoed down the root and was in awe of what he saw.

http://images.uesp.net/6/6a/SI-quest-Ritual_of_Mania.jpg

It was enough Greenmote to satiate all the drug addicts in Cyrodiil. Maybe even all of Tamriel! He looked behind him before entering. The coast was clear.

Though it was staring him right in the face, he just couldn’t comprehend how much of the drug there was. If it were to be sold on the streets, how much would it bring him? Thousands of septims? Millions?

You know, this stuff would catch on back home. The sudden thought rose from the back of his mind. I would be richer than the emperor and all the counts combined!

Wrothken felt a flush of shame after realizing what he had momentarily considered. Dear gods, it was no better than what his father was doing! He felt even sicker than he had all day.

He crept around to the back of the room, avoiding eye contact with the stuff. There had to be somewhere he could put it, other than his pockets.

He came across a table with a few plants and bottles sitting next to a pile of felldew. He grunted in disgust. He never wanted to see that stuff again. He took the bottles and emptied the liquids out of them. Hopefully the Greenmote wouldn’t have some sort of strange reaction with whatever had been in them before.

Wrothken turned back to the pile and grabbed a handful and poured it inside the bottles. The stuff was incredibly fine. It would easily mix into food. His stomach sank. Oh dear gods, he was really doing this. His hands trembled as he filled them each up and stuck them in his pockets.

He checked the room for a secret door that would lead him directly to Thadon’s room, but there was no such luck. It seemed odd to him, but then again maybe it was a safety precaution in order to keep Thadon from overdosing.

Sneaking back out was easier than sneaking in. This time he knew exactly where to go and when to avoid the Golden Saints. Before long he was back out in the plaza of the Palace. He took a deep breath and almost brushed the hair from his face when he noticed that his hands were dusted with Greenmote. Wrothken panicked and quickly wiped them on his pants.

Now he just had to slip the Greenmote into Thadon’s food. Wrothken frowned. It wasn’t as if he could just do it in front of everyone. He didn’t think the guests were that stoned. But where could he do it? He had never received a grand tour of the palace, likely for this very reason. He let out a sigh of exasperation before summoning Haskill.

[url= http://images.uesp.net/b/b4/SI-npc-Haskill.jpg]Haskill[/url]

“Still alive, I see.” Haskill said as he appeared. “Good thing. I wouldn’t want to have saved your life in vain.”

Wrothken looked toward the ground. “Thanks for that,” he muttered.

“It was nothing, really,” Haskill said, though Wrothken saw a smug glint in his eye. “So what is it you require?”

Wrothken looked around. No one seemed to pay them any attention. “Well, I’ve got the… stuff. I’m just not sure where to go from here.”

“Choices, choices,” Haskill said, glancing at Wrothken’s powdery legs. “Well, now that you’ve liberated some Greenmote from the silo, you need to add it to Thadon’s food and wine. The kitchen would be a good place to start, but they are deep in his quarters guarded by more Saints. So once again you have choices: to sneak or to kill. Be cautious these Saints are some of his most elite. Whatever you decide, be sure you do it before eight o’clock tonight.” He paused. “And do clean up your pants. I would hate for Thadon to try snorting you in the middle of dinner.”

With that, Haskill vanished. Wrothken couldn’t tell what time it was, but he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to lollygag for this job.



Wrothken casually walked back into the Palace. A man played a lute while most of the people inside lounged around snacking on fruit and cheese and drinking wine. It was so relaxing that Wrothken wished he could join in. The clinking of the bottles reminded him of his task and his heart sank. What were all these people going to do without Thadon? What was Bliss going to do?

How would Syl feel?

Wrothken knew about their forbidden tryst, though according to Thadon, Syl didn’t acknowledge it for whatever reason. Still, when Thadon was dead, would she miss him? Would she lose what was left of her mind? Good gods, would she try to avenge his death?

Wrothken shook his head. He would have to think about it later. He had to focus.

He went into the garden. As he looked at the colorful plants, it dawned on him that it would be his garden in just a few hours. His to lounge about in, enjoying its peace and beauty whenever he wanted. In fact, it could be his refuge when things became too much. He paused. Could the constant flow of insanity be what drove poor Thadon to drugs?

There was a single door on the other end of the garden. Like the door that led to the Chalice of Reversal back in Dunroot Burrow, it was carved with a scene of a party, though a man resembling Thadon was in the center holding a goblet in one hand and a skooma pipe in the other. Several women were shown at his feet staring at him adoringly. Wrothken couldn’t help noticing that Wide Eye was not depicted among them. He shook his head. First order of business was to replace the door with something a little less Thadon-y.

Once he checked and saw that he was alone, Wrothken jiggled the handle. It was locked tight. He stamped his foot and cursed under his breath. He couldn’t very well bash this door down. Not only was it too sturdy, but he was sure to get caught.

Now what? He couldn’t just stand there, covered in Greenmote until someone else came in. Letting out a loud growl, he sat down where Wide-Eye had been that morning while reading her book. Not that he wanted to do it, but he needed to get in Thadon’s room before dinner. How was he going to do that? He didn’t think Haskill would be much help. Otherwise he could have done a lot more in the first place.

He buried his face in his hands for a moment when a glint on the ground under the bench caught his eye. He leaned down to investigate and he found it was a key. He picked it up. No… he thought. There was no way.

He got up and went back to the door. He inserted the key and twisted and sure enough the door unlocked. What luck! Then again, it would be really lucky if Thadon just would announce his resignation. Wrothken sighed. He supposed he should be grateful for small miracles and not be too choosy, lest Fate decide to really punish his ingratitude.

The room was filled with dim light. It was musky and it took Wrothken’s nose awhile to adjust to the smells. He stood at the top of a few steps, at the end of a long hallway. Just as he was about to head into the main room, he saw a glint of gold up ahead. He ducked down into the shadows. Sure enough, a Golden Saint patrolled the bedroom as well.

“There she is,” Wrothken said under his breath. Why would Thadon have Golden Saints in his bedroom? It’s not like they would be up for any of his “rousing bedroom games!” Maybe he liked them to watch? Or to keep people from doing what I’m about to do, he thought.

Wrothken hoped the Golden Saints wouldn’t patrol the room, should he be sleeping in there. He wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t wake up to a sword at his throat.

The Golden Saint stopped at the foot of the stairs and then turned back around into the depths of the hall.

Haskill said “Saints” so there have to be a few more hidden around here, Wrothken thought. He sighed. Once again he would have to skulk through shadows like a thief or an assassin. Well, exactly like an assassin, since technically that’s what he was acting like.

He sat down for a moment. He told himself it was to be able to time the Golden Saint, but he knew it was also out of hesitation. He ran his finger along the smooth neck of the bottle waiting in his pocket. In just a few moments he will have killed a man. He closed his eyes. It was almost funny. If he would have just let Ma’Zhadda take care of Syl, he probably wouldn’t be in this situation. Sheogorath could just pass the crown down to Wrothken and he would have been Duke of Dementia with little to no fuss. He pinched the bridge of his nose. What else had he done that will come back to bite him later?

He crawled back up on his knees as the Golden Saint went back into the shadows, this time heading into the living quarters to the left before returning down the hall. Wrothken turned the corner, careful to dodge the other Golden Saint pacing around the room. Wrothken was thankful for the plush red carpet on the floor keeping his feet from making too much noise.

Though Wrothken’s stomach was filled with knots over it, he couldn’t help checking out what his soon-to-be new room looked like. Strangely, there were several busts of Sheogorath tucked into niches in the walls. Some of him smiling, some scowling. All of them faced forward into what appeared to be Thadon’s bedroom. It was an ever present reminder that even if he wasn’t being watched, he was still trapped under the thumb of the Madgod, at least until the Greymarch was over or he died. Whichever was first. Wrothken made a note to get rid of them all… and Thadon’s mattress as well. He’d sleep on the floor sooner than in whatever fluids were absorbed into it.

Columns were erected in front of the statues, giving Wrothken the perfect places to hide behind as he followed a Golden Saint. Around those were huge wine casks, though even through the wood Wrothken could smell that whiskey was inside. He smiled and rubbed the cask. That just might prove useful. He ignored common sense warning him not to try and drink his stress away.

Wrothken ducked behind one of the statues as a pair of Golden Saints crossed paths in front of him. He briefly considered summoning Haskill in the middle of the room to be used as a decoy, but he had a feeling that the Golden Saints wouldn’t attack him at all. He was Sheogorath’s number one guy, after all. Besides, he was actually helpful this time.

Wrothken slipped behind the Golden Saint that was going left down a short flight of stairs. He watched from behind one of the casks. Haskill said that the kitchen was in the depths of Thadon’s quarters. That had to be it downstairs. He waited until the Golden Saint passed by to dash into the kitchen.

For a duke, the kitchen was surprisingly small. In fact, his kitchen back in Kvatch had been bigger! Wrothken was willing to bet that Syl’s closet was bigger. It consisted of a cabinet full of wines and ale, a few sacks and barrels, and a table where a lavish dinner plate was sitting. That was it.

Wrothken took the bottles from his pocket and opened one. He held it over Thadon’s wine and closed his eyes for a moment. I can’t do this! He started biting the nails of his free hand. His mouth and throat dried up.

He tapped the neck of the bottle. A little Greenmote sprinkled in. “Well,” he said softly. “The damage is done. No use going halfway.”

He poured the rest of the Greenmote into the goblet. He stirred it with his finger, then wiped it on his pants.

He looked at Thadon’s dinner plate. It looked like baliwog leg with sides of scrambled eggs and sliced alocasia. Since he had already poisoned the wine, it wasn’t as hard to slip the Greenmote in the food.

Wrothken ducked behind the cabinet as the Golden Saint returned down the stairs for a moment. As soon as he left, he snuck out of the room. His heart continued thudding as he walked back into the main palace. It was done. There was no turning back.



“Ah, if it isn’t Sheogorath’s champion!”

Wrothken felt nauseas as he heard Thadon erupt from his throne. Thadon motioned to an empty chair. Wrothken couldn’t deny him what would likely be his final request. As soon as he sat down, three naked women joined him, running their fingers through his hair, rubbing his chest and giggling in his ear. Any other time, he would have enjoyed the attention. Now he started feeling claustrophobic.

“I haven’t seen hair nor hide from you since you retrieved my chalice! I heard you lit the flame for Dementia.”

Wrothken started chewing his cuticle. “I did. It was a hard choice.”

“Was it?” Thadon asked, with his eyebrows raised. “Yet, here you are in my palace. You must not have really chosen a side.”

Thadon had no idea.

“Still,” he said. “It matters not. The flame will burn but what’s to stop it from dying once more? Will you retrieve it then? Would you have us take turns? Tell me, will you be joining us for dinner?”

Wrothken managed what he hoped was a smile. “I’d love to.”


https://imgur.com/LsULbuo

Posted by: SubRosa Oct 17 2011, 07:21 PM

He could hear the rumbling of the bust getting ready to settle back into place.
For a moment, I was wondering if you meant the bust of Kirsty the Buxom Bosmer Baker... wink.gif (perhaps you should have named her Bursty?)

Oh yeah, if he didn’t he was dead.
Now that is a motivator!

Lots to like here. Wrothken's heart-stopping moment as the Golden Saint approached. His natural first thought of how much money the greenmote could make him if he somehow sold it, followed closely by his disgust at himself for thinking it in the first place. Then of course another visit from Haskill, and the Thadony door (definitely replace that!).

And now, time for dinner. I am sure it will be a memorable one!


nits:
His insides froze and he back up behind the curve
It looks like that Aureal scared off your "ed" in backed.


Be cautious{,} these Saints are some of his most elite.
I think you wanted a comma where I inserted it above.


Wrothken felt nauseas as he heard Thadon erupt from his throne.
It looks like an extra 's' fell into nausea along with all that greenmote.



Posted by: Grits Oct 17 2011, 09:51 PM

I thought of Kirsty with the rumbling bust, too! laugh.gif

Poor Wrothken in stealth mode on a mission he really doesn’t want to complete. Even his victory when he found the Greenmote sickened him. My favorite moment was when he realized that would soon be his garden. I enjoyed the descriptions and tension throughout.

Posted by: mALX Oct 18 2011, 09:36 PM

Sorry it has taken me so long to catch up, the last three months were so hellish I couldn't write a chapter on my story or barely find time to read anyone else's !! I finally have a break, and hope it lasts out the year so I'll have time to play Skyrim when it comes out, lol.

Chapter 30:

The scenes with Lilitu, Dolce, and the mage were powerfully tense - suspensefull, especially after Dolce jumped into the fight!

Chapter 31:

SPEW !!! Dolce in a corset ... ROFL !!! ... oh, WHEW! Lilitu is going to wear it, lol. Absolutely loved this whole chapter !!

Chapter 32:

Loved the Dremora fight - punching him in the face was hilarious, even while I was worried she wouldn't make it through the fight !!! Lilitu must be at a really high level, I've never seen Fathis Aren in fancy armor before, lol. What is that, Orcish?

As was said above, Lilitu's inner dialogue throughout kept me rolling !!

Chapter 33:


QUOTE
She couldn’t just take a nap in the middle of the road. She may as well post a sign next to her unconscious body saying “Please rob/have your way with/murder/cook and eat me.”


ROFL !!!

Very interesting encounter with the starfish lady !!! (Charlie Tuna's wife?)

Chapters 34-35 - back in Shivering Isles with Wrothken - GAAAH !! What about Lilitu? Lol. So Wrothken will side with Syl, lol? Oh I hated making that decision !!!

Awesome Write, all of it !!! Lilitu's personality is fantastic, I love reading about her !!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Oct 22 2011, 11:02 PM

SubRosa~ laugh.gif So when Kirsty moves do you imagine the sounds of an earthquake?

Grits~ I'm glad you enjoyed it. smile.gif It was a very tense write. There would actually be times where I would focus so much my heart would race as well!

mALX~ So glad to see you back ♥ The picture of Fathis is from the uesp site. Since I'm playing on the Xbox I can't get good pictures of anyone :/


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty-six: Dinner



Dinner was served promptly at eight.

Up until now, Wrothken had only sampled Bernice’s cooking so he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Though he was sure Thadon’s chef was a wonderful cook, he had to be since he cooked for a duke, Wrothken couldn’t taste much of anything. Not only could he not focus on his food, Wrothken couldn’t keep up with the conversation. Then again, it could have been due to the company as much as the circumstances.

Thadon didn’t seem to notice anything. In fact, he ate and drank slowly, seeming to savor each bite. A large lump formed in Wrothken’s throat. With each bite Thadon was dying. Not in a peaceful way either, if the story wasn’t an exaggeration.

He stirred his food around his plate. They say the Dark Brotherhood comes for you after you murder someone. He bit his thumbnail and after tearing it off, he chewed it for awhile. Then again, what assassin would bother coming here?

Thadon looked around the room with a big smile. He took his fork and tapped his goblet until all eyes were on him. He stood up.

“Oh my yes, I feel especially delighted this evening! Perhaps it's time I recited my latest soliloquy.” He cleared his throat. “The lady fair, our love is told. With hair,” he looked at Wrothken and took a lock of his hair in his hand, “as fine as soft-spun gold.”

Wrothken grimaced slightly.

Thadon released Wrothken’s hair and continued. “Lips as red as a sun-drenched dawn, skin as soft as a newborn fawn.” Again, Thadon reached out, this time caressing Wrothken’s cheek and then gliding his finger under his eye.

“Eyes as blue as a cerulean sea...uhh...what...” Thadon placed his hand on his chest and took on a pained expression. “...my heart...” He said, starting to lose his balance. With one hand on the table for support, he reached up to his throat. “Can't breathe...help me...”

He collapsed on the table, blood spurting from his mouth. Some of it splashed right on Wrothken’s face and chest. He quickly spat it out and tried wiping it off his face. It only smeared more.

Thadon’s blood was literally on his hands.

“Oh, Thadon!” Wide Eye screamed, throwing herself on him. She sobbed harshly, while some of the women rushed to her side. They pulled Wide Eye to her feet and held her, each trying to comfort her.

Wide Eye looked at Wrothken. His heart twisted inside him.

“I never suspected it was Thadon's time,” she choked. “But what's done is done. I honor his choice.” She closed her eyes as tears streamed down her face.

As the rest of the palace buzzed with whispers, Wrothken took a goblet and wiped some blood from the table into it.

The ritual was nearly done.



Dervenin was positively beaming when he saw Wrothken enter the Sacellum. He took the blood filled chalice and poured it in a bowl on the altar. It burst into bright flames immediately.

[url= http://i117.photobucket.com/albums/o46/Jacki_Dice/alterburn.jpg]Ritual Blood[/url]

Dervenin raised his arms and smiled brightly. “Once again has the Ritual of Accession come full circle! The Blood of Thadon has been consumed by Arden-Sul's will, and all of Mania welcomes you with open arms.” He hugged Wrothken tightly, not seeming to care about getting Thadon’s blood on his clothes. “I now declare you Duke of Mania of the Shivering Isles! May your light shine upon all our happiest days.”

Wrothken didn’t know whether or not he should have been happy. All he knew was that he wasn’t.

Sheogorath clapped his shoulder firmly. “You've done it! The Ritual is complete, and you've survived! A shame about Thadon,” he said with a shrug. “But it's how he would have wanted to go. Now, on to other—“

The doors flew open. Syl stormed in accompanied by two Mazken.

[url= http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:SI-npc-Syl.jpg]Syl[/url]

“Wait!” She shouted. “I must speak! The Ritual must not be completed!”

“Syl!” Sheogorath said, a hint of confusion in his voice. “You dare interrupt Me? Only I interrupt Me. Like just then.” Wrothken raised his eyebrows. It was strangely comforting to see Sheogorath speaking in circles to everyone else. “I'm speaking with someone. We'll talk later. Or not. When is later, exactly? Not now, I'm sure of that. Guards, I think Syl forgot how to use the door. Kindly show her out. Before I forget myself.”

The Mazken turned to Syl, about to show her out, but she raised her hand to them. They hesitated, conflicted by their loyalty to both parties.

“Thadon’s... dead?” Though it was stated like a question, Wrothken could tell that she knew. She walked up to Sheogorath, looking directly in his eyes. “You've done this. It was you all along.”

Sheogorath met her stare and clutched his cane hard. “Hold your tongue, little Duchess,” he said. “Or I'll tear it from your mouth.”

Syl was unfazed. In fact, she seemed to only get angrier. “Replacing Thadon with this... outsider?” She nodded to Wrothken with disgust in her voice. “This is how it ends. I should have seen this coming.”

“Calm yourself, Syl.” Sheogorath waved his hand dismissively. “You're making my teeth itch. You still hold your office. I suggest you see to your duties.”

She shook her head. “No… I see what's going on. I should have seen it before. You conspire to destroy us all! You're a fool if you think I'll allow this to happen!”

“Fool?” Sheogorath almost looked offended. “Visionary! Change is in the air, Syl. Breathe it deep! Bathe in its scent! Bottle it up. Save some for later.”

“Order stands at our door. They've taken the Fringe! Did you even know? Do you care? And you speak of "change?”

“Change will preserve us!” He said, clutching his fists. “It is the lifeblood of the Isles. It will move mountains! It will mount movements!”

“No. I can't do this.” Syl shook her head again. “There has to be a way out. A way to escape.”

Good luck with that, Wrothken thought. He remembered his attempt at escape.

“Then go, Syl,” Sheogorath said with a shrug.

Wrothken’s jaw dropped.

“Return to your quarters,” Sheogorath continued. “Before I send you back in pieces.”

There was the threat! Wrothken closed his mouth, somewhat satisfied. It was only fair, after all.

“Yes! That's what I'll do,” Syl said slowly. “I'll go. The enemy of my enemy. Order is the key. I'll keep them close.”

As she turned, the Mazken drew their swords, obviously no longer conflicted. Wrothken buried his face in his palm. How stupid did one have to be to tell the Madgod, in front of his guards, that they were siding with Order? It would be safer to run around the Blades headquarters with the Emperor’s severed head in your hands!

“No!” Sheogorath said. “Let her go!”

The Mazken sheathed their swords. Wrothken looked up at him.

Syl looked back. “This is not over, Madgod. I give myself to Jyggalag. As a Priest of Order, I'll be safe. Your empire will crumble before the armies of Order.”

She left, slamming the door behind her.

Sheogorath exhaled deeply as he turned to Wrothken. “Wondering why I let her go, aren't you? I can see it in your face. Mostly in the eyes. I may take those from you when this is done. They’re just the loveliest blue!” He sighed, his voice taking a more serious tone. “This has never happened before! The ruler of Dementia turning traitor? Unprecedented! I've seen others defect, but never a Duke! Maybe we're on to something here.” He said, with a wagging finger. “We'll see how it plays out. It can't be worse than what's happened before.”

“Whatever you say,” Wrothken said. He knew it wouldn’t end nicely.

“I do. I did. And I won't say it again.” Sheogorath placed his hands on his hips. “But, that's enough about that. You're the ruler of Mania! Just look at you. You're positively beaming! A little bloody, but beaming nonetheless! You now have the power to summon Golden Saints. They've always served the Duke of Mania. I think it's the bright colors. They just love 'em. And here is the Ring of Lordship, a symbol of your new station.” Sheogorath slipped it onto Wrothken’s pinky. Wrothken’s body glowed for a moment. “Symbols are important. They carry weight in this Realm, and others. You would be well served to remember that. This one in particular will protect you from harm and make you more resistant to disease, just in case you decide to take up Thadon’s more risky hobbies,” he said with a wink. “And it’ll make you more charming. Haskill thinks you need a boost with that.”

Wrothken looked at the ring. It had a gold band with a Golden Saint’s head set in onyx. It was nice, but he couldn’t be impressed with it. “What about the Fringe?”

Sheogorath nodded, pressing his lips together. “She was right about that. I can feel it. In My bones. The little ones. The Greymarch has swept the Fringe. Order gathers its forces there as we speak. And I hate when people gather forces in My Fringe! You'll need to put an end to that. But not now. It’s late and you’ll need plenty of rest! Enjoy your new palace! Sit on the Throne! Best part of being a Duke. See me in the morning and we’ll take care of the Fringe.”

Sheogorath was right. It was late. But resting wasn’t something Wrothken thought he could do.



By the time he made it back to his palace, everything was cleaned up. Thadon’s body was gone. Wrothken didn’t ask where it went. The people who usually lounged about stood in a row, their heads bowed. A Golden Saint walked over to him.

“Your Grace,” she said. Her voice had no trace of harshness. “These people are at a loss at the moment. Your predecessor was a man of celebrations but as this is now your palace, we must now follow your orders.”

Wrothken looked at them. “I don’t care,” he said. “Let them stay, I guess.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned back to the people. “Alright, you heard the duke!”

Wrothken paid no attention to them as he went back to his room. This time, it was empty. He kicked his shoes off and sat on the floor in front of the bed. He was serious when he had refused to get in it until the mattress was replaced.

He did it. Thadon was dead and he was the new Duke of Mania. Syl was gone too. Did that make him Duke of Dementia by default? Did it matter? He looked at the ground. It didn’t.

What was to stop Sheogorath from having him killed off when it became convenient? He stared blankly at the large whiskey cask in front of him. Tears started to form as he took a glass from the kitchen and filled it up.

“Here’s to you, Thadon,” he said. He took a large gulp and winced as it scorched its way down his throat. He sniffled and finished off the cup. Then he had another. And another. Soon the room was spinning.

He hoped that it would numb him up but it didn’t. In fact, he felt worse than he did before.

“Thadon, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “Oh, gods, what have I done? I killed him. I’m a damn murderer!”

He looked up at one of the busts of Sheogorath. “Why?” He asked it. “Why are you doing this to me? You could have just done it yourself or commanded it be so!” He stood up, getting in its face. “I hate you!” He threw his glass on the ground. Whiskey and shards covered the floor. “I hate you!”

Wrothken punched it, then screamed out in pain since he did it bare handed. “Son of a…” He grabbed the bust and threw it to the ground. It broke into several pieces. Wrothken picked up the face and threw it at the wall. The he sank to his knees and sobbed.

He sat up and wiped his tears away with his uninjured hand. “Stupid thing,” he said through clenched teeth. He knew it needed some healing, but he had no potions and didn’t feel like going out to find any. “Let’s see,” he said, licking his lips. He tried to focus on a healing spell. The next thing he knew, Haskill was standing over him, shaking his head.

“Now, is this any way for a duke to be behaving?”

“Shut up,” Wrothken said. “What’re you doing here?”

Haskill raised his eyebrows. “You summoned me. I’m not surprised that you didn’t mean to. Drunk-casting could cause quite a disaster, you know.” He looked around the room. “At least Thadon was able to handle his liquor.”

“I didn’t summon you,” Wrothken said. “I’m trying to heal my hand.”

“As if I would just show up at your side at two-thirty in the morning? Please, I have more interesting things to do. Watching the grass grow, for instance.”

Wrothken stood up, his heart pounding. “Well, since you know you’re not needed here, why don’t you just poof away?”

Haskill shook his head. “On the contrary. It seems as if you need me very much at the moment.”

“Like a hole in the head,” Wrothken muttered. He bit his lip and stared hard at his hand. It flickered blue for a moment. “Damn it,” he said. He strained hard and his hand flickered a couple times before the pain was bearable. He left it at that. “I need another drink.”

“You know,” Haskill said following him. “The problem with trying to drown your troubles is that they are excellent swimmers.”

Wrothken ignored him. “Troubles. What in Oblivion do you know about troubles?”

“Oh yes,” Haskill said, waving his hand. “What do I know? I’m only on call to the Daedric Prince of Madness, to stand at his side through all the nonsense and the inevitable pain of the Greymarch. That and having to babysit his little pet projects.”

“No one’s asking you to stay!” Wrothken shouted. He downed the cup and slammed it down.

“Right, I could leave you to your own devices. An obviously splendid decision. Truly, it won’t have consequences of its own.”

“You don’t get it!” Wrothken cried. “All I wanted was a break from life. Just a short time away to get my head on straight and now I’m more screwed up than before.” He snorted. “Forced to battle a giant monster, get hooked on drugs and just now, kill people! What’s next? Will I have to castrate myself? Then eat it?”

Haskill raised his eyebrows. “I fail to see how that would stop the Greymarch.”

“Can you stop being a sarcastic jerk for just one moment?”

“When you stop asking for it, I will.” Haskill folded his arms. “I understand that you wanted a break, but, you’re here now so it’s best to just stop crying and make the best of it.” Haskill scoffed. “And to think you’ve lasted this much longer than the others.”

Wrothken narrowed his eyes. “Others? What others? I thought I was the first.”

Haskill sighed. “Don’t breathe a word of this to Lord Sheogorath. He has either forgotten or pushed them out of his mind entirely as to not remind himself of his failures. You are not the first mortal to try to stop the Greymarch. Of course, things haven’t always been set this way. Our Lord has never attempted to have a Duke replaced nor has he thought of rallying the people to get them on the side of the outside help.

“The others, however, did not possess your…” He sighed heavily. “Your resilience. One actually killed himself in a matter of days. Another one made a home for himself in Bliss. Perhaps you’ve met Uungor? Poor man. The moment he heard about the fates of the others, he became so preoccupied with retaining his sanity that, ironically, it drove him mad. So he was unfit to become successor because no matter what was required of him, he couldn’t focus. He became obsessed with the fact that no one else had made it out intact. The first actually came closest, I believe, but in the end he was unable to stop it. But you’re different somehow.” Haskill paused and let out a deep sigh. “I actually believe in you.”

“You…” Wrothken sniffled, his eyes starting to burn. “You do?”

“Don’t make me say it again. Look, what I’m saying is that if you cave now, you will damn this entire realm. Yourself included… or I’ll just see to it that you survive and then you can deal with Lord Sheogorath’s return and the wrath it will incur.”

Wrothken stared at his feet, unable to summon any words.

“Just think, if you succeed, then that’s all. You’ll never have to do anything like this again, I swear it. You’ll be able to return to your own realm and leave this place behind if you so choose. And from now on, there will be no more unnecessary murders. That I can tell you for sure.”

Wrothken lifted his eyes for a moment. “You promise?”

“Hand to Sheogorath.”

Wrothken felt a large lump in his throat. He felt like bawling, but couldn’t find the strength. He sat on the floor in front of the cask.

“Are you better now?” Haskill didn’t wait for a response. “Good. Now I trust that there shall be no more abusing the casks? In fact you should rest now, as you’ve done enough damage to yourself and will need energy for tomorrow.”

Haskill vanished after that, leaving Wrothken alone. “I can do this,” he whispered shakily. “At least, I hope I can do this.”


Posted by: Jacki Dice Oct 22 2011, 11:02 PM

And it posted twice -_-

Oops, looks like I got ahead of myself with the chapter number!

Posted by: mALX Oct 23 2011, 12:43 AM

The tension of the beginning of this chapter was really ratcheted up by Wrothken's inner thoughts as the meal progressed, stretching out the seconds as they passed by his seeing every movement the Duke was making - and I especially loved how Wrothken suddenly remembered the rumors about the Dark Brotherhood coming at that appropos time!!!

Superbly written, and it took a quest we all know and brought it to life !! Awesome job Jacki !!!

URK !! Very descriptive end to the Duke, glad I had an empty stomach !! Lol.

Toasting Thadon and Wrothken's overwhelming guilt was a great touch !! Awesome Chapter !!

Posted by: King Coin Oct 23 2011, 01:48 AM

Oh no I missed one ohmy.gif
Whoa, it says Chapter 38 at the top of your most recent post. What happened to 36 and 37?

Chapter 35
I know a few of my characters have entertained thoughts of taking that huge pile of drug and selling it. There was always the limitation of how to get that huge pile past the guards though. Lol.

Now that would be bad! Accidentally dosing himself by brushing his face.

Well Wrothken is settling in it seems. The deed isn’t yet done, don’t get comfy.

Well, invited to dinner by the man he just effectively killed. I wonder how Wrothken will pull through this?

Chapter 38(?)
The deed is done, and Wrothken is the Duke.

Heh, summoned the Mad God’s right hand man at an awkward time.

Sheogorath’s relm seems like a terrible place to get one’s head on straight. laugh.gif

I really like Haskill in this chapter. An unusual source of hope.

Posted by: Grits Oct 25 2011, 03:02 PM

Though he was sure Thadon’s chef was a wonderful cook, he had to be since he cooked for a duke, Wrothken couldn’t taste much of anything.

Not a good sign for a Nord. Wrothken’s distress really shows. sad.gif

“Syl!” Sheogorath said, a hint of confusion in his voice. “You dare interrupt Me? Only I interrupt Me. Like just then.” Wrothken raised his eyebrows. It was strangely comforting to see Sheogorath speaking in circles to everyone else.

I love Wrothken’s way of thinking. He makes me smile.

“You don’t get it!” Wrothken cried. “All I wanted was a break from life. Just a short time away to get my head on straight and now I’m more screwed up than before.” He snorted. “Forced to battle a giant monster, get hooked on drugs and just now, kill people! What’s next? Will I have to castrate myself? Then eat it?”

Haskill raised his eyebrows. “I fail to see how that would stop the Greymarch.”


laugh.gif Haskill showed up just in time. What a great chapter!


Posted by: SubRosa Oct 25 2011, 05:15 PM

So Wrothken is the Duke now, and Syl done her defecting act. A very good touch with Wrothken drowning his sorrows afterward. Not to mention Haskill's genuinely helpful pep talk. I especially liked learning about the previous champions. Uungor being one of them was particularly brilliant.

