Madness Helps Me Save Myself Options

[Grits]

After thinking about it on the way to pick up his armor from Cutter, he still couldn't figure it out. It wasn't a life or death decision, but as he wasn't sure what to expect, he was nervous. He sat down back in the Palace district for another fifteen minutes before deciding to summon Haskill.

This makes perfect sense to me, since he doesn’t have Kirsty to tell him which way to go. And Haskill’s snarky response, very funny!

He paced by the stairs, trying to think of another way. He didn't want to risk it. He just couldn't. After all, he was able to keep a hold of his sanity so far. Why would he risk losing it to addiction?

I like to see Wrothken’s thought process here. He does seem to be one who stomps around smacking himself in the head instead of staring moodily off into space when he’s agonizing over a decision.

[Jacki Dice]

SubRosa~ I love his "Are we getting the picture" remark. At least he's straight forward about it

Captain Hammer~ I'm glad to have you reading as well that you are intrigued by Wrothken

mALX~ That would be an interesting twist of events. She makes it clear through other dialogue that she is insanely jealous and furious with Syl...

Grits~ Lol! Its true. If Kirsty were there the Greymarch would be done before it even began!

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Thirteen: Bliss

After hours of deliberation, Wrothken decided to make the trip to Dunroot Burrow. After all, Sheogorath made it pretty clear that he was to do what the duke asked him, under threat of bodily harm. He would just have to find a way to get through it minus addiction.

He walked down the steps to the door leading to Bliss. He expected it to look like Crucible, but he was completely surprised.

Bliss reminded him of Kvatch, only nowhere near as bustling. No horses, no vendors, no arena. The streets were clean, the buildings were in good shape. Everything looked positively normal.

"Sa-weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet rollllllllllll!"

Wrothken was jarred by the call coming from an old Bosmer man.

"Fimmion hungry!" He said, holding his hands out. "Fimmion wants sweet roll!"

Wrothken sighed. What was he thinking? He'd find normality around the Shivering Isles when Kirsty joined the Thieves Guild. "Sorry, I don't have a sweet roll."

Fimmion sighed. "Fimmion saaaad....."

Wrothken walked around Bliss, squirming inside every time a Golden Saint glared at him. Something about their accusing eyes made him worry if he actually did something wrong, though the rational part of his mind knew he had done no such thing. With each stare, he would quickly lower his eyes to the ground, as if to disappear from their view.

He sat in front of a tavern in order to think of his predicament with Thadon. There was no other option then to get the Chalice of Reversal in Dunroot Burrow, where he was supposed to get addicted to a drug. He buried his face in his hands. There had to be another way. There just had to. He refused to become an addict.

He looked around and to his surprise, he saw a sign for a bookstore. People actually read here? He wondered. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't imagine anyone he'd met sitting by the fire with a good book. Even still, there was a small chance that there would be something relating to the Chalice in one of those books. Without further hesitation, he ran inside.

The bookstore itself was dilmly lit with red and black candles on every available surface, save an empty table where a whip and a set of shackles sat. Books were on the sides, set on the shelves in disarry. The room was filled with the pungent scent of sweat and body fluids, causing Wrothken to gag slightly. He noticed shackles hanging from the ceiling, directly over the desk and on the walls. As domineering as it was, it had nothing on the woman inside it.

She was an Altmer in a strapless corset that pushed her breasts up almost to her neck. Her eyes were light hazel, with a green hue, covered in heavy black liner and thick black lashes. Her pupils were dilated heavily, suggesting the use of belladonna drops. Around her neck, she wore a red collar with a long chain attached to it, connecting to a ring on her thumb. Her skirt was the tightest and shortest he'd ever seen in all his life. Her shapely legs were covered in black netting. Her lace-up boots reached all the way to her knees. Her ponytail was tied tightly back.

"Hmmm... how do you do?" She said, looking him over. "I'd say, very well from the looks of things. I'm Sontaire. Spend one night with me and I'll remind you why they say 'love hurts.'"

His jaw nearly hit the floor. She was direct at least, and even though he liked that in a woman, there was no way he was getting involved in....that. Not with a stranger, anyway. "I.... No, thank you, though, but..." He shook his head. "Do you have anything on the Chalice of Reversal?"

She pouted at his rejection. "A book? Is that what you came here for?"

Wrothken felt like slapping himself. Of course it wouldn't be an ordinary bookstore. No, that was far too much to ask for.

A devilish smile returned to her face. "Honey, I don't know if you've heard, but men don't come down here to read. No, they come for much better things." She stepped closer, peering down his armor. "Oh, my. I love me a big, hairy beast of a man," she said, pressing her body against him.

