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> Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Jacki Dice
post Jul 3 2014, 11:08 PM
Post #221


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Joined: 18-March 10



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 crème de la crème 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.


This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 08:30 AM


--------------------
Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Nemesis

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
Brazen, exalting, a hiss of triumph rings
I am yours
...Yours immortally
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Jacki Dice
post Jul 10 2014, 07:45 PM
Post #222


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Joined: 18-March 10



~~~~~♥~~~~~

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!”


This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 08:31 AM


--------------------
Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Nemesis

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
Brazen, exalting, a hiss of triumph rings
I am yours
...Yours immortally
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Grits
post Jul 11 2014, 12:38 PM
Post #223


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Joined: 6-November 10
From: The Gold Coast



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.



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Jacki Dice
post Jul 20 2014, 12:47 AM
Post #224


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~~~~~♥~~~~~


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.


This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 08:32 AM


--------------------
Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Nemesis

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
Brazen, exalting, a hiss of triumph rings
I am yours
...Yours immortally
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haute ecole rider
post Jul 20 2014, 08:20 PM
Post #225


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Joined: 16-March 10
From: The place where the Witchhorses play



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.


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Grits
post Jul 30 2014, 03:16 PM
Post #226


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From: The Gold Coast



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!


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SubRosa
post Aug 4 2014, 10:39 PM
Post #227


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From: Between The Worlds



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?





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ghastley
post Aug 5 2014, 02:49 AM
Post #228


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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.


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Jacki Dice
post Aug 10 2014, 05:52 AM
Post #229


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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.


This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 08:33 AM


--------------------
Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Nemesis

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
Brazen, exalting, a hiss of triumph rings
I am yours
...Yours immortally
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haute ecole rider
post Aug 11 2014, 12:39 AM
Post #230


Master
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Joined: 16-March 10
From: The place where the Witchhorses play



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


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Jacki Dice
post Aug 14 2014, 10:06 PM
Post #231


Knower
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Joined: 18-March 10



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.




This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 08:36 AM


--------------------
Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Nemesis

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
Brazen, exalting, a hiss of triumph rings
I am yours
...Yours immortally
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Grits
post Aug 17 2014, 06:06 PM
Post #232


Councilor
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Joined: 6-November 10
From: The Gold Coast



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.


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SubRosa
post Aug 18 2014, 04:16 PM
Post #233


Ancient
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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Between The Worlds



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



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Jacki Dice
post Sep 23 2014, 07:31 PM
Post #234


Knower
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Joined: 18-March 10



-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.”



This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 08:37 AM


--------------------
Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Nemesis

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
Brazen, exalting, a hiss of triumph rings
I am yours
...Yours immortally
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Grits
post Sep 24 2014, 01:01 PM
Post #235


Councilor
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Joined: 6-November 10
From: The Gold Coast



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


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SubRosa
post Oct 2 2014, 08:59 PM
Post #236


Ancient
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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Between The Worlds



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


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Jacki Dice
post Dec 11 2014, 09:47 PM
Post #237


Knower
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Joined: 18-March 10



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.



This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 08:39 AM


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Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Nemesis

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
Brazen, exalting, a hiss of triumph rings
I am yours
...Yours immortally
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ghastley
post Dec 12 2014, 04:17 PM
Post #238


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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


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Mods for The Elder Scrolls single-player games, and I play ESO.
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Grits
post Dec 16 2014, 02:08 PM
Post #239


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Wrothken is starting to sound a little obsessed about madness ore! ohmy.gif


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Jacki Dice
post Feb 14 2015, 04:40 AM
Post #240


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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.



This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 08:39 AM


--------------------
Madness Helps Me Save Myself
Nemesis

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
Brazen, exalting, a hiss of triumph rings
I am yours
...Yours immortally
User is offlineProfile CardPM
Go to the top of the page
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