It was strangely comforting to see Sheogorath speaking in circles to everyone else.
Its nice to know Wrothken is not the only one!

It can't be worse than what's happened before.
How comforting, not! laugh.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Nov 10 2011, 04:54 AM

mALX~ I guess its a good thing Wrothken had an empty stomach too! Thanks so much smile.gif

King Coin~ Oops! Thanks for catching that! Looks like I saw "eight" in the first sentence and got a little mixed up!

Grits~ When Wrothken loses his appetite, you better know its a serious situation!

SubRosa~ Nothing like a little kick from Haskill to get Wrothken's head on straight...er.

~~~♥~~~

With the release of Skyrim, Wrothken may be on vacation for a little bit. Of course we will be back, likely with even better ideas smile.gif

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Retaking the Fringe


Wrothken was surprised by how quickly sleep had come. What he wasn’t surprised by was his nightmare.

In his dream he was trapped in an ornate silver box with plush red velvet lining. Syl and Thadon were giants, standing over him as they filled the box with hearts of order. From each heart sprang a Knight. Wrothken was unarmed and could not do more than beat them with his fists. As they were mere husks, his blows did nothing and he was quickly overwhelmed. They were relentless with their swords. He was stabbed, sliced, and bleeding all over in mere seconds.

Then the knights started to sing. They sat in a circle around Wrothken’s mangled body and held hands, swaying with the lyrics.

“Obelisks in the Isles,
Bodies stacked in piles,
Ashes, ashes,
We all fall down!”

As Wrothken awoke, he found himself mumbling the song. He sat up slowly and cradled his face in his hands. By Alduin’s cursed wings, his hand hurt. Even the slightest movement sent it throbbing. It took him a good fifteen minutes of healing to get it to stop hurting.
He reached up to his face, feeling the scruff beginning to grow again. His first instinct was to shave it away, but then he remembered Thadon stroking his face, as he described skin as soft as a newborn fawn. He decided to let the scruff be for the moment.

Feeling somewhat better than he had last night, Wrothken took a calmer look around his room. He took a piece of parchment and a quill and made a list of things he needed removed: the mattress, the busts of Sheogorath, and the casks of alcohol to get rid of temptation just in case he went back to his misery. The last thing he wrote down was the door. Though Haskill’s words were comforting, it still stung to see Thadon. He handed the list to a Golden Saint on his way out.

“Yes, Your Grace?” He took a look at it. “What is this for?”

“Things I need replaced and removed from my room.”

She scanned it. “Are you certain? Most citizens are honored to sleep in your predecessor’s bed and to have Lord Sheogorath watching them as they sleep.”

Wrothken shook his head. “It’s a little too creepy for my taste.”

The Golden Saint nodded once. “As you wish, Sire.”

He knew she thought it was strange or crazy or blasphemous. He didn’t care. As long as he no longer had to scuttle away from harsh golden eyes, he was fine.



Sheogorath didn’t offer much information. Just wipe out Order. Save Passwall. At least the Knights weren’t people.

As he headed down the streets in Crucible, he realized that he no longer needed the room in Bernice’s Taphouse. At least she’d be able to rent it out again, Wrothken thought. He sighed. He had to admit while it was no palace, it was far more comfortable and cozy there.

As he entered, he was taken by surprise by the looks he was getting. Normally, it was just glances followed by hurried whispers. This time, people actually looked somewhat upset.

Someone approached him. “I thought you favored us, your Lordship.

Wrothken pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have known. “It’s complicated.”

“Why?” He said, balling up his fists. “You lit the torch for us, didn’t you? So then why’d you go and choose them? And now we’re without a duchess! We’ve got nothing, thanks to you!”

“Byron, you hush!” Bernice’s voice sounded from one of the tables. She set down her coffee pot and placed her hands on her hips. “You’ve got no idea what’s been going on, so be quiet! Just let him handle his business and things will get back to normal.”

Byron sneered. “Of course you’d say that.” He glanced at Wrothken before returning to his seat. “Gotta defend your boyfriend after all!”

The room erupted into a loud “Oooooooh!”

“Real mature,” Wrothken mumbled.

“Loud mouth,” Bernice said returning to the counter. “See if I give you anymore to drink! Sheogorath knows you’ve had quite enough!”

Wrothken took a seat in front of her. She poured him a cup of tea. “Since you’re here alive and well, I’ll assume it went well.”

“As well as you can expect,” he said. “Though I guess everyone knows about Syl.”

Bernice nodded. “I can’t say I’m surprised. She and Thadon had been on and off for years now. She loved him deeply,” Bernice placed her hand to her heart, sighing deeply. “It was her paranoia that got in the way. I hear once Thadon got too close for her liking, she assumed he was out to get her so she’d end it. Then once she cooled down, she’d go running back.”

“Hmmm,” Wrothken said. “That had to be hard on Wide Eye.”

“Who?” Bernice asked. “Oh, you mean that Argonian?” Bernice shook her head. “Well, that would never work out.” She leaned in close, whispering, “Could you imagine kissing an Argonian? They’ve got no lips!” She stood back up. “Then again, Thadon probably wouldn’t bother with kissing. He wouldn’t know tenderness if it beat him over the head!” She shook her head for a moment. “So, I take it you’ll be living up in the palace.” She frowned a little. “Just don’t forget about little old me.”

Wrothken patted her hand. “You know I could never do that. I think without you, I would have lost it long ago.”



After he changed into his armor, he remembered the pieces of ore he gathered for that set of madness armor Cutter crafted. The ache he felt over seeing her with Rheyna subsided. He realized that he wouldn’t want to get involved seriously with anyone from the Isles. Atrea drove him crazy enough.

He stopped. Thinking of her didn’t bring him any pain either. He gasped, a smile starting to spread. Relief swept over him like a wave. That meant he could return home…after he stopped the Greymarch, of course.

As soon as he entered Cutter’s store, she stared up at him. Her eyes glistened. “Do you enjoy it?” She demanded. “Cutting my heart?”

Wrothken’s eyes widened and he froze in his tracks. “What in Oblivion do you mean?”

“You know!” She said pointing at him. Her bony, white hand trembled. “Why visit that other smith?”

“What? What other…” Wrothken suddenly remembered Dumag in Bliss. He was only there once to get his armor repaired.

Cutter folded her arms. “His blades are dull and uninspired. Mine are sharp and exquisite.”

Wrothken sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’m sorry.”

Cutter scowled at him. “Good. Otherwise I would have slit your throat! Now what do you want?”

Wrothken dumped the ore on the counter. “Remember the matrix I brought you? I want some of the armor.”

http://images.uesp.net/c/c7/Madnessarmor.jpg

Cutter held up the ore with a smirk. “This will be a magnificent set. What do you want made? I assume the boots, since you have the matrix for it. What else?”

Wrothken looked at the examples. Since he had the boots, he figured he may as well start from the ground up. “The greaves and gauntlets.”

“Perfect.” She took some measuring tape. “Strip down and hold still. I’ll need to take your measurements.”

Cutter had to stand on a stool to reach past Wrothken’s shoulders. Each time she touched him, he felt like someone placed ice on him. He tried not to shiver, but when her hand brushed along her inner thigh, he couldn’t help jumping a little.

Cutter looked up at him with a questioning glance. “You’re not getting any ideas…. are you?”

Wrothken shook his head. Then again, it was hard not to get some sort of idea given where her head was placed. He willed himself not to poke her in the eye.

“Good.” Cutter said, standing up. “Then again…. I bet it hurts…” She bit the end of her quill as she wrote down the measurements.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but he couldn’t help it. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she eyed him in a way that gave Wrothken goosebumps. And not the good kind. “You’re pretty big, even for a Nord. I’m guessing that’s true all over.” She twirled her short hair. “And just look at your hands.” She shuddered violently. “I bet you can choke someone real good if you put your mind to it.”

Wrothken didn’t quite know how to respond. He had indeed been hoping for something to happen with Reyna, bu Cutter? And all her talk of pain? Not something he was interested in, especially if she wanted to reciprocate. “What about Rheyna?” He managed to ask.

She shrugged. “She and I are,” she linked her fingers together. “Balance. I can give her what she likes and she does the same in return, but we are not exclusive.”

They stood in an uncomfortable silence. Cutter never broke her intense stare. She didn’t even blink.

“So… how much will it cost me?”

Cutter huffed and looked at her list of materials. “For what you’ve requested...” She wrote him up a bill and handed it over.

Wrothken felt like someone had punched him. What good was being a duke when it didn’t get him a single septim? Where could he get that much money? He glanced around the room and noticed the sword he sold her from Xedilian still propped up on the wall. Maybe he could find more weapons to sell. He remembered the bow from Syl. “Alright,” he nodded. “If you hold on to those for me, I’ll get you the septims.”

Cutter looked away with a chilling smile. “Or I can come up with some other arrangements…”

“No, no,” Wrothken said, quickly picking up his armor. “I insist!” He quickly slipped out the door before she could respond.



Wrothken arrived at The Fringe by nightfall. In the dark sky, the stars were a beautiful pink. There were so many that Wrothken found it easy to see without the aid of a torch. Everything was bathed in a soft fuchsia glow.

http://images.uesp.net/c/ce/SI-misc-flora_night.jpg

Looking around, Wrothken could see that obelisks had risen everywhere, even inside some of the buildings. Passwall was no longer the busy little town he recalled upon first entering. It was as still as a cemetery. The only sounds in the village were the metallic clanking of the Golden Saints’ boots. His heart sank, though he didn’t know the people of the town. He wondered just how many of them had died, or if once he killed the Gatekeeper if everyone snuck further into the Isles and escaped.

A small army of Golden Saints stood in a small cluster. Wrothken noticed that they were all men with the exception of one soldier.

http://images.uesp.net/5/58/SI-npc-Male_Golden_Saint.jpg

It was strange. It was a huge emergency in the Isles, so why weren’t there any Mazken around? Surely they could have set their differences aside just for a moment to ensure the survival of the realm.

Wrothken assumed the female was in charge due to the way she was barking orders at the others. She was taller than all of them. Her armor was badly cut and scratched and her sword was still in her hand. She didn’t wear a helmet, revealing light blond hair tied back in a Breton braid. She stood in the middle of a pile of knights of Order.

"Your Grace,” she said as soon as she saw him. How did he know he was the Duke? He shrugged it off as a Golden Saint thing. There was no use trying to make sense of very much. “I am Aurig Desha, lead officer of this post. A dark time has been thrust upon us. Passwall is under attack. We are outmatched and outnumbered. At first light, the spire at the center of town became active. Immediately, the area around it began to crystallize and change. Soon after that, the sky darkened and the knights came."

“A Spire? Right in the center of town?” He closed his eyes, trying to remember if he had noticed it before. “Why was that allowed to just sit there?”

“It was believed to be a monument from times past but its true purpose appears to be more sinister. It appears to be a source of power for these invaders. A... portal, or some sort of gate. I don't know. If we cannot disable or destroy it somehow, I do not think that we can stop this invasion. This town has stood on the edge of the Shivering Isles since they were borne from the mists of time. For our purposes, it serves as a defensible outpost.” She paused, clenching her teeth. “That is, against typical enemies who can know fear, intimidation, and hopelessness."

“I know how to get rid of them.” Wrothken felt a surge of usefulness. “What you do is place three of their hearts into the obelisk. Only thing is, it spawns more of them every time you do it.”

Desha clenched her jaw. “I've been losing Aureals with each attack, and I'm down to nothing but men.” She paused, looking Wrothken up and down. “No offense, Lord. We are pinned down here. If we lose, the Gates of Madness will fall. If the gates fall, the enemy will flood into the Isles. We will be helpless to stop them. But now that you've arrived, perhaps we can slow them down.”

“Alright, what’s your plan?”

She hesitated. “Even though I have served with these Aureals for centuries, as the Duke of Mania, it is your right to command the troops. Command them if you will, or leave it to me. Either way, make haste. Our time is short.” She pointed to the obelisk, which was starting to spark. “That means there are more coming.”

Wrothken looked from her to the other Saints. He was a decent brawler, but he wasn’t one for complex strategizing. “I’ll trust your judgment.”

Desha smiled. Wrothken had to admit it was a beautiful sight, especially when compared to the ever present scowl he had grown accustomed to. Maybe the Golden Saints weren’t so bad after all.

“I thank you for your trust. In your name and for the sake of the Shivering Isles, I shall not disappoint you.”

Wrothken gave her a nod and walked around what was left of Passwall. He hadn’t been there since he had first entered the Isles. Still, he felt a sort of attachment to it. Seeing the obelisks and a few of the bodies of villagers sent a numbing sensation down his legs.

He paused by the inn and looked in the window. It was in shambles. Dishes and food were everywhere. The bust of Sheogorath lay in pieces scattered across the floor. People who were unable to escape the Knights were strewn all over the place. Blood wasn’t splattered everywhere, like he had expected. Instead it just formed a thick pool on the floor. There was one slice in each person. Each kill was planned in a way that people in the Isles would have no way of fighting against.

This was the fate of the Isles, if the Greymarch wasn’t stopped. Suddenly he realized exactly what he was going to be fighting for.

“Aurig Desha,” he said, approaching the commanding Saint. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get rid of these Knights once and for all.”

She smiled at him. “Good.” She called to the other Saints. “Form up!” They all came to her and stood at attention. “By the Staff, we will not allow this town to fall!” She turned to Wrothken. “Are you prepared for battle, Your Grace?”

He nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Because here they come!”

Posted by: Grits Nov 10 2011, 10:34 PM

He stopped. Thinking of her didn’t bring him any pain either. He gasped, a smile starting to spread. Relief swept over him like a wave. That meant he could return home…after he stopped the Greymarch, of course.

Oh, just that. It is great to see Wrothken thinking about returning home! I’m worried about what might be happening there.

poke her in the eye… rollinglaugh.gif

This is a great chapter. I’m sure Wrothken will be ready to fight whenever you return from Skyrim.

Posted by: SubRosa Nov 10 2011, 11:23 PM

Another late night post that slipped through my nets.

What a dream! I especially liked the addition of the children's rhyme at the end of it.

He knew she thought it was strange or crazy or blasphemous.
Well as long as it is the first two, then Wroth fits right in! biggrin.gif

“Could you imagine kissing an Argonian? They’ve got no lips!”
I hate to sound racist, but Bernice does have a point...

It was good to visit with Bernice again. Even with the upset Dementeds all around. She is one of my favorite residents of the SI.

Wrothken has been so busy that he forgot about Awour! Congrats for the snowman! Now all he has to do is survive the Greymarch to go back home.

He willed himself not to poke her in the eye.
laugh.gif

“I've been losing Aureals with each attack, and I'm down to nothing but men.”
Now that is desperation!

Posted by: King Coin Nov 25 2011, 05:16 AM

This chapter was a lot of fun. The weird dream, going back to the inn, meeting Cutter. Then forming up for battle at the end.

Like Grits, I was happy about his thoughts of home. He also seems to have assumed his role as duke too. Fighting for "his people" now, not just his skin.

Posted by: mALX Nov 27 2011, 02:27 AM

Your humor always interlaces through the most serious scenes of the chapter, I absolutely love that about your story !! Awesome Write !!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 17 2012, 06:39 AM

Grits~ Honestly, I can't wait for Wrothken to get home either. That I can say will be where things get more eventful (and more fun to write) biggrin.gif

SubRosa~ That's the thing about the beast races. Either you get a mouthful or scales or fur! It doesn't seem appealing.

King Coin~ In a way, it probably makes it easier to carry on knowing that its no longer just about him and his sanity, but the lives of people he's grown to care for.

mALX~ smile.gif It always has a way of leaking out ♥


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty-eight: Xeddefen



Wrothken was shocked at just how tough it was fighting the Knights of Order, even with the aid of the Golden Saints. They lost two more in the fierce battle. Aurig Desha was actually panting by the time it was over.

She turned to Wrothken. “Victory is ours...” She looked around Passwall. “For the moment. We must discuss our next move. The spire is obviously their source of power. This battle will not end until we find a way to shut it down.”

“Fine,” Wrothken said. “Which obelisk are they coming from?”

Desha looked to a fortress in the distance. “The ruins of Xeddefen run under Passwall. The entrance to the south of the town has been sealed for centuries. One of my scouts reported that the ruins have been opened recently and a number of these Knights are now guarding the entrance. If we all attempt to assault Xeddefen, Passwall will be overrun and we will lose the Fringe. As you can see, our forces are dangerously thin. We have no idea what opposition may await us inside."

Wrothken knew where it was headed even before she spoke. After all, he was the one who knew how to shut them down. “So, I’ll be heading in and getting it cleared out.”

“Your insight is impressive.” She nodded. “While we draw their attention here, you should be able to slip inside Xeddefen. Once inside, search for the source of the Spire's power. It must be underground somewhere. Once you find it, destroy it. Your sacrifice will be the salvation of The Fringe. We thank you, Your Grace.”

Wrothken turned and took a deep breath. Hopefully it wouldn’t end in his death. If an army of Golden Saints couldn’t beat them, what chance did he have? Risky or not, he couldn’t allow the same thing to happen to New Sheoth.



He trudged through the murky waters over to the fortress. He was reminded of the locked gate he had to enter to collect bones for Jayred. Wrothken wondered for a moment what had become of him. If only he was around, he would make a great ally, especially since the Knights of Order lacked a skeletal structure for him to fawn over.

The obelisks were everywhere. He couldn’t remember if there had always been so many. When he first entered Passwall his mind had been far too distracted by the wonder of the land. He kicked himself for not paying attention, though he knew it wasn’t his fault. How was he supposed to know that they were some sort of portal for the evil forces of Order?

It wasn’t long after he walked back on dry land that he came across his first pair of Knights. They let out a metallic screech when they saw him. In unison, they took out their swords and ran to attack.

“Son of a…” Wrothken took out his mace. Both Knights ran at the same speed. The first one to reach Wrothken slashed at his neck. Wrothken stepped back just in time. As the Knight stepped forward to regain its balance, the other one came crashing into it. They landed on the ground in a pile. Wrothken quickly took advantage of the moment and beat one of them repeatedly until chips started flying from its head. The other Knight tried pushing its dead companion off until Wrothken slammed his mace into its hands, then into its head.

He removed a heart from each, thanking the gods that the second one didn’t have the brains to slow dawn.

The fortress was just around the corner. Like Xedilian, it looked like an old ruin. The large stone slabs were held up by marbled columns. What once were the exterior walls were now crumbled along the sides, perfect hiding places for an ambush. As Wrothken crossed the entrance, three obelisks rose from the ground, making their horrid scraping sound. Though the things were something to loathe, Wrothken looked upon them in awe. He rapped his knuckles on one of them, hearing an empty clanking sound. It was inorganic, yet it grew like a tree and produced life in a way. He snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering to crack open the Knights and remove their hearts. He eyed the obelisk, but it showed no signs of needing to be shut down. He decided to hold onto them, just in case.

He went up a few steps, through a doorway. He was met with maze-like brick walls. He stood still for a moment, listening for any tell-tale creaking or clanging. He was met with silence. He should have known. The Knights don’t wait around and plot. They mindlessly go about their business. He shook his head and kept walking.

He was directed to a flight of stairs that led him around to the back. A wooden door stood before him. That was it. Where the rest of the Knights were coming from. He took his mace out and opened the door.

He was greeted by a hallway, devoid of any sort of decoration. Blue flames leapt from stone pots along the walls. Jagged obelisks peeked out from the floors and walls. As Wrothken walked down the dank halls, he reminded himself to be on the lookout for more madness ore or some things he could sell. He smiled to himself, imagining the armor set. If there was a reason to stick around in the Isles, that was it!

It wasn’t long before Wrothken heard footsteps in the distance. Not the loud stomps of the Knights, but the soft taps of someone in soft shoes. Either some residents of Passwall were hiding inside or there was a Priest of Order getting ready to summon up more Knights. Wrothken briefly considered removing his boots. After all, if he could hear the other person, there was no way he was walking around undetected. He decided against it. It would take too long and would leave his feet exposed. Besides, the place may have been cleaner than Xedilian, but who knew what he might step in.

He tiptoed to the edge of the hallway and peeked over. He cringed at the sight of long purple robes and a pointy mask. That was no citizen. He didn’t know why he was shocked. It’s not like he was sent on a search and rescue mission. He glanced again at the Priest. It didn’t look like he was aware that Wrothken was in the hallway with him. The Priest was kneeling on the ground, his arms raised up and he was chanting. Wrothken briefly wished he had a bow and arrow. Then he wished he knew how to use one.

Real Nords don’t cower in shadows. A true Nord faces his fights head on!

He looked back at the Priest, reminding himself that this was not the time for hiding. It was the time to go for it.

Wrothken readied his mace, gripping it tightly and rushing at the Priest. The Priest got up in alarm, startled by the sudden assault. He flung out his hand, a large fireball erupted from his fingertips. Wrothken was moving too fast to dodge it. The fireball hit him square in the chest. The painful blast of heat in his face caused him to stumble for a moment. Once he got his bearings back, he was greeted with another fireball, though it missed, grazing his hair. He made a mental note to start tying it back before delving into strange dungeons.

The Priest took out a curved dagger and ran it slowly by his neck. Wrothken couldn’t see his face, but he had a feeling the Priest was leering at him. The Priest hopped from side to side, snickering. Wrothken growled a little. The Knights may have been soulless husks, but the Priests were men. This one exuded arrogance with his every move. Wrothken swung his mace, aiming for his chest, but the Priest jumped out of reach. He crouched, tossing his dagger from hand to hand. He made a nodding motion with his head, daring Wrothken to try again.

Wrothken swung his mace from side to side, overstepping. The Priest hopped behind him. Wrothken lifted his elbow and bashed the Priest in the face. The Priest stumbled, clutching his face. Wrothken could hear muffled cursing under the mask. He took advantage of the moment and raised his mace. He hesitated for a moment, before bashing his head. When the Priest’s lifeless body crumpled on the floor, Wrothken let out a sad sigh. He wondered what he would do, should Jyggalag have a champion of his own. It would be quite a battle, he knew. He just hoped it never came to that.

He looked around and when he saw that he was alone, he knelt down and searched the Priest. He felt guilty doing so, but he knew there might be something of use in his pockets. “Aha!” He said, pulling out a key and a coin purse.
He looked around. No Knights, no priests. No madness ore. He frowned.

Wrothken continued down the bare halls to a pair of doors. He opened the first one and saw a flight of stairs next to a large statue of a hunger. Wrothken crinkled his nose. Who would build a statue to one of those things? He stared at its ribs, forcing their way from its skin, the rounded, thick lips baring a barbed tongue. He shook his head. No matter how he looked at it, it was still repulsive.

As he continued into the next room, it dawned on Wrothken that he hadn’t seen any knights since he got inside. He paused, his hand heading to his mace. It was strange, especially since Xeddefen was where they had all been coming from. He closed his eyes, trying to listen for any tell tale clanking. Only silence greeted him.

Down another flight of stairs, Wrothken caught sight of another Priest. He groaned. He knelt down on his knees, squinting at the Priest. He had been in the same position as the last one, his arms raised up to the sky, his back twitching to his whole body flailed. He was speaking, but either he was speaking too low or another language entirely, because Wrothken couldn’t understand anything. Wrothken tilted his head slightly. What was he doing exactly?

The Priest gave one last gyration and cried out before collapsing to the ground. The Priest’s body glowed for a moment and an obelisk rose up from the ground. Wrothken ran over and looked down at the Priest. Was he dead?

The only way he knew how to tell was to get a good look at him. Wrothken pulled his mask off. He gasped. It was one of the people from Passwall. Wrothken didn’t know his name, but he remembered his face. The dark elf stirred slightly.

“Damn,” Wrothken spat. He knew he had to kill him. Only one could walk away and if Wrothken left him alive, the Dunmer wouldn’t grant him the same courtesy. He remembered the sight of Passwall and what it had become. He reminded himself that it could easily spread to the rest of the Isles. “Damn!”

He closed his eyes and whacked the dark elf across the head with his mace. He flung all the bits of skull and flesh from it disgustedly.




The rest of the fort was the same. No Knights, no madness ore. Not even a sword or set of armor from a previous adventurer that could be sold. It wasn’t until Wrothken reached the bottom floor that he saw what was going on.

With his mace at his side, he walked the barren halls, nearly jumping out of his armor when he was grabbed from behind.

“It's... it's you! I remember you!”

Wrothken stared blankly at him. He recognized the face of the Redguard who fancied himself mayor of Passwall.

“You remember me, right?”

Wrothken nodded.

“Yeah… You’re Mayor….”

The Redguard scoffed. “Sheldon, idiot! What are you doing down here? How did you get past the Knights?”

Wrothken lifted his mace. “The old fashioned way. What are you doing here?”

Sheldon gulped hard. He looked around and led Wrothken to a niche in a wall. Sheldon had set up a bedroll and several torches. “When they attacked, I ran from Passwall. They didn't say a word, they just started killing! The screams! By the staff, you can't imagine the screams!”

Wrothken closed his eyes, remembering the sight in the inn.

“Felas and I slipped down here thinking that we'd be safe. But, no! We landed right in the middle of them! Felas ran off with them and left me to die! Me! That ingrate! Disloyal cur! Imagine, leaving me here all alone!”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about him again.” Wrothken lowered his eyes. He felt horrible for what he did but he knew it was the only thing he could have done. Besides, if Felas was only too happy to betray Sheldon, someone he knew personally, he’d have no problem killing a stranger. “What are you still doing here? You’re going to get killed.”

“Every time I look for a way out, I get twisted around and end up back here. But I'm too smart for them. You seem to have no trouble, though. Look at you, barely a scratch!” Sheldon patted Wrothken’s armor, nodding in approval. “You'll be the perfect person to protect me!”

Wrothken shook his head. “Listen, I’m trying to shut down the source of the Knights. It’s too dangerous for you to tail me, especially since the only protection you have is that chipped sword.”

“This place is a nightmare! Knights everywhere, these priests, and whatever they've done to Felas! Listen. Those people in Passwall need me. Can you imagine how they'd ever get along if I died down here?”

Wrothken didn’t want to tell him about the fate of his town or that of Felas. “Alright, fine. But don’t jump in front of my mace if you see me swinging.”

Sheldon nodded. "I'll do what I can to help. I... I like to hurt things. Maybe I can hurt these damned knights."

Posted by: McBadgere Jan 17 2012, 07:00 AM

*Applauds*...

Just read the last two chapters...Most excellent... biggrin.gif ...

Cutter is just soooo hot...I love her...She's so cute...Awwww... tongue.gif ...

I loved the trawl through Xeddefen...

That first section when the two knights crash into each other...That made me laugh that did... biggrin.gif ...

I do like a good Nord character do I... biggrin.gif ...

Excellent!...New fan alert!!!... biggrin.gif ...

Nice one!!!... biggrin.gif ...

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 17 2012, 05:12 PM

especially since the Knights of Order lacked a skeletal structure for him to fawn over.
laugh.gif But then again, since they do not have bones, there will be nothing calling to Jayred to rip their bodies apart to get at them...

I loved how Wrothken was keeping an eye out for more madness ore as he went through the ruin. Even now he still wants that madness armor to impress the ladies! laugh.gif

I loved the description of the first Priest of Order. A real pain the rear. Then recognizing the second was a good touch. It reminds us that they were once ordinary people. Well, as ordinary as anyone in the Isles is.

And now good old Mayor Sheldon. Let's see if he's any help or not.


nits:
“Which obelisk are the coming from?”
I am sure Wroth meant they

thanking the gods that the second one didn’t have the brains to slow dawn.
down I am sure.

Posted by: ghastley Jan 17 2012, 10:58 PM

Doesn't Wrothken understand that Sheldon is essential? I'm sure that's what went to his head in the first place. tongue.gif

Posted by: mALX Jan 18 2012, 03:20 PM

ARGH !!! I was hoping you were updating Nemesis !!! URK !!! Lol.

This was a total surprise, loved it !!

QUOTE

Wrothken pulled his mask off. He gasped. It was one of the people from Passwall. Wrothken didn’t know his name, but he remembered his face. The dark elf stirred slightly.

“Damn,” Wrothken spat. He knew he had to kill him.



I loved this dungeon crawl, and what happens after the player runs into Sheldon !!! Great Write !!! Now get your butt over there and update Nemesis !!!! URK !! ROFL !!!

Posted by: Grits Jan 19 2012, 12:11 AM

Yay, more Wrothken! I’ve missed him. So much to love in this update. I hope he finds some more madness ore so he can stroll back to Kvatch looking hot in his new armor. smile.gif

Posted by: King Coin Jan 25 2012, 02:14 AM

I like how Wrothken handled the first two knights smile.gif

Wrothken briefly wished he had a bow and arrow. Then he wished he knew how to use one.
laugh.gif

The Mayor! I forgot that he was down there. Awesome chapter!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 4 2012, 06:29 AM

McBadgere~ Yay for new fans! smile.gif Cutter is one of my favorites too ♥

SubRosa~ Well if Wrothken needed to fly, I'm sure Shelden could provide some hot air tongue.gif

ghastley~ Lol!! I know Shelden knows he's essential! He's got the biggest head in the Isles! tongue.gif

mALX~ laugh.gif Working on Nemesis as we speak! And another surprise, but that will have to wait wink.gif

Grits~ Omg I cannot wait until Wrothken strolls back to Kvatch! That's why its so hard to write these parts! I want to get to that point D:

King Coin~ Thanks smile.gif To be honest, it's hard to work with the Knights. They're always the same :/ At least Lilitu and the daedroth was more creative


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirty-nine: Escape!



With Shelden in tow, Wrothken to Xeddefen. After going down a flight of stairs, he found where all the Knights had been coming from.

“By the Nine…” He said, his eyes widening.

“What?” Shelden asked. He dropped his sword. “By the staff!”

Behind a wrought iron gate, there was a large room at the bottom of the stairs. In the center was the largest Obelisk Wrothken had ever seen. It had to be at least the size of his house in Kvatch! Surrounding it had to be at least a hundred Knights.

Shelden turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Wrothken hissed.

“Out of here! You’re crazy!”

“I’m crazy? Don’t even get me started! Now are you going to run like a coward or stand here and fight?”

Shelden stuck out his tongue and turned on his heel before breaking into a run.

Wrothken ran after him, grabbing him by his collar. “Look, you want to play mayor, fine. But, damn it, I can’t do this alone!”

Shelden slapped Wrothken’s arms away. “Not my problem! You said it yourself! I’ve got no armor and this chipped sword! I’ll get killed in there!”

Wrothken growled. “Did you see what they did to Passwall? You’ll get killed if you don’t trust me!” He paused. “Do you want to relive those screams again?”

Shelden scowled at the ground. “No,” he finally said. “But what can we do? There’s only two of us and all of them! They’ll tear us apart.”

Wrothken reached into his bag, running his fingers over the collection of hearts stashed inside. “They’re only going to know about one of us. I’ll go in and do what I can.” He took his bag off and thrust it in Shelden’s hands. “In that bag I’ve got several stones. They’re called hearts of order. All you have to do is pile them onto the obelisk until it shuts down.”

“And then?”

“Then we run like we stole something. But you have to be fast.”

Shelden nodded. “Alright. It’s crazy but I guess we have no other option.”

“Good,” Wrothken said. He glanced over at the Knights. “Just wait until they’re all distracted.”

Wrothken walked down the steps, purposely making a lot of noise. Almost immediately the Knights turned and faced him. There was a collective shriek as they pulled out their swords.

Wrothken clenched his teeth hard, his wide eyes signaling to Shelden to move. The Knights quickly swarmed him, backing him into a wall. Without focusing on a specific Knight, Wrothken swung his mace around. As they jostled him about, each of them swinging, he started punching and kicking any who got too close.

They got closer to him, leaving only inches between him and the first wave. A few would fall, only to have others stampede in, eager to take their places. Come on, Shelden! He started to feel panicked. All he could see was the blank silver of the cloud of Knights enveloping him. He felt sick.

The electrical hiss of the hearts of order was music to his ears. All at once, the Knights stopped, turning towards Shelden. Shelden froze for a moment before emptying the entire bag in the obelisk.

A shockwave staggered everyone in the room. A sudden rumbling sent Wrothken’s stomach into a pit. Large chunks of the ceiling came raining down upon them as the obelisk shattered. Wrothken took advantage of the collective confusion to swipe his bag from the ground, along with everything else that had fallen from it. He clutched it to his chest as he dashed over to Shelden.

“What have you done?” Shelden bellowed, dodging what he could. “The whole place is coming down on us!”

“No, you think?” Wrothken shouted back. “Come on, we have to get out of here!”

Shelden glared. “What do you think I'm doing? I'm not sticking this close to you because I enjoy your pleasing aroma!”

Wrothken and Shelden dashed up the stairs. As Shelden wasn’t weighed down by any armor, he quickly got ahead of Wrothken. The hall seemed like a safe enough place, until rocks started tumbling down the steps. Wrothken grabbed the back of Shelden’s collar and flung him back, accidentally causing him to fall hard on his back.

“Ow!” Shelden shouted. “What was that…” His eyes widened as he saw the pile he was nearly crushed under. “Oh.”

Wrothken pulled him back to his feet. “No time to lose,” he said.

With every second that he went without getting hit by the falling fortress, Wrothken thanked the gods while cursing Jyggalag. If he had ever panicked before, it was definitely eclipsed by what he felt running through Xeddefen. Any wrong move, the slightest hesitation could cause him to be crushed to death or worse, pinned down beneath the rocks doomed to die alone under the ruins.

Worse, the Knights didn’t even seem to care. Even as they watched their own fall, they kept coming.

“Ignore them!” Wrothken called to Shelden. “We can’t waste time on them, just run!”

Shelden growled. “How can we just run with them chasing after us?”

“If they follow us outside we’ll fight them there. Just not here.”

“Fine! You lead the way -- just try not to get us killed. Well, try not to get me killed.”

Wrothken ran through an open doorway. The moment he slipped in, a metal gate slammed down, trapping Shelden behind him.

“No,” Wrothken hissed. He ran to the gate and tried to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t think it’s going to open. You are the worst escort in history!” Shelden yelled.

