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> Champion of Madness, ~A Shivering Isles story
Jacki Dice
post Mar 28 2010, 08:18 PM
Post #1


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Joined: 18-March 10



Hi everyone! Time for Wrothken to make his debut here at Chorrol.

For those new to the story, I won't have any screenshots (sorry!) But I am working on drawing the characters out and posting those up instead.

I hope you all enjoy ♥

~~~~~♥~~~~~


A Door In Niben Bay



"Your money or your life!" The Khajiit snarled with one hand on her steel mace. It was well worn, making it obvious that it was no bluff.

Days ago, Wrothken would have simply walked by, hoping the bandit would end it quickly. Today, however, was the day for action. It was time to reclaim his dignity, dammit; and it started now.

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

The Khajiit growled. "You know what? I'll just take both!" She swung the mace at him. Instantly, Wrothken knew what he would take from her when he was finished.

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

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

Wrothken's heart thudded as he watched her take off, cursing at the top of her lungs. He didn't know if she had accomplices, so he hurried away.

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

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

He looked around as he crossed Skingrad. "I wonder what it would be like here in Wine County..." He envisioned himself in a house with cultured friends over, sampling the latest Surilie Brothers concoction with fine cheeses. He laughed uncontrollably. That was no place for him. He was more the type to drink ale in a loud tavern. "Too bad I can't go back to Bruma quite yet." The very thought sickened him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrothken headed the other direction and entered what looked like a primitive kitchen. An empty pot sat over an open flame. Nearby, there was a table with disgustingly dirty utensils. Some sort of meat sat on the table along with a few potions. He was wary of anything created by goblins, but he figured there would be no harm in selling them. There had to be a mage somewhere who would want them.

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

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

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


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

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

As he walked, he passed a legionnaire on his horse. "Evening, citizen." he said, nodding.

Wrothken grunted in response. The sight of a legionnaire sickened him. It didn't matter that it wasn't the same person. It didn't matter that this legionnaire probably didn't even know Bacchus. All that mattered was that armor, and the memory of it scattered on the floor leading to the bedroom...his bedroom...

He felt as if a dark cloud loomed over his head as he continued on his way. He couldn't figure out what he did wrong. She never mentioned any problems. He didn't know if he should take it as a warning and be happy it ended before things were too serious, or if he should try harder to get her back. He was so conflicted. His thoughts were so consuming that he forgot about the path and just headed straight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fine, and I need a drink."

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

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

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

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

Manheim laughed. "Now that's what I like to see! A man with an appetite! Now, let's see... with the meal the total will be about... eighteen septims."

Wrothken was glad he explored the cave earlier. He took the amount from his coin purse and set it on the counter.

"Great..." Manheim examined them, seeming to suspect they might be fake. Satisfied, he pointed up the stairs. "Alright, first room on your left. The washroom is down the hall to the right."

Wrothken nodded and walked up the stairs.

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

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

This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Jan 2 2011, 04:53 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 Aug 1 2010, 04:43 AM
Post #101


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Joined: 18-March 10



QUOTE(SubRosa @ Jul 31 2010, 08:34 PM) *

Yay! Wrothken is back! I was started to wonder if you were still writing. So glad to see you are! Hug_emoticon.gif




Oh yes. I will be writing this for a long time! Its just between work, other projects, and my four-month-old daughter kitten I get swamped!


--------------------
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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Olen
post Aug 1 2010, 03:11 PM
Post #102


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From: most places



Well that was odd blink.gif

You capture the madness (and inventivness) of the shivering isles well, Hirrus's quest is a particularly strange one and I do wonder how (and if) Wrothken will do it.