Wrothken nearly jumped out of his skin. She sure was persistent. "Sorry, but... um..." He tried to think of something other than "you're creeping me the hell out." He backed away, placing his hand on the knob. "You know what? I have a... a thing. So why don't I just go?"

"Go if you want, but I know men. You'll be thinking of me later tonight when you're alone. Just remember where my shop is. I'll give you a night to remember."

He laughed nervously. "Yeah, sure," he said, quickly dashing out the door. With no other ideas, he opened the gate leading out of the city to Dunroot Burrow.



The terrain leading to Dunroot Burrow was the complete opposite of the area that led to the Fringe. Where the Demented path was dreary and almost always cloudy, the Manic path was covered in bold colors and bright sunshine. Rich colored flowers and plants ruled the area. He wrinkled his nose at it. At the moment, he preferred the depressing scenery of Dementia.

For once, Atrea wasn't the one haunting his mind, at least not directly. Instead, the requirements of Thadon's request brought to mind the last time he spoke to his mother.

She had hated Atrea almost from the moment she met her. At the time, Wrothken was very defensive, thinking that his mother just wasn't ready to cut the apron strings. After several months of constant arguments that usually left at least one of them in tears, Wrothken left with Atrea to Kvatch. The last words his mother had said to him was, "You're going to be just like your father."

Those words stung more than any physical blow ever did. He was told that his father was a dealer in skooma and moonsugar. His deals and association with bandits were why his mother had to take his sister from Skyrim to Bruma. She could have been jailed for her association with him if the authorities suspected she was part of the dealings. His father stayed with them for a while, until Wrothken's mother revealed that she was pregnant. That was when he chose the drug to his own family.

Though he never spoke of it, Wrothken hated the man for his choice. He spent his whole life trying to make up for the lack of a male figure in his home. He was the one who went out and hunted their food with the other men in Bruma. He even prepared and cooked it. He did his best, but when he was faced with the choice of being her little boy forever, or so he had thought, or beginning his own family, he felt it was time for him to move on.

Though he told Kirsty that he wouldn't even consider it, he had originally longed to return home. He just couldn't bear the guilting that he was sure he'd receive. Instead, when he returned home, it would be with his head high.

"You're going to be just like your father." The words rang in his mind once more. If he did develop an addiction to felldew, would she be right? No, this was different, he told himself. After all, his father's addiction had nothing to do with Sheogorath. This was a life or death dilemma and working with the felldew was what was going to save his life! But didn’t most addicts believe their drugs were lifesavers?



When he arrived at Dunroot Burrow, a large ant-like creature was standing by the entrance. He wasn't sure what to do until it rushed over him, green gel bubbling around its mouth. The rest of its body had an unnatural looking green glow around it.

It let out a shrill noise, crawling over to him quickly in a way that plainly said it was not friendly. Wrothken took out his mace, and swung it, hitting its side. It’s tough exoskeleton remained intact and it grabbed Wrothken's arm with its pincer. If he didn't have his gauntlets on, his arm would have been crushed.

He reached over, grabbing the mace with his left hand. It felt wobbly, but he gripped it the best he could, hitting it weakly. The insect gripped tighter, trying to pull him in closer to its mouth. It wasn't fazed by Wrothken's shaky blows. He tried to pull back, but to no avail. He needed to figure a way to beat it. He wasn't good left handed, but what else was there?

His heart froze with fear when he figured out a way. He focused on the cold feeling in his chest, allowing it to blossom into his hand. A frost ball exploded into the insect's face, shocking it into letting go. Wrothken held the mace in his right hand and swung it at its head. The insect raised its pincers and he bashed them out of the way, making room to get to its head. Finally it went down.

Wrothken panted, putting his mace away. The insect's mouth bubbled with green ooze. Wrothken stared at it, and the unnatural green glow around its body. Could that be the felldew? He decided to ask Haskill. There was no way he was putting that stuff in his mouth without being absolutely sure about what it was.

"Yes, is there something you need?" Haskill asked impatiently.

Wrothken pointed to the insect. "What is this?"

Haskill sighed. "That is an elytra. They are found in high concentrations in root tunnel systems and near caves, but inhabit almost the entire Isles. They can block weapon attacks and walk on water. Their spells can be potentially damaging if you meet one unexpectedly."

"Alright..." Wrothken said. "And this green stuff?"

"That is felldew, a highly addictive drug. I wouldn't recommend it. It may be a little much for you to handle."

Wrothken rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, well that's all I needed."

"My work is never done..." Haskill muttered as he vanished.

Wrothken removed his gauntlet and scooped a handful of felldew. His sniffed it first, shuddering at the foul smell. He was tempted to fling it off his hand and wipe the rest on the ground, but he knew it was necessary in order to find the Chalice. Crinkling his nose in disgust, he stuffed some in his mouth.