“You had a chance to leave earlier, remember? But oh no, you had to stick around! No one listens to the one sane man in the entire realm!” Wrothken fired back.

Shelden grunted. “I’ll find another way out. Get going!”

Wrothken felt the urge to pull his hair out but he knew he didn’t have time to react.

The next floor was slightly more stable than the basement had been. He took a moment to look around and try to retrace his steps. Oddly, obelisks started to rise, though Xeddefen was on its way to rubble. He shook his head. It almost seemed to be a symbol of what Jyggalag was up to. The Shivering Isles would crumble, as Order rose above it, crushing anyone and everyone below.

He cautiously stepped forward, freezing in his tracks as the entire hall was showered in rocks. He clutched his chest. He swore he could feel his heart hammering through his armor.

Even as he walked on, a large boulder fell right next to him. He leaned against the wall for a quick second. Oh gods… He thought of how Amiable, that poor man afraid of the walls in Bliss, must have felt, everyday of his life terrified that precisely this was going to happen to him. No wonder he never slept! Wrothken wasn’t sure he’d be able to either. He definitely needed to make time to help the poor man.

He sped down the crumbling halls, tripping whenever something feel in front of him.

I’m going to die down here, he thought over and over.

The Knights of Order continued to pop up around each corner. Wrothken started shoving past them or purposely ramming them so they’d fall and get caught under rocks.

When he finally reached the surface, he damn near kissed the ground as he fell to his knees. “Oh, thank you Talos! Thank you, Mara! Thank you!”

“Well look at this, I found the easy road.” Wrothken looked up to see Shelden, smiling smugly. “How were things going down there?”

Wrothken’s mood went from so happy he’d kiss a grummite to more sour than week old milk.

“You are something else,” he said, standing up.

Shelden grinned. “I know. That’s why I’m mayor of Passwall. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got rebuilding to do. Those poor fools would be utterly lost without me.” With his nose high in the air, he trotted leisurely down the path to Passwall.

Wrothken growled under his breath. “Is it wrong I wish a Knight would eat him?” He paused. “Why on Nirn am I talking to myself?”


Posted by: mALX Feb 4 2012, 07:11 AM

*

QUOTE

"I'm crazy? Don't even get me started!


Lol, this reminded me of Joan Rivers' catch phrase. ("Don't get me started! ...Can we talk?")


QUOTE

"Then we run like we stole something.


ROFL !!

QUOTE

Oddly, obelisks started to rise, though Xeddefen was on its way to rubble. He shook his head. It almost seemed to be a symbol of what Jyggalag was up to. The Shivering Isles would crumble, as order rose above it, crushing anyone and everyone below.


Amazing insight here, I remember running like a panicked Russian Racehorse through that place and never made that connection - really cool addition there to make us think of the whole picture and not just the scene as it unfolds !!!

Awesome Write - and YEAH !! More Nemesis !!!

*

Posted by: McBadgere Feb 4 2012, 08:05 AM

Most excellent *Applauds*... biggrin.gif ...

I loved the portrayal of Shelden in this...Brilliantly done...

That bit of the Shivering Isles quest was always fun...

Bless them knights, they're so sweet!!... laugh.gif ...

Nice one!!....

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: King Coin Feb 5 2012, 06:06 AM

“And then?”

“Then we run like we stole something. But you have to be fast.”

laugh.gif
Great line!

Crazy ideas seem oddly appropriate for the SI tongue.gif

Shelden grunted. “I’ll find another way out. Get going!”
As much as I dislike Shelden, I have to admire the little bstard at this.

And then he s back to his old self outside. lol! He is intolerable!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 8 2012, 01:13 AM

I loved Shelden sticking his tongue out at Wrothken! But he did come through. I was not expecting him to be nearly that useful.

The Shivering Isles would crumble, as order rose above it, crushing anyone and everyone below.
This was an excellent observation, that so poetically sums up the Grey March.

I loved Wrothken thinking of Amiable after nearly being crushed.

And Shelden still got out ahead of Wrothken! biggrin.gif That was just hilariously perfect. laugh.gif



nits:
With Shelden in tow, Wrothken to Xeddefen.
I am sure you missed something in there after Wrothken

Posted by: Jacki Dice Mar 22 2012, 04:49 AM

mALX~ Thanks smile.gif I didn't make the connection either until I was watching a playthrough on Youtube tongue.gif

McBadgere~ Thank you smile.gif Sheldon was one of my favorite people to write. He doesn't need any exaggerations

King Coin~ That is one of Wrothken's favorite things to say if we're ever in a situation that he thinks we should be running.

SubRosa~ Of course in the actual game he's about as useless and... well, anything really. He just gets knocked unconscious the whole time -_-

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Forty: Blessing


[Reminder: Last time we left Lilitu, she had done a job for the Gray Fox, stealing the Arrow of Extrication from Fathis Aren. Throughout her job, she was attacked by daedra, including a clannfear that left her nearly bleeding to death on the road to Bravil. After having a vision of a blond woman near the water, she awoke with all her wounds healed and made it home safely.]


The gray clouds seemed to match Lilitu’s mood as she approached the Chapel of Akatosh. She would have felt more at ease sneaking into the emperor’s chambers in a suit of steel armor adorned with bells. She closed her eyes, gripping the starfish in her hand. She knew what it was, she had an idea of where it came from, all she needed was a confirmation and to know why. After hesitating for a moment, she placed her hand on the door and walked in.

It was as beautiful inside as it was out. The deep gray walls rose up to impossible heights, with arched ceilings. Stone columns stood around the entrance, each holding a pair of lit candles. Stained glass windows depicting the Divines lined the walls, with Akatosh up front. His window was by far the largest and most majestic. There were few people inside, mostly reading. Others knelt, with their heads bent in silent prayer. Despite the serene beauty, Lilitu still felt like her skin was crawling.

She forced herself to take a seat in the front pulpit. She took the starfish out of her pocket and turned it over in her hands. She looked around before whispering. “If you’re going to show yourself or give me some sort of clue as to what you want, just tell me now.”

The starfish remained as it was. It didn’t glow or move. Lilitu sighed, tempted to throw it. She knew it wouldn’t matter. Ever since it appeared in her hands by the lake, it always seemed to show up elsewhere.

“Greetings, sister,” a middle-aged Redguard said, taking a seat next to Lilitu. She had kind eyes and several smile lines. Like Lilitu, her hair was long and straightened with a hot comb. Despite her age, it remained dark brown, save for a single streak of silver in the front. “My name is Oleta, I’m a priestess here at the Chapel of Akatosh. You seem troubled.”

Lilitu opened her mouth, but couldn’t find her voice for a moment. She held up the starfish. “This is going to sound crazy,” she said after a moment.

Oleta smiled and nodded.

Lilitu took a deep breath. “I was on my way to Bravil a few weeks ago and I ran into some trouble. I was left on the road bleeding and injured and I just…” She shrugged. “I blacked out. During this, I saw a woman. Well, no I did more than just see her. I was with her. She was holding me and she kept pouring water on me. I think she may have been cleaning my wounds.”

“Ahh, a Good Cyrodillian helped you out?”

Lilitu shook her head. “No, it wasn’t a person.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I think it was Mara,” she blurted.

Oleta raised her eyebrows.

“See, I know it sounds crazy. It took me awhile to even admit it to myself. I’m really not one for the Divines anymore. They know I haven’t said a single word to them since I left home, but she used her Chalice to cleanse my wounds, we were by the fragrant waters that she is said to bathe in, and this damn starfish won’t go away, no matter what I do with it! I find it on my pillows, with my bath salts, in books. I even found in my dog’s food dish once. So obviously she wants something but I’m not sure what!”

Oleta pursed her lips together, taking a moment to take everything in. Lilitu looked at the floor, her cheeks burning. She was worried that perhaps she really did lose her mind.

“May I see it?” Oleta asked.

Lilitu handed over the starfish.

After a moment, Oleta began to smile, as if someone had wrapped her in a warm blanket. “You have been blessed.”

“By Mara,” Lilitu said.

Oleta handed the starfish back. “The Divines can see into every man’s heart. They alone know a person’s innermost desires and for those who the gods find favor in, they bless and often leave a symbol of their blessing. You, my dear, have Mara’s blessing.”

Lilitu stared at the starfish in her hands. She shook her head. “I…” She was at a loss for words. Mara had to know Lilitu’s resentment toward the Divines in general. Why bless her?

Oleta laid her hand on Lilitu’s knee. “Tell me, my child. What is you desire?”

Lilitu laughed. “Me? Just a nice person to settle down with one day. Maybe have a kid or two.”

Oleta shook her head. “Deeper than that.”

Lilitu hesitated. “Well…” She sighed. “I can’t.”

“Oh, come now, you can tell me. I won’t laugh.”

Lilitu bit her lip and started dragging her toe along the floor. “I… I’m part of a…”

“Thieves Guild.”

Lilitu raised her eyebrows.

“Honey, the whole town knows who hangs around the Dancing Minotaur and you stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Alright,” Lilitu said. “The Guild. One of our sworn duties is to protect the beggars of the cities. Ever since I joined up and have been learning the ins and outs, I can’t help feeling like there’s more we can do.” She sighed. “I have asked the doyens in the Imperial City, Anvil, Cheydinhal, even the one here, what we can do and they kinda laugh and give me the run around. Like I’m just a kid asking where babies come from.” She looked around, lowering her voice. “So, I started a little stash. I have a decent chunk of gold piled away to… to maybe open up a place. We can offer training in a few ways, not just how to be good at stealing.” She frowned a little. “Maybe it won’t amount to anything. Maybe it will. Who knows.”

Oleta patted Lilitu’s hands. “If you continue to have it in your heart, it will happen. Mara has given Her blessing. You just need to have faith.”

Lilitu nodded, yet a sourness filled her stomach.

The house lay empty. The only things left to eat were slices of stale bread. Her father had been gone for weeks. Lilitu wasn’t even sure if he was alive. She went upstairs to see her mother for a shred of solace.

There she was, standing over the bed putting septims into a pouch.

Though worried, Lilitu breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re going to get food?”

“No,” her mother said simply. “I’m going to donate this to the Chapel.”

Lilitu felt like someone poured a bucket of ice over her. “But… we have no food.”

Her mother shrugged. “The Divines will take care of us.”

The icy feeling quickly turned to that of lava in her veins. “It’s not like Zenithar is going to pop out of the air with a sack full of gold and feed us!”

Her mother brushed past her, heading down the stairs without so much as a glance back at her. “We’ll be fine. You just need to have faith.”


“Is everything okay?”

Lilitu jumped. It took her a moment to realize that she had been scowling at the floor. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s just a lot to take in is all.”

Oleta smiled warmly. “I understand. It’s not every day you find out that you’ve been so blessed.”

Lilitu managed a smile as she returned the starfish to her bag. “Thank you,” she said as she left.

“Anytime. I hope to see you here more often.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she said to herself.



Lilitu sat in front of The Dancing Minotaur, staring into her coffee. She sighed deeply. Her mother was right.

Akatosh on an apple, she was right.

Lilitu closed her eyes for a moment before glancing up to the sky. “At least don’t let her know. By all things sacred, at the very least grant me that.”

Should her mother find out, she knew she would never hear the end of it. She wouldn’t hear the end of a lot of things.

She placed her head on her hand and stared into the city streets. She eyed a few of the spots that children were known to hide out in. Would Mara’s blessing make it easier? Or would Mara make her work for it? So far it seemed like the latter. No one seemed to want to seriously consider anything she had to say on the matter. We’re thieves, not babysitters. We’re thieves, not a charity. We need to look out for ourselves first and foremost. And those were only the ones that didn’t start laughing until they realized that she was serious.

Just as she took another sip and idea sprang into her mind. The Gray Fox! She choked a little. Of course! She had been so much in awe of finally meeting him that it must have slipped her mind. He had to listen to her. After all she had done for him, he at least owed her that much!

Posted by: mALX Mar 22 2012, 05:01 AM

QUOTE

Honey, the whole town knows who hangs around the Dancing Minotaur and you stick out like a sore thumb.”


This just hit me as uproarously funny - Probably the name, 'Dancing Minotaur' - new keyboard needed, ROFL !!!

This chapter was great - she'll learn one day, mothers have a way of finding out things - and the harder you wish it was something they never would catch you in, the quicker and more detailed they find it out, ROFL !!! Awesome Write !!

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 22 2012, 06:40 PM

Poor Liltu, forced to go into a temple of the Nine. At least she did not burst into flames! That is one dogged starfish. It even showed up in Dolce's dish! Good thing she did not eat it, or even just gnaw on it like a bone.

I laughed at Oleta's remark about Liltu sticking out like a sore thumb.

The flashback to her mother counting out money for the chapel, all the while that they have no food, was very revealing.

Akatosh on an apple
I love this saying!

Posted by: McBadgere Mar 23 2012, 05:37 AM

I missed much of the earlier chapters...I will add it to the ever growing list though... biggrin.gif ...But this chapter worked without knowing the earlier bits...Explained much that I needed to know...Kinda like a jump-on point in itself!!...

That's just brilliantly done that is...*Applauds*...

The Sore Thumb comment is definately a crowd pleaser!... laugh.gif ...

Yeah, the mother counting out the money...Hmmm...Not good... indifferent.gif ...

Brilliantly done...

Loves yer writing, of either story...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: Grits Mar 23 2012, 11:57 PM

Going into the chapel and realizing that Mother Was Right both on the same day, yikes! I feel for Lilitu. smile.gif

Posted by: King Coin Apr 5 2012, 01:58 AM

laugh.gif I liked the Dancing Minotaur too. Mind if I steal that name should I create an inn for Skyrim?

I can definitely see why Lilitu disliked the chaple so much. Having no food and the last of your money going to it…

Good job!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Apr 30 2012, 06:45 AM

mALX~ Oh, isn't that the truth? It's like they're psychic! D:> I'm glad you liked the name. I couldn't come up with one on my own so I used a generator. I don't have the link anymore though sad.gif

SubRosa~ I can't imagine Dolce would find the starfish appetizing mellow.gif And Mara wouldn't be too pleased either!

McBadgere~ I'm glad you like the the little reminder. Even I forget where I left off sometimes ohmy.gif

Grits~ That's just too much to deal with without a big cup of coffee first!

King Coin~ Feel free to steal it whenever biggrin.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Forty-one: The Other Problem



Just when Lilitu thought she couldn’t get in more foul of a mood, Capaneus arrived with a young man following him.

“Ah, Lilitu!” He said, taking a seat across from her.

Lilitu groaned louder. “What do you want?” She asked flatly.

Capaneus smiled that smug smile of his and motioned for his friend to sit down. “I just wanted to introduce my brother to everyone who’s anyone in Kvatch.”

Lilitu rolled her eyes.

As if she seemed interested, Capaneus smiled broadly. She was sure that he knew that he was getting under her skin and she hated herself for allowing it. “Milun, this is Lilitu, the Thieves Guild fence. Lilitu, this is Milun.”

Milun was much thinner than Capaneus, with longer brown hair that graced his narrow shoulders. He had cool brown eyes behind a pair of dark rimmed spectacles. His face was very soft and delicate. In fact, save for a slight whiskering at his chin and above his upper lip, he could have been mistaken for a very lovely woman.

“Charmed,” Lilitu said disinterestedly, turning her attention to Milun’s necklace. A small black dagger smaller than Lilitu’s thumb hung from a black chain around his neck. Her stomach felt like it was lined with ice as she remembered what Yyaevonnte had told her about Capaneus.

“The pleasure is mine,” Milun said. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Lilitu had to fight the urge to gag and wipe her hand on his pants.

“Is there anything else you want to pester me with?” She asked Capaneus.

Capaneus tsked, shaking his head. “You’re in quite the mood today,” he said. He paused for a moment. “You know what might cheer you up? Why don’t we go out for a pastry? You like pastries, don’t you? And Kirsty makes the best ones in town… and I’m not just saying that because we’re courting.”

“I’m busy.”

Capaneus stood up. “Doing what?”

As if by Mara’s mercy, even with Lilitu’s reluctance to accept it, Celia, the recruiter for the Guild stepped out. “Lilitu, we need you inside.”

Lilitu felt so relieved that she didn’t even ask why as she got up from the table.

Celia led Lilitu to the basement, where the unofficial guild quarters were located. If Lilitu had not just walked down the steps and into the hidden door, she would have never guessed it was a basement. It was divided into three sections, a storage space for all the things fenced and ready to ship elsewhere, the main office and the doyen’s private quarters.

The main office was well furnished with four cherry wood desks. The one in the center of the room belonged to Andre the doyen. Paperwork was strewn about it in what he called “organized chaos.” Atop the many papers were figurines of boats. The doyen himself was easily recognized as a man who loved the sea, with his sun bleached blond hair and his tanned skin. Sadly, his skin was starting to reflect too much sun and around his eyes took on a leathery appearance.

Caminda was at her desk, hunched over her paperwork. As her neat, orderly desk was the polar opposite of Andre’s, her appearance was a stark contrast to him as well. Where he was a tall, blond, lanky man, Caminda was a short Bosmer with a jet black bob with enviable curves. Andre preferred the nice clean look of the nobles, Caminda proudly displayed floral body art along her temples and down her arms. The shelves above her desk held all sorts of lock boxes and some with a few enchanted traps. Hundreds of lock picks and probes were stashed next to them.

“I got this for you.” Andre said, handing her an envelope with her name on it. Her heart quickened at the handwriting. “It was here this morning when I got up. I’m not sure who could have picked the lock. Caminda made it herself…”

Lilitu didn’t need him to tell her who it was. In fact, opening it was enough.

Lilitu,

The Gray Fox has requested a meeting with you at your house tonight at eight.

X


She pursed her lips together, unsure of how to react. Only the job he had in store for her would tell.

Posted by: McBadgere Apr 30 2012, 04:07 PM

Love it!... biggrin.gif ...

For some reason, even my skin was crawling reading Capaneus talk!... laugh.gif ...You seem to have a knack for creepy characters... biggrin.gif ...

I'll have to get my daughter to read this, she's the Thieves Guild one in the family...I'm too good for that...*Adjusts halo*... tongue.gif ...

Loving the story...Brilliant writing...

Nice one!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: Colonel Mustard May 1 2012, 08:35 PM

You know, I was just about to comment saying that it was good to see another update for this when I realised that I'd forgotten to post from when I'd originally read through this in just two sittings (it was that good). I'm sorry, I'm a terrible person.

So, in order to make up for that, I feel I must say that this is absolutely excellent stuff. Not only haveyou managed to capture the manic, demented feel of the Isles in your writing, but you've managed to populate both it and the Cyrodiil beyond with some wonderfully realistic, compelling and well fleshed-out characters, as well as giving a good bit of depth to Bethesda's existing ones (Haskill was one of my favourite NPCs from Bethesda's games,and you've managed to make him even better; he's definitely one of my favourite characters of this story, and he's got some tough competition, too!).

And I'm really wondering how poor old Wrothken is going to deal with the mess that's brewing up back in Cyrodiil at the moment, and how you're going to tie all these plot threads with Lilitu and the Thieves Guild and the Mythic Dawn all together. Though with luck, you'll do it just as well as you have the rest of this story...

Posted by: SubRosa May 5 2012, 06:38 PM

So Cap has a brother (who seems to be an anime hottie!) and there is trouble in the guild. Not the best homecoming for Liltu.

And look who wants to meet her again! The Grey Fox is certainly getting chummy with her lately!

Posted by: Grits May 6 2012, 10:29 AM

“You know what might cheer you up? Why don’t we go out for a pastry? You like pastries, don’t you?" He paused and poked her stomach. "Of course you do!"

ohmy.gif Oh, he deserves a bloody stump for that. mad.gif

And the Grey Fox will be stopping by tonight. He never wants anything dangerous or complicated… wacko.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice May 9 2012, 04:18 AM

McBadgere~ Lol! It's from my rather unfortunate, frequent encounters with creepy people. I had one just this morning on the way to work sad.gif

Colonel Mustard~ Gasp! How dare you miss a post! devilindifferent.gif tongue.gif Wow I didn't think this was read in two sittings good. I'm glad it's got that kind of hold on you. And yes, it is going to be quite the tangled web once I get done.

SubRosa~ He sure is! Next thing you know, he'll want to sleep off his hangovers on her couch tongue.gif

Grits~ Lol! That was a last minute addition! It just seemed to fit so well and I couldn't help laughing while typing it tongue.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Forty-two: Going Home




Lilitu jumped when she entered her house.

The Gray Fox was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands folded neatly on his lap. Dolce was sitting in her bed staring at him intently. It was clear that she wanted to attack, but she was holding herself back. Lilitu noticed a slab of meat on the floor in front of her. Lilitu raised her eyebrows. That had to be the source of her confliction.

Dolce looked at Lilitu and stamped her front paws on the floor and whimpered. Lilitu couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ahead,” she said.

Immediately Dolce scarfed the meat down and licked her lips happily after.

To the Gray Fox, she said, “I thought you said eight.”

He smiled. “I knew you’d rush back as soon as you heard the news.” He looked around the house. “It’s very red.”

“I know,” she said, taking a seat across from him. “So, another job, I take it?”

"Further use of Savilla's Stone has revealed that I need another special item to move forward with my plans.”

Lilitu sighed quietly.

“I need the boots of Springheel Jak,” he continued. “He was a famous thief that died some three hundred years ago. Legend has it that he was buried with his boots on. Find out where Springheel Jak is buried and bring me back those boots. Will you do this for me?”

Lilitu looked at the floor and then at Dolce. She knew she couldn’t refuse him. He was the Gray Fox, after all. Still, she recalled the danger the other requests put her into. Even if she was protected by Mara for some reason, it didn’t get her out of feeling fear or pain.

“It pays well,” he added, sensing her reluctance.

“Alright,” she said.

“Capital--”

“But!” Lilitu said, raising her finger. “Before I do, you have to hear me out on something.”

His cowl made his expression unreadable, but he didn’t refuse.

“As the Gray Fox, you know that we have a solemn oath to protect the beggars of the city. Where other guilds have warm beds and decent food for their members, the ones we swear to protect upon entry to this guild are left to sleep in the streets with nothing to eat. I have asked the doyens what we can do as a guild to help, but I get nothing substantial. Obviously we can’t open a place up with a banner held high, but there has to be something we can do.”

The Gray Fox put his index fingers to his lips, leaning back in his chair. “You aren’t the first to suggest such a thing,” he finally said. “I have an idea, but it will all come together soon. I promise that after you get the boots for me, we’ll discuss this more.”

She smiled a little. It was a lot farther than she had gotten with anyone else.

“Now, the Earl of Imbel is the only descendant of his line that I have been able to locate. His name is Jakben, and he lives somewhere in the Imperial City. There might be a clue in the Earl's house.”

“The Imperial City?” Lilitu asked, her eyes widening.

The Gray Fox nodded. “I have the utmost confidence in you.”

Lilitu lowered her eyes but when she looked back up, the Gray Fox had already vanished. She looked at Dolce. “Where in Oblivion did he go?”

Dolce simply yawned and laid down in her bed.



The Imperial City. Lilitu looked out her bedroom window at White Gold Tower. It gleamed in the distance, reflecting the glow from the moons. It was so beautiful, but Lilitu couldn’t help being filled with dread.

She went upstairs to her room in The Feed Bag. Tired and weary, she was ready to collapse onto her bed. She opened the door and started to scream.

Dolce was on the floor, laying in a puddle of her own vomit. She was on her side, breathing with great difficulty. Her eyes were cloudy and rolled in the back of her head.

Lilitu rushed to Dolce’s side, placing her hand over her heart. She could feel a faint beat. She sat there sobbing and screaming, unsure of what to do. But she knew who did it.

The image appeared back to her every time she closed her eyes. Dolce come over to her and nudged Lilitu’s hand with her head a few times before licking it. Lilitu knelt down and hugged the dog. “No one will ever take you away from me again.”

She scratched Dolce’s ears while she stared out the window. “I better get this over with.”



Being back in the Imperial City brought back a multitude of emotions.

There was the magic of being on her own for the first time, the joys of the times with Methredhel, the mystery of the Thieves Guild and the fear of being caught again, of being trapped. The terror of retaliation she knew would be coming if he saw her. More than once, Lilitu had to prop herself against a wall in order to keep from being wholly overwhelmed.

The Marketplace was just as she remembered. The crowds were so packed together that it had become common for ladies to stuff their coin purses down their shirts to keep stray hands from snatching them. Vendors stood in front of the shops selling all kinds of things from clothing to food to weapons. It was like Kvatch, only much more congested. It was a claustrophobic’s nightmare.

Lilitu forgot her paranoia soon enough, allowing her eyes to leave the ground and her lips to smile. This was home. This was where she belonged and she kicked herself for allowing some scumbag to run her out.

When her eyes caught a pair of familiar brown ones, she stopped in her tracks.

“Oh my gods!” She jumped up and she clasped her hands in front of her mouth. “Methredhel!”

Methredhel screamed and ran full speed toward Lilitu with her arms stretched out, shoving people out of the way. She jumped up and wrapped her legs tightly around Lilitu’s waist.

Lilitu stumbled for a moment but as soon as she regained her balance, she squeezed Methredhel tightly. After planting kisses on each other’s cheeks, Methredhel climbed down.

“I had no idea you were going to be in town!” Methredhel squeaked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because by time the letter got here, I would have. I just took an overnight carriage.” Lilitu looked around and lowered her voice. “I’m here on official business.”

Methredhel looked at the ground, frowning. “No Dolce?”

Lilitu shook her head. “She’s at home. I brought her on my last trip and that was a disaster. She’s safer there, anyway.”

As they walked, they held hands with their fingers laced together. Lilitu suddenly felt whole again. Well, almost. All she needed was Dolce.

Methredhel raised her eyebrows. “So... business-business or I-have-unfinished-business-business?”

“Gray Fox business.”

Methredhel gasped. “You mean he’s sent you back?”

“Not exactly.” Lilitu leaned into her ear. “I’m supposed to swipe some boots for him from some guy.”

Methredhel nodded. “I thought you were made a fence, though.”

“So did I,” Lilitu said with a sigh. “This isn’t the first time. He had me on two other missions.”

“So where are you staying?”

“I was thinking the Feed Bag, like before.” Lilitu paused. “Stay with me!”

Methredhel laughed. “You know what Armond will say.”

“Armond needs to get his head out of the gutter! Just because we sleep together doesn’t mean we sleep together!” She paused for a moment. “Though we did sort of contribute to that rumor... a lot.”

Methredhel shrugged. “We were told to use anything and everything to our advantage when it came to stealing. It’s not our fault that men get distracted easily!”

Posted by: SubRosa May 9 2012, 10:20 PM

That Grey Fox, you never know when he is going to turn up! So now it is off to find some boots. And in return, the GF will look into helping the beggars? I thought that was very thoughtful of Liltu to bring it up. Again, we see that there is more to her than just a thief.

And another glimpse into the mirror of the past I see! So it was in the IC that Dolce was poisoned. I can certainly see why Lil views the city with dread.

Yay, its Methredhel! One of my favorite Oblivion characters. I see she and Lil have been sleeping together. Too bad they have not been sleeping together as well though. hubbahubba.gif

Posted by: McBadgere May 10 2012, 12:35 PM

Nah, one pair on this forum's enough for my blood pressure... laugh.gif ...

Aaamywho...Fantastic stuff...Loved the Grey Fox stuff...

Never did all that stuff so I've never met the chap...Damned well written though...

Loved the Imp City stuff...One of these days, should I earn some freebies from the Extra-Time Fairy, then I shall do this from the start and know what I missed... tongue.gif ...

Excellent stuff...Loved it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: Grits May 11 2012, 11:36 AM

I think it would be easy to convince Lilitu to go get a pair of boots. A big hammer not so much. But, boots! Maybe with platform heels, some buckles… I guess we’ll have to wait and see Springheel Jak’s taste in footwear. tongue.gif

Fun reunion with Methredhel! It's nice to see Lilitu happy in the Imperial City.

Posted by: King Coin May 11 2012, 04:54 PM

An unpleasant job dealing with a troublesome ‘guild member’ and on top of that, the Gray Fox has something for her.

**

And the Gray Fox knows how to make peace with a pooch! laugh.gif

The reunion with Methredhel was hilarious!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jun 30 2014, 02:49 AM

-appears two years later-

Ahem.


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Forty-three: The Merchant's Inn



Lilitu and Methredhel navigated their way through the crowds in the Market District. The two of them held hands and skipped every so often. Lilitu felt as bright as the sun. All of her paranoia, all of her doubts melted away.

They stopped in front of The Feedbag. It was where Lilitu had her first honest job as a waitress. That’s where she met Methredhel and her life as a thief began. If she really thought about it, it was because of the Guild that she was even alive today.

Though Methredhel’s very presence caused shop owners to react rather coldly, they did a bit of window shopping. In fact, they were having so much fun looking around, that they didn’t steal a thing to avoid making the day more complicated than it had to be.

By the time evening had slipped around, they headed to the Merchant’s Inn. A lot of guild members tended to stop in, if only to listen in to shop owners talking about their latest ways to deter thieves. It would be nice to see the familiar faces.

Methredhel stood behind Lilitu, resting her head on her shoulder. “You want to stay here? You know, for old time’s sake?”

“Yeah,” Lilitu said, still smiling over the old memories. “And you’re staying with me?”

“Please, like I’d turn down the chance to have a hot bath.”

That told Lilitu that Methredhel was still living in the Waterfront. Lilitu wanted to ask her why, but she knew Methredhel was still saving up for a life in the Elven Gardens District. A house wasn’t enough. She wanted a cushion to keep her dressed, fed, and living comfortably for a while without having to stress about when the next job would come by.

Once again hand-in-hand, the two of them entered the bar. Lilitu bought a room for a couple nights and the two elves giggled as they dashed up the stairs. The room was simple with a double bed and connecting bath.

As Lilitu was taking off her bag and shoes, Methredhel was running the water and eagerly stripping down for her bath. “I can’t tell you how long its been! I mean, yeah, there’s the lake, but it’s a pain dealing with the sea life and the men staring!” She ran her hand down the faucet. “Hot water….”

The room came with a few bottles of soaps and Methredhel poured some of the liquid in, making it bubble. “I swear, it’s so tempting to just get a little place around here. The Market District has gotten cheaper, but… well, you know me. Go big or go home!” With that, she climbed in and sighed deeply.

Methredhel lounged in the bathtub, relishing every little thing about it. She didn’t even bother covering up. Lilitu noticed that save for the height difference, their bodies were nearly identical in shape. Yet while Lilitu stuffed herself into corsets to force her waist to appear smaller and her bust larger, Methredhel seemed to love hers. She always did. Lilitu sighed a little. Why was it so easy for her? Then again, Lilitu didn’t see any dimpling on her thighs or faint marks along her hips. Maybe Methredhel was slightly thinner. Or maybe she was just imagining everything.

As Methredhel bathed, Lilitu sat by the window. She scanned the crowds for anyone suspicious. She told herself that she was only enjoying the view, she couldn’t fool herself. She couldn’t fool Methredhel either.

“They’ve stopped asking about you.”

“Hmm?”

“I said, they’ve stopped asking. You can relax. Besides, it’s been what, three years? Even if they remember you, they probably can’t remember what you look like, especially with the new look.”

“Yeah, I figured…” Lilitu said, turning away from the window. “It’s just hard to forget, you know? Besides, these guys weren’t Dark Brotherhood material, but they weren’t a group of milk-drinkers either. Besides, you know me. Better to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder than get careless and backstabbed.”

Methredhel shook her head. “That’s no way to live, Lil.” She stuck her leg out of the water to lather it in the suds. “So. Tell me about this job. And the Gray Fox! I can’t believe you’ve met him! I’ve been in the Guild way longer and I never saw him! Most people think he’s just a story these days!”

Lilitu took a seat by the tub to avoid the temptation to go people watching. “He wants me to steal a pair of boots for him.”

Methredhel raised an eyebrow. “Boots. Like….. the kind you put on your feet. What kind of basic job is that? And you’re not even a thief anymore!”

Lilitu shrugged. “They’re enchanted, if that matters.” She laughed a little. “I think I’ve been demoted to grave robber, actually. I’m supposed to get them off some guy who died three hundred years ago.”

“Oh, Lil…”

“Maybe you’ve heard of the guy’s great-great-grandson or whatever. The Earl of Imbel?”

Methredhel thought for a moment. “You know, I think I might’ve.” She took a moment to dunk herself under the water and wash out her hair. Her previously straight brown locks suddenly began to curl, though not as much as Lilitu’s did when wet. They were more like tousled waves. Again, Lilitu felt a twinge of jealousy. “Yeah, I know about him. He lives in the Talos Plaza District. Only goes out at night. Supposedly, he’s got a skin condition and he doesn’t want people to see.”

“Hmm..” Lilitu nodded. “So, if that’s true, he’s probably asleep all day. So night’s the best bet. That works!” She got up to change in her armor. There was a small privacy screen folded by the bed. Though Methredhel was able to waltz about in the nude, Lilitu was just not that comfortable. “In that case, I’ll head out now. If this is anything like the last nightmarish trips the Gray Fox sent me on, I just want to get it done and over with.”

Methredhel stood up quickly, accompanied by the sound of water splashing back into the tub. “Let me come! We haven’t done anything together in ages! And besides, it’ll be more fun!”

Lilitu poked her head out from behind the screen. “I don’t know…. These last few trips have been so dangerous! I almost died during the last nightmare.”

Not easily swayed, Methredhel was already out of the tub, drying off. “All the more reason to let me go with. And you tell the Gray Fox that I said if he endangers your life one more time, I’m gonna pop him right in his little whiskery nose!”

Posted by: ghastley Jun 30 2014, 01:47 PM

Is it OK if I wait a couple of years before commenting? That was a great write and I want to let it sink in. biggrin.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 30 2014, 02:03 PM

So nice to see the two elf chicks hanging out together, and spending the night frolicking in the tub. I love Liltu's envy of Methredhel. The grass is always greener on the other side of the elf.

I think Lilitu and Grit's character Lildreth need to meet. If just to add confusion over their names! laugh.gif

Lil worked at the Feedbag? Neat! Her first and last honest job! laugh.gif

And now it is a two-elf teamup!


nits:
if only to listen in to shop owners talking about their latest ways to defer thieves
Perhaps you were looking for deter thieves?

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jul 3 2014, 11:08 PM

ghastley~ Take as long as you need smile.gif

SubRosa~ I'm going to be a little sad when it's time for Lilitu to go home. There's never enough Methredhel!