Then the fighting on the rooftop followed by:

"He's deformed!" -- brilliant line, I laughed. His thought at the end that it wouldn't end well more or less sums up the isles...


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Look behind you and see an ever decreasing number of ghosts. Currently about 15.
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D.Foxy
post Aug 1 2010, 04:39 PM
Post #103


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Was he deformed, or overformed?

Hee hee....
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haute ecole rider
post Aug 1 2010, 05:40 PM
Post #104


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



Deformed? blink.gif Circumcised or not?
rolleyes.gif rollinglaugh.gif

Was Kallila born under a rock or somethin'??


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Remko
post Aug 3 2010, 03:05 PM
Post #105


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From: Ald'ruhn, Vvardenfell



That was kinda weird... She was adamant enough deciding she wanted him for....errr... activities but then "He's deformed!!" hahhahahaa


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Strength and honour, stranger!

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Jacki Dice
post Aug 6 2010, 10:49 PM
Post #106


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Subrosa-
QUOTE

Oh poor Kalila, she's been playing for the wrong team all this time!

Kalila + Cutter = Perfect match?

Olen- I'm glad you like it. That part was decided on the moment I brought Kalila into the story

D. Foxy- At the moment, only Awour can answer that wink.gif

haute ecloe rider- Well, Kalila is the main character in another fanfiction of mine. At a young age she commits her entire existence to training and learning magic, so much so that when she finally becomes physically attracted to a man, she can't understand the...differences. Though in my other story it ends quite differently for the love interest wink.gif

Remko- Of course it was. Its the Shivering Isles after all smile.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

The Aid of a Sadist



Wrothken woke up at the crack of dawn and slipped out of Bernice's Taphouse. He couldn't bear facing anyone after last night.

He was on his way to meet Syl, duchess of Dementia. As he headed toward the palace door, he hoped her request wouldn't be as trying as Thadon's.

He traveled up the stairs and was surprised to the the Imperial standing at the top. Wrothken groaned and tried to sneak past him. Unfortunately, steel boots make quite a racket, even while tiptoeing.

"Sometimes I come up here to think," the Imperial said sullenly. "Everything looks so small from up here. Makes me feel better, you know? Like I'm not so small myself. But that feeling only lasts for a little while. Then I start thinking about how miserable everything is, and then all I want to do is step off the ledge." He sighed.

"Then jump," Wrothken said.

"I can't just jump. Don’t want to end up on the Hill. But I hope that someday maybe a big gust of wind will come and push me off so I can end it all. I often wonder what it'd be like, to fall to the ground so far below. I bet it'd be like flying - - then suddenly falling into a deep, blissful sleep."

"Yeah...." Wrothken said rubbing the back of his head. "Good luck with that."

"Pfft. Whatever."

Wrothken shook his head. He felt sorry for the guy, but he wasn't going to kill him. He couldn't, no matter how much he begged.



Like their cities, the palace of Dementia was the complete opposite of the palace of Mania. Syl's lair was lit with blue flames, giving the feeling of cold gloom. There was no party, no feast, and no topless women. Syl sat in the center of the room. She wore a long black dress with spines along the plunging neckline. As hard as he tried, Wrothken found it to be a little hard not to stare.

"Why do you approach the Duchess of Dementia?" She snapped. "Do you seek death?"

His eyes back on hers, he answered, "Sheogorath told me to speak to you."

"The Madgod sent you, did he? Then you're safe for now. Speak to no one unless I instruct you to." She walked over to him, leading him down a hallway. "None of them can be trusted. Do you hear me? None! Surrounded by traitors and spies, I am. Always, always." Her eyes shifted around nervously. "They watch and wait, eager to slip a knife into my spine when I'm not looking."

"Who is?"

She led him to a small room and after checking to be sure no one was around, she said, "Could be all of them. Every last one. None can be trusted. But they'll never take me down. Never! I'll see them all rotting in shallow graves before I let my guard down!" Her face lit up slightly as an idea formed. "You... you will help me. Yes, yes. You will be most useful."

"Useful?!" Wrothken sputtered. He was getting sick of being used for other people's dirty work.