"Mmmm..." He said licking his lips. It wasn't the taste he was enjoying. That was horrible, though with each lick it was starting to grow on him. It was like lemony kerosene. It was the feeling that he enjoyed. He felt relaxed, calm... happy even. He licked his hand clean of the remaining felldew. He felt a pleasant tingle all over his body. "This isn't half bad."

He approached the door to Dunroot Burrow. He couldn't think of why he was so worried in the first place. He felt great, better than he had in a long time. As he entered, he considered grabbing as much as he could, just so he could remain in such a great mood.


This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 07:40 AM

[SubRosa]

@ Grits: instead of staring moodily off into space when he’s agonizing over a decision.
This reminds me of something Willow once said about a boy she was smitten with in the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (or maybe it was the second?) : "He can brood for forty five minutes straight. I timed him!"

Sheogorath made it pretty clear that he was to do what the duke asked him, under threat of bodily harm.
The whole playing jump rope with the intestines is quite a motivator!

when Kirsty joined the Thieves Guild.
He might be in for a surprise when he gets back!

I loved your description of the intimidating presence of the Aureals. How they make Wrothken feel guilty even when he had not done anything. So very true to life!

Bliss was wonderfully described. Especially Sontaire and her 'bookstore'! I love the BDSM slant you put on it, and her! I was grinning the entire time I read it.

The part about Wrothken's father was again powerful. Here we see another piece in the puzzle that has made Wrothken who he is today. At the same time, it puts an entirely new amount of depth into what is otherwise another fetch and carry quest in the game. The final sentences are chilling, as Wrothken eats the felldew.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 15 2011, 02:29 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Wrothken sighed. What was he thinking? He'd find normality around the Shivering Isles when Kirsty joined the Thieves Guild. "Sorry, I don't have a sweet roll."

Oh, the irony of this in view of recent events in Kvatch just made me bust out laughin'!

I couldn't remember ever meeting Sontaire the two times I went to SI, so I went over to the UESP wiki to look her up. The dialogue she gets is downright delicious! And I loved what you did with it - the shop, her behavior, all of it!

And Wrothken's musings about daddy are interesting. So his father abandoned the family? That does explain quite a bit of Wrothken's tendency to overcompensate in certain areas.

And I won't even discuss the discomfort I felt at the scene with the elytra and the felldew. Ugh.

[Captain Hammer]

So Wrothken meets Sontaire, and comes away walking without problems? I could just imagine what would happen if you put her in a room with Awour. Maybe have Sontaire bring some oil. Let Awour bring the mud...

*The Cap'n hurries off to his cold shower.*

Ah, okay, back, and better now. Ahem, interesting run-in with the bookstore proprietrix in Bliss. And more of Haskill's razor-sharp wit and melancholy on display. Always useful to have him around to explain things.

And so we also learn about Wrothken's background, and why he doesn't go back to Bruma. Great material here, especially about Wrothken's need to be everything his father wasn't.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Feb 15 2011, 04:56 AM

[mALX]

Wrothken walked around Bliss, squirming inside every time a Golden Saint glared at him. Something about their accusing eyes made him worry if he actually did something wrong, though the rational part of his mind knew he had done no such thing. With each stare, he would quickly lower his eyes to the ground, as if to disappear from their view.

Like a state trooper in your rearview mirror, lol.

Poor Wrothken, it seems his 'deformity' is in high demand in Shivering Isles, lol. You covered a lot in this chapter, and have a huge gift of being able to describe Wrothken's emotions throughout - Awesome Write !!

[Grits]

"Sorry, but... um..." He tried to think of something other than "you're creeping me the hell out."


He backed away, placing his hand on the knob. "You know what? I have a... a thing. So why don't I just go?"
Oh, on the knob.

The last words his mother had said to him was, "You're going to be just like your father."
A mother’s words can be so hurtful. She was right about Awour, but still.

[Jacki Dice]

SubRosa~ Oh yes, Sontaire is another of my favorites in SI. If you check out her bedroom, there are indeed chains and shackles!

haute ecole rider~ I wonder how Wrothken would feel if she were secretly the Grey Fox? And I love her dialogue too! I guess they figured since they have an M rating, they could give it a reason other than the naked mods

Captain Hammer~ My word, what interesting imagery.. Awour and Sontaire...?

mALX~ Exactly! Once I was on the side of the freeway with a blown tire and no clue how to fix it and when the CHP officer came to see what was wrong, I swear I thought I was in trouble!