~~~~~♥~~~~~


Chapter Forty-four: The Earl of Piddle-Pants




The Talos Plaza District was the crčme de la crčme of the Imperial City. The only person wealthier than the people who lived there was the Emperor himself! While many Thieves Guild members dreamed of plundering these houses, the guard was a lot tighter here than anywhere else. Loitering laws were strictly enforced to weed out thieves and, honestly, any undesirables. Not a single beggar slept on the streets in this part of town.

Like the rest of the Imperial City, the streets were curved, though much cleaner. Even the air had a crisper smell than the other districts. The houses were the same style, though instead of being divided by floors, each home was two to three stories high on its own. It was a way to keep space limited, ensuring that only the elite would be able to live there. To Lilitu, the best part of it was the marble dragon in the center of town, gracefully standing in a ring of several marble columns.

Lilitu and Methredhel walked quickly to the Tiber Septim hotel, as agreed to make their stroll look a little more believable. While Lilitu’s armor looked decent enough and Methredhel was all cleaned up and dressed similarly to Lilitu, they weren’t in the fine gowns that women in the area typically wore, causing them to look out of place.

As they scoped out the neighborhoods, Methredhel noticed a gold slot reading Earl Jakben of Imbel on one of the doors. Disguising it as a peck on the cheek, she whispered, “There it is.”

Lilitu responded with feigned giggles, turning away as if shy, but she was checking out the darkened windows. A passing guard smiled at the sight of “young love” and nodded to them.

They entered the hotel, where they received quite a few glances from upturned noses. The looks didn’t last long and that suited them just fine. Better for them to talk privately.

“So,” Lilitu said. “It looks dark inside, but that might not mean much. I bet he’s got at least a couple servants and maybe they’re in the back of the house, or downstairs in the cellar.”

“True, but we don’t know when he’s coming back. Do you think we should just keep tabs on him tonight and try for tomorrow? I mean, the monastery and Fathis Aren’s tower sounded awful, but… I mean this is just a routine break in for information about great-grandpa’s boots. We can just go in, poke around, take what we can because Y’ffre knows when we’d got another opportunity to break in around here, and get out.” She grinned. “Worst case scenario, we visit in the morning and threaten him awake. I bet he’d blab before even realizing what’s going on!”

Lilitu mulled it over for a while before nodding. “So, I guess we’re looking for papers or something that points to where Springheel Jak is buried.” She sighed a little. “In Morrowind, this would probably be a little more straight forward. If the boots were that important, they would be in his tomb… along with undead ancestors to guard the place. Actually, maybe this isn’t too bad.”



After giving themselves another half hour, they left. This time instead of looking like a couple on a night out, they were silent and paying attention to the guards patrolling the area. They were in greater numbers, but they still couldn’t be everywhere at once. They counted the seconds of time when they could pick undisturbed.

Though Lilitu’s dark blue armor blended in better, Methredhel was better at picking locks. She could have them in before blending in became necessary. As soon as they had an opening, Methredhel went to work. Though to Lilitu it felt like ages, Methredhel had it unlocked in a matter of seconds. “Done,” she whispered, opening the door slightly. They slipped inside to be greeted with silence.

“He must be out,” Lilitu whispered with a relieved sigh.

Then she realized that she had spoken too soon.

A man entered the room, carrying a candle in his hands. Lilitu and Methredhel were about to try and hide when he shrieked, cowering so bad he dropped the candle. Lilitu thanked the gods that it went out before hitting the floor.

“An intruder!” He cried. “Please don’t hurt me!”

Lilitu and Methredhel exchanged glances. As they had been caught, Methredhel obviously saw no reason to skulk in the shadows anymore. She picked up the candle and re-lit it, along with a few others. As the room brightened, Lilitu couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment.

While she wasn’t exactly expecting the room to glitter before her eyes, she was somewhat surprised by the plainness revealed in the soft glow. Instead of marble flooring like the walls and columns outside, it was a simple concrete slab, though it was covered with a fine rug. It looked like one of Hammerfell origin. Though there were two sitting areas on either side of a bare desk, the furnishings were simple wood. Neither of the tables had dishes out for company. Curved staircases were on both sides, though the rooms above were pitch black.

“Shut up and do as we say and you won’t be hurt!” She said, taking her Orsimer dagger from the sheath at her thigh. One thing Methredhel didn’t skimp on was the quality of weapon she carried. A woman living in the Waterfront didn’t have that luxury.

“Oh, dear gods, please…” The man quivered, burying his face in his hands. “What do you want? I’ll do anything!”

Following Methredhel’s lead, Lilitu approached him. “Are you the Earl of Jakben?”

He shuddered, just nodding.

“Alright. I need to know where Springheel Jak was buried. I want his boots.”

“Fine, fine! You can have them, just spare me!”

“She wasn’t asking permission!” Methredhel hissed, moving the dagger threateningly around his neck. “Where are they?”

“The family crypts are under the house. They give me the creeps! I have the key.” The Earl fumbled around his neck before pulling out a key. He threw it at Lilitu’s feet. “Take it! Just don’t hurt me!”

Lilitu slowly picked it up, watching in case he was a trap. Of course, with Methredhel poised to cause serious damage, he remained still. “Alright,” Methredhel said. “Is there a safe room in this house?”

“Y…yes…”

“Go. And don’t come out until morning, or we’ll have your head, got it?”

The Earl was near sobbing as he bounded up the stairs, not even looking back.

“Great job,” Lilitu said with a smile.

Methredhel bowed dramatically before looking around the room. “Now, this is just embarrassing, and I’m not just talking about the Earl of Piddle-Pants. If this is standard, then I don’t even know why the guards bother. All this dreck wouldn’t even add up to my stash!”

The basement wasn’t much better. The barrels stacked around didn’t hold fine clothing or even a single septim, though they did have lots of food packed up. Methredhel grabbed an apple as they approached the large stone door leading to the crypt.

“This is creepy,” Lilitu said. “Who sleeps in a house with their dead family buried under them?”

“I think this guy has already shown that he’s not right in the head. How do you live broke in this kind of place? It just begs to be dressed up!”

Lilitu knew she was stalling. “If Springheel Jak is buried here, that means that over three hundred years of dead people are down here.”

“Yeesh.” Methredhel winced. “Good gods, I just realized… if he died and was buried in those boots, his rot is in them! Ugh!”

“And we have to take them off…. Oh, gods, what if he was mummified and kinda fresh?”

“The smell will kill us. Why did you let me come with? This is gross!”

“Better question, why does the Gray Fox love torturing me? What did I do? Why does he hate me?”

“Pop him in the nose. Solves everything.”

Lilitu sighed, unlocking the door. “Ready?”

Methredhel shook her head.

“Yeah, me neither.” Lilitu unlocked the door anyway.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jul 10 2014, 07:45 PM

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Forty-five: Into the Tunnel



The stone door was rather heavy, making a low rumbling noise as Lilitu pushed it open. Methredhel held out a lit candelabra through the entry. A dirt tunnel was revealed before them. Unlit torches were along the walls, built into the wood frame holding the tunnel up.

“Oh, dirt. Of course,” Methredhel said. “You think Sir Septims would have enough to put in marble flooring after all he didn’t spend on decent taste. We’ll leave tracks all the way back!”

Lilitu shook her head. “No, we can just wipe our feet on the rug upstairs.”

“No, you won’t! I’m taking that! I need some sort of consolation!”

Lilitu couldn’t help laughing a little. “Fine, we’ll work that out later.” She cleared her throat, forcing the most Imperial-sounding accent she could muster. “After you, Lady Methredhel.”

Methredhel raised her eyebrows. “Me? Oh, no thanks. Age before beauty, you know?”

Lilitu laughed sarcastically. “Together, on three.”

Methredhel nodded.

“One….two….three…”

Neither of them took a step.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” Lilitu sighed. “We are grown women just going to get some shoes. This happens every day.”

“Yeah, well… this is infinitely more creepy.”

“I know, I know…” Lilitu took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before crossing the threshold.

After she had taken a few steps, Methredhel followed. When they were a few feet in, the door shut itself behind them. They both turned to look at it, then at each other.

“I still have the key,” Lilitu said, dropping it in one of her pockets. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

Linked arm-in-arm, they quietly walked through the tunnel, lighting the torches along the way. Lilitu tried distracting herself with thoughts of generous pay and the fact that the Gray Fox was a tiny bit more receptive to making the Guild more like an actual guild than anyone else had been. Though she didn’t dare close her eyes, she could imagine a nice, unofficial hall, with warm beds, decent food, organized training…

“Hey.”

Lilitu was suddenly aware that Methredhel stopped moving. She was frowning as she pointed to the ground. “Why are there so many footprints?”

There were several on the ground. Boots,, bare fee, even what looked like a skeletal print. This was disturbing, though she tried to brush it off. “Maybe he likes to come visit his family. Back home, we used to visit ancestral tombs on certain holidays.”

“He’s not a dark elf and this isn’t Morrowind.” Methredhel took out her dagger. “This is something else… can’t you feel it? It’s like we’re being watched.”

She was right. Lilitu was used to feeling like someone was watching her, so she didn’t think about it this time, but there was a certain thickness in the air. “We’re scaring ourselves,” she said after a while. “Let’s just find the boots and get out of here.”

They continued on in silence until Methredhel shrieked. Lilitu turned to see a large man grab Methredhel by the hair and throw her against a wooden coffin. It cracked, sending a decomposed arm on her head.

“S’wit!” Lilitu cried, sending a fireball from her hand. The man hissed as it bloomed against the side of his face, turning toward Lilitu. It was then that she saw the blue veins through almost translucent white skin and the large fangs. This vampire was nothing like the ones in her bodice-rippers. Here she was with an almost immortal predator, higher up on the food chain than her.

Methredhel got up and drove her dagger through the back of its knee. It cried out and turned to her. Lilitu took that moment to plunge her own dagger into its neck. She gagged as she wriggled it deep enough to feel it move along the bones until the neck was severed. The vampire fell to the ground, becoming dust before it even hit the ground.

The two elves stared at the pile between them.

“I’m out!” Methredhel said, heading to the door.

Lilitu agreed. This was too much. She endured clannfear, blind monks, and dremora, but vampires? No. There wasn’t enough gold in the world. Besides, there were still vampire hunters around. She knew they’d be willing to be discreet about how they found the lair if it got them a chance to kill those beasts! In fact, the boots can be part of the deal!

She caught up with Methredhel just in time to see her pounding at the door. “G-get the key!”

Lilitu pulled it out and tried unlocking it, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“He’s locked us down here!” Methredhel gasped. “Mara’s grace, he tricked us! That whole thing was an act! He locked us down here to die!”

Lilitu’s body numbed. That was it? She saw the faces of her dog, her siblings, her friends… Was it all over?

Methredhel was started to take slow, deep breaths. “Okay, okay… We’ll fight our way out.”

“What?” Lilitu asked. “Against vampires? And how does that solve the problem of the door?”

Methredhel bit her lip, pacing in a small circle. “What if we dig? We’ve got gloves, so it won’t tear our fingers apart. And… we can make tools.”

“Out of what?”

“I don’t know, pieces of the coffins? Let’s just deal with the vampire problem now.” Her best bow had been resting on her back, along with a quiver full of steel arrows. She took out the bow and placed an arrow between her fingers. “I sure as fetch won’t die down here!”

With her back to the wall, Lilitu slid to the ground, willing herself not to cry. As admirable as Methredhel’s fighting spirit was, she just couldn’t see any way out. Not two thieves against a horde of vampires.

Her hands dropped to her sides when she felt something odd in the dirt next to her. The starfish. She knew what it was even before she picked it up. The very starfish that she had buried in her dresser drawer before leaving for the Imperial City. Her throat suddenly didn’t feel like it was closing in on itself. In fact, her heart lifted considerably. This had to mean that Mara was watching, right? If Mara was on their side, then that had to mean they were going to survive! Lilitu took a few deep breaths, clutching the starfish to her heart before placing it in her armor. She turned to Methredhel, since she was the one with ideas. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

Methredhel sat for a moment, burying her face in her hands. “Alright, you can call upon one of your ancestors for help, right? Got any long-dead vampire hunters in your family?”

“Maybe…” Lilitu looked around, not wanting to leave it all to Methredhel. “We use the torches to keep them at bay if they get too close.”

“Any chance of you doing that kiss trick of yours?”

Lilitu gagged. “Too risky, with the fangs and all. Besides, I think I’d rather die than go that far.”

Methredhel slapped her arm. “Don’t jinx us. It’s supposed to be you and me running the world, remember? I can’t do that if you… you know.”

“Fine,” Lilitu said. She squeezed Methredhel’s hand. “Ready?”

“Let’s go!”

Posted by: Grits Jul 11 2014, 12:38 PM

Yay, I’m so delighted to see this story continuing! Lil and Methredhel’s friendship is great fun to read.

Lilitu shook her head. “No, we can just wipe our feet on the rug upstairs.”

“No, you won’t! I’m taking that! I need some sort of consolation!”


rollinglaugh.gif Perfect. I love that they’d both had too much and decided to bail on the weird shoe shopping expedition. After all these are thieves, not warriors. Trapped and going forward as a team. Gulp.