Syl didn't seem to notice. "You're going to find out who knows. You're going to learn who keeps secrets, who conspires against me. You will be my Grand Inquisitor." She made a knighting motion. "Expose the conspirators, and they will be punished, I assure you. Find out who keeps secrets, and what they are. Speak with Herdir. He will help you. Do you understand what is required of you? If no one is found, you will be held responsible."

"I..." He sighed. If he didn't do it, he would still have to answer to Sheogorath and he didn't fancy having his intestines being used to skip rope with. "Okay, fine. I'll find them. Where is Herdir?"

"He is in the dungeon. Downstairs and to the left. Go now and find them."



The dungeon was more of a torture chamber. Instead of traditional cells, there were small cages with spatters of blood on the floor. By each cage, there was a small table with various blades and pincers, each crusted and filthy. By the door, there was a plush chair with a table full of food.

When Wrothken walked in, the first thing he noticed was a bald Imperial smelling a long, serrated knife, touching it almost intimately. He was a bit embarrassed to say anything, so Wrothken just cleared his throat.

Herdir jumped, dropping the knife on the floor behind him. "Oh, oh my!" He smoothed his head, a habit likely left over from when he still had hair. He cleared his throat. "What brings you to this delightful corner of the House of Dementia? How may I help you?"

"Um... I'm the..." He sighed. "Grand Inquisitor."

"Are you? Hmm." He looked Wrothken over. "I'd expected an entrance with a bit more flair." He shrugged. "Ah, well. Perhaps you'll grow into the role. One can hope, eh?" He laughed, nudging Wrothken a little.

Wrothken couldn't help but notice that Herdir was the happiest person he had come across in all the Isles.

"Now, we've much to do. Lady Syl is not a patient woman, as I'm sure you've seen. Shall we begin?"

"Alright, but what exactly should we do?"

“Isn’t it obvious? We need to search through Crucible, looking for these traitors. Talk to whomever might have information. If they’re reluctant to help, you just say the word and I’ll do my best to.... persuade them. Really, we should be going. Her ladyship expects results!”

"Wonderful," Wrothken said. He really hoped the conspiracy, if there was even one, would remain in the palace.



Herdir followed him out onto the palace grounds. He nudged Wrothken and gestured toward a Redguard reading a book. "That's Kithlan, Lady Syl's steward. If I may be so bold, I would suggest we start with him, Grand Inquisitor."

Wrothken nodded. "Alright." He headed over to Kithlan. "Excuse me, do you know anything about a conspiracy against Syl?"

He didn't look up. "I don't know anything about one, but Anya has been acting strange lately. You might want to check with her." He nodded toward a Breton walking along the pathway.

Anya was tall and blond and wearing a beautiful dress. It was deep purple with a bodice that seemed to force her body into an exaggerated hourglass. The skirt poofed out, making her hips appear larger. Wrothken knew Kirsty would love one like it, but he didn't know her exact measurements.

Anya smiled at Wrothken, but when she saw Herdir, her smile flickered for a moment. "Hello, I'm Anya Herrick," she said to Wrothken.

"I'm Wrothken, Lady Syl's..." he sighed. "Grand Inquisitor."

"I, too, serve Lady Syl," Anya said, a light tremor in her voice. "She allows me to remain protected within the House of Dementia. I'm so grateful to her."

She knows something, Wrothken thought. She seemed way too nervous and it sounded as if she were reading from a script.

"Well, if you're so grateful, then you'd want to tell me if there was a conspiracy going on, involving her demise, wouldn't you?"

"What?" She took a fearful step back. "N...No. I don't know anything about anything. I'm sorry, I can't help you." She turned quickly and broke into a run.

"Let me take care of this," Herdir said. A bolt of lightening sprung from his hand and flew into Anya's back.

"What in Oblivion did you do that for?!" Wrothken cried. He rushed over to Anya and helped her to her feet. "I'm sorry, I--"

Anya sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye. "Please. I am not involved... I didn't do anything! They wanted me to get them close to Syl, but I wouldn't abide them!"

Wrothken looked around. The palace grounds were empty except for himself, Herdir, and guards from Mania and Dementia. Given the apparent rivalry between the two houses, Wrothken suspected the Golden Saints or people from Thadon's court.

"Who approached you?"

Anya bit her lip, looking around nervously. "I..." When Herdir came closer, she spat it out. "It was Ma'zaddha," she whispered. "He said he was working on behalf of someone else. He told me I needed to help him, or there would be repercussions." Tears formed in her eyes again and spilled down her cheeks. "I didn't know what to do. Turning on Syl could cost me my life, but if I don't help, what will Ma'zaddha do to me? You must do something!"

"I will, don't worry."

She nodded and wiped her eyes. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, of course," Wrothken said. "Just go on about your business."

With a dirty look at Herdir, she quickly walked back to the palace.