Grits~ Oh my I didn't even think about the "knob"

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fourteen: Drugs Are a Bet With Your Mind

Wrothken stood in front of the door to Dunroot Burrow. It still wouldn't budge when he tried pulling the hole open. He tried hitting it with his mace, but it got caught in the hole. He stopped and stared at it for a moment and a chuckle escaped his lips. He wiggled the mace around a little and laughed more. He pulled it out and placed it back in repeatedly, laughing so hard, he couldn't stand straight. He leaned on the door and the hole expanded to allow him entry, causing him to fall on the ground as he laughed. When it finally died down, he picked himself up and entered the burrow. He had a good feeling about it.

The halls of Dunroot Burrow were similar to Knotty Bramble. It was dark and dank, though Wrothken was pleased that it didn't smell like grummites. Instead of croaking, the tunnels were filled with the sounds of rapid skittering. Normally, he would've felt a little jumpy, but it didn't bother him at all. In fact, it was almost soothing. Was he getting used to explorations? Or was it just the felldew? He couldn't be sure. He didn't even care, really.

It wasn't long before he came across an elytra. It didn't glow like the one outside did, but it was just as hostile. Wrothken lifted his mace, surprised that it felt lighter than it used to, and made sure to go for the head. He was easily able to dodge its pincers and take it out. Was that thanks to the felldew as well? Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all.

The slain elytra didn't start to spout felldew, much to Wrothken's disappointment. He had a craving for some more, though he supposed it could wait a moment. First he needed to figure out where to put any extra felldew. He couldn't hold handfuls of it while he fought or he might lose it.

"Hmmm...." He said looking around. For a brief moment, he considered using his boot to hold it, but he didn't want to risk stepping in anything foul. "What to use, what to use?" He growled when nothing around him seemed to be suited for carrying around. Maybe I'll come across something later...

He continued down the tunnel when he ran into another elytra. This one, to his delight, was glowing. The strange thing was, it didn't attack. It didn't even seem to notice him. Either way, he needed more felldew. "No," he corrected himself. "I want more felldew."

He eagerly swung his mace at the elytra until it died and the felldew glistened off its mouth. Wrothken shoved its pincers to the sides so he could easily gather it all up. Prepared for the foul taste, he shoveled it in his mouth, swallowing it quickly. Within seconds, he was feeling even better than before.

He went deeper into the tunnels when he came across a tree stump with green mist sprouting from the top. He got closer and prodded the round green top with his mace. It jiggled for a moment before it spread open wide. Inside, he saw a few pink bottles filled with liquid, along with a ring, a spoon, a tomato, and a doll. He emptied the contents of the potions to the floor. "Here we are," he said, sticking the bottles in his pack. He also took the tomato for later. Strange thing about it, it was hard as a rock and glittered like a gem. He wondered if the felldew made him perceive it that way.

He looked at the doll. She was dressed in a velvet green and amber dress, complete with ribbons and lace. Her brown hair was curled perfectly and tied up into pigtails. Wrothken turned her over and saw a string in the back. He had seen dolls like that before. They were supposed to make a strange wailing sound when the string was pulled. Something about them drove little girls crazy. He didn't get their appeal. Wrothken pulled the string anyway. Her eyes opened and seemed to look directly at him. "My name is Talking Tina," she said in a child's voice. "And you're going to die down here."

Taken aback, Wrothken tossed Tina to the ground. What sort of thing was that? And how could the doll have spoken? He couldn't believe it! The doll couldn't have said such a thing! His mind had to be playing tricks on him. He picked it up and pulled the string again. "Throw me again and I'll snap your neck, snowman."

Wrothken's insides froze up and he buried the doll in the tree trunk. As he walked away, he was sure that he had heard a voice call out, "You'll be sorry!"

The halls were quiet for a while. No elytra, glowing or otherwise, skittered around. At first, he was fine with it. He actually welcomed the silence. After a while, something began to gnaw at him. He didn't feel as strong as before and it suddenly felt like something was sitting on his chest. He felt almost sluggish. When a glowing elytra walked toward him, he didn't hesitate to kill it and gather all the felldew he could get. After scooping some into his mouth, he squeezed the rest into the bottles.

He grinned as his heart fluttered. It had been far too long since he felt anything like that. He felt a strong urge to lie on the ground and just revel in the feeling, but he continued on. The Chalice was necessary, or else Sheogorath would not be pleased. "Who cares?" He said. "It's his realm, why is he sending me to do his dirty work?!"

His heart pounded angrily as he thought more about it. Daedric prince was just another term for god, right? A real god would stop a realm destroying crisis himself! Why should he be the one to carry the weight of the Isles on his shoulders? Why couldn't Sheogorath do it himself? Or, better yet, he could send that pompous, smart-mouth Haskill to do it.

All he wanted was a break. Not to get sucked into some apocalyptic scenario, having to save a realm he didn't really care for. Besides, it wasn't what Kirsty had meant when she suggested a break... Or was it?