Posted by: Jacki Dice Jul 20 2014, 12:47 AM

~~~~~♥~~~~~


Chapter Forty-Six: Springheel Jak



The time in the crypt of the Earl of Jakben was one that Lilitu was sure would haunt her for the rest of her life. While, it was relieving that there weren’t three hundred years of starving vampires waiting for them, the handful that she and Methredhel was more than enough for several lifetimes.

The vampires seemed to have the ability to turn invisible. It was by the time the fourth one snuck up on them that Methredhel started to shoot an arrow in the direction of approaching footprints. She was rewarded each time with what seemed to be a floating arrow jostling about. Working together, the two elves killed off each one.

Each encounter left Lilitu doubting that she would survive the next one and like she had done on the last two jobs, she found herself cursing the Gray Fox, his parents, and his stupid cowl to the deepest, most miserable depths of Oblivion.

Finally, at the end of the tunnel they reached a large stone casket. The name “Springheel Jak” was embossed along the side.

“Those boots had better be gold plated,” Methredhel said as Lilitu pushed it open.

There was silence before Lilitu let out a grunt of fury. “I’m going to kill him!” She growled.

“Why?” Methredhel asked, looking in the coffin. Then she understood Lilitu’s anger.

The coffin was empty except for rumpled clothes and a tattered book.

While Lilitu was hissing obscenities, Methredhel picked up the dog-eared book. “Maybe there’s something in this…” She skimmed through it before gasping. “Lil, listen to this.”

Lilitu stopped, folding her arms. If she had to crawl through another vampire infested dump, she was going straight home to tell the Gray Fox just where he could stick those boots.

“‘I rediscovered this diary today. It has been 13 years since I last wrote in it. With an eternity before, and the blood hunger ever pulsing in my veins, there is little urgency for diaries….’” Methredhel looked up. “He wasn’t a thief, he was a vampire! He might still be alive!”

“You think so? By the Nine, and he still lives down here! What if that’s why the Earl of Piddle-Pants was so worked up?”

“Of course!” Methredhel said, clutching the book. Her finger remained between the pages to keep her place. “That poor man might even be his cattle! And that would explain why the door shut itself like that. To keep Jakben from getting out so easy.”

“Do you think we’ve killed him already?” Lilitu asked, looking down the dark tunnel. “I didn’t notice any boots in the piles.”


“Maybe…” Methredhel lifted the book again to continue reading. “‘Has it really been 89 years since I last wrote? The pages are getting fragile. I have rediscovered purpose, though it took nearly a century. I have finally gained some measure of control over the blood frenzy. I think I will try to establish a life among the living in one of their great cities.’”

Lilitu crinkled her nose. “Now he sounds like he’s been reading too many vampire love stories. What else does it say?”

“‘I had forgotten about this diary. I won't bother to calculate how many decades it has been since I last wrote in it. The cattle of this city know me as….’” Methredhel’s face paled and her eyes widened. “Oh, dear gods…”

For Methredhel to get that scared, it had to be bad. “What?” Lilitu asked, placing her hand over Mara’s starfish. “What does it say?”

“Earl Piddle-Pants…. He’s the vampire! He’s Springheel Jak!”

“What?” Lilitu grabbed the book to read it for herself. She wanted to say she couldn’t believe this, but why not? After everything else that had happened, why should this be surprising? “I think it’s time to re-discuss that plan to get out of here.”

“Alright….um….” Methredhel’s next thoughts were cut off by the loud rumbling of a stone door. “Piddle-Pants….” She whispered.

Lilitu turned to Methredhel, who had her bow and an arrow all ready.. “Last one,” she said, catching Lilitu’s eye.

“Actually…” Lilitu said slowly. “You have to go.”

“What?” Methredhel hissed, angered at the very idea.

“Look, if that door shuts while we’re all in here, who’s to say we’ll get out? And I know you say we’ll dig our way out, but that could take days! If you go now, at least you can open up later on!” Lilitu paused, having a hard time finishing the sentence. “And if I die, at least you’d be in a position to go get help. Cyrodiil is on better terms with thieves than vampires, right? And you can say that you knew I was doing it and never came back, so you have an out.”

There was another reason she wanted Methredhel to go. Mara’s starfish told Lilitu that she was being looked out for by the goddess. There was no guarantee about Methredhel. With people dying daily, despite crying to the gods for mercy, Lilitu knew she couldn’t rely on divine intervention for Methredhel.

Luckily, her argument seemed to make sense. “I don’t like it and if you’re not out in half an hour, I’m getting help.” Methredhel grabbed Lilitu for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I mean it,” she said. “Half hour.”

They ran together to the front of the crypt, where Springheel Jak was coming in. No longer was he looking like a feeble old man. He was suited up in armor and he held a long sword. Clearly, he was trying for overkill.

“You’ve got fifteen,” Methredhel said in a hushed breath.

They both charged the vampire, creating a way for Methredhel to slip through the closing stone door unnoticed. Jak didn’t seem to mind. He focused on Lilitu with a fanged grin. “You fool,” he spat. “I am no effete noble. I am a vampire, lord of blood!”


Though it wasn’t a conscious call, a form soon appeared at Lilitu’s side. Its white mist just floated there before its features were better defined. An Imperial woman stood next to her. She was dressed in a full suit of armor, though beneath her helm, Lilitu saw very familiar wild curls poking out, though Lilitu couldn’t tell if they had once been the same deep brown color. The woman grinned momentarily as she looked Lilitu up and down and the smile intensified as she set her eyes on the approaching Earl.

“Come and get me!” The ghost bellowed in a guttural growl that startled Lilitu. Generally she never got to hear the voice of her ancestors. She pounded her chest plate and drew a sword as she ran to attack. Lilitu sighed in relief. That would keep him busy.




Even as Methredhel pulled the door shut, she was cursing herself. Lilitu’s argument made too much sense to challenge at that moment, but when she heard the thudding of the door locked up inside, she felt a wave of guilt wash over her.

Methredhel ran up the stairs, this time not even bothering to be quiet. She needed to find something quickly that could get Earl Piddle-Pants either knocked-out or dead.

A quickly unlocked door downstairs lead her into the kitchen, where she didn’t bother searching for garlic. She was looking for a large knife. Something that could cut through bone, though the thought of what kind of meat it was probably used for made her knees tremble.

By the time she had finished in the kitchen, it looked like a dozen scamps had run through it, but there was nothing in there that gave Methredhel confidence in getting rid of the vampire. “Dammit!” She hissed, dashing up to the second story.

“Woah…” Her impression of the Earl of Cheapskatey-Piddle-Pants quickly changed when she saw the room before her. Lush tapestries hung from the walls. China cabinets stood at her side, filled with gilded dishes and tableware. Good heavens, to actually eat off gold. She hoped to be rich enough to know what that was like one day. Of course, she noticed the lack of anything silver.

An ornate fireplace was under a trap door leading to the attic. The door still hung open. Something told her that was where the Earl hid away. If that was his go-to hiding spot, there had to be other things hidden away. Hopefully not drained bodies.

The room looked like something out of a story book. Though it was near twice the size of her shack on the Waterfront, it was still rather cozy. The Earl slept on a four-poster canopy bed with silk sheets. An entire wall was filled with bookshelves. Though the books were incredibly old, the leather bindings still shined nicely. A wardrobe was near the window and when Methredhel opened it, she was greeted by all sorts of velvets, furs, and silks. One thing stood out to her. In the back corner were a very old and very worn pair of boots. Could those be the ones Lilitu was looking for?

Methredhel slipped them on, over her own boots. She didn’t feel any different until she took a step. She smiled a little. They made her feel rather springy. A test jump sent her across the room with little effort. This had to be them. One problem down.

The solution to the other and far more pressing matter came to her as she bounced down the stairs, nearly knocking over an oil lamp. That was it!



Lilitu wasn’t sure if she could run anymore. Her lungs felt like they were going to burst if her heart didn’t explode within her before that. The Earl was enjoying it. He seemed to have perverse pleasure from toying with her.

The Imperial woman Lilitu had managed to summon had fought valiantly, but she wasn’t enough to completely wear down Springheel Jak. So far, he had caught her twice. The first time, he simply picked her up and threw her against a casket rested in a crevice. The force broke the wood and she was showered in dirt and the old bones of whoever had been inside. The second time, he tried to bite her, but she came close to cutting out his eye and he had to drop her to save it.

Though the door was way too heavy to push open, she tried to stay close. If Methredhel came back in time with help, she’d get out alive for sure. That was still an “if.” Jak was closing in and just as Lilitu was about to scream, the door flew open. Methredhel appeared and doused the Earl with a bucket of slick liquid. Oil?

“Light him!” Methredhel shouted.

Immediately, Lilitu summoned up one last fireball, as big as she could, and shot it right at him. It had all happened so fast, that Springheel Jak lit up brighter than any candle Lilitu had ever seen. Between his skin crackling and his inhuman screeching, she couldn’t look away. It was only when he made eye contact and started to lunge toward her, that Methredhel grabbed Lilitu and slammed the door shut.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jul 20 2014, 08:20 PM

Wow! Close call!

This was a hold-your-breath-bite-your-nails installment including a fight which outcome remained unknown until the very end! I really did enjoy this, especially Lilitu's quick thinking in getting Meth out of there.

Posted by: Grits Jul 30 2014, 03:16 PM

Yikes, that was exciting! Great sense of dread as the two read the diary.

I loved Lilitu’s quick decision to get Methredhel out to safety, and then that decision saved Lil’s life. What an awesome turn of events!

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 4 2014, 10:39 PM

I love the description of the Talos District's upscaleness, where undesirables are not allowed.

Nice nod to Morrowind's undead-infested tombs.

Poor Earl of Piddle Pants! Not a pot to piss his pants in or a window to throw it out of.

Lil is going to steal the rug! smile.gif

Yikes, vampires! And Lord Piddle Pants locked them in with the fangers! I guess he was not as Piddly as we thought.

Thank goodness for Liltu's ancestors. Not to mention Mara. I hope she can keep him busy long enough for Methie to return with the boots and that oil. W00t! Lord Piddle is now a Roman Cyrodillic Candle.


nits: Chapter Forty-five:
She gagged as she wriggled it deep enough to feel it move along the bones until the neck was severed
I am thinking you mean until the head was severed?




Posted by: ghastley Aug 5 2014, 02:49 AM

To me, sever means both divide and separate, so it works either way. Dividing the neck, or separating the head. Anyway, I don't think removal was intended, maybe a vein or artery was the target?

Sever works best when used for limbs, where that distinction is a bit moot.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Aug 10 2014, 05:52 AM

haute ecole rider~ Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it, as it was pretty hard to write @_@

Grits~ The diary was one of the things Oblivion kinda messed up on. I remember the little pop-up explaining everything before I had a chance to read it :/

SubRosa~ Oops, I did mean the head to be severed. I lost count of how many times I changed things

ghastley~ No, she meant to behead. Though I will keep in mind the artery splitting for other events


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Forty-Seven: Rumors



When she still lived in Morrowind, Lilitu recalled her father often complaining that he was roasting alive during the summers. This was very different.

Lilitu and Methredhel stood outside the stone door, where they could still hear the screams of Springheel Jak. Neither of them said anything. It wasn’t until the screams stopped that Lilitu noticed that they had been clutching each other’s hands for dear life.

“Do you think he’s….” Lilitu began after the silence became too much.

“You open up,” Methredhel said, readying her bow. “If he still has a body, I’ll get him between the eyes.”

Lilitu slowly pulled the door open, almost gagging on the stench of the smoke.

“Anything?” Methredhel whispered.

“No,” Lilitu shook her head, looking at a pile of ash in the charred armor on the ground.

Methredhel sighed, putting her weapons away. “Well. That was more adventure than I’ve had in my entire life.”

“Agreed.” Lilitu said.




As a pick-me-up, Methredhel led Lilitu upstairs to ransack what they desired. Of course, they couldn’t take everything in the house. Two elves in armor carrying sacks of gilded dishes and fine furs would be instantly suspected and neither of them were in any mood to deal with the city guard.

In the morning, there would be an anonymous report regarding vampires residing in the area, just in case he was part of a larger clan.

They quickly walked back to the Market District and didn’t rest until they were back in the room at The Merchant’s Inn. Once there, they both let out long sighs of relief. Methredhel stripped again, heading to the tub. Lilitu dumped out her pockets to look through their plunder.

“Can you believe it?” Methredhel said, climbing into the scalding water. “We’re alive! We’re fetching alive!” She cackled. “Divines, I feel such a rush!” She turned over, batting her eyelashes at Lilitu. “Maybe we should join the Fighters Guild?”

In spite of her not feeling an adrenaline rush, Lilitu smiled. “The only reason I would ever join that Guild was for the company.”

“Oh, come on,” Methredhel said. “Can you imagine the two of us, a team going through Cyrodiil and destroying vampire nests?”

“Not really, because I like to imagine myself alive. You should have seen him while you were gone! It’s a miracle I didn’t get bitten!” A miracle probably attributed to Mara, but Lilitu didn’t feel like getting into that. “Why? Are you serious?”

Methredhel sighed, laying on her back and staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know, Lil. I love the Guild. I’ve been in it since forever, but sometimes I just feel stuck. Every time I feel like I’m about to claw my way out, something comes up.” She paused for awhile. “A few months back, it rained a hole in the roof. Then I got sick and had to blow a fortune on medicine. And it’s like every time I make progress for my stash, something happens, so I don’t even know why I bother sometimes.

“The Fighters Guild guys live on roast beef. The mages can whip up pies that make you walk on water and by the looks of some of them, they aren’t exactly going hungry. Meanwhile, I dedicate my existence to the Gray Fox and for what? It’s horrible being asked to break into a place for jewels, but having to raid the pantry on my way out just to make sure I’ve got food for the next week.” Methredhel took a moment to submerge her head under the water, cleaning her hair. “So, yeah, I think about it now and then. But then I remember that they don’t want criminals, so I guess here I stay.”

Lilitu wasn’t sure what she could say. Compared to a thief, a fence lived pretty easy. They got a percent of the money brought in from the goods stolen. Multiplying that by the number of thieves in the area explained why Lilitu lived in a nice house in Kvatch and Methredhel had a shack on the Waterfront. The only thing that came to mind was the hope that things improved. That sounded too much like what her mother would say to her, so she said nothing.

“Anyway,” Methredhel continued. “Those ratty boots are the ones you were looking for.” She said, pointing to the pair she had dropped by the door. “Did the Gray Fox mention the enchantment?”


Lilitu looked up from the pile of necklaces she had been sorting. “No, of course not. That would be helpful.” She went over and picked them up. They certainly looked three hundred years old. The boots were very well worn. In fact, they were nearly falling apart in some places.

“They’re springy,” Methredhel said. “Probably helped him jump from house to house once upon a time.” She laughed. “I still can’t believe we killed a vampire!”

Lilitu tried to put them on but they were too tight on her. She could hardly stuff her entire foot inside. “I think I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said, pulling them off.

Methredhel came out of the tub and wrapped herself in the fuzzy towel waiting by the window before plopping in the bed next to Lilitu. After a night of laughing and celebrating their survival, the two of them fell fast asleep.


Methredhel and Lilitu said a teary goodbye the next morning. As Lilitu rode the carriage to Kvatch, the feeling of home slowly separated, leaving itself firmly in the Imperial City. She sighed, wondering if she should return. A city that big could always use another fence, right?

By the time she reached Kvatch, the pining for the Imperial City had dulled. After all, Dolce was waiting and she missed her dog terribly. As the feeling was not completely gone, she stopped by the Iron Champion Bakery for a treat. She earned it big time.

Kirsty broke into a grin when Lilitu made it to the front of the line. Lilitu returned the smile up until Capaneus approached her. Of all the people in the world, he was the last person she wanted to deal with at the moment.

“Lilitu,” he said, before she could tell Kirsty what she wanted. “You’ve been gone awhile!” That same smug grin was plastered on his face, along with the usual twinkle in his eyes. Divines, it made her want to punch him.

“I have, and I’m busy, so if you’ll excuse me…” Lilitu turned to Kirsty, but the Bosmer had stepped away to deal with another customer.

“With what? Did you go see your family? Man, I would be so bored up in the mountains. How did you ever survive it?”

There he was, dropping those hints again. She tried not to let it show how much it bothered her that he somehow knew personal things about her, but she could tell by the amused look in his eye that he could tell. “Or maybe you went on an errand for someone special?” Because Lilitu said nothing, he continued. “You’ve been in the guild for just a few years, right? Isn’t it funny how you’re getting these special missions over people who have been in it for decades? That’s what your fellow members are saying, anyway.”

“Are they?” She asked before she could stop herself. It was odd how the Gray Fox had picked her out of his hundreds of devotees and she did ask herself “why, why, why?” countless times, especially when nearing death. But she didn’t know that anyone else knew about the meetings.

“Oh, yes,” Capaneus said. “But we’re friends, right? Of course we are! So tell me…” He smirked. “How does the Fox taste? I mean, he’s got to be hundreds of years old, so not very pleasant, I imagine.”

Lilitu’s eyes widened for a moment. “Listen you sload-sucking coxcomb!” She leaned in, gritting her teeth as she spoke. “First, we are not friends! Second, if you ever spread that sort of rumor about me, I will come after you and I will rip your tongue out by the roots and wear it as a belt!” When she saw Kirsty from the corner of her eye, she stood up and forced a smile. “Kirsty, could I have a half-dozen double chocolate muffins?”

In the mood she was in, she was going to eat them all and then come back for more.

“Tsk, tsk,” Capaneus hadn’t even blinked. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Lilitu cursed herself for falling into his game. “Eat like that and you won’t be able to wrap my tongue around your waist!”

With eyes as menacing as Red Mountain, she paid for her muffins and left.


Milun was sitting quietly at a nearby table while Capaneus was watching Lilitu leave. “That dark elf,” he said. “Why are you always harassing her?”

Capaneus shrugged. “Well, maybe I like making her squirm. It’s fun when she gets all worked up like that.”

Milun just stared blankly at him before he sighed and went back to his book. “Very mature,” Milun said. He found himself saying that more often ever since he had come to Kvatch.



Lilitu was surprised to see that she was not alone in the house when she entered. The Gray Fox was seated at her kitchen table. Dolce barked once and ran to greet Lilitu.

“Did you wait here the whole time?” She asked, hugging the dog and scratching behind her ears.

“No,” he smiled. “I could easily see you in the carriage. You stand out.”

Lilitu wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. She set her box of muffins on the table and pulled the boots out of her bag. “Are these the things you sent me after?”

He clapped his hands together. “Capital!” He exclaimed. “This may be the last piece of the puzzle. I need to spend some more time with Savilla's Stone first.” He held them up, looking them over as he muttered to himself. He then looked up and took Lilitu’s hand. “I am truly indebted to you.”

Looking into his warm brown eyes just made it impossible for her to yell at him about the vampires. He couldn’t have known anyway, right? “Don’t mention it. Please.”

“If all goes well, I may call upon you for one last task. The danger will be great, but the reward will be greater.”

Lilitu ripped the top of a muffin off before shoving it into her mouth. Divines, the comfort was almost instant. She turned the box toward the Gray Fox, offering him one. “Speaking of these tasks…. People are apparently talking.”

“As people often do,” he said, taking a muffin. The look on his face made it clear that he knew what was being said.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I am so honored that you chose me. I’m grateful that you’re in my house, eating my muffins, but even I don’t understand why. I’m a fence. I’ve only been in the guild for a few years. There’s so many more with the seniority and the talent, so why me?”

He was silent, fiddling with the muffin paper for a moment. “You’re right. There are many others with the seniority and talent. The reason I have chosen you out of all your guildmates has less to do with the jobs themselves than with the end goal. I haven’t shared it with you yet, but I will when the time is right. You just need to have faith in me, as I have in you.” He smiled, standing up. “As for the rumors… well, there’s nothing you or even I can do about those. However, there’s a saying: Small minds discuss people, average minds discuss events, great minds discuss ideas.” He finally took a bite out of the muffin and just as Lilitu had when first sampling Kirsty’s cooking, the Gray Fox’s eyes widened a little. “Now, I will leave you so that I can go steal a few of these muffins. Until next time,” he said. With a wink, he vanished before her eyes.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 11 2014, 12:39 AM

I've loved reliving the Thieves Guild questline with Lilitu. She is by far my favorite of all of your characters. You manage to bring her to so much life it's almost as if she's sitting across the table from me, eating those wonderful double chocolate muffins! biggrin.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Aug 14 2014, 10:06 PM

haute ecole rider~ Aww, thank you! Lilitu is the one I actually play as, so she's a tad spoiled!


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Forty-Eight: Burials



[Reminder: Last time we left Wrothen, he had just fought an invasion of Jyggalag's forces in Passwall with the aid of an army of Golden Saints.While the village had been destroyed, Wrothken was able to shut down the massive obelisk spawning the Knights of Order. He was able to rescue Shelden, the self-proclaimed mayor of Passwall.]

[Reminder: Last time we left Wrothen, he had just fought an invasion of Jyggalag's forces in Passwall with the aid of an army of Golden Saints. While the village had been destroyed, Wrothken was able to shut down the massive obelisk spawning the Knights of Order. He was able to rescue Shelden, the self-proclaimed mayor of Passwall.]


Wrothken trudged down the path into what used to be Passwall. The army of Golden Saints were still there. One group was making a pile the Knights of Order. Another was piling up the bodies of the residents of Passwall. Shelden was staring silently. He must had returned to his town to find no one left. Wrothken felt a little guilty for leaving him to discover it himself. Perhaps it would have been kinder, though harder, to break it to him earlier.

Wrothken hadn’t ever imagined what a shocked Golden Saint would look like, but when Aurig Desha looked up at him, he got to see it. The usual stern look being replaced with surprise actually made her look almost human.

[url=http://images.uesp.net/1/18/SI-npc-Aurig_Desha.jpg]Aurig Desha[url]

“I... I cannot believe it!” She gasped. “You survived! We were certain that your light had been lost!” She then corrected herself, returning to her usual commanding tone. “I apologize for doubting you, Your Grace. You are a most worthy leader, perhaps the greatest warrior to ever hold the Seat of Mania. But I fear that our work is not yet done. The area is still overrun with Knights that were not destroyed in the spire. You should return to the Palace and speak with Lord Sheogorath. Ask Him how He plans to defend this Realm.”

“I will,” he nodded. Then he indicated the bodies of Passwall’s residents. “May I ask,” he said, still used to having to tiptoe around the Golden Saints. “What do you plan to do with them?”

“As soon as we have gotten control over the area, they will be thoroughly disposed of.”

“Disposed?!” Shelden demanded. Wrothken was stunned to see that he had been crying. Then again, though the man was an egotistical jerk, he was still human. “You can’t just- just throw them away like garbage! These were my citizens! I will not allow it!”

The politeness in Aurig Desha’s voice vanished as she addressed Shelden. “Hold your tongue, mortal! Do not dare question our business!”

Shelden did not hold his tongue. In fact, he walked up to Aurig Desha and with his hands on his hips, he shouted back. “I will question whatever I damn well please! I am Mayor of Passwall and these are my people!” He finalized his point by poking her square in the chest. Wrothken was almost certain she was going to cut his hand right off.

Aurig Desha’s lip curled and, sure enough, she reached for her weapon. Wrothken quickly intervened. “With all due respect,” he said to Aurig Desha. “I understand what Shelden is saying. While I understand that your kind simply return to Oblivion upon death, we do not.” He hoped he wouldn’t be asked how he knew that. The events at Cylarne was probably going to be a sore spot with the Golden Saints for a very long time. “When we die, our bodies, well, they stay and we have certain rituals for when that happens. So, I agree with Shelden that we should care for the citizens of Passwall properly. We shouldn’t just dump them like the Knights of Order.”

Aurig Desha narrowed her eyes at Wrothken for just a second before taking a breath. “Then what would you suggest, Your Grace?” She sounded exasperated.

“They should be buried. In individual graves.”

Aurig Desha closed her eyes for a moment. “Your Grace,” she said, as if she were moments from losing her patience. “The time it will take to dig graves for all these people. We must prioritize the little resources we have to defend the Realm.”

She did have a point about that. The group had shrunk somewhat since he went into Xeddefen. If more Knights came, they couldn’t afford to have the army half-way in the ground. Wrothken looked around, folding his arms. “Well, Shelden and I can dig the graves.”

“Me?” Shelden asked, wrinkling his nose. “I am Mayor of Passwall! I don’t dig!”

“Yeah?” Wrothken said. “Well, I’m the Duke of Mania, so if I can dig, so can you! Now, where would I find some shovels?”



Shelden grumbled the entire day, up until a swarm of Knights came up the path. As the Golden Saints took off fighting, Wrothken suggested that either he could dig quietly or help the Golden Saints fight. Shelden shut his mouth and chose the former.

Night had nearly fallen by the time the graves were complete. Upon returning to New Sheoth, Wrothken planned to get some sort of memorial made. His new authority was starting to show its perks. As it had been hours since the final wave of Knights of Order hit, Aurig Desha ordered a few of her troops to remain behind, just in case, but she and the majority of Golden Saints headed back to wherever they had come from.

“Well,” Wrothken said to Shelden. “I’ll be heading back to New Sheoth. If you need anything--”

Shelden scoffed. “Don’t act like you’re ditching me here!”

Wrothken raised his eyebrows. “Oh? I… Wait, are you coming with me?” The long walk back to New Sheoth was going to be bad enough, but with Shelden for company? He’d rather take Haskill!

“Of course, dummy!” Shelden said. “I’m not going to stay here! Look around! Everyone’s dead! Or did you think we were burying dolls?”

He closed his eyes. No matter what he said, there was going to be no stopping Shelden from accompanying him. “Fine,” he relented. “In that case we should just leave in the morning.” He paused, deciding to avoid a fight by asking Shelden his opinion. “Do you want to camp out in the wilderness or should we sleep here?”

“I’m sleeping at my house.” Shelden folded his arms. “You can sleep wherever you want.”

Wrothken eyes the empty inn before shaking his head. The bodies were removed, but the blood remained on the walls and likely in the air. “Well,” he started to smile. “Since you said ‘wherever’ I want, I guess I’ll join you in your house. It’s probably the only place that’s clean.”

“Ugh…” Shelden huffed. “Fine. But I get the bed!”



Shelden lived just behind Jayred’s house. Wrothken supposed that he could have stayed there, but all the bones gave him chills.

“I’ll pack up tonight and then you can take me to New Sheoth,” Shelden said, unlocking his door. “It’ll be tough gathering everything I need, but we’ll manage.”

Wrothken had a feeling that by “we” Shelden did not mean himself. He decided to address that in the morning.

“Talos…” Wrothken sighed, upon entering. Nearly every inch of the walls were covered in paintings of Shelden. Him grinning, him speaking to a crowd, him standing triumphantly over a town, him with an armful of kittens. It wasn’t a very large space, so Wrothken instantly felt claustrophobic. Where did he even get them?

“You can sleep on the couch,” Shelden said, pointing at a couple crates with flat cushions on them. “I’ll see you in the morning!” He said, plopping into his bed.

While trying to get somewhat comfortable, Wrothken tried to avert his eyes, but everywhere he looked, there was Shelden. Suddenly the busts of Sheogorath that had been in his room didn’t seem so bad.



Posted by: Grits Aug 17 2014, 06:06 PM

I’m grateful that you’re in my house, eating my muffins,

laugh.gif I think that was the rumor.

I’m with haute, it’s been so fun to enjoy the Thieves Guild quests with Lilitu.

Yay, we’re back with Wrothken! Shelden’s artwork made me laugh.

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 18 2014, 04:16 PM

Now I have this wonderful image of two elves in armor running around Talos Plaza, arms loaded with fine china and other swag!

Poor Methredhel, the life of an inner city thief is far from as glamorous as might first appear. sad.gif

Methinks Capaneus knows too much for his own good. And he is still as loathsome as ever.

The Grey Fox is waiting. Capital!

Small minds discuss people, average minds discuss events, great minds discuss ideas
This was a lovely quote!

Welcome back Wrothken. If the Duke digs, then the Mayor can too! Especially when the alternative is the Mayor fighting... wink.gif

I love Shelden's house. It's a monument to his own self-importance! A painting of Shelden with an armful of kittens. Now that is madness! biggrin.gif




nits:
One group was making a pile {of} the Knights of Order
I think you missed an of where I inserted it above


Posted by: Jacki Dice Sep 23 2014, 07:31 PM

-crawls out from under a pile of schoolwork-


Grits~ I'm glad you like the pictures! It was inspired by someone I know who has no less than thirty pictures of the same person on the wall. It's...unsettling.

SubRosa~ To add a touch of crazy, kittens are simply a necessity!


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Forty-Nine: Seek the Sorceress


Though thankfully it didn’t take longer to get to New Sheoth, it was a lot more of an ordeal due to Shelden’s company. Between his constant complaining about the swampy path and his never ending ego, Wrothken actually found himself looking forward to speaking with Though thankfully it didn’t take longer to get to New Sheoth, it was a lot more of an ordeal due to Shelden’s company. Between his constant complaining about the swampy path and his never ending ego, Wrothken actually found himself looking forward to speaking with Sheogorath again, simply because he would be rid of Shelden.

Finally, reaching the gates, he sighed. “Alright, here we are,” Wrothken said. “It’s been… interesting. Now, I have important business--”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Shelden said. “You can’t just abandon me here! I need to get settled in!” As Shelden entered the gates, he frowned. “You’re Duke of this dump? Yeesh…”

Wrothken flushed with the immediate urge to defend Crucible. Sure it was a bit run down and depressing, but it was still more of a home to him than the Palace of Mania. “This is Dementia’s half,” he said. “I’m Duke of Mania and yes, I’m leaving.”

Shelden grabbed his arm. “You can’t just abandon me here! I let you sleep on my couch!”

Wrothken wrenched free of his grasp. “Divines, Shelden!” Wrothken hissed. “You’re not a baby, are you? Look, if it’s because you need a place to stay, just go see--” He stopped before he mentioned Bernice’s name. He wasn’t going to curse her with Shelden. “I’m sure there’s a place in Bliss. I will find one, I promise, but first I need to see Sheogorath.”

Shelden scowled. “You know what? Don’t bother!” He picked up his sack and swung it over his shoulder. “I made it out of Xeddefen on my own and I’ll get around here on my own too.”



With Shelden out of his hair, Wrothken headed straight for Sheogorath’s palace. The Madgod was seated on his throne attempting to balance his cane on his open palm. Haskill was at his side, not watching, much to Sheogorath’s obvious displeasure. Luckily, Wrothken’s arrival changed Sheogorath’s pouting into a grin.

“News of your success in the Fringe precedes you!” He said, standing up. “To further cement the victory I have an important task for you to perform. You will seek the assistance of Relmyna Verenim in Xaselm to rebuild the Gatekeeper. You remember the creature you killed to get in here?”

The shiver down Wrothken’s spine answered that question. How on Nirn could he possibly forget that thing? What creeped him out the fleshy parts where the facial features should have been.

“With the Gatekeeper restored and Xedilian in operation, we won't have to worry about anything getting in. Things already here are another matter. You'll need to speak with Relmyna Verenim. She'll help you with your task.” A smile crept over Sheogorath’s face. This wasn’t just any grin. This one told Wrothken a little too much. There was something about Relmyna, wasn’t there?

“Strange woman,” Sheogorath chuckled, causing Wrothken’s blood to go cold. If the Madgod himself was calling someone strange, that had to be a sign.. “Has some unusual tastes. With that done, the Fringe should be secure. For now. I can feel things start to get a little hairy. And, not in the good way, like on your head.”

“Just for now?” Wrothken asked. “How long do you think we have?”

Sheogorath sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “It's all moving faster than I'd expect. And I'm good at expecting.” He wagged his finger. “Things are getting a bit thin. Like Haskill’s hair. Get that Gatekeeper in place, and do it quickly. I'm not sure how much time I have left.” He paused for a moment, looking up with an odd weariness. Somehow, that was making Wrothken more uneasy than his usual madness. “He's almost here. I can feel it. You won't like Him as much as Me. He doesn't even carry a cane!” Wrothken almost laughed at how genuinely offended Sheogorath sounded at that. “More the giant, bone-cleaving sword type of Prince. If he's on his way, I'm on My way out. I already feel not quite Myself. Not quite someone else... but not quite Myself.”

Was Sheogorath getting nervous? Scared, even? The self-awareness he was displaying made Wrothken even more uncomfortable. “In that case,” Wrothken said. “A new Gatekeeper would help.” He wondered just how many Gatekeepers he could get. An army of them would wipe out Jyggalag’s forces in a heartbeat!

“It's essential,” Sheogorath nodded. “Simply essential! If only it were essentially simple... but it's not.”

Of course not. Otherwise he wouldn’t need Wrothken to do it.

“I want him there guarding those Gates. If any of Jyggalag's forces show up, he should be ready for them. It wouldn't do to just let them in if more show up. And more always show up.” If Sheogorath was ever right about one thing, that was it. The Knights of Order were nearly unstoppable. “Still and all, I think things are going well, considering! Go talk to Relmyna in Xaselm. Tell her you're working for me. She'd do anything for me, that little minx.”

And there it was.

“You mean you and Relmyna--” Wrothken didn’t even finish the sentence. “I mean… Who is she? I don’t think I’ve run into her around here.”

“A powerful Sorceress. Maybe a genius. And a complete lunatic! All in all, my kind of person.” Sheogorath nudged him with his elbow a few times. That familiar feeling of wishing he’d never entered the Shivering Isles washed over him. A female version of Sheogorath? He shivered. He was well past his limit of crazy women, thank you. “I brought her to my Realm so she could continue to study her 'sixth element.' Honestly, I didn't know there were five already. She's a bit obsessed with it. And with Me. Makes dealing with her difficult. You shouldn't have any problems, though. No one likes you that much.”

Wrothken caught Haskill’s smirk at that remark. “Gee, thanks.”



Wrothken was pleased to see that the door leading to his bedroom had been replaced with a plain wooden one. The busts of Sheogorath had been removed, as had the large casks of alcohol. That alone gave it so much more space! He wondered for a moment if he could set it up like his home in Kvatch… then he realized that as soon as the Greymarch was over, he was leaving. No point in customizing it too much when he wasn’t making the place a permanent home.

The thought brought a smile to his face unlike any he had since walking through the door. Home. First order of business was to stuff himself with everything Kirsty had. Then he would sort out the more complicated issues. He laughed a little. Like anything back in Kvatch could be as complicated as life here! In fact, he wasn’t sure much of anything would phase him anymore.

Then again, that was provided he made it out alive. That thought grounded his high spirits immediately as his eyes settled on his armor, neatly resting on a mannequin. He had taken quite a beating in Xeddefen and it hadn’t escaped him that the Knights were getting stronger and more numerous by the day. He picked up his steel cuirass and winced at the dents and cracks. It needed to be repaired. So did his mace, actually. He picked them up and decided to head over to Cutter to get them fixed. It gave him an excuse to walk the city, keeping an eye out for anywhere Amiable could rest his head. He grabbed the bedroll he had bought for his personal journey, as well as Syl’s bow and the other matrix he had found to bring by Cutter’s.

The streets of Bliss were much less hostile than Crucible had become. Then again, he was Duke here and the people greeted him accordingly. It made him feel awkward. He wasn’t one who wanted the praise and adoration of the general public. Just decency was enough. At least the Golden Saints regarded him better than they had before. That was certainly a perk.

As he walked, he tried to think of a place where Amiable would be comfortable. Ordinarily, the essentials were four walls and a roof, but in his case, he wanted none of that! Wrothken tried to imagine what sort of area he could get while still enjoying the privacy of home. After all, some things were not meant to be done out in plain daylight. Wrothken hoped Amiable had enough sense to understand that.

He passed by some of the homes, noticing the curtains in the windows. Perhaps some rods with sheets hanging from them. That would grant him at least some privacy. It wouldn’t protect him from the weather, but Wrothken supposed Amiable would have to sort that out himself.

“Duke-man!”

Wrothken jumped slightly, turning to see who was calling him. He recognized the Bosmer he had encountered upon first entering Bliss. The one yelling about sweetrolls.

“Yes, hi,” Wrothken said. He remembered how hungry he had said he was before. Hopefully he wasn’t hungry enough to try and make a meal of Wrothken. “What can I do for you?”

“Fimmion knows you help Amiable,” he said, rubbing his hands as he approached. “Fimmion hear things. Fimmion was looking for scraps, but hear you promise.”

“Ah,” Wrothken said, nodding. “Yeah, I promised him that I’d help him find a place to sleep. Why?”

“Have idea for you,” Fimmion said, jumping up and down. “But first,” he held a finger up. “Sweetroll for Fimmion.”

“Alright, so you’re saying that if I bring you a sweetroll, you’ll help me find a place?”

Fimmion nodded vigorously. “Sweetroll for Fimmion, idea for you! Saa-WEET-ROOOOLL!”

Wrothken couldn’t help jumping at Fimmion’s sudden cry for a sweetroll. That sounded like the easiest thing he’d ever have to do in the Shivering Isles. Looking around, he remembered the armory in Bliss. There were sticky buns there. Same thing, right?

Wrothken headed over to The Missing Pauldron. Sure, Dumag was a smith, but Wrothken didn’t think he’d object to selling one of his pastries. Besides, the Orc seemed to like Wrothken.

The bells jingled as Wrothken entered. “Hello?” He called out. Like before, the shop smelled like dessert.

He heard a gasp, and sudden movement. Wrothken expected to be greeted with cheer as he was last time. However, Dumag burst into loud wails upon seeing him.

“Hey, what- what’s wrong?” Wrothken asked.

“You think I'm ugly, don't you?” Dumag sobbed.

Wrothken didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t attracted to men. And, well, Dumag was an Orc. They weren’t exactly known for their beauty. He had yet to meet an Orc who cared about that.

Wrothken’s lack of response furthered Dumag’s despair. He buried his face in his hands. “And that she's a prettier smith? Is that it?"

Oh. Wrothken recalled how upset Cutter had been to hear that he had visited Dumag’s shop. Somehow word had to have traveled that Wrothken visited her shop now and then.

“What can you possibly see in her?” Dumag continued. “She spends more time cutting herself than swinging a hammer!"

Wrothken nodded, remembering all the various scars decorating Cutter’s skin. “I bet you’re right. Listen,” Wrothken sighed. “I’m not interested in Cutter. Not like that.”

Dumag sniffled. “Really?”

“Not one bit.” Wrothken hoped Dumag was convinced. It was definitely the truth. “I just see her because she’s crafting me something from madness ore.”

After wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve, Dumag looked up. “So, you think I’m prettier?”

“Sure,” Wrothken said, shrugging. That, he felt the need to lie about.

“Okay,” Dumag took a breath and started to smile. “So what brings you here to see little old me?”

Wrothken looked toward the cake dish at the counter. “This might sound weird.”

Dumag gave Wrothken a look through half-lidded eyes that made him want to run. “Go on…”

“Can I buy a sweet roll from you?”

“A sweet roll?” Dumag asked, confused. “You… you came here for a sweet roll?”

Wrothken nodded. “You see,” he said, avoiding the truth. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to do so for this part, but he figured there had to be a reason Fimmion didn’t get it himself. “Where I come from, there’s the bakery. They had the best sweetrolls I’ve ever had. But yours! I can’t stop thinking of how good they smelled. I have to try one before I leave.”

Dumag touched his hand to his face. “You’re leaving?”

“Just on a mission for Sheogorath. You know how it is.”

“Yeah…” Dumag nodded, though Wrothken doubted very much Dumag knew anything close to how it was.

“So, would it be okay if you sold me one?” Truth be told, they did smell heavenly. “Maybe two?”

Dumag frowned a little, looking Wrothken up and down. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. Maybe you’ll think of me when you eat them?”

“Of course!” Wrothken nodded, pulling out his coin purse.

“Oh, alright! I can’t stay mad at you!”

Wrothken laughed nervously as Dumag placed a pair of sweetrolls as big as his fists on a paper.

“Enjoy! And don’t be a stranger, you hear?”

“Sure thing!” Wrothken said, though he honestly almost wished he had remained strangers to both smiths.



Upon seeing Wrothken and the giant sweetrolls, Fimmion began to bounce around. “Sweetroll for Fimmion?” he squeaked.

Wrothken nodded, handing him one. He kept the other and pulled a piece from it. He closed his eyes, savoring it as he ate. He would never, ever tell Kirsty, but these were just as good as her sweetrolls. He briefly considered stopping by Dumag’s for breakfast more often, but he didn’t want to use the poor Orc and make him think there was a chance of anything more between them.

Fimmion agreed about their quality. “Yummy in tummy,” he sang. “Answer for you. Problem solved.” He nodded, licking the icing from the top. “Uungor, he say no crazy. But he is.”

Wrothken recognized the name as the one Haskill mentioned as a failed attempt at being Sheogorath’s champion. He realized that that had to mean that somehow there were some survivors of the last Greymarch. That was a shred of hope, just in case he failed.

Fimmion continued. “He say he going. Away. Far.” Wrothken wondered if he planned to go back to Nirn. Maybe he had just enough sanity left to make it. Wrothken hoped he wouldn’t wind up like the first man he saw come out of the Isles.

“Your friend sleep there when Uungor goes. But Fimmion no think Uungor really leave. You make Uungor go away faster. He won't leave without his lucky grapes.” Fimmion reached in his pocket and pulled out a bunch of glass grapes. The grapes weren’t perfectly round. Instead, there were beveled like diamonds, causing a burst of rainbows to spill onto the ground around them. “Can't eat them. Fimmion tried. Give back to him.” Fimmion handed Wrothken the grapes. They were beautiful. He could see why Uungor would consider them lucky.

“If he still no go,” Fimmion said, eating the last of the sweetroll. “Make Uungor crispy with fire spell. Then glaze. Then eat him like a giant sweetroll. Saa-WEET-ROOOOOLL!"

Wrothken shuddered, immediately saying his good-byes. Apparently Fimmion was not above cannibalism. That placed him at the top of the list of people to avoid as much as possible.



Uungor wasn’t too hard to find. As he apparently slept outside, he lacked a kitchen of his own with which to eat. That made him a regular at The Choosy Beggar. After asking around, he was directed to a spot near the steps leading to the palace grounds. Wrothken was surprised that he hadn’t noticed the bedroll tucked away behind some bushes before, but he reasoned that it had been hidden away on purpose. Evidently, Uungor understood the need for some privacy.

Uungor was sitting on a stool, reading a book. Wrothken approached him cautiously. “Uungor?” He asked. “I’m Wrothken.” He took the grapes from his bag. “Fimmion said I should give these to you.”

“Oh,” Uungor said, taking them from his hand. “I've been looking for those. I thought Fimmion stole them thinking he could eat them, but I could never prove it. Thank you for returning them." Uungor was silent for a moment, regarding Wrothken suspiciously. “I'm not like them, you know. Are you? Are you one of them?” He snorted. “Who am I kidding. You’re the Duke. You must be!”

Wrothken found himself bristling at that comment. Perhaps he felt defensive because he was worried about his mental capability slipping away with each passing moment. “No!” He said. “I’m… I’m sane.”

Uungor nodded. “Are you really? Truly?” He looked at the ground. “I don't belong here. I'm not crazy. Not like the rest of them.” He looked back up at Wrothken. “They watch me, you know. Waiting for me to go crazy. But I won't. Nope.”

His paranoia reminded Wrothken of Syl. But Uungor was probably justified. Wrothken himself had those thoughts about Sheogorath intentionally trying to drive him mad.

“I'm leaving,” Uungor continued. “I've got to find a way out of here.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Wrothken said. “You know, it’s funny you mention that. I see you have a little set up here. Outside.”

Uungor nodded. “I thought I’d just set up a little camp. Didn’t want to get a house. It gave the notion of permanence.” He scowled. “But they trapped me here. Can’t escape so easily. They didn’t want me going back and telling what I saw. What I had to do…” He sounded haunted. Wrothken didn’t like just how deeply he related to Uungor. It was scaring him. He felt like he was looking at the end result of him helping with the Greymarch.

“Well, you’re here now,” Wrothken said, snapping out of it. “And until you’re able to leave, I bet it would be nice to have a warm bed to sleep in, yeah?”

Uungor huffed. “It would. Somewhere not out here. You know they’re in my head? My thoughts? It’s because I’m out here, I bet. No walls to block them out.”

Wrothken didn’t tell him that even the most solid walls wouldn’t help with that. “So, you know Amiable, right?”

“Of course,” Uungor said. “That maniac is convinced the walls are going to collapse. He says they’re conspiring against him! The lunacy! Can you believe it?”

Wrothken shrugged. “Makes about as much sense to me as it does to you. Still, I feel bad for the guy. I mean, can you imagine? He’s already crazy as can be right? And he told me he hasn’t slept right in who knows how long.”

Uungor nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard. What can you expect from people like that? I’m not like that. Thank the heavens I’m not! That’s why I need a plan to escape!” He shook his head. “The walls,” he muttered. “The walls aren’t the ones conspiring! The two in the palace…”

Wrothken felt the wave of unease, knowing exactly who Uungor was talking about and he had suspicions as to why. Haskill said Sheogorath was taking a new approach to stopping the Greymarch. Not a better or worse one. Not a cleaner or dirtier one. Not a more or less pleasant one. Just different. What sort of things did Sheogorath ask Uungor to do? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Well,” Wrothken said, trying to steer the conversation back to Amiable’s prediciton before Uungor said something Wrothken would regret. “You know, Amiable isn’t using his house anymore. What would you think of switching spots with him?”

Uungor narrowed his eyes at Wrothken. “Why would he want to sleep in a bedroll and give me his bed? Sounds queer. I bet it's just another trick to get my head all twisted around. Trade places, a bed under a roof for a bedroll under the stars? Mm-hmm. Sure, sure.”

“No trick,” Wrothken said. “I mean, come on. You know as well as I do that he’s… well, he’s not all there, if you catch my drift. Meanwhile, you need a better place than this, don’t you?”

Uungor nodded. “I do. I don’t want them coming after me. Coming into my mind. Reminding me.” The suspicion left his face, replaced by a far off look. “Reminding me of it all. Reminding me that I don’t belong here!” He started breathing harder. “You don’t understand. No one here does! But I’m sane, I am! He called to me!” He started running his hands through his hair. “It’s the stars,” he pointed up at the glittering daylight sky. “Shouldn’t be like this. It’s not like this back home…” He looked back at Wrothken. “He sends the messages through the stars, into my brain. Never ending reminders. But he won’t have my mind! I won’t allow it!” His breathing slowed to normal. “Anyway, it still sounds fishy, but I suppose I can trust you. Us sane men have to stick together, right?”

Wrothken could only nod.

“I'm sure I'll regret this later, but... yeah.” Uungor stood up, gathering his things. “Sure. Fine. I'm tired of sleeping outside. Tell him I'll sleep in his bed and he can sleep in mine.”

Wrothken returned to Amiable to give him the good news. Amiable was elated. For the first time, he stood up straight. He clothes were badly creased from the constant crouch. “You found a place for me to sleep? Outside, under the stars too small to fall and hurt me?” Wrothken couldn’t help noticing that while Uungor was seemingly afraid of the stars, Amiable was excited for them. “Excellent, excellent! Tell me more!”

“I spoke with Uungor. He has a little encampment tucked away from the stairs leading to the palace. He said he’s okay to swap spaces with you.”

Amiable nodded. “Really? And it's a safe place? Not at the bottom of a tall wall? That's a great idea! That sounds perfect. Well, I guess if he's not afraid of the walls falling on him, he won't care when they do. Can't save everyone, can we?” He shrugged.

Wrothken felt a little uneasy at his choice of words. It wasn’t what he meant at all, but Wrothken was indeed trying to save everyone. It was a feat seeming to get harder with every passing day. He decided to push it from his mind. He was not going to wind up like Uungor.

“Well,” Amiable continued. “Here’s the key to my house. Well, Uungor’s now. Let him deal with the walls, I suppose.” He sighed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lordship, the thought of actually getting some sleep is too much to resist.”



With his business in Bliss completed once he passed the new house key to Uungor, Wrothken headed to Crucible to have his armor dealt with and to pass along the latest matrix. Apparently the one he found was for the cuirass. That elated him. The cuirass was by far the piece he was looking forward to the most. Best of all, the boots were all ready for him. He couldn’t wait to test them out. He decided to ask her to start working on whatever pieces he could get. So far, that would be the cuirass, the greaves, and the gauntlets. The pauldrons and the helm would be last.

He sat outside while the Bosmer worked. He just couldn’t take her commentary on how much of a bleeder she thought he was or the penetrating stares. By the Nine, she chilled him more than any Knight of Order! Hopefully she wouldn’t find out about his visit to Dumag.

Wrothken’s thoughts soon drifted to his current task of meeting with the sorceress Relmyna and rebuilding the Gatekeeper. How did one build a gatekeeper, anyway? He frowned. He had just assumed that they were just...there. No different than elytra or grummites, though he found the idea of an infant gatekeeper repulsive. Once that thought blossomed, it branched out to gatekeepers nursing, mating...all the usual things creatures must do to continue the species. He burst up with a dry heave.

So then Relmyna creates them somehow, he reasoned. What sort of person creates...that? Wrothken had enough of jumping in blindly. With a raise of his fist, he summoned Haskill.

The chamberlin materialized with a sigh. “What a surprise. I'm summoned. What is it you require?”

“Do you know anything about Relmyna?”

Haskill made an expression briefly as if her name conjured up the smell of manure. “She is a powerful sorceress. She believes she has found a ‘sixth element,’ the element of Flesh.”

Wrothken raised his eyebrows. “Element of flesh? You mean like fire, frost, and lightning?”

Haskill clapped his hands. “That’s right. She was expelled from the Mages Guild for this belief, and for the…” He paused for a moment, looking for the right words. “..extreme nature of her experiments.

“Wait, so then she’s not… from here?” Relmyna, Uungor… How many people from Nirn were trapped in the Isles?

Haskill smiled a little. “Don’t get your hopes up. She fit in with the Shivering Isles so well that our Lord took interest and brought her here, so Relmyna might continue her work, free of those provincial notions of decency and morality.”

Wrothken couldn’t hold his disappointment. “Great. She’s so warped that Sheogorath brought her here.” He groaned a little.

“You will find her in her Sanctum, hidden away in the dungeon of Xaselm.”

“From the Mages Guild to a dungeon,” Wrothken said. “Would you happen to know where it’s at?” He held up his map.

Haskill took it and marked the spot, just northeast of Passwall. “Our Lord is always acquainted with Sorceress Verenim's current whereabouts. Her affections have caused Him unnecessary annoyance in the past.”


Posted by: Grits Sep 24 2014, 01:01 PM

QUOTE
A smile crept over Sheogorath’s face. This wasn’t just any grin. This one told Wrothken a little too much. There was something about Relmyna, wasn’t there?

I loved Wrothken’s intuition and wariness throughout this chapter. I also enjoyed his warm thought of home and Kirsty the busty Bosmeri baker. wub.gif