Herdir chuckled. "Anyone ever tell you you're too soft?"

Wrothken fumed. He had indeed heard that plenty of times from several people. "Oh and it's not a little too much to just attack people like that?"

"It got what we needed, didn't it?"

"Well, it did, but..."

"Just relax," Herdir said, rubbing Wrothken's shoulder. "By time this is over, you might even come to enjoy it a little..."

Wrothken groaned. This was going to be a long day.

This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Jan 2 2011, 05:57 AM


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

Standing on the cliffs that kiss burning winds
We are rising together
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D.Foxy
post Aug 7 2010, 02:53 AM
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When you are mad, being bad is rad!
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haute ecole rider
post Aug 7 2010, 03:26 AM
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So now it's on to Lady Paranoia, huh? I see Wrothken has recovered from the fiasco with Kalila.

Your explanation of why she doesn't know how men are - ahem - equipped is quite acceptable!

Looking forward to more!


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D.Foxy
post Aug 7 2010, 03:28 AM
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She didn't know how men are equipped
Because in her previous experiece, they all had been...

... zipped.


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Olen
post Aug 7 2010, 10:32 AM
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Well isn't dementia just a warm fuzzy sort of place. Syl is a great character, you caught her paranoia there (though is it paranoia if people are out to get you?)

Herdir is great, utterly mad but quite funny. He captures the less selfdestructive side of dementia perfectly by being just destructive. I can see how Wrothken will enjoy his company.

But which side will he like less?


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SubRosa
post Aug 7 2010, 08:16 PM
Post #111


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QUOTE(Jacki Dice @ Aug 6 2010, 05:49 PM) *

Kalila + Cutter = Perfect match?

Can we see pictures! biggrin.gif


If he didn't do it, he would still have to answer to Sheogorath and he didn't fancy having his intestines being used to skip rope with.
Now this is logic that cannot be faulted!

A fun segment. I have been wondering how you were going to handle some of the more despicable things the Champion of Madness has to do in the SI main quest, like torturing people in this quest. I like how you are having Herdir do the dirty work. That leaves Wrothken not coming off as a villain. I wonder though, how long it will take before things do start to rub off onto him...?


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mALX
post Aug 8 2010, 02:57 AM
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Wait...she devoted herself to magic so now can't tell the diff between males and females? Did I miss something here? I'll help her out, one looks like this: > that is the male. The one that looks like this: < is the female.



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ureniashtram
post Aug 8 2010, 03:11 AM
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Caught up, and I must say:

WTF, did she just said 'deformed'? Well, I can't say I'm not sorry for Wrothken. That feeling is like questioning a boy if he likes wearing 'FeM' underoos and lipstick, in front of a large crowd. With some commenting how he manages an imaginary PMS, too. Not to mention someone asks if his chest is abnormal or just A... something.

Believe you all me, 'cos this guy is speaking in experience! (Alright, before somebody gets any funny ideas, 'tis a joke. Obviously)
Anyway, I loved this chapter. A shame Big W didn't, y'know, do something to Hirrus. And Kalila plus Cutter? That's a couple 'made in heaven'. An LB Altmer with a Bosmeri MSC. (get it LB and MSC, wacko.gif => wink.gif )



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Djinn: What wish would you like to have, young master?
Random dude: SUPA POWAZ!
--
Djinn: Is there anything I could make true, lord?
Old guy: .. Youth and charisma.
--
Djinn: Your heart speaks of wanting. I could make it true, milord.
Me: Hmmm. I wish to know what I want. Then you could hook me up in some insidious deal, spirit.
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Jacki Dice
post Aug 17 2010, 04:49 AM
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haute ecole rider- I wouldn't say moved on, exactly, but is easily distracted♥

Foxy- Exactly tongue.gif

Olen- Oh he dislikes Herdir much much more. Syl can be forgiven, so long as she wears the distracting dress tongue.gif

SubRosa- I'm working on a picture! Trying to keep it PG-13 is a bit of a challenge though...

mALX- Lol Kalila is from a separate story all together (not Elder Scrolls related). If I ever get it finished I'll put the link in my siggy♥ Though that's a good way to remember all the parts♥

ureniashtram- Heehee, my poor Nord♥ I'm so mean to him tongue.gif I'm glad your enjoying smile.gif