Could it have been possible that she had known all along what would become of him? Did Sheogorath come to her in dreams with promises of enchanting recipes in exchange for a hapless champion? Was the whole ordeal a carefully made plan?

The brief paranoia drained as Wrothken began feeling sluggish. He passed by a tree trunk with gold resin crusted on top. He looked down at it and fury began to bunch up in him. When he looked into it, he saw Atrea's face. Why in Oblivion was there so much damn gold in the Isles?!

"Dirty, rotten, hussy," he growled through clenched teeth. "Filthy tramp." His breathing grew ragged as he stared into the resin. Every second he spent staring into it, the more visions flashed before his eyes.

Finally, the Iron Champion closed for the night and it was time to go home. His feet ached, but his stomach was filled and he got his share of the septims for the night. Instead of heading straight home like usual, he stopped to buy some flowers for the kitchen. Atrea recently mentioned that the house looked a little plain compared to other people's house. This would be a good start until he could take her shopping.

He was late, but not by too much. He knew she wouldn't worry. That wasn't like her at all. He just hoped she would like the flowers. He didn't know her favorite kind. The lady had called these ones irises. They were the prettiest ones he'd ever seen.

The door was locked. Strange. She didn't usually lock up until he was already home. As much as he tried, he couldn't think of why she would lock it. Good thing he always carried his key, just in case.

The first thing he saw was a dress on the floor by the stairs. He felt a rush of excitement, imagining her waiting for him in bed, or even better, in a hot, scented bath. He set the flowers on the table and as he headed upstairs, he heard a light gasp followed by hurried whispers. He went numb. He looked back at the table, finally seeing men's clothing scattered across the kitchen floor.

He ran up the stairs and pushed the door open to see Atrea rolling off of Bacchus, covering her body with a blanket. The same one they purchased together upon first buying their house.

Millions of questions ran through his mind all at once, but nothing escaped from his dry mouth. This isn't happening, this isn't happening, his mind roared.

"Wrothken, I can explain," she said. "I.. We got caught up in the moment." She stood up, still covering herself and reached out for his hand.

He slapped it away, unable to meet her eyes. He turned and left before his fury led him to do something he would be imprisoned for. It wasn't until he was down the street, halfway back to the bakery, that it hit him. He sank to his knees and cried.[i]

Wrothken picked up his mace and bashed the trunk repeatedly while screaming out words and phrases that would make Molag Bal blush and reprimand him for such talk. As the golden chips littered the ground, he tossed his mace to the side and just began beating the trunk until it was nothing more than a pile of broken wood.

He panted heavily, tears streaming down his face. He didn't even know he had all that in him. Maybe the Isles finally got him....or maybe it was time for his bottle of felldew.

He didn't even finish the thought when he pulled out the bottle and guzzled it down. His heart slowed down. He stopped crying. He smiled. Everything was fine again. All he needed was felldew.



Back in a good mood, he entered another section of the cavern, where it was flooded. He had forgotten that Haskill had told him that the elytra can walk on water, until he saw a small group of them. Not one of them was glowing and all of them rushed over to attack. It wasn't long before they had him pinned against the wall, each of them thrusting their pincers at him at once, as if they could smell the juice of their brethren on his breath.

By the time he finally killed them, he was feeling down again. How long was it going to be until he finally got the Chalice? He looked down at his armor, unsure of how much more it could take before breaking. He heaved a sigh, not even hesitating to drink the last of his felldew. It was such a great pick-me-up.



Wrothken's heart raced with worry. The entire hall was filled with regular elytra. Not a single drop of felldew. His body was covered in a greasy sweat as he ran down the halls looking for a glow. He ran aimlessly, trying to evade the elytra. He didn't want to waste time on them. Time was precious. Time demanded felldew. Felldew or he would die in the tunnel.

He would do anything...anything to get his hands on more. He cursed himself for drinking it all so quickly. Why didn't he save some, just in case? He walked along until he passed another steaming trunk. A thought suddenly occurred to him. The top was green and mushy... it had to be made of felldew! With a burst of joy, he popped up and took a bite, retching in disgust. It wasn't felldew! It tasted like...tree!

He spent too long spitting the moss from his mouth and picking chunks of it from his teeth. His body didn't want to move anymore. His vision started to blur. His body demanded that he find more felldew, yet he remained where he was, his vision blackening.

When his sight finally came back to him, he looked around and saw wooden walls all around him. A few simple paintings hung on the wall, mostly warm pictures of summer days and cozy homes. He was laying on a bearskin rug, facing an old woman holding a young, blond child. Though her face was etched with age, her hair remained a deep auburn with only a few streaks of silver. Her clothes weren't fancy; just a pale yellow shirt with long sleeves and a long beige skirt. Her blue-green eyes twinkled at the little boy.