Posted by: SubRosa Oct 2 2014, 08:59 PM

Back to Wrothken it is, and the mad war. Naturally more of an ordeal than it should be thanks to Sheldon's company! biggrin.gif He makes Sheogorath look good in comparision!

There is definitely something about Relmyna. Something not good... But at least Wrothken does not have to worry, since no one likes him that much! biggrin.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Dec 11 2014, 09:47 PM

Grits~ When the Madgod smiles, you know something bad will happen!

SubRosa~ And if Relmyna has a crush, that's even worse then the Madgod's smile.


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fifty: Xaselm, Part One


After picking up his repaired armor from Cutter, Wrothken made his way to Xaselm. The path down what the residents called The Madgod’s Boot was becoming as familiar to him as the streets of Kvatch. He wasn’t sure that it was entirely a bad thing. If things ever got bad in New Sheoth, he found plenty of hideaways that he could duck into.

Speaking of hideaways….

He needed to collect some more madness ore. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured himself in that suit of armor. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted something so badly!

Every time he saw the full suit, he imagined himself in it, striking fear into everyone he came across. It filled him with such excitement. So far, the quality of the armor was so good that his feel didn't feel like he was being stabbed with every step after walking for hours and when he accidentally plodded ankle deep in a puddle, his feet didn't get wet! Cutter may be a strange one, but she sure can smith! he thought. He started to wonder if he could go back to the Shivering Isles for repairs once he went back to Kvatch.

Eventually, Wrothken came across some ruins northeast of what used to be Passwall. Thinking of the destroyed town, he thought about seeing that it was rebuilt. Then again, he didn't know anything about building towns. That and Passwall was Shelden's domain anyway. He couldn't blindly stack on new duties. Stopping the Greymarch was more than enough.

Like most of the ruins he had seen, these were made of gray slab, with the occasional column standing along the walls. The only thing that really stood out to him were statues of hungers seeming to lunge out of the walls. He hoped those things wouldn't be around. Their ugliness was distracting.

What were these places before? Wrothen wondered. Why did the Shivering Isles once have several castles all over the place? Did the previous Greymarches see to their destruction?

Walking through them, Wrothken realized that Xasalem was less of a castle and more of a stronghold. The path took him through two ruined buildings that could have been homes or shops. Not a clue was left behind as to what they had been.

He walked up the steps, just then noticing how quiet it was. While that was a nice change, it put him far more on edge than he would be if he could hear a cluster of grummites or Knights of Order. He took out his mace, wondering how soon he could get one made of madness ore.

As he walked, Wrothken kept looking around. His wonder vanished, replaced by the paranoid feeling realization that anything could be lurking behind the collapsed walls and piles of rubble. Fortunately, nothing popped out at him. Maybe, just maybe, this would be a straight-forward deal.

He followed the path, turning the corner to a long flight of stairs leading to what he assumed was
the interior. The only thing standing between him and the double doors was a man. At least, that's what Wrothken thought.

He was very tall, perhaps a head higher than Wrothken. And naked. Well, almost. The only things he wore were shackles on his wrists and ankles, a large collar, and a metal belt with burlap hanging between his legs. His orange skin seemed to be tattooed in red. Wrothken noticed that his knees, elbows, and chest glowed violet.

Wrothken paused for a moment. His features seemed to be obscured, so he couldn't tell if he was going to be hostile or not. While he didn't want to assume, he recalled his mistake with the grummites.

"Hello!" Wrothken called out, gripping his mace.

The man turned to him and immediately leapt in the air. As he landed, he swiped at Wrothken, hitting him hard across the face.

Well that answered his question.

The man was impossibly agile. He managed to dodge a lot of Wrothken's attacks with a nimbleness that could make a Khajiit envious. But how could he do all that with his size and the weight of all that metal?

Eventually, Wrothken was able to land a blow to his shoulder and then his head. Panting, Wrothken looked down at him and a tremor throbbed from his stomach to his limbs. He wasn't attacked by a man at all. It was more like a miniature gatekeeper, though there were slight differences. It had eye sockets instead of fleshy soft spots, but the lids were sewn shut, as were the lips. Its ears hadn't formed fully. There were holes and ridges, but the skin seemed as if it had melted onto its head. The violet parts that had been glowed dimmed. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the skin just didn't grow over those points.

Wrothken shook his head and took a few steps when a specific memory popped in his mind.

Right after the Gatekeeper had been slain, a red-haired dark elf threw herself on the monster's body. "My baby!" She sobbed. "My poor, poor baby!"

He tried to be discreet as he reached in, in order to drag the other key out. "You beast!" The dark elf fumed. "You'll rue this day, I swear it!"

"Um..." Wrothken wasn't sure how to respond when she burst into tears again, cradling the Gatekeeper's head against her chest.

That was Relmyna back there.

Wrothken stood still at the foot of the stairs. Out of all the things he had done and not wanted to do, this had risen to the top. He didn't even realize that he was saying "no, no, no" over and over until he ran out of breath.

What was that saying? Oblivion hath no fury like a woman scorned? Well a woman scorned had nothing on one whose "child" was taken from her. How could he convince her to help? He'd have a better shot asking Jyggalag to simply cancel the Greymarch! He sighed as he summoned Haskill.

Haskill materialized and looked around. "Here, let me help." He held out his palm and used his other hand to make a walking motion with his fingers. "You walk up the stairs and go through the door. One foot in front of the other and then again, and again, and there you are."

As the sass had become routine, Wrothken ignored it. "Relmyna is that woman from Passwall. She called the Gatekeeper her child!"

"I thought you had realized this earlier."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I thought she just made them! Not that she made them... Daedra and Divines..."

Haskill raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't call upon them here. I suppose you want to know how to deal with her without having her turn you into one of these?" He asked, gesturing to the fallen creature.

"Please."

"In your case, seeing as how you so cruelly slew her child before her eyes and coldly left her without a shred of comfort, I would suggest you tread very lightly. She is known for her lack of compassion as it is, so I can't fathom the amount of scorn she has for you."

Wrothken nodded. "Alright... I guess it would be too much to ask to have Sheogorath write her a note asking for a new Gatekeeper, huh?"

"Far too much," he said before vanishing.



As Wrothken entered the narrow corridor of Xasalem, he noticed that it was actually pretty clean. As he passed a pair of hunger statues, Wrothken noticed a lack of dust caked on them. Second, they didn't have that distinct grummitey smell nor did it smell mildewy or moldy. It was also very well-lit for a dungeon. Welkynd stones sat in elaborate sconces, guiding Wrothken down the stairs.

He picked up a glowing stone and turned it over in his hand. The golden light made his armor glitter. He hadn't seen one of these in the Shivering Isles. In fact, he only saw them around the Mages Guild.

Beyond the first metal door was a larger room. Four columns were ahead of him, supporting a bridge from one side to the other. Blue welkynd stones sat in cages on either side of the bridge. Walking across it was an animated skeleton, but it wasn't man or mer.

The creature seemed to be held together with wire. Its bones were put together in a way that made it seem as if someone had designed it. Some bones looked human enough. Others clearly weren't, like the horns attached to the wrists or even the horse-like head with jutting antlers tied on. Perhaps Relmyna made them as well.

Unfortunately, Wrothken had no choice but to kill it as it attacked on sight. The strange thing was that when it died, a plume of frost erupted from its body. Weird. He looked down at the scattered bones for a moment, genuinely wondering what all it was. He didn't know enough about the creatures of the Shivering Isles to make a guess, so he moved on.

Within a few steps, he came across the familiar, beautiful stalks of madness ore. In fact, it was a nice little cluster in the corner. He was almost giddy, dashing over to collect. If there were more, then this trip would be worth it, no matter how it went with Relmyna!

Wrothken knelt down to pull the first thorn when he felt a sudden sharp stinging pain that began in his head and traveled sharply throughout his limbs. It was so intense that he found himself huddling on the ground for a few moments.

"What in Talos' name was that?" He asked, trembling from the pain. After taking a few deep breaths, he looked at the madness ore. It couldn't have been that, could it? He had never had trouble harvesting madness ore.

Cautiously, he placed his hand on the base of the stalk he had been tugging.

Nothing.

He lowered his hand to the ground, feeling around the root.

Still no reaction.

He sighed, standing up and placing his hand on his head. While it was comforting to see that it probably wasn't the madness ore, it was very disconcerting to not know what it was.

Just before he could try and brush it off as a one time event, he felt the pain again, this time concentrating around his left eye. The searing pain bubbled in his eyeball, down his nose and throbbed into each one of his teeth.

He cried out, clutching his face as he fell to his knees. Though the initial pain dissipated, it echoed throughout, trailing down his jaw, followed by involuntary tears. Wrothken stood up and looked around. Nothing else was in the room. Just him and a statue of a hunger that stood as high as the ceiling.

Just as he was about to turn, he caught sight of a reddish orb coming from the hunger's mouth and heading straight toward him.

Without thinking, he raised his hand to block it from hitting his face and when the orb made contact, he felt a piercing in his palm. The muscles in his hand clamped together while the shock of pain seared up to his shoulder and to his heart, adding quickened beats.

So that was it.

At least it wasn't something internal. That was a relief.

Wrothken kept his eyes on the statue as he took a few steps back. So if the ore was right there, he was going to have to keep from getting hit with that trap. As the only way out was a set of stairs in front of it, there was also the matter of getting past.

He walked toward the stalks and grabbed the one he had started on. Like everything else in the Isles, it was stubborn. It only loosened from the ground when Wrothken jumped out of the way as an orb sailed near. The stalk was in his hand and the orb missed. Good start.

There were two more stalks. He looked defiantly at the statue. He was getting his madness ore, damn it.

He grabbed another and started tugging the base while keeping his eyes fixed on the statue. Another orb flew from its mouth before he could loosen the stalk. He released it to move away, but it hit the tip of his foot. Pain zig-zagged through each toe, stopping at the nails. It left a feeling as if he had shredded them down the quick. The empty room echoed with his screams.

Maybe this isn't worth it, he thought as he scooted away. Yes, he needed the madness ore, but what good was it if he died of pain? Well, he could be buried in the suit...

Besides, surely there were others. Though maybe not. And maybe they were all guarded with statues. The placement could have been intentional. Maybe it kept grummites away, since they seemed to have an attraction toward the ore.

Wrothken spent several minutes staring from the ore to the statue before he decided that yes, the armor was worth it.

He scooted back to the ore stalks and grabbed the one he had been working in. Remaining seated, he placed his throbbing feet at the base and pulled as hard as he could. The root flung out of the ground and he landed hard on his back. His ears were ringing but he had the ore in his hand. He grinned.

There was just one left. It wasn't as long as the other two stalks had been, but he needed all he
could get.

Wrothken eyed the statue as he slowly sat up. The moment he inched forward, an orb shot at him. This time, he blocked with his mace. He expected a sharp vibration, but there was nothing. He had lost his shield long ago. Perhaps it was time for a new one. Made of madness ore, of course.

He set the mace down and stood over the stalk, using his legs to help lift it from the ground. He let out a triumphant cry as he held it above his head.

Gathering his spoils, he ran toward the statue, dodging the orbs as they sailed until he was up the stairs, past it. "Only a sadist would have something like that around," he muttered to himself. His stomach sank as he remembered just where he was.

His stomach sank further when he saw that the only way out was across the bridge where the skeletal creature had been. It was level with the hunger statue's mouth. Great.

He walked to the bridge and broke into a run, hoping to avoid the orbs. Unfortunately, he was hit in the face. Instantly, he felt as if his nose and cheekbones were shattering. There was a sharp pain in his tongue that he wasn't sure if it was from him biting it or the magic. He was knocked off his feet, causing him to land hard on the other side of his face. Brilliant lights danced behind his eyes. Wrothken knew he had to keep moving or risk being hit again, but he had a hard time being able to move. It was only when he caught sight of another orb being released that he scurried away.


Posted by: ghastley Dec 12 2014, 04:17 PM

I like the idea of the Madness ore actually taking some effort to collect. The in-game "click and collect" isn't very realistic - which is one of the things I like about Skyrim, and its ore-mining. Adding a hunger statue trap to justify why it's still there is just wonderful, especially with that description of what it feels like to get hit! ohmy.gif

Posted by: Grits Dec 16 2014, 02:08 PM

Wrothken is starting to sound a little obsessed about madness ore! ohmy.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 14 2015, 04:40 AM

Gastley~ Thank you smile.gif One thing that has been a benefit about my -ahem- break was rethinking a lot of the mechanics in the game and finally realizing that I can change things up a lot more than I have been.

Grits~ I feel the same whenever I look at the latest Pyramid Collection catalog. -sigh-


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fifty-One: Xaselm, Part Two



Wrothken wasn't sure how long he sat in the empty room other than long enough for his legs to fall completely asleep and then some. He was next to the head of the statue so it couldn't shoot anything else from its mouth at him. His entire body just ached and throbbed with echoes of pain. Not that it wasn't worth it, he thought, stroking the madness ore. But, damn, what a cost.

After he regained feeling in his legs, he got up. The rest of the room was similar to where he had just came from. The main differences were the bright blue welkynd stones lighting up the room and a set of stairs leading down and then immediately back up to a door. Several marble columns were there, glistening in the light. Thankfully he didn’t see anymore statues.

He walked slowly and was soon greeted by the pitter-patter of someone or something running toward him. He readied his mace and was greeted by another of the skeletal creatures. As soon as it saw or sensed Wrothken, it stopped where it was and its rib cage glowed blue. It then sent a ball of frost in his direction. Wrothken swiftly moved through it and brought the mace down hard on its skull. He was rewarded with a satisfying cracking sound. The creature fell to the ground, but grabbed Wrothken’s leg and began to gnaw at his calf. Wrothken reacted with a swift kick and didn’t let up until the skull was in pieces. He wasn’t sure if he was more motivated by keeping his madness ore boots in decent condition or the sheer horror of that creature trying to chew his leg.

He continued down the curved hall, noticing the royal purple banners decorating it. White welkynd stones sat in sconces on the opposite wall. The banners didn’t bear any recognizable symbols. He couldn’t help wondering if they were meant for the stronghold this might have been before Relmyna took residence.

Strongholds made him think of emergency shelters. If he were unable to put a stop on the Greymarch, would it be possible to clear out a place like this and evacuate New Sheoth? He was sure that the capital would be where Jyggalag would hit hardest. As he would be Sheogorath, at least for the day, he would demand the Golden Saints and the Mazken put aside their nonsense and work together. They would have no choice but to listen to him, right?

Even with their help, the evacuation itself would probably be harder than clearing out a few fortresses. Just dealing with Amiable alone would be a monumental task. As if he would cooperate. Would it be wrong to just knock him out and plop him in a locked room temporarily? It would be for his own good, really. He would be safe from the forces of Order. And it wasn’t as if the walls were really a threat. Wrothken frowned. That could probably scare Amiable to death. What good would that do? Besides, he was going to stop the Greymarch. The very idea that all of this could be for nothing made Wrothken close to tears.

Another of the orange-skinned creatures was wandering the base of a short flight of stairs when Wrothken turned the corner. Wrothken noticed a metal door with rather intricate carvings covering it. Something told him Relmyna would be there. Of course, she had a guard outside. Wrothken wanted to take a moment to plan but though it had no eyes or visible ears, it turned instantly and jumped toward Wrothken.

Like the one that had been outside, the creature kicked at Wrothken, hitting him with surprising force. Sure it moved like a creature half its size, but when it landed a kick at Wrothken’s side, not only did he get knocked into a wall, but he felt as if someone had swung a tree trunk at him.

As the creature prepared for another blow, Wrothken batted its fist away with his mace. The creature stumbled and Wrothken took the opportunity to swing at its head. Headshots seemed to work best on everything in the Isles. With that, he made a decision to have the helm made as soon as he got back to New Sheoth.

The creature attempted to cry out, but as its mouth was stitched shut, it just let out a muffled call that brought bubbling tar to mind. A stitch popped, followed by another few and soon, yellowish liquid dribbled from its mouth. Instead of falling to the ground like he had expected, it tackled Wrothken to the ground. With it on top, it began to wail at Wrothken. Though he kept his head covered, it was soon ringing.

He was trying not to panic, but with his hand busy protecting his head, he wasn’t quite sure how to get out of the attack.

The creature stopped pounding for a moment. Wrothken looked up to see it arching its back with both fists in the air. It was going to slam him. Thinking fast, Wrothken grabbed his mace and swung it at its side. An unpleasant cracking sound repeated itself with every strike until the creature slumped to the ground.

Wrothken slowly got up, trying to control the trembling of his legs. He looked down at the stilled creature. What was it? So far he had only encountered two types of creatures: the skeletal ones and these orange men. If the skeletal ones were Relmyna’s creation, then what were these? Or...who? His heart fluttered as he began to wonder if these orange creatures were once people. Perhaps people who had crossed her. How better to cross her than to kill her “child?”

“Oh, Talos….” Wrothken whispered.

He continued up a flight of stairs overlooking a large room lit with blue welkynd stones. A cluster of madness ore sat between two sconces. It failed to lift Wrothken’s spirit. What good was madness ore if he was going to be turned into one of those things?

He wasn’t hopeless enough to pass them up though.

As he set to work pulling the ore out, he thought of ways to ensure that he survived fully intact, not orange, and certainly not with his lips sewn shut.

Of course, he would tell her that he was there on Sheogorath’s business. Maybe he could summon Haskill to vouch if she became difficult. Then again, Haskill would probably be only too happy to assist her sewing Wrothken’s mouth shut.

He was pretty sure he was wearing his Ring of Lordship. That was proof of his position. At least he hoped she would recognize it.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he opened the door.


Posted by: Grits Feb 28 2015, 09:34 PM

Headshots seemed to work best on everything in the Isles. With that, he made a decision to have the helm made as soon as he got back to New Sheoth.

laugh.gif A wise decision. It’s always fun to follow Wrothken’s trains of thought. smile.gif

Posted by: Jacki Dice May 13 2016, 06:48 PM

Chapter Fifty-Three: Relmyna's Sanctum


The door looked like it should have groaned horribly when opened. Wrothken was surprised that it made a gentle sound and shut softly. But there were sounds. A lot of groaning and sobbing. A scream suddenly silenced.

Wrothken’s stomach lurched. What in Oblivion was that? He heard a voice soon after. It was too soft for him to understand, but the tone sounded as if it were a response to an ordinary conversation.

He decided to stop for a moment and assess his surroundings. He didn’t ever want to scream like that.

The stone hall was lit with enough welkynd stones and candles to make it light as day. Along the red carpeted hall were several busts of Sheogorath. Wrothken crinkled his nose, remembering the many hints regarding Relmyna’s feelings for the Madgod. Listening closely, he heard the echo of soft crying and muffled voices.

Given the coziness of this area compared to the rest of Xaselm, Wrothken figured that Relmyna had to be here. He put away his weapon and dusted himself off before running his fingers through his hair to clean up a bit. He then removed his gauntlets to reveal his Ring of Lordship. Looking at the ring, he considered summoning a Golden Saint to appear at his side, but he decided against it. Relmyna could take it as a sign of aggression. After taking a deep breath, he walked forward.

He immediately was greeted by the all-too-familiar wish that he had simply stayed home.

The corner of the hall turned into a larger room, bigger than Sheogorath’s throne room. Six cells were on the walls, three on opposite sides. A pillar with various buttons stood in front of the cell doors. Inside the cells were naked people. All of them wounded. All of them emaciated. One man sat on his knees with his head buried in his face. He was the source of the crying.

Relmyna herself stood before one of the cages. The Argonian inside was slumped in a pool of blood. Her chest was splayed open, revealing her ribcage and still heart. Relmyna had just finished writing something down when Wrothken entered. She then raised her fingers and the Argonian’s chest knitted back up, not even leaving a scar. Her eyes blinked open before she let out a low moan and refreshed sobs.

“Stop that,” Relmyna commanded. “Or I’ll be forced to explore precisely where your tear ducts are located and burn them out. If you pass out from pain, I’ll simply awaken you so you feel every last moment.”

Though her voice was soft, it was as threatening as any warcry. The Argonian must have thought so as well because she choked herself into silence.

Wrothken reached for his mace. The first thing in his mind told him to bash her head in, or somehow immobilize her and let her prisoners decide on justice, but she turned around. Her eyes went molten when she saw him. The fiery shade of red in her hair made her look less elven and more daedric than anyone he had ever seen.

"You!” She hissed. Wrothken was sure she was going to attack. He flinched, then cursed himself for it. “I remember you. You're the adventurer who slew my Gatekeeper, are you not?"

The blunt accusation instantly put Wrothken on the defense. “Well, it was going to kill me! It was the only way to pass. Besides, who’s the genius who sewed the keys into its skin?” He turned back to the Argonian. “What in Alduin’s name are you doing to these people?”

Relmyna’s eyes narrowed, sending shivers down Wrothken’s spine. She almost whispered. “Pathetic. On what authority have you weaseled into my sanctum and disturbed my work, hmm?"

“Your--” Wrothken almost demanded to know what work she could possibly be doing. Then he remembered why he was there in the first place. He couldn’t very well birth to Sheogorath’s new Gatekeeper, could he? “I mean,” he said, polite as he could muster. “On the authority of Sheogorath Himself.”

Wrothken detected no change in her demeanor when he mentioned Sheogorath. He was disappointed, but not entirely surprised. “I see.” She simply raised her eyebrows and clasped her hands together. “Sheogorath is too important to come on his own account? He sends his mortal lackey? Well, then.” She smoothed the ruffled black silk of her dress as she looked him over. “I trust my servants didn't give you too hard a time getting in here.” An icy smile lingered at her lips. Her sarcasm was even worse than Haskill’s. Wrothken was surprised that anyone could be that horrible. “What is it Sheogorath's lackey requires of me?"

“He would like you to build a….” Wrothken tried to steel himself against the wrath brought on by dousing the fresh wound with salty lemon juice. “A new Gatekeeper.”

"Oh?” Sure enough, her eyes darkened and her voice took on a new edge. “Does he now?"

“Yes, that is why he sent me here.”

Relmyna stared hard at him long enough that Wrothken’s toes began to squirm in his boots. Luckily, she wouldn’t be able to see... right? He wondered if she could see right through his armor. This woman made him feel more vulnerable than a baby bird hatching in front of a starving snake “Fine. If it be my Lord's will, then it is also my own. But, I am too distraught over the death of my child to return to his womb. This, you must do.”

“I-I’m sorry?” Wrothken almost choked. “You want me to go where?”

“You will travel to the Gardens of Flesh and Bone. There, you will gather mystical components needed for the ceremony. Go fetch me…” She pulled out her book and wrote a list for him. “Blood Liqueur, Osseous Marrow, Dermis Membrane, and Essence of Breath.” She strode to the other side of the room, where she had two dark bottles and two pouches. “Take these to collect the components in.”

So she didn’t literally birth that Gatekeeper. Somehow he was relieved that he wouldn’t be forced to deliver one of those things directly from her actual womb. Things were looking up! He groaned. How bad was it when not helping a Dunmer bear a giant orange monster was a plus?

“Now, if that is all you require…” She turned, waving him off dismissively.

“It’s not,” Wrothken said, glaring at her. It was much easier to do when she wasn’t looking at him. “I asked you a question earlier. What are you doing to these people?”

She chuckled softly. “Oh, you mean my research subjects? Don't trouble yourself with their fates. They are volunteers, of one sort or another. Besides, they are furthering important research into the nature of pain and suffering, of life and death.” She turned to Wrothken and smiled condescendingly. “Don't be concerned. I always return the worthy ones to life. Besides, Lord Sheogorath has sanctioned my studies and my methods. Any loyal servant of the Madgod would respect His decision in this matter.”

Wrothken wanted to ask if Sheogorath knew the intimate details of the studies, but he was afraid of the answer. The fact that Sheogorath approved these “studies” was both unsurprising and sickening.

“At the risk of sounding ‘disloyal,’” he said slowly through clenched teeth. “This is disgusting.” Relmyna looked almost amused. That, or she was imagining making Wrothken one of her subjects. That thought gave him chills.

Still, he looked at the Argonian and the others in similar cages, looking just as tortured and terrified. If left them here to this fate, he would never be able to look at himself in the eye again. No matter if he saved the Shivering Isles, hell, not even if he saved all of Tamriel, nothing would make up for leaving innocent people to be experimented on like this.

He cleared his throat and tried to still the growing tremor in his voice. “And since Sheogorath has given me free reign to act on his authority, I’m going to demand you release these people. Now.”

Wrothken was prepared to face her wrath. He steeled himself, expecting a barrage of curses, magic, verbal, or both. Instead, she only sneered. “I know your type. You believe yourself better than everyone else. You persecute genius when you find it, because we are able to see around the sharp corners of your simplified ‘morality.’” She took a few steps towards him, lifting her chin slightly so she was looking down her nose at him. “I see the vast horizons of thought, while you cannot see past the tip of your own nose,” she snapped, pointing at his face. “I can grant the guilty the cleansing fire of retribution, so they may die purified of soul. And, I can grant the worthy everlasting life! And what can you offer the world, except the hot air escaping through that hole in your head?”

Wrothken was unaccustomed to receiving such a tongue lashing. He had to pause in order to come up with a response. “As it stands, I am the only thing standing between Jyggalag and the Shivering Isles. You want to talk about granting life, but right now, if I choose to leave this cursed realm, it will leave you to die. So much for your knowledge then, right?” Relmyna said nothing, but Wrothken could see her temple throb as she clenched her jaw. Hopefully, she had no idea that if he were to leave, he would likely incur the wrath of a Daedric Prince and probably be given to Relmyna as a subject for his disobedience. “What good will you and your so-called work be if it’s wiped from history? I will ask you one more time. Let. Them. Go.”

The staredown she gave him seemed to last for hours. He felt as if slugs made of lava were crawling under his skin. “Out of deference to my Lord Sheogorath, I will allow this outburst. In fact, I will acquiesce to your request.” He tried to keep from looking surprised, but he could tell by her smug smile that he failed. “But only if you can prove to me the sincerity of your position, and the depth of your conviction. Are you willing to trade places with these souls momentarily, to bear the full weight of their pain and afflictions? Weigh this question carefully.”

“You want me to what?” He finally asked what he had been longing to ask nearly everyone he had met since his journey. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“You come into my sanctuary after you murdered my child and make demands of me? I should ask you the same thing. Make your choice or be off with you! I’ve wasted enough of my time as it is.”

Now what choice did he have? If he refused, not only did he look like a fool and a hypocrite, he would be letting all her victims down, right in front of them. If he agreed, the gods only knew what she was going to do to him. Would he even survive it? She could simply rebuild the Gatekeeper herself after all and it wasn’t as if Sheogorath didn’t know that Wrothken’s life was endangered every time he was sent out of the city walls. It almost seemed like the best thing to do was to kill her and assign a force of Golden Saints to patrol the border to Passwall. This time, he didn’t even feel bad for wishing her dead.

“Fine,” he said softly, looking at the ground. He clenched his fists, wishing to all the gods that he knew a shielding spell. Or one that would reflect her spell. Oh, that would teach her.

She turned back, raising her eyebrows. “Are you sure? You will not easily heal the damage done to you. This is a permanent sacrifice you are making. In fact, it is likely you will die. Perhaps you had better reconsider.”

She had to know that she was making this much harder by saying that. Given what he had survived thus far, if the pain was going to be that bad, he couldn’t even begin to imagine it. His heart already started racing. “Just do it.”

“Truly? Very well,” she sighed a little. “I wasn't quite finished with them, but as long as you remain in Sheogorath's favor, I will not conduct experiments on these people.” She rolled up her sleeves and grinned. “This may hurt a little.”


Posted by: Jacki Dice May 18 2016, 01:37 AM

Chapter Fifty-four: New Passwall


Wrothken tensed himself when he saw the rust-colored glow form around Relmyna’s hands. It didn’t help.

He had expected to be flung from his feet, knocked back in agony, writhing and screaming. Instead, as soon as the spell hit him, it was as if every horrible memory came back to him at once: his mother telling him he was destined to end up like his addict father, the night he caught Atrea in bed with another man, the guilt he felt when he was ordered to assassinate Thadon, the disappointment when he thought he had a chance with Rheyna only to be rejected immediately. Every ounce of sorrow stored in his memory bubbled up, followed by moments of sheer hopelessness.

Then came the physical aspect.

He didn’t remember falling to the ground. Nor did he remember crying out, yet as he shakily stood back up, his throat was sore. He blinked several times until his sight cleared up. He felt worse than when he had been hit by the hunger statue.

Relmyna was glowing with pride. “Did you like that? Pain can be pleasure, you know.”

Wrothken said nothing. He got the feeling that any hateful thing he could muster would simply amuse her. Never had he wanted to strangle someone so badly.

“Anyway,” she said, pulling a key from her cleavage and tossing it to the ground, as if flinging an insect from her fingers. “These people are your headache now.”

“What?” He asked. “What are you…” He looked at the caged people, each of them unarmed, starving, and naked. “You mean, you’re just going to toss them out? Just like that?”

Relmyna shrugged. “Here, they had shelter and nourishment. You insisted on taking that away. You wanted them, so go on! Take them all the way to the Capital if you’d like.” She smiled smugly. “Besides, are you not the exalted Duke? Slayer of the great Gatekeeper? Champion of our mighty Lord Sheogorath? I'm sure you'll be able to something as simple as escorting these people. If not, perhaps Sheogorath's faith in you is misplaced.” As Wrothken clenched his fists, her smile grew. “And you still need to visit my womb and help me birth another Gatekeeper, so it looks like you’ve got your hands full, don’t you?”

Muttering strings of curses, Wrothken bent down and picked up the key. He hated having to kneel before her in order to pick it up. He just knew Relmyna was relishing it. Then, one by one, he unlocked the cages. At first, no one moved. He sighed. “Come on, it’s fine. You’re free now.”

Still, they remained frozen in place.

“Really, it’s safe.”

Relmyna chuckled.

Wrothken turned to her, growling. “Will you do something about this?”

“Your headache,” she smirked.

He closed his eyes, eventually convincing the Argonian to come out first. After much coaxing, one by one, each of them followed Wrothken out of their cages. He was already worn out.

They lined up, some clinging to each other. What in Oblivion was he going to do with them? Whatever it was, he would figure it out away from Relmyna. The last thing he wanted to do was appear any weaker than he already did in front of her.

“Nanette!” Relmyna shouted. “Escort our Lord’s lackey and the experiments out of here. I would hate for him to take the long way out and get himself killed before he can visit The Garden.”

A young woman quickly shuffled out of one of the rooms. Wrothken was taken aback by her innocent appearance. Her heart-shaped face was framed by little gold ringlets. The rest of her hair was tied back in a Breton braid. Her eyes were big and brown, and seemed almost like a doe. Even her salmon colored dress contrasted strongly with a place like this. “Yes, ma’am,” she chirped as she bowed slightly. “Come, come,” she said to Wrothken.

He couldn’t mask the confusion on her face as he followed her down a hallway. “You live here with her?” He asked, as soon as he felt they were out of earshot of Relmyna.

“Oh, yes,” she gushed. “So, you are here to help rebuild the Gatekeeper? That’s very good of you, considering what you did to him.”

Wrothken grunted. No matter what, he was not going to be made to feel guilty for killing the last Gatekeeper. The only shred of regret he had was that if he had left it alone, he wouldn’t be there. He would have made his way to the Imperial City and never had to deal with any of this nonsense.

“So many strange noises here,” Nanette continued. “People screaming, animals dying. But I've learned so much... so much.”

“Like what?” Wrothken spat. “Oh, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

They continued along until the hall became a tunnel, sealed off with a large door. “Here you are!” Nanette handed him a key. “Just come back through here when you’re done gathering the ingredients. And be careful of Relmyna's temper. She…” She lowered her eyes. “She has ways of extracting obedience…”

Wrothken shook his head. “Come with me,” he blurted.

“What?” Nanette gasped, taking a step back.

“I-I said,” He stumbled over his words. He hadn’t meant to come off too strong. “The way you spoke... it’s as if you have experience with her... tactics. Why stay? By the Nine, she tortures people!”

Nanette stubbornly folded her arms. “Relmyna is a genius. Just because you can’t even begin to understand…” Her cheeks were flushed with anger. “Besides, do you know what she’d do to you if she heard you say such a thing? To me?” She shook her head. “I’m just fine, thank you.” With that, she turned and walked back into the main room.

Wrothken shook his head. He hoped to bring her along, not just to get her away from Relmyna, but to have some assistance getting the group to New Sheoth. As usual, he would have to go it alone.



Once they were all outside, Wrothken was mentally preparing himself for the worst. Would they all take off in different directions? Would they collapse the moment they felt sunlight on their skin again? Would a pack of hungers be lingering around? Luckily, none of that happened. They remained huddled in a cluster. Wrothken supposed Relmyna must have broken them long ago. Would it have been kinder to just allow them to die?

Wrothken’s heart twisted. How could he even think of such a thing? These people, innocent people, had the right to live. Everyone did.

“Alright,” Wrothken said, looking up at the sky. “If I’m going to get you all safely away, I need help. New Sheoth is a long way away from…” He turned around, putting his hands on his hips for a moment.

They had just exited from what appeared to be a large stone from the outside. The only identifier was a red crack in the rock, as if it was bleeding. Given the strange scenery, it was easy to overlook. The exit was a couple miles northwest from where he had entered. Coincidentally, it was also just northeast of what remained of Passwall.

He looked from Passwall to the group and then back to Passwall.

“Are all of you from here?”

“Here?” An Orc echoed after a while. He shook his head. “Deepwallow.”

“Fellmoor,” an Altmer said.

“Highcross.”

“Same here.”

Wrothken hadn’t heard of any of these places, but he assumed they were all towns around the Isles. “Alright,” he said. “I don’t know where any of those places are, but we’re near Passwall. There’s houses and clothes. I’m going to take you there tonight and we’ll decide what to do from there. Sound good?”

There were some nods and murmurs of agreement to Wrothken’s relief. He thought he was going to have to run a naked courier.


By the time he had reached Passwall, Wrothken had gotten their names. For people who had just left a torture chamber, Wrothken noticed that they were relatively well-adjusted. The only explanation he could think of was the fact that they’re all from the Shivering Isles. Could a mind already arguably broken in some ways, be completely broken? Or did a life in the Isles make some minds more resilient, due to already being accustomed to everything?

Upon reaching Passwall, Wrothken was surprised that he still felt a sinking in his stomach. The bodies were gone, but the ghost town reminded him that everyone he had met his first day in the Isles had been killed. Well, except Shelden, Jayred, and Relmyna. He couldn’t help wishing he could trade Relmyna for just about anyone else.

The six former victims looked around. “Do we just pick somewhere?” Estrid, the Altmer asked.

Wrothken shrugged. “I suppose so. They houses might need cleaning, and any food you find has definitely gone bad, so don’t trust anything. Just... see if you can find something growing. On a tree or a bush I mean! Don’t eat any mold or…” He felt like he was talking to children for a moment. “Just be careful.”

Each of them walked off, looking at the various houses. Food is going to be a problem, he thought. There were fruit trees here and there, but they couldn’t survive on that alone. Not for too long, anyway. He sat on the steps to The Wastrel’s Purse. Other than spend a week helping them hunt and figuring out how to grow crops, what could he do?

“Hmmm…”

He decided to summon Haskill.

The chamberlain appeared in his usual violet mist. “Hmph. I never thought I’d actually be happy to see you. That man, Shelden, is going to make the rest of my hair fall out.” He looked around. “So, I will truly take pleasure in what little reprieve you have granted me.”

“Shelden…” Wrothken said, folding his arms. That gave him an idea.

“Did you take a page from Relmyna’s book of tortures when you decided to invite him to New Sheoth? He has been pestering me non-stop about his home not being ‘mayoral’ enough. In fact, I would be cautious if I were you. He may attempt to replace you in order to secure some form of prestige. I highly doubt he would be fit to stop the Greymarch.”

“Send him back,” Wrothken said. “And, while you’re at it, I need food. Food and seeds and... whatever it takes to get a town going. Send a Golden Saint to escort him so he arrives safely. In fact, I’d like a handful of them to guard this place until it’s stable. And tell them I said to leave their attitudes behind.” When he noticed Haskill’s questioning look, he explained his encounter with Relmyna.

“The thing about you that I believe Lord Sheogorath appreciates is your complete lack of common sense paired with your passion. I do hope that in the near future you’ll act with a lot more thought as the fate of our realm rests on your shoulders.”

Wrothken sighed. Though as far as he was concerned he did the right, and only, thing, Haskill had a point. If Relmyna had killed him earlier, then everyone else would have suffered the consequences.

“Okay, you’re right, fine,” he said. “But now Passwall can be rebuilt and you can get Shelden out of your hair.”

Haskill narrowed his eyes. “I hope that wasn’t an attempt to be funny.”

Wrothken shook his head quickly, though he had to admit to himself that it was a little.

“Fine,” Haskill sighed. “But only because I fear that should I spend one more moment in that man’s presence, I fear I may lose myself. I’m sure he’ll leap at the opportunity to rule over something again.”

With that, he vanished.

Wrothken stood up. One problem down, a hundred to go. He headed into Shelden’s house. No one had claimed it. Wrothken supposed that they had enough torture with Relmyna so they didn’t need any more visual assault from Shelden’s portraits. He felt bad that they would be subject to the real thing, but at the same time, Shelden did know how to take charge and get things done.

Posted by: Grits May 18 2016, 02:36 AM

Oh my gosh, two new chapters!! Yay! biggrin.gif

Yikes, poor Wrothken when Relmyna told him to go to her child’s womb, lol. I am delighted to read more of this story!

Posted by: Jacki Dice May 29 2016, 11:17 PM

Grits: Honestly, I would have thought the same thing! I mean, who would assume that a "womb" is a building a few miles away?

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fifty-five: Into the Womb



The next morning, Wrothken slipped out of Shelden’s house to head to the Garden of Flesh and Bone. He had no idea when Shelden would arrive and the last thing he wanted was to get caught in his house. He had no doubt that Shelden would follow him all the way to the Garden just to give him a piece of his mind.

If anyone else was up, he couldn’t tell. Passwall was about as silent as it had been before their arrival. If anyone deserves a good long sleep, Wrothken thought. It’s them.

It wasn’t until he began walking the path to the Garden that he remembered that he had been there before. It was his first day, going with Jayred to find bones to make arrows from. It was the Gatekeeper’s brother, he had said. Just how many Gatekeepers did Relmyna make?

The gate was still open from when he had picked the locks. Parts of the Gatekeeper not suitable for arrows, or whatever other unholy purpose Jayred used them for, remained on the ground. What a trip this became, Wrothken thought. Funny how he could think of Atrea without much of a twinge these days, yet his mind was far from clearer.

He slipped through the gates using the hole he made before and placed it back so it looked sturdy and shut. Should anyone with ill intentions try to follow him in, it would at least slow them down. Unless of course an obelisk sprouted up within the Gardens. Then he would be slowing down his own escape. He hesitated before continuing forward. Hopefully he wouldn’t have that problem. He wondered if he should look into things he could carry for good luck, but then decided against it. He had a feeling it would consume him and he’d wind up losing his mind over it. Look what happened to Uungor.

Across the courtyard was what looked like a mausoleum. It was a small, rectangular building built from white stone. The almond-shaped double doors were smooth, like marble with golden handles. Because it looked so small on the outside, Wrothken had no doubt that he would have to travel down into an underground chamber. Wrothken just wished he knew how much of it there was. And what was lurking down in the womb of Relmyna... He shuddered.

Taking a deep breath, he headed straight in. Two vials, two sacks. He needed breath and blood, which he understood, and then dermis and marrow, whatever those were. Skin and bone? It made enough sense, he supposed. He wished he had asked for specifics, but he had had other things on his mind at the moment. He would just have to figure it out and pray to the Divines that he wouldn’t mess up.

As soon as he was inside, the doors slid shut behind him. Just like Xaselm, the area was lit with welkynd stones, with a few banners hanging from the ceiling. Beyond the small room he just entered, a flight of stairs descended to another door. The only difference was that the area was caked in dust. It seemed Relmyna was indeed too distraught to come down. Wrothken scoffed a little at the thought. That wretched woman distraught, or feeling any genuine emotion, was just too much to imagine. Haskill seemed more capable of that than she did.

Just get the stuff, then you never have to see her again, he thought to himself. Then, after becoming Sheogorath, whatever that meant exactly, instead of firing Haskill as the first order of business, he was going to banish Relmyna. Where and how, he didn’t care. Hell, maybe some other realm would have her or give her a taste of her own medicine. He shook his head. He didn’t want to keep thinking of her. She just angered him so much!

Another door was before him. When he opened it, he took a few steps before hearing a loud rumbling. He turned around, expecting to see an obelisk rising from the ground. Instead, it was a trap. Several large boulders rained from the ceiling. Had he taken a few more steps, he would have been crushed. He scrambled back up the stairs as visions of Xeddefen filled his mind. He stood there, gripping the wall for several minutes after the last rock had fallen.

Relmyna, that hateful monster, sent him down there with no warning of that trap! How would he get the materials for her if he had gotten squished? He would become the materials! He briefly imagined her using his own body parts to supplement what was needed to rebuild the Gatekeeper. He shuddered. There he would be, mouth sewn, eyes gone, wandering until some other unfortunate soul entered the Isles to try and stop the Greymarch. He wasn’t sure if he would be more likely to urge them to get away or to accept death and be put out of his misery. Then he wondered if that could have been the fate of the last Gatekeeper. Was he some poor adventurer who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, turned into some hideous monster by Relmyna? He felt a bitter warmth threatening to bubble up his throat.

“Get a hold of yourself!” He said to himself, wishing he could splash himself with some cold water. He wasn’t sure what it was that kept him thinking about Relmyna and her activities. Maybe it was because she, too, came from Mundus. If madness like that already existed in Mundus, how many others like her were there? What did it say about his own potential? He shook his head. At least Uungor was rather harmless. But Relmyna… He took a breath. He needed to stop. He had a task at hand and then he could get back to New Sheoth and pretend he never met that foul woman until it was time to imprison her or banish her or whatever he decided. Maybe feed her to Jyggalag. Had Sheogorath already tried human sacrifice?

Wrothken couldn’t bring himself to move for a while longer. Again, he was reminded of Amiable and his fear of the walls coming down on him. From there, his thoughts brought him to the fragileness of some of the residents. He had to save them. If he didn’t, no one would. One, two... on three, he took cautious steps down to where the pile of boulders rested. He looked up at the ceiling. There didn’t seem to be any other traps. Still, he felt on his guard.

Ahead of him was another, shorter, flight of stairs. He could see sconces holding welkynd stones in an entryway. As Wrothken approached, he noticed a pair of statues on either side. Both of them were women... well, mostly. Both of them had the face and upper body of a nude elven woman. They had snakes for hair, which all seemed to writhe in every direction. Their lower halves were also like a snake. Wrothken noticed that down their arms were carved feathers. They craftsmanship was so detailed that when Wrothken touched one of the feathers, he almost expected it to bend. He wondered if people like these ever existed in the Isles. Were they guarding this place? He hoped not. Though they only statues, he felt strangely intimidated.

The entry led to yet another downstairs area, though it was in worse condition. It seemed like a rock trap had gone off before his arrival, though he couldn’t tell how long ago it had been. Unfortunately, it blocked the only path ahead.

He sighed. “Now what?”

Beyond the rocks, a downstairs area was visible. Wrothken tried pushing them out of the way, but they wouldn’t budge. Nor could he pull them through the arch. “Damn!” He hissed. Maybe there was another way. He crossed the serpentine women again and looked where he had almost gotten crushed. Sure enough, to the right there was another way through. He must have been so eager that he tried to just plow through. He had a feeling that in a place like this, he would have to take his time and explore, both to avoid traps and to make sure he didn’t get stuck at a dead end.

The doors opened and he immediately saw more decay. However, the debris led to a tunnel with glowing pods along the dirt. While he had seen those in many of the tunnels he had explored, he wondered if they would lead him to where he needed to be. He climbed up and it was almost like being in Dunroot Burrow, only without the elytra. He felt relieved. He never wanted to see or hear those things again for reasons having to do more with himself than the creatures themselves.

The tunnels wove and wound, but there was no hint of anything Relmyna claimed to need. In fact, he was starting to wonder if there was any ingredients to be found at all. Maybe this place was an endless labyrinth and he was cursed to walk the tunnels forever. Or maybe there was some unavoidable trap at the end.

He stopped. “Cut it out!” He said to himself. She was making him paranoid! If he kept it up, he was going to wind up like Syl. The memory of the former Duchess brought the idea of sending Herdir after Relmyna. Then again, that might wind up being a match made in the House of Dibella. He didn’t even want to imagine the sort of things they would do together.

Eventually, he came across a bridge made from tree roots. From the bridge, he saw what looked like large plants made of bone. Large white roots sprouted from the ground with giant fleshy orange flowers in the middle of them. He wasn’t too high up off the ground, so he carefully climbed down.

He took out one of the sacks, figuring that whatever he was harvesting wouldn’t be bottled. Was he gathering the stem or the flower though? Or both? He nodded. Both. He would rather bring more than what was needed than not enough and have to come back.

First, he lifted the bony root from the ground. It took a while, but after a sickening crack, it gave. It was like a giant’s finger bones, too large for his bag. He set it aside for later. He then pulled the petals from the flower. Unfortunately, it didn’t just look fleshy. It had the same texture as well. Peeling the petals off felt the same as pulling skin from a sunburn. He winced. Then he retched as the petal started folding in on itself. It just looked too real. He couldn’t help frowning disgustedly as he stuffed the petals into the sack. Wrothken got the feeling that this would be a recurring feeling. Scooping up the giant bones, he followed the path from where he was.

He was led through the earthy tunnels until he came across another area of bone, though this one lacked the flowers. Instead, it was as if a spiked spine were jutting from the ceiling. The root-like bone had several parts that looked easy enough to break. Setting the larger piece down, he approached and carefully broke off a few pieces. Each one that broke dribbled out a pinkish-yellow ooze onto his gauntlets. “Oh, by the Nine,” he muttered. Though he was thankful that it didn’t touch his skin, he still felt repulsed. What exactly was all this stuff anyway? Surely, it couldn’t be actual body parts. It had to be some sort of very convincing plant-life... right? He shook his head. He learned that around the Isles, some things were better left unanswered.

The tunnels wound even deeper underground to an area filled with green clouds that flew along the tunnels. With every gust, they sighed forlornly. That had to be the breath she needed. What was he supposed to do? Stand there and catch it in a bottle? Or was there a source? Perhaps a giant set of lungs. He sure hoped not.

He decided to follow them, just to see if there was a source. Thankfully, when he came across it, it was not a set of organs at all. In the center of roots coming from the floor and ceiling was swirling green smoke. The clouds seemed to rush to the point in the middle before going outward. He still wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to do. Out of the two bottles, one was clear. He supposed that one was supposed to hold the breath, so he could see if it collected. Carefully, he held the bottle in front of a gust. It glowed green with the breath. Simple and pleasant enough. He thought he was done with the gross part until he remembered the final ingredient. Blood.

Why did he have to come all this way for that? He bet that Relmyna had plenty of blood stashed away. Her hands were certainly stained with it, both figuratively and literally. He growled.

He followed the path until the tunnels brought him back to the stone rooms again. The area seemed new, but judging by the uphill climb, he had to be level with the surface, or at least close to it. The only odd thing was the sound of running water.

As he got closer to the source of the sound, a metallic smell grew stronger. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. Oh, please be water, he thought, taking out the bottle anyway. He kept going until he saw exactly what was flowing through the room.

While he wasn’t that surprised by the blood being there, he was shocked at how much there was. It seemed to be coming from a smooth, fleshy tube at the other end of the room. It was enough to fill the entire area, which was almost as large as his bedroom in the House of Mania, a few inches deep. For once, he was speechless. He filled the vial and then double checked that he had everything.

The entire way out, Wrothken felt disgusted. The womb of Relmyna was just like the rest of her: repulsive. Though he was glad when he was back outside, it was hard for him to walk the path to Xaselm knowing that each step was bringing him closer to her.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jun 3 2016, 12:37 AM