~~~~~♥~~~~~

Caught Red Handed-- Err Pawed!



As he followed Herdir through the streets of Crucible, Wrothken couldn't help noticing the giggles from various girls. Though he didn't miss a step and kept his head high, his rosy cheeks betrayed his nonchalance.

It didn't help that Herdir seemed to notice. "What'd you do, streak through the streets?"

"If only it was just that," Wrothken muttered.

Ma'Zaddha's house was easy enough to find, as the Khajiit carved his name in the door. Wrothken knocked a few times and when there was no response, Herdir kicked the door in.

The door wasn't the only thing with Ma'Zaddha's name carved in it. The walls, pictures, bowls, cups, furniture, even the food all had his name carved in.

"What? What do you want?" Ma'zaddha demanded. "Why are you looking at my things?" Ma'Zaddha squinted at Wrothken. "Aren't you the guy with the deformed hoo?"

"It's not deformed!" Wrothken snapped.

Herdir laughed. "You'll have to explain that to me later on," he said to Wrothken. To Ma'Zhaddha, he said, "We are here on official business."

"Right," Wrothken said, still fuming. "I'm acting as Syl's Grand Inquisitor. An anonymous source tells me you know of a conspiracy involving the assassination of Syl."

Ma'Zaddha scoffed. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

Wrothken stared at him. Of course he wouldn't just confess. However, he remembered the look in Anya's eyes and the fear in her voice while she was confessing. As much as he didn't want to call anyone out, he didn't have much of a choice. "Are you sure you know nothing?"

"Yes, yes," Ma'Zaddha said dismissively. "Though since you're nosing around, perhaps you can find out who's been taking my stuff. They think I'm stealing, but I just want it back."

Wrothken stared in his eyes. "You're lying," he said.

"In that case," Herdir said gleefully. Like with Anya, he shot a surge of lightning at Ma'Zaddha. He hissed and doubled over, panting hard when he got up.

"You may continue to do your worst, Inquisitor," he spat. "But unless you have some evidence of this preposterous conspiracy, you'll get nothing from me."

Herdir narrowed his eyes at Ma'Zaddha. "He's right. I've seen guys like this and sadly I don't have the tools needed to break him. Come on."

Wrothken glared at Ma'Zaddha before leaving. He knew something, alright. In fact, Wrothken was willing to bet that he was behind it all.




Even though Wrothken didn't want to, Herdir insisted that they go to Bernice's Taphouse to grab some food and figure out how they were going to continue the case.

Wrothken slumped down at the bar as Herdir looked around, trying to appear inconspicuous as he listened in on conversations.