"My diamond-eyed bear cub," she cooed. "You know I love you very much. My precious dove."

The little boy grinned with delight and hugged her close.

"Diamond eyes..." Wrothken repeated, his body still refusing to move. He reached toward the old woman. "Grandma...."

The little boy turned and faced him, his piercing blue eyes clouded with disgust. Wrothken recognized himself in those eyes. What was going on?

"You're a bad man!" Little Wrothken declared, pointing. "You were thinking bad thoughts!"

His skin crawled at the way Little Wrothken looked at him, and the fact that he had indeed been thinking bad thoughts earlier. He pulled himself up and was barely able to stand straight. "Felldew," was the only word he was able to get out.

"Oh, dear," his grandma said. "It looks like someone's been dabbling in drugs." She tsked, shaking her head. "What do we do to those people?" She asked Little Wrothken.

"They go to the cornfield."

"That's right,” she said, ruffling his bright golden hair. “Good boy!"

Little Wrothken glared at him. Wrothken turned to run, but couldn't move. In fact, he couldn't even feel his body anymore. He looked down and to his horror, he had been turned into a doll, with his lower half stuffed in a box! This isn't happening, can't be happening!

"Nice work, honey," his grandma said. "Now banish him to the cornfield."

The room faded away and was replaced with the caverns of Dunroot Burrow. His body was back. There was no sign of the house in Bruma, his grandmother, nor himself as a child. He shuddered uncontrollably. [i]Wide-Eye wasn't lying when she said felldew would mess you up, he thought. He still could barely move. Part of him just wanted to curl up and die in the caves. It would be less painful than going on.

He was reduced to crawling when he saw it. The glowing elytra was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It skittered towards him, unfazed by his presence. He was so happy, he didn't have the heart to kill it. Instead, he crawled over to it and suckled the felldew directly from its mandibles.

It was the strangest feeling in the world. They continued to move rapidly while in Wrothken's mouth. When they were sucked dry, Wrothken stood up feeling absolutely disgusted. Was this what he was reduced to? It was almost no different than degrading acts performed in alleys in exchange for a bit of skooma. He wanted to sink back to the floor and cry, but he knew he didn't have time. He had to get the Chalice before the cravings got too bad.



Sanctum of Decadence. Wrothken stared up at the words in awe. At the end of the maze-like tunnels stood a sturdy wooden door, complete with carvings of a party, most of them naked, and drinking from jeweled goblets in front of a large banquet table. It was very similar to what he had seen in Thadon's palace.

He opened the door and was assaulted by a pungent smell. It wasn't an animal. It was people. People who must have skipped bathing for a very long time... and by the nauseating mound in the corner of the room, couldn't do "business" in a sanitary manner.

When he headed up the stairs, he saw it. A large goblet sitting on top of a pedestal. The Chalice of Reversal. All he needed to do was drink from it and he'd be cured.

He ran toward it and it was inches away from his fingers when he was struck from behind with a chair. He stumbled, almost knocking the Chalice over. He looked behind him and saw a naked man, wild with fury. The man grunted and three other people, just as insane as he was, rushed out from the other room.

Wrothken pulled out his mace and backed up so he could see all of them. As he glanced around, he caught sight of several plates, bowls, cups, and bottles of felldew. He didn't understand. If they had their felldew, why were they acting so hostile? Maybe if I show them I'm not here to hurt them... He set his mace down and raised his hands up. "I just want the Chalice," he said.

The leader looked to his comrades and at once the atmosphere changed. When the first pitcher was flung at him, he scooped up his mace and thrust it forward, forcing the people to back up. He grabbed the Chalice, which sent them into an uproar. He looked around, seeing a door at the other end of the room. First things first, he thought. He looked into the Chalice, surprised to see a bit of felldew inside it. As he dodged a plate, he took a drink from the Chalice.

This time, the felldew made him feel different. He felt back to normal, both with the good and the bad. Then he felt the sting of a silver bowl across his face.

He looked back at the people and felt a wave of pity. They must have been so strung out, they weren't thinking straight. He rushed to the door and slammed it shut behind him. If they came after him, he wasn't sure what would happen. On one hand, he was weighed down by his armor and they were naked as jaybirds. On the other, that made them more susceptible to weather, creatures, and the Golden Saints. He didn't wait to see the outcome. He ran down the trail as fast as he could.


This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 07:41 AM

[King Coin]

I love your story! I can't wait for the next update!

[SubRosa]

I have never been in Sontaire's bedroom. An oversight I must correct! Unfortunately, since I always play female characters, she is never very friendly.