~~~~~♥~~~~~~

Chapter Fifty-Six: Labor



Wrothken had stood in front of the door for who knew how long before convincing himself to enter her sanctum. When he finally found Relmyna, his stomach twisted as he saw that he was hesitant for good reason. The room she had been waiting in was scattered with body parts for the Gatekeeper. Upon closer inspection, he saw that they weren’t scattered. In fact, they were neatly organized by type. He wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

“You have returned with all the components?” She asked, looking up from a book she had been writing in. Wrothken handed over the two bottles, sacks, and the large finger bone. “Excellent,” she said, inspecting everything. “All that remains is to choose the body parts.”

Wrothken looked around. “Why are there parts?” He managed to ask.

“Fearing one day someone might manage to kill my child, I have been preparing a new body. I've created versions of each appendage, with various enhancements. You must choose one of each. I am too attached to them all. Artist's prerogative,” she said with a prideful grin.

The entire thing seemed so surreal. Heads, arms, legs, just laying out as if he were getting ready to buy fruit from the market. Yet, this was tame compared to what he had seen earlier.

He started with the heads. It seemed a good a place as any. Two of them sat on the table, bigger than any watermelons he had ever seen. One was just like the one he had encountered before: fleshy spots where eyes, nose, and mouth should have been. Seeing it severed and up close just made it creepier. The head next to it had a helmet covering most of its face, save for a few slits around the eye area. “That head,” he said, pointing.

Relmyna took it and kissed its forehead. She hesitated, but gave a kiss to the other head as well. Wrothken quickly turned away.

Next was the torso. He noticed that no keys were sewn into its skin. Each were the same, except for the gaping hole where its heart should have been. He looked at Relmyna for a moment, wondering if the joke he wanted to make to himself about that was just too easy. One glowed soft green and the other glowed a deep violet. Whatever the difference was, Wrothken assumed it had to do with magic. As he didn’t care to ask, since that would require him to speak with her more than necessary, he picked the green one because he liked the color better.

Then there were a set of arms, both left and right. The right arms all had a selection of weapons attached to them and the left had glowing glass-like gems along the forearm. The right arm options were a sword, an axe, or a mace. He felt a little biased toward the mace, so he almost picked that one. However, he reconsidered. Did he really want something reminiscent of himself on the Gatekeeper? It would feel too much like he and Relmyna truly made one together. “Ugh…” He muttered at the very idea. “The axe,” he said.

He took a closer look at the left arms. The three selections differed in that the gems along the arms shone different colors: one red, one light blue, and the last, gold. He figured they symbolized the typical destruction schools, fire, frost, and shock. It seemed that everyone knew a fire spell, so he selected that one.

Two pairs of legs hung from hooks on the walls. Like the previous Gatekeeper, there was no armor. Just some steel around its hips. The legs themselves differed in that one set was leaner than the other. It was like comparing a wood elf’s legs to an Orc’s. Wrothken had a feeling she had taken the time to learn the precise muscle patterns of each. He did rescue both and Orc and a wood elf from her torture chamber, after all. Shaking his head, he selected the stronger looking legs.

The final piece was the heart. They both glistened slightly, but Wrothken couldn’t tell what made the hearts unique. He simply picked the one on the right.

“All finished?” Relmyna asked. “Now, travel to the statue of our Lord, in the Fringe. There we will perform the ceremony. I will meet you there at dusk.”

Wrothken sighed slightly. As he was glad to leave her, he was disappointed that this wasn’t the end of it. What else could she possibly need from him?



When he reached the Fringe, the sun was still high up in the sky. There were a few hours to kill, so he decided to take a look at Passwall or New Passwall or whatever it was going to be called. It would also give him time to warn the new residents to stay away from the Gatekeeper.

He headed down the steps into the village and heard Shelden’s voice. He sighed. Though he hoped to avoid him, he was glad to see him around. It meant he would stay out of New Sheoth and hopefully he could get things running. Sure enough, Shelden was outside the Wastrel’s Purse loosening some dirt. Naked.

“What the--?” Wrothken said in surprise.

“Well, look who’s here!” Shelden said, turning around and placing his hands on his hips. “You needed my help, yet again! It’s about time someone appreciated how essential I am, but I’m starting to think that maybe I should be given a higher station. Maybe higher than you, since I’m actually doing something.”

“Shelden... where are your clothes?”

“Why? You want them?”

“No!” Wrothken pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to five. “I mean, why aren’t you wearing them?”

Shelden shrugged. “No one else is. I can’t be looking silly, being the only one wearing clothes! Besides, I have a splendor all my own.”

“What do you mean, no one else is?” Wrothken buried his face in his hands. “You can’t all be going around skyclad!”

“Says who? You’re not the mayor around here!”

“I mean…” Wrothken looked around. “What if you get attacked? Knights of Order might still show up! Remember them?”

“Oh please. Even if they do, you think a few layers of cloth are gonna help? Know what I think? You’re just jealous!”

Wrothken wanted to ask what he was supposedly jealous of, but he had an idea of where that conversation would go. “Fine. You know what, you’re right. This is your town and if you all want to be as naked as jaybirds, I don’t care.”

“Thank you,” Shelden said, turning his nose up to try and look down upon Wrothken. As Wrothken was much taller, Shelden wound up having to arch his back to do so.

“So, since you’re mayor and all that, I wanted to tell you that there’s going to be a new Gatekeeper. You might want to make sure everyone stays clear.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Shelden said, getting back to the patch of land.



Dusk came before Wrothken knew it. He stood at the entrance to the Gates of Mania and Dementia. It was right where the old Gatekeeper had been slain. It seemed at once like ages ago but as fresh as yesterday. The gates opened slowly and Relmyna appeared. An ornate black box floated behind her. Wrothken supposed that was the pieces of the Gatekeeper. Instead of her black dress, she was wearing a bright red gown. With every step, the skirt swished, showing pink fabric inside.

When she approached the statue of Sheogorath, she knelt before it momentarily before rising to tenderly kiss its lips. She then turned to Wrothken and with a wave of her hand, the box glided in front of him and landed with a loud thud. The lid creaked open, revealing the gatekeeper parts, as well as candles and the ingredients he had gotten for her. There were six candles, all different colors: red, blue, green, yellow, and white. The final one was a strange brown color, marbled with pink and red. Relmyna took the candles, arranging them around a large circle on the ground.

“Are you prepared to birth my child?” She asked Wrothken.

He just nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what he would be doing.

“Stand here next to me and follow my instructions,” she said. She then raised her arms to the sky. Her hands began to glow light blue, as did the entire circle in front of them. “First, place the Gatekeeper's body into the Cistern of Substantiation.”

Wrothken lifted each piece from the box. Though it was in pieces, it still took a lot of effort to lift everything. He felt irritated knowing that Relmyna could probably do it herself with just a flick of her wrist. Each piece was placed into the circle and Wrothken was surprised to see that they fell inside, as if the circle was no longer solid, but a container of its own.

Relmyna then spoke. “At the beginning of the worlds were five. Fire, water, earth, air, and light.” As she spoke their names, the red, blue, green, and yellow candles each seemed to light itself. “Darkness turned into day,” she continued. “The void took form. Hidden away, by virtue of its own self-awareness, was the sixth, containing within it the five which birthed it. Flesh!” The final candle lit itself. “Meat with the desire to consume like fire.” She turned to Wrothken. “Place the Dermis Membrane into the cistern.”

The fleshy petals no longer felt soft and pliable, like skin. They now felt stiff and dry. He quickly flung them into the glowing cistern.

“Blood, liquid nutrient, that ocean which casts pearls of life upon the shores of existence. Place the Blood Liqueur into the Cistern of Substantiation.”

Wrothken poured the contents of the vial into the cistern. It flashed red for a moment before returning to its blue color.

“Bone, branch and stone of the body, giving shape and structure. Place the Osseous Marrow into the cistern.”

He noticed that the giant finger bone was not in the box. It had to be the smaller pieces that he gathered. The ones that had oozed all over him. His gauntlets were still crusty. He held the sack as one would hold soiled clothing, away from him and shook the bone pieces into the cistern.

“Breath, child of air, bestowing movement, the stirring of spirit. Place the Essence of Breath into the Cistern of Substantiation.”