"Oh, there you are, dearie," Bernice said to Wrothken. "I was hoping to talk to you this morning, but you disappeared." When a reddish tinge spread across his face, she added, "I know, honey, I can't blame you for sneaking out. I warned you about her, remember? Oh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to rub it in, but the thing is, Kalila... well, she's never... you know... made whoopie with a man. Trust me, I'd know. I know most business that goes on around here."

"Great..." Wrothken said. "Still doesn't help that the whole town thinks I've got some sort of deformity lurking in my pants."

"I know, I know. Just give it time, and it'll blow over." She looked up and saw Herdir, leaning back in a chair, obviously trying to overhear a couple conversing. "Who is that man you came in with? Something sure seems a little off about him."

Wrothken nearly buried his face in his palm. "He's supposed to be helping me with something."

"With what? He's looks like he's spying and if there's anything I can't stand, it's an obvious busybody. He could at least be discreet about it."

"We're.... hey, Bernice, earlier you said you know everyone's business around here."

It was her turn to blush. "Well, sure, it comes with the territory..."

"Okay, look," Wrothken leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I need your help. Sheogorath has me helping Syl out and she wants me to find out who's been conspiring against her, and if I don't find out who, I'm as good as dead. Can you help me?"

"Hmmm..." She tapped her lip. "You know what, I've heard that Ma'Zaddha has been meeting with Nelrene, Syl's personal body guard, late at night at the sewers by his house. At first I thought they were just smitten, but the other day I heard him talking to Anya Perrick real threatening like. Could be nothing, but it seems a little fishy to me."

Wrothken felt a surge of relief. He would be able to catch Ma'Zaddha after all. "Thank you, thank you," he said.

"Remember, you didn't hear that from me," she said with a wink. "And something else you didn't hear from me, leave your friend at home. He doesn't seem to be very good at eavesdropping and you don't want to get caught. Besides, he gives me the willies."

"No problem," Wrothken said. "Thanks again, Bernice."

She smiled kindly. "Anything for you, dearie. Just get that man out of my taphouse!"

"Will do," Wrothken said. He lifted Herdir by the arm. "Come on, I have the information we need."

"What? How? You were..." Herdir looked at Bernice, who crinkled her nose at him. "Oh... I get it. You tortured that old lady without me! How could you?" He pouted.

Wrothken sighed. "I didn't torture anyone. Just meet me at the castle later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I have some.... friends waiting up there anyway. Toodle-loo!"

With urgency, he dashed up the stairs and through the doors to the palace grounds. Relieved to be away from Herdir, Wrothken set out to find a good listening point.



Several hours passed before the meeting happened. Wrothken was concerned that his milky skin would be too visible even in the shadows, so he crouched on the ground, curled into a ball, facing away from where Bernice said they would be. It was only after most of his body fell asleep that he heard footsteps.

"Have you made any progress?" Wrothken heard the syrupy voice of a Mazken. "Will Anya assist us?"

"No, that blasted Inquisitor got to her," Ma'Zaddha said. "We'll need to find someone else."

"See that you do so immediately. This is the one task which you were assigned. If you cannot complete it, you will be removed. Are we clear?"

"I will, I will! I want to see Syl dead just as much as you do. She cannot be allowed to survive, after what she's done. It's despicable."

"Good. I shall expect a progress report soon. And keep your head down; the Inquisitor must not become involved."

With that, he heard footsteps leaving the area. It took great effort to ignore the prickly feeling in his numbed legs and even more effort to walk, but he made his way to Ma'Zaddha.

"What? What is it now, huh?"

"I need to talk to you about the conspiracy."

"He snorted. "I thought I told you, I don't know anything. You can't prove a thing!"

"Bull. I heard you just a second ago."

Ma'Zaddha's ears quickly slumped down and his eyes widened fearfully. "What? I... I... It's for the good of Crucible! You must see that!" He grabbed Wrothken's shoulders. "Please, spare me! I'll do anything!"

"But why?" Wrothken asked. "Why do you want Syl dead?"