Wrothken's entry to the Burrow was good. It would not open until the felldew began to take its effect on him. Then it let him in, recognizing him as belonging. Excellent and creepy!

In fact, it was almost soothing. Was he getting used to explorations? Or was it just the felldew? He couldn't be sure. He didn't even care, really.
This was a nice example of the wonderful way that you showed the effects of the felldew on Wrothken, rather than told them to us.

He couldn't hold handfuls of it while he fought or he might lose it.
As is this!

Talking Tina was lovely! She reminded me of The Exorcist, when the girl looks at the astronaut and says: "You're gonna die up there."

It tasted like...tree!


As before, the flashback to Wrothken discovering Awour was excellent, and perfectly placed in the midst of his felldew delirium.



nits:
He just hope she would like the flowers.
I think you lost the 'd' in hoped.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 16 2011, 03:09 AM

[haute ecole rider]

I echo what's already been said.

And it seems I'm the only one who read this:

It still wouldn't budge when he tried pulling the hole open. He tried hitting it with his mace, but it got caught in the hole. He stopped and stared at it for a moment and a chuckle escaped his lips. He wiggled the mace around a little and laughed more. He pulled it out and placed it back in repeatedly, laughing so hard, he couldn't stand straight.

My mind went to a place that was XXX rated.

Dhertee Innu Endo strikes again!

[Captain Hammer]

Wow. You really capture the mood here. Felldew is...something else. And yet you nail the atmosphere perfectly, and you bring to life Wrothken's psyche with amazing skill. The flashback to Wrothken's discovery of Awour's infidelity is the icing on the cake here.

[Grits]

Wrothken going from trying not to taste the felldew to sucking directly from the elyta was very effective and disturbing. As was Talking Tina. Yikes! And yeah, I had to laugh at Wrothken macing the hole in the door.

[mALX]

suckled the felldew directly from its mandibles.

It was the strangest feeling in the world. They continued to move rapidly while in Wrothken's mouth. When they were sucked dry, Wrothken stood up feeling absolutely disgusted.

GAAAAAAH!!! I remember this part from the original ... and still gagged !!! Awesome Chapter !!!!

[Jacki Dice]

King Coin~ Aww thank you ♥

SubRosa~ Talking Tina is actually a doll from my favorite Twilight Zone episode (Living Doll). I figured there was no better place than the Isles to see her

haute ecole rider~ Unlike most of the innuendo that one was intentional

Captain Hammer~ Thank you This chapter took longest out of all the ones in the original posting to do. And I figured it would be the best place to put the memory since he was already hallucinating