He wasn’t sure quite how to do that. Wouldn’t the breath just dissipate in the air? He took the bottle and knelt on the ground, opening it up with the top facing down. He was careful not to touch it. The image of Relmyna kicking him into the cistern popped up in his mind and he quickly got up, not wanting to give her any ideas. He glanced at her, noticing that she hadn’t moved from her spot.

“And last, the light of Flesh, the illumination of Soul -- perception, thought, memory, imagination.... I summon thee, walker in Flesh! Flesh of true Flesh! From those waters of Oblivion which sire thy kind. Come to this altar. Join with this body.”

The cistern turned dark, like a stormy night. Clouds swirled around, moving faster as she spoke.

“Quintessence of Flesh joined with the Essence of Flesh. Absolute in mortal. Immortal bound to contingent! Stand clear of the cistern,” she said to Wrothken. “Over here by me.”

He didn’t want to, but he figured it would be best to do as she said during the ritual. When he stood at her side, she suddenly grabbed his hand. Wrothken could feel a power surging through him, from her. His heart pounded. “What are you doing?”

“Lend me your power, royal lackey,” she said. “Together, we shall bring forth new life! Do this, and know the power of the flesh!”

She didn’t wait for him to respond.

“Honored Daedra, fear not thy abasement! Thou shalt be the Holy in this Temple. I bind thee Atronach to this body, henceforth Gatekeeper of the Shivering Isles.”

She released his grip on him when something began to rise from the cistern. Slimy and red, like a newborn baby, a Gatekeeper rose. It stumbled from the dimming cistern and knelt before Relmyna. She looked overjoyed as she held its head to her chest. “My child,” she said in a voice so tender, he didn’t think it was possible. “It is time to fulfill your destiny. Stand guard in this land against all those who seek entry not bearing the mark of Sheogorath's favor. You shall know them by the coldness in their minds. A darkness of spirit.”

A familiar shrieking came from behind them. They turned to see an obelisk rise, right at the stairs leading up to the Gatekeeper’s territory. “What's this?” Relmyna hissed. A wicked grin spread across her face. “My child, they are coming. Destroy them! Show them your true power!”

With an eerie silence, the Gatekeeper stomped toward the Knights. It picked up the first one and slammed it to the ground repeatedly until it was nothing but shards and splinters. Wrothken couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if the previous Gatekeeper had managed to get its hands on him like that.

As the new Gatekeeper worked, he thought back to what she had said during the ritual. Know the power of flesh? What did that even mean? He looked down at his hands. Even without direct skin-to-skin contact, he could tell that something was done to him. Yet, he didn’t feel like she hurt him. In fact, he felt stronger. It was like she gave him something.

“You’ll find that you can summon an atronach of flesh to aid you in your time of need,” Relmyna said softly. “You’ll see the fruits of my labor and perhaps eventually you’ll come to appreciate my methods.” She placed her hands on her hips and turned to the Gatekeeper. “Now, watch my child destroy the interlopers or run to Sheogorath. Either way, tell Him of our doings here. Send Him my tribute... and my affections.”

Thankful that Relmyna didn’t give Wrothken a kiss to pass along to Sheogorath, which he certainly would not have done, he took a last look at the Gatekeeper and headed through the Gates of Dementia. As disgusted as he felt having a piece of her knowledge embedded within him, especially without him asking or consenting, he had to admit, summoning one of those things could prove useful. In fact, he almost considered suggesting to Sheogorath that there be more of them built and stationed around the Isles.


Posted by: Jacki Dice Jun 13 2016, 08:30 PM

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Cats and Bags


Wrothken made back to New Sheoth around midday. Though he knew time was of the essence, he stopped by Bernice’s Taphouse before heading to the palace. He hadn’t seen her lately and he felt badly. Yes, saving the realm was definitely a priority, but he knew he wouldn’t have gotten that far without her support. He would have lost his mind long ago without having someone other than Haskill to talk to. Besides, he missed her. Though she looked nothing like his grandmother, she reminded him a lot of her. He sighed. He hadn’t seen her in a while either.

First thing after removing Relmyna from the realm or arresting her, or whatever he was going to do, he was going to catch up with everyone he had drifted away from. His grandma, Kirsty... Oh, Kirsty was going to be so mad at him. He cringed a little. Though he was much taller and probably weighed twice as much, he still felt a twinge of fear thinking of her fury.

He shook his head. He would make it up to her, but first he had to make sure he lived through the Greymarch. That reminded him of something else he wanted to ask Bernice about.

He entered the taphouse. As usual, he got a few looks from people, but he ignored them, going straight up to the bar.

“Well, well,” Bernice said smiling. “I was starting to worry you’d forgotten about little old me.”

“Never,” Wrothken said. “I’ve been, well, you know.”

“Still working on saving the realm. Don’t worry, I figured as much. So what brings you in today?”

“Well, it’s about the realm. But I was thinking, can we maybe talk over lunch? We can go to the palace.” When she raised her eyebrows in surprise, he added, “I mean, I may as well use it. Besides, the gardens are actually pretty nice.”

Bernice frowned for a moment. “Thadon’s palace was known for an awful lot of diseases. Do you think I’ll catch anything?”

Wrothken shook his head. “Even if you did, I’d go back and get you that water from Knotty Bramble. It worked last time, right?”

Bernice smiled. “Well, alright.” She turned to the people at the tables. “Hey, everyone out! I’m closing up early!”



The garden was easily Wrothken’s favorite part of the Palace of Mania. Though Wide-Eye still painted there on occasion, she wasn’t bad company as long as the subject of Thadon was avoided.

When Wrothken arrived, the garden was empty, save for a couple of Golden Saints pacing around. They took a seat among the brightly colored flowers and Wrothken requested that lunch be brought out to them.

“So this is where you’ve been staying,” Bernice said, looking around. “A bit flashy for my taste, but I suppose I could see the appeal for someone like you. So,” She sat up a little, scooting in. “What’s it you wanted to ask about?”

“Well, I told you about the…” He looked at the nearest Golden Saint, who seemed uninterested in the conversation. “The Greymarch. Do you remember anything like that happening before?”

“Oh, goodness no!” She shook her head. “Based on what you’ve told me, it doesn’t seem like anything one could survive, does it? If the whole realm is destroyed, there’s not a lot of options are there?”

“Apparently, there’s been at least one survivor. I think Jyggalag is supposed to attack and based on what Sheogorath says, I think he’ll send his forces through the Fringe, up here to New Sheoth. Do you know the construction of the buildings real well?” When Bernice gave him a strange look, he clarified. “I mean, are there any safe-houses in the city? Maybe some basements people can hole up in until its safe?”

“Well, I know I’ve got a storage room downstairs. I don’t know about anywhere else, dearie. My illnesses kept me from really going out much, you see. Besides, I don’t know if hiding out will do any good. These Knights sound like they’d easily wipe out any stragglers they’d find.”

Wrothken thought of Passwall. “You’re right about that.” He sighed. “Then…” He thought for a moment. “Unless I can shift everyone in the Shivering Isles into Mundus…” He shook his head. “I’d have an easier time finding the Count of Anvil.” To Bernice’s confused expression, Wrothken waved. “Never mind. Besides, I saw what happened when someone from here entered Mundus.”

“What happened?”

“He just lost it. I mean, worse than most people here. He tried to attack someone. Besides, it seems like New Sheoth isn’t the only town here.” He briefly filled her in on Relmyna and her experiments. “All of them named off these places they’re from, so I would need an army to collect everyone. But the army is going to be busy holding off the Knights.” He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “It really seems like the only way to keep everyone safe is to take down Jyggalag.”

Bernice patted his arm. “No pressure, love.”



After lunch, Wrothken headed to report to Sheogorath. As he crossed the courtyard, he kept feeling as if any second, obelisks would sprout up in the center, letting out horde upon horde of Knights of Order. He was relieved when he entered the throne room without incident.

Sheogorath was seated on his throne, with his legs hanging off one of the arms. Haskill was standing near a pedestal displaying a Heart of Order. When Wrothken entered, Sheogorath hopped up. Haskill seemed not to notice his arrival.

“A new Gatekeeper!”Sheogorath cried, clapping his hands. “Excellent. We might be onto something with you after all,” he said with a wink. “That should keep out the stragglers. And I see you've got all your limbs about you! Relmyna must like you, little Duke... but probably not in that way."

“And thank Dibella for that,” Wrothken said under his breath. “But, about the Gatekeeper. I had an idea--”

Wrothken was cut off by a male Mazken bursting through the doors. “Lord Sheogorath!” He said, panting slightly. Wrothken was surprised. Though apparently the men were considered much weaker, Wrothken had never thought that a Daedra could be out of breath. They always seemed near invulnerable. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said, kneeling. “But you must help us! Order has attacked Pinnacle Rock and routed us!"

Sheogorath frowned for a moment. His frown was more chilling than his colorful threats. “Well, well,” he said, stroking his beard. “What a turn of events this is. It's new, and I like new, even if it's bad. And this is bad, isn't it? My, my…”

He turned to Wrothken. “This is a particularly exciting turn of events, is it not? A perfect job for you, my newest and only noble in the realm! If Order has entered my army's stronghold, things have taken a disturbing turn.”

“Really?” Wrothken asked. “What makes this any more disturbing than what’s been happening already?”

“It means Order has tried subterfuge... not its strong suit. Amazing!” He said with a clap. “Perhaps things aren't going as poorly as I'd imagined. You'll want to get all the details from the messenger.”

“Right... though I don’t understand. If Jyggalag is doing all this, why hasn’t he tried to attack here yet? Why waste time going after strongholds if he really wants you?”

Sheogorath and Haskill exchanged glances. Then Sheogorath made a face that made Wrothken’s blood feel like slush. It was a look of amusement, pity, and surprise all at once. “Aren't you precious?” Sheogorath patted Wrothken’s cheek gently. “Do you really not know? Haven't you noodled it all through yet?”

Wrothken’s eyes widened as he shook his head. What was it that he was supposed to have noodled?

“Because…” Sheogorath grinned. “He is me!”

Wrothken’s jaw dropped.

“I'm him! We're a bit of each other, really. I won't be here when he arrives, because I'll be him. Happens every time. The Greymarch starts, Order appears, and I become Jyggalag and wipe out my whole realm.”

Wrothken wanted to yell, cry, fall to his knees, and run away all at once. It wasn’t until Haskill lifted his jaw shut that he found his words. “What in Oblivion do you mean you’re Jyggalag?! How could you... you of all people be Jyggalag?”

Sheogorath laughed. “Cat's out of the bag on that one, innit? Who puts cats in bags, anyway? Cats hate bags.”

Wrothken shook his head. “Why can’t you just.. just not be Jyggalag? Just don’t do it! You can stop this... can’t you?”

“Stop it?” Sheogorath chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, no. Can't do it. Believe me, I've tried. It never ends well. But you're still going to stop the Greymarch. Stop Jyggalag-- Me-- from destroying my Realm. You've already forced Order's hand. No stopping now. Some things can't be stopped.”

Wrothken buried his face in his hands and just screamed for a while. Why not? He earned a nice, relaxing scream, especially after that news. When he finished, he looked back at Sheogorath. He didn’t seem to notice. “How long do we have? A few days? Weeks?”

“Soon,” he said, shrugging a little. “Too soon. I can already feel the change beginning. I feel like I'm not quite here. I'm not over there yet, but I'm not quite here. And I've been having moments of clarity that are quite unlike me. Like now.”

Wrothken took a deep breath. He could fall apart later. Probably just before bed. “Alright. Alright,” he exhaled and shook his hands. “So now what?”

“Now? Nothing has changed! You deal with this messenger. Make sure my army is secure. You'll need them.”

Wrothken turned to the Mazken, who had risen, watching everything quietly. “Okay, let’s get to Pinnacle Rock.”

Posted by: Jacki Dice Mar 20 2020, 08:40 PM

Here I am, a decade later.

So I was working at a place over the summer and I had two weeks of downtime at a computer, so I wound up updating the story, going through and making edits/rewrites and all that. I changed a couple names and so on.

And now, it is Coronavirus time and school is closed and my state is under lockdown, so why not continue?


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Pinnacle Rock



Wrothken accompanied the Mazken messenger back to Pinnacle Rock. His name was Zryacius. That was all Wrothken could remember. Though he swore that Zryacius informed him, repeatedly, of what had happened, Wrothken just couldn’t retain the information. The only thing that played in his head, over and over again was the fact that Sheogorath was Jyggalag.

Sheogorath.

Was.

Jyggalag.

The Prince of Madness was also the Prince of Order. This was insane, even for the Isles. It was absolutely maddening! He was supposed to go up against Sheogorath himself? What happened if, if, he defeated him? Would that truly break the cycle? For how long? How could he be sure that Sheogorath wouldn’t just turn back to Jyggalag as soon as Wrothken left? Divines, would he have to stick around the Isles to be Sheogorath’s babysitter until he died of old age? What if he was “gifted” with immortality in order to do that? Was that what happened to Haskill? No wonder he was the way he was!

He felt his lunch churning unpleasantly in his stomach. How was this possible?

Wrothken didn’t even notice that the path was taking him down the road towards Xedilian until they had already passed the fortress. Did Kiliban know? Haskill sure knew. Who else was aware of Sheogorath’s other personality? Relmyna probably knew. Wrothken clenched his fists. Oh, she had to have known. Wrothken easily imagined her hiding in the palace, just waiting for him to figure it out. How that would amuse her…

Wrothken grunted, punching a nearby tree. Zryacius jumped. “My Lord?” He asked, approaching quietly. “I understand your dismay. While I know you may not hold us Mazken in the highest regard, due to your station--”

Wrothken turned. “What? No, why would you...?” He trailed off, too exasperated to complete his thought.

Zryacius continued. “We wouldn’t call upon you unless it was truly dire.”

Wrothken shook his head. “It’s not that. I like the...uh… the Mazken.” He wondered if it sounded as strange to Zryacius as it did to himself. “I mean, sure, I’m Duke of Mania, but truly I’ve, uh, I’ve always felt better with Mazken than with Golden Saints. It’s nothing to do with you. I’ve just had a really, really rough day.”

A rough day. A rough time ever since he set foot in the Isles. He couldn’t believe this was his life.

Zryacius just nodded.

“Tell me again, what’s happened?”

“Forces of Order have invaded. Pinnacle Rock is our most sacred space, given to us by Lord Sheogorath Himself. It contains our Wellspring of Mazken, where fallen Mazken are summoned forth from the waters of Oblivion. We must speak to Adeo as soon as we arrive. Time is of the essence!”

“Right, right,” Wrothken said. He closed his eyes, determined to not make Zryacius repeat himself again.



Wrothken could tell that he was in the right place by all the Mazken standing outside of a stone fortress. Most of them were surrounding one in particular. Wrothken assumed she was Adeo.

She approached him as soon as she saw Zryacius. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for summoning you. The blame is mine. We've lost control of Pinnacle Rock.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Wrothken said. “Zryacius told me what happened. How did Order manage to break in?”

Adeo’s eyes darkened. “Syl let them in…” She said through clenched teeth.

Syl. Of course. Sheogorath said that Order hadn’t yet tried subterfuge and who better to suggest that?

“We had no idea she would turn on us,” Adeo said. “They captured our commander, Dylora, and have her imprisoned somewhere inside. Our first priority must be rescuing her.”

Wrothken nodded. “Alright, sounds like a plan. Do you know where she is?”

"I do not,” Adeo said. “Syl had called her aside, separating her from the group. She meant to divide our numbers when Order entered, making us easier targets. They imprisoned Dylora somewhere within Pinnacle Rock. If they killed her, she could return to us, so they keep her hostage. If we follow the waters of the Wellspring, we will surely find her."

Wrothken looked around. There was a decent amount of Mazken around. Far more than there were Golden Saints at Passwall. If they had been overwhelmed, then there had to be a small army invading. “How many are there? Order, I mean?”

“More than I could count. It was all we could do to fall back and regroup out here. We must free Dylora as soon as possible. She will know what to do.”

“Alright. Let’s go find her.”

Adeo hesitated for a moment. “Forgive me for saying so, Your Grace,” she said. “But I find taking orders from the Duke of Mania to be... unsettling.”

“That’s fine,” Wrothken said, waving his hand. He didn’t feel like he was capable of leading anyway. His head was too muddled up. “Just tell me how to help.”

Adeo nodded. “You are the only remaining Duke, which is a situation quite unprecedented. Normally, you would never be permitted to pass within Pinnacle Rock. Given the need for swift action, the normal customs shall need to be overlooked for now. We shall welcome you within our ranks, Your Grace."

Wrothken shrugged. “Sounds fine. Let’s go.”



The interior of Pinnacle Rock reminded Wrothken of Cylarne. It was made from the same gray stones and lit with bright blue flames. Immediately upon entry, Wrothken was greeted by the sight of a dead Mazken. It was face down with slash wounds along its back. Its head was nearly cut off. A statue of a Mazken stood nearby, its head bent down as if lamenting the fallen soldier at its feet.

Around the corner, a metal door opened with a smooth sound of chains as Wrothken approached with Adeo and her army. The room featured another Mazken statue standing between two columns and flights of stairs. One side was almost completely blocked with a burst of Obelisks. Adeo looked to the others and pointed to the clear steps, nodding. Wrothken pulled his mace out and followed her lead.

As soon as the Mazken reached the stairs, Wrothken heard the clanging of Order’s Knights as they unsheathed their swords. A row of Mazken ran to face the Knights head on and another stood back, drawing bows and arrows. Wrothken ran up with the first row. A large cluster of Knights rushed to attack. Wrothken was careful to avoid the swing of Mazken swords. They had all trained together for who knew how long. Their movements were in perfect harmony with each other, as if they could read one another’s movements. Wrothken however, felt clumsy in comparison and didn’t want to risk hitting the wrong target. He separated himself slightly, drawing a few Knights away.

Once he was far away enough, he swung at them as hard as he could. The anger he felt at the latest revelation of the Greymarch finally had a helpful target. Stupid creatures! If Sheogorath was Jyggalag, couldn’t he control these things? Couldn’t he do anything besides sit on his throne and fiddle with his cane? Couldn’t he do anything helpful? Ever?

Every time a knight fell, another sprang up in its place. “Grab the hearts!” Wrothken shouted. “Three of them will shut down the Obelisk!”

As soon as he finished speaking, Wrothken felt the too-familiar jolting pain of a shock spell. They seemed to be favored among Jygglag’s followers. He glanced back and saw a Priest of Order standing in a doorway beyond.

He turned to face them. A few of the Mazken began throwing hearts to the Obelisk. The third one struck, and three Knights formed between the Priest and Wrothken.

“Wipe them out!” The Priest shouted. As he issued the command, a shower of arrows fell upon him, knocking him to the floor. The remaining Mazken swarmed the three Knights, making quick work of them.

By the time the Knights fell, Wrothken was panting hard through gritted teeth. He felt like a madman. The Mazken didn’t seem to notice. He stood up straight, pulling his hair from his face. He had to get a hold of himself. This was not going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Yes, he was angry. No, he was not going to let it consume him.

The sound of water caught his attention and he looked down and saw green water flowing along a stone path on the ground. Adea did say to follow the Wellspring. This must have been it.

The water flowed under a wall. Off to the side was another door. As they approached, the door opened, revealing Knights already running their way. The Mazken formed up again, preparing for the fight. Wrothen held back, this time cracking open any fallen Knights and gathering their hearts. If none of the Obelisks had been shut down, no wonder they were overrun. If he could cut off the supply, then he could even the odds a little.

Wrothken chose to focus on that strategy in the fight for Pinnacle Rock. It kept him out of the way of the Mazken army and allowed them to focus on bringing down the Knights. It seemed to work for everyone involved. They lost some, but fewer than they would have with infinitely spawning Knights.

When they stopped for a moment to allow for healing, Wrothken briefly considered summoning a Golden Saint. After all, they needed all the spare swords they could get. He decided against it however. Zryacius said Pinnacle Rock was a sacred place and Adeo bristled at letting Wrothken in. He could imagine the fury if he brought in what seemed to be their mortal enemy.

The next room contained a section that seemed to be sealed off with a wall made of Order crystals. Loud clanging was coming from inside. Wrothken approached it cautiously. Since Syl was the one who led the attack, it very well could have been a trap.

One of the walls had a crevice in the center. Keeping his mace ready, Wrothken peeked inside.
“Who’s there?” A voice called out. “Free me at once!”

“It’s Dylora!” Adeo cried, rushing to the wall.

Wrothken, lowered his weapon and got closer. “I’m here to help,” he said. He took out a few hearts from his bag and tried placing them along the wall, but nothing happened.

“The barrier can’t be broken,” Dylora said, approaching the crevice on her end. “Use the chime! The chime may shatter it!”

“Chime…” Wrothken looked around the room. He didn’t remember seeing a chime, though of course it wasn’t something he had thought to keep an eye out for.

“The chime, of course!” Adeo said, rushing down the stairs. Before Wrothken could do anything, she was already across the room, where a large brass chime as high as the ceiling stood. She took her shield and slammed it against the chime repeatedly until the walls started cracking. As soon as they did, Wrothken and Dylora began bashing the chunks down until Dylora was able to climb out.

“You have my thanks for freeing me,” she said. “But just who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Wrothken. The Duke of Mania.”

Her tone suddenly changed. “Your Grace!” She gasped. “I am sorry, I did not realize--”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Glad to help.” He was also glad to be away from the palace for fear he would do something the entire realm would regret.

“Where is Syl?” She growled. “Have you seen her? That traitorous coward!”

Wrothken shook his head. “No, there’s been plenty of Knights and a couple Priests, but as far as I can tell, Syl wasn’t here. She must have gone.”

Dylora clenched her teeth. Wrothken could tell she was seeing red. “Syl, the snake! She showed up, asked for a contingent of guards. Said there was trouble at the palace and that we were needed. We were so focused on organizing quickly that by time we realized she’d let Order in herself, it was too late! We were split up and picked off.” She sighed, shaking her head. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters now is the Wellspring. We must reach it at once!”

Wrothken looked to Adeo, but she was with the other Mazken. They seemed to be preparing for more fighting. “What Wellspring? What do we need to do?”

“The Wellspring of the Mazken,” Dylora explained. “It’s what links us to this realm, where we return to the world from the Waters of Oblivion.”

“Oh! I heard about something like this at Cylarne.” Did that mean Grakedrig Ulfri could come back through here? Would she return? Wrothken hoped so. He knew she would work with him to gather forces to save the realm.

“If Syl helps Order sever that link, my kind will be annihilated. The realm will be lost to us. We must get to the Wellspring and stop them!”

Wrothken nodded. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“Appreciated.” She turned to the remaining Mazken, who were lined up before her. “Onward, to the Wellspring!”

Wordlessly, the Mazken followed Dylora up the stairs and down another hall. To Wrothken’s shock, the Mazken began to slow down, eventually falling to the ground, silently as statues. Their blue skin turned a soft gray as they hit the ground.

“No!” Dylora cried, clutching the wall next to her. Her legs began to gray. “The Wellspring! They’ve stopped it up!” She turned to Wrothken. “You… you must make it to the Wellspring and let the waters flow.” She gulped hard. Wrothken could see what effort it was taking for her to speak as her body slid down to the floor. “Follow the waters....”

Wrothken trembled as Dylora finally fell, pale and stiff as a child’s doll. He was alone in the tomblike silence. “Follow the waters,” he said to himself. “But I have no idea how to actually activate it! Damn!” He kicked the air.

He shook his head. First thing, he had to find the place. He’d figure it out from there.

If anything, maybe he could cry enough to make the waters flow again. He certainly felt up to that.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 22 2020, 12:16 AM

So the Wrothster helped Lady Frankenstein create a new monster for the gate. I liked how you went through using the various elements to create it, and that it was the spirit of a daedra that animated it.

So now Shiggy is Jiggy? That's just crazy! Well... of course it is, Realm of Madness and all that.

I liked how the fact that if they kill the Mazken, they are just reborn, so it makes more sense to hold them prisoner.

Couldn’t he do anything helpful? Ever?
laugh.gif
I don't think doing anything helpful is in the job description of the Daedra Lord of Madness. Nor in that of most Daedra.

Dylora saved, but uh oh, the Mazken are dropping like flies. It is a good thing Wrothken is there, as a non-Mazken he can actually continue on and fight the good fight.

Posted by: Jacki Dice May 5 2020, 12:26 AM

Subrosa~ As much as Relmyna is completely hateful, I think I had the most fun writing this process


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Pinnacle Rock, Part II


Pinnacle Rock was as silent as a tomb, with Wrothken the only mourner. He stood with his back against the wall, unable to pry his eyes away from Dylora’s stone form, hoping with all his heart that she might slowly rejuvenate, as if she were simply a cicada in peaceful hibernation.

If Syl’s forces had managed to shut down the wellspring, it wouldn’t be farfetched to assume that they remained buried deep within the crevices of the fortress. They could be tucked away, possibly aided by Syl’s knack for strategy. Wrothken was without an army or a guide. He doubted Haskill had ever made the journey through Pinnacle Rock. It was at this moment that Wrothken realized the downside to only having Daedra as guards. Then again, in a place like the Shivering Isles, would it really be wise to entrust a madperson with weaponry and royal authority? Perhaps there was a shred of reason behind a few things. Probably Haskill’s idea. Wrothken wasn’t sure how he felt about appreciating him, especially given how Haskill hid Jyggorath’s identity from him.

Despite all his wishing, Dylora stayed as stone and Wrothken knew he didn’t have time to become as a statue himself. Time was not on his side. He grumbled as he got off the wall. Nothing was on his side.

He continued down the hall, moving as quietly as he could. Even though he took slow, careful steps, he felt like he was squeaking and clanging with every motion. It was bad enough that he was by nature something of a minotaur in a bell shop. Though Cutter’s craftsmanship was impeccable, the armor made its own noises. Wrothken briefly considered taking it off and going the rest of the way in his black raiment, but he decided against it. He was no thief, able to slip through the shadows with ease. He signed, wishing for a moment that he was. Or at least that he knew an invisibility spell.

Soon he approached the end of the hall, which was blocked off by more of the crystal wall. Wrothken looked around and used his mace to loudly ring a nearby chime. He wondered if these new walls were also a part of Syl’s plan. Being forced to ring these chimes made a sneak attack impossible. He was literally sounding the alarm on himself. As the crystals shattered, he saw two Knights of Order on the floor below him, already prepared for attack. Frustrated, Wrothken leapt from the higher position, his arms outstretched, so as he landed, he brought both Knights on their back.

The jump wasn’t as well-planned as he had hoped, so he stumbled momentarily as he tried to regain his balance. The Knights didn’t get up as quickly and Wrothken immediately started bashing the chest of one of them until it cracked. The other took a swipe at him before he was able to fish a heart out of it. Wrothken backed off, holding his mace in both hands. The first Knight remained down, so at least he wasn’t outnumbered at the moment.

The second Knight raised its sword and lunged toward him. Wrothken growled as he hit the sword with enough strength that it would have caused a hand injury if the wielder had been human. As the Knight attempted to regain its grip, Wrothken slammed his mace hard in the crevice between the Knight’s head and shoulder and followed up with a swing to the head. The Knight stumbled sideways and Wrothken kicked it to the ground. He stood over it, yelling and bashing it until its crystalline body was broken into shards. By time he finished, he was huffing and sweating. The red hot anger he felt coursed through him like lava while he was beating the Knight. Afterwards, it cooled into smoky volcanic rock. The past several hours had done a number on him. In fact, he realized that he had probably been up for at least a full day dealing with everything. He couldn’t sleep there, though. Not yet. Maybe once this was finished. Wrothken realized he hadn’t seen a bunker or guards quarters along the way. Did Mazken even sleep?

Wrothken continued through the again silenced halls. He had hoped to come across a few pieces of madness ore, but so far there had been nothing. Made sense. Mazken wore a different type of armor. He wondered if it was a part of them. That didn’t sound comfortable… Wrothken couldn’t imagine being plated, like some sort of turtle daedra.

Before long, his thoughts drifted to his current predicament. If Sheogorath was Jyggalag, there had to be some sort of way to stop him from turning. Vampires and werebeasts had cures, right? And Wrothken thought that werebeasts were linked to the Daedric Lord Hircine. Would he be of any help? He breifly wondered. Wrothken shook his head. He had learned his lesson about consorting with Daedra.

Perhaps there was something, some potion or an herb, that could prevent the transformation. Wrothken wished he could simply knock him out, either with strong drink or a well-deserved blow to the head, and tie him to his throne until his urge to become Jyggalag had passed.

There had to be some way to stop him. Hell, that should have been what his focus was, not running ridiculous errands that could have been delegated to someone else.

The hall curved into a larger room, mostly empty except for a few statues of Mazken bearing maces. As Wrothken approached, the heads of the maces began to glow red. Wrothken instantly remembered the hunger statues in Relmyna’s place. He stepped back into the shadows of the hall and the glowing stopped. He sighed. He then wondered how the Mazken got anything done with those around. Maybe they’re just meant to ward off intruders, he suggested. And of course, without the army of Mazken to shield him, they had no way to know he was welcomed.

Wrothken crouched in the hall, waiting for a moment to dash through, hopefully dodging the attack. If there were more Knights, surely they would send alarm spells right? What if he was able to lure them in, right in the range of the attack? He tapped his chin. What if he used their bodies to shield him? How heavy was a Knight? Of course, there was the shred of hope that there were no more Knights. He didn’t count on it.

He got up, eyes on the maces as they began to glow. He moved slowly first, and as the color brightened, Wrothken began to run across the room, trying to move unpredictably. Rust red bursts zoomed past him and he pulled his arms closer to his body, wishing he could be more like a speeding turtle. The moment he saw a tall enough wall, he ducked behind it, clutching his chest as his heart pounded.

Just beyond the wall, a cluster of Knights were waiting by a large obelisk. There were enough of them that Wrothken genuinely felt concerned about his chances of making it out alive. He didn’t have Shelden as a distraction like he did in the ruins of Xeddefen. But he did have a couple of options.

Loathe to employ anything given to him by Relmyna, he summoned a Golden Saint. The Saint appeared out of a shimmer of gold and she stood at attention before him. “Lord?” She asked, looking around. “What would you ask of me?”

“Alright, look,” Wrothken said in a hushed tone. “Full disclosure, you’re in Pinnacle Rock--”

“Pinnacle…?” The Golden Saint made a face as if she had been summoned in a pile of fresh manure. Her struggle to keep her composure was plainly displayed on her face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Trust me, Dylora won’t be happy about this either. Look,” Wrothken said, pointing at the Knights beyond. “Right now, that is our threat. Whatever the issue is with the Golden Saints and the Mazken, this is bigger than that! The entire realm is at risk.”

The Golden Saint sneered at the Knights and her nose was still wrinkled when she looked back at Wrothken. “So you wish for me to clear them out?”

“That’s what I was thinking. Between the two of us, we have a better chance at this than if I were to go it alone. Once we get all the Knights cleared up, you’re free to poof back to where it was that you were before and that’ll be the end of it. Deal?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Alright,” Wrothken drew his weapon and the Golden Saint followed suit. “Let’s go.”

Posted by: SubRosa May 6 2020, 03:23 AM

Jyggorath is a wonderful name for the fluid god of madness and order.

Wroth's musings about turtle daedra makes me think of https://youtu.be/C5S5dsrUJEQ

After playing a lot of Morroblivion lately, I am used to Golden Saints being high level enemies. It is a real change to have one be a "good guy" for a change. On to Victory!

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