"You don't know, do you? She's kept it a secret even from you! She and Thadon..." His ears folded angrily and his nose crinkled up in disgust. "They've been meeting in secret. They've been doing things together. Consorting. You understand me?" Wrothken remembered Thadon's allusion to it. "It cannot be permitted! She must be stopped!"

He had all kinds of questions for that. He didn't understand the big deal. If anything, it could unite the cities. Wasn't that a good thing? He'd have to get the answers later. "Who else is involved?"

"I don't know, besides Nelrene. She's taking orders from someone, but won't tell me who. If I find out, will you promise to spare me?"

As much as he knew what Syl wanted, he just couldn't sentence the man to death. "Yes, of course. Just get me the names."

"Okay, okay. I'll get the names, and then you'll see. It will be worth it, I promise you! Meet me in my house tomorrow at midnight. I'll have information for you. Just please spare me."

They shook on it and Ma'Zaddha ran quickly to his house. Wrothken decided to head back to the Taphouse and get some rest. He passed Kalila and Cutter on his way to his room. Kalila quickly looked away, but Cutter seemed rather pleased as they entered the room across the hall. It seems Thadon and Syl aren't the only ones consorting, he thought glumly. He laid awake, waiting to hear a shriek and sobs of deformity, but none came. He didn't feel like imagining what was going on. He decided that once he was finished with his job, it was time for a break from the Crucible.

This post has been edited by Jacki Dice: Jan 2 2011, 06:00 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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D.Foxy
post Aug 17 2010, 07:00 AM
Post #115


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"Great..." Wrothken said. "Still doesn't help that the whole town thinks I've got some sort of deformity lurking in my pants."

"I know, I know. Just give it time, and it'll blow over."



WHAT???

The Deformity will BLOW OVER???

Does that mean some one did a... .

a...


a...


a ------JOB on the DEFORMITY???!!!???


whistling.gif
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Olen
post Aug 17 2010, 11:01 AM
Post #116


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QUOTE
waiting to hear a shriek and sobs of deformity, but none came

... blink.gif That isn't a good image.

It was a good part though, the isles remained insane and it's denizens entertaining in their madness. Wrothken remained fustrated by the insanity. It's fun this and with some good characters. I want to see where this goes, as mch as anything to see how Wrothken's sanity fairs and where he sides.

I wonder what this break from Crucible might entail...


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Look behind you and see an ever decreasing number of ghosts. Currently about 15.
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Remko
post Aug 17 2010, 11:51 AM
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QUOTE
Remko- Of course it was. Its the Shivering Isle after all

I wasn't critizising it, I thought the madness of that situation fitted perfectly in the story smile.gif


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Strength and honour, stranger!

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Jacki Dice
post Aug 17 2010, 04:15 PM
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QUOTE(Remko @ Aug 17 2010, 03:51 AM) *

QUOTE
Remko- Of course it was. Its the Shivering Isle after all

I wasn't critizising it, I thought the madness of that situation fitted perfectly in the story smile.gif



I didn't take it as criticism there was supposed to be a smiley there... smile.gif it was hiding I guess


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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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SubRosa
post Aug 17 2010, 05:52 PM
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I loved how Bernice is the one who tipped off Wrothken about the conspiracy. It is more original than just torturing random people on the street until someone talks. It also provides more depth to the relationship between Wrothken and Bernice, seeing her returning the favor he did in getting her the "cure".

Kalila and Cutter? yum. The only thing better would be Kristy, Lilltu, and Awour! rwar!



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hazmick
post Aug 17 2010, 09:16 PM
Post #120


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Well met! What a great story. A steamy segment of fan fiction. tongue.gif I must have played through the SI at least three times but your story version is much better.

Poor Wrothken, maybe he should head over to 'Books of Bliss' wink.gif

keep up the good work biggrin.gif

This post has been edited by hazmick: Aug 17 2010, 09:17 PM


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"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world."

"...a quotation is a handy thing to have about, saving one the trouble of thinking for oneself, always a laborious business."
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