Grits~ That part was disturbing to write...and imagine

mALX~ Lol! I'm glad it got the point across!

~~~~~♥~~~~~

Chapter Fifteen: The Walls Have Ears...and Eyes Too

It was early in the evening when Wrothken made it back to Bliss. As much as he wanted to hurry up and be rid of the stupid Chalice, he desperately needed a break. He entered the Choosy Beggar, a stark contrast from Sickly Bernice's Taphouse. It was bright, like the rest of the city and spotless. In the center of the room was a low arch which didn't seem to serve any purpose.

Walking around the tables, there was an Argonian man dressed in light green pants and a pale pink shirt. As Wrothken sat down, an Argonian woman rubbed his shoulder and said, "Good to see you. We should drink together sometime," with a wink.

The man growled as the woman sauntered away. "What do you want?" He barked. "Other than my wife!"

Wrothken looked at the Argonian woman, who was seated with another man downing shots. "Your wife?" Wrothken looked back at the man. "No, I don't want your wife--"

"What?! Is my sweet Sheer-Meedish not good enough?"

"No, I didn't mean..." he stopped himself. As his grandmother often said, there was no reasoning with crazy. "I just came in for a drink."

The Argonian huffed. "Just like all the men around here. Some women too! Just know that I'll be watching you, snowman," he warned, running his hand over his short sword. "Now what do you want?"

"Just some beer."

The Argonian muttered under his breath before slamming a bottle down in front of Wrothken. Any other time, he would have gotten upset and chewed him a new one, but the addiction and exhaustion of getting back to civilization wore him out too much. Instead, he quietly sipped his beer.

As he was finishing, a shaky Breton approached the table. He was crouched down, eyeing the room suspiciously.

"Hey, Raven Biter?" He said, tapping the table. "It's me, Amiable. Can I get my usual?"

The Argonian, still in a mood, huffed again and set a cup of black coffee on the table. Amiable felt around for it, daring not to stand up. Wrothken looked down at the man and moved the cup closer to his hand.

"Oh, thanks friend. Usually by time I find it, it gets cold and I have to buy a new one. It’s a vicious cycle."

"No problem, but why don't you just stand up and get it?"

Amiable looked at Wrothken as if he had just asked the stupidest question in the world. "Don't you know?" When Wrothken didn't say anything, he continued. "You don't, do you? Well, it's lucky you met me. Here you've been walking around as if nothing could happen!"

Uh-oh... Wrothken thought. What can of worms had he opened this time?

"It's the walls, you see. They've got something against me. I know too much, it seems. If I stand up, they'll tumble down and squish me like a bug! At least crouched down like this, I can hurry under a table or something."

Wrothken looked around the room. The walls looked perfectly fine. No cracks, no dents, nothing that would hint that the walls were anything less than sturdy.

"Don't look! They'll know I'm talking to you," Amiable hissed. "I haven't slept properly in ages! If the walls catch me off guard, they'll crush me for sure!"

"Why not get out of the city then?"

"I've tried that," he said, his grainy eyes darting from wall to wall. "Let's just say, they won't let me out alive." He took a gulp of coffee. "To be honest with you, I'm not sure how long I'll be able to go on like this. If I'm going to win this damned war, I need to sleep so I can think clearly."

All the sleep in the world won't help with that, Wrothken thought.

"Please," Amiable said. "If you can find me a safe place to sleep, I'll give you something that I’m sure will help you out."

He wasn't quite sure what he meant and was almost afraid to find out, but Wrothken felt bad for him. He couldn't imagine being unable to indulge in a good sleep at least once in a while. That would drive anyone crazy.

"Please?"

"Alright," Wrothken said. "What do you have in mind?"

"I just really need someplace to sleep. I’m not picky. I've seen some people sleeping out on the street, but they huddle too close to the walls. I need someplace safe. I can't just sleep anywhere. There're walls and statues and all sorts of things that can fall on me. Can't have that. Nope. But... if you find me a good place to sleep, a safe place -- outside -- I'll reward you!”

Wrothken nodded. "Then I’ll keep my eyes open for a bed."



When Wrothken entered Thadon's palace, he was greeted by another large party. This time, instead of snorting green powder, Thadon was smoking what appeared to be a large glass vase with tubes sprouting from the top, from which Thadon and other guests were inhaling musky smoke.

"The triumphant champion returns!" Thadon said. He offered Wrothken one of the tubes. Wrothken declined. He had his fill of Thadon’s vices. "So, do you feel any different? Now that you've been through this experience, I mean. You know what it's like now... Always wanting that next fix, hating it but craving it at the same time, and hating yourself for all of it.” Thadon took a long inhale from his tube. “Ah, well. All over now. The Chalice helps, doesn't it? Indeed it does, and I could use some helping right now. I'll just take that back from you," he took the Chalice. "And as a token of my gratitude, I grant you the role of Courtier of Mania, with all of its entitlements. Which is to say, none."

"Wonderful. A pleasure meeting you," he said sarcastically. He was beginning to understand the source of Haskill's attitude.


This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Dec 23 2019, 07:41 AM

[mALX]

The male growled as the female sauntered away. "What do you want?" He barked. "Other than my wife!"

Wrothken looked at the Argonian female, who was seated with another man downing shots. "Your wife?" Wrothken looked back at the man. "No, I don't want your wife--"

"What?! Is my sweet Sheer-Meedish not good enough?"

ROFL !!! That had me rolling !!!

[Grits]

Poor Amiable! I’m with Wrothken, I’d have to help the guy sleep.

[SubRosa]

Uh-oh... Wrothken thought. What can of worms had he opened?
I think that question applies to much more than Amiable!

This time, instead of snorting green powder, Thadon was smoking what appeared to be a large glass vase with tubes sprouting from the top, from which Thadon and other guests were inhaling musky smoke.
I feel like I walked into a Cheech and Chong movie!

A fun episode, with the beginning of one of the simpler, and few non-evil, quests in the Isles.

nits:
He was could almost understand the source of Haskill's attitude.
I think Haskill slipped in that extra was when Wrothken was not looking!

[mALX]

Uh-oh... Wrothken thought. What can of worms had he opened?
I think that question applies to much more than Amiable!

This time, instead of snorting green powder, Thadon was smoking what appeared to be a large glass vase with tubes sprouting from the top, from which Thadon and other guests were inhaling musky smoke.
I feel like I walked into a Cheech and Chong movie!

A fun episode, with the beginning of one of the simpler, and few non-evil, quests in the Isles.

nits:
He was could almost understand the source of Haskill's attitude.
I think Haskill slipped in that extra when Wrothken was not looking!

ROFL !!! Haskill the Scapegoat, lol.

This post has been edited by mALX: Feb 19 2011, 10:23 PM

[King Coin]

The Shivering Isles was fun but I preferred Cyrodiil over it. I really like it though Wrothken's eyes though.