Looking at my reflection in the mirror before me, clad in the robe of an Order Priest, I never thought that this was where I would end up. I have betrayed my Lord Sheogorath. I am now an enemy of the man I once worshipped as the Madgod. He had been everything to me, just as He is everything to all of His loyal subjects, Manic and Demented alike. But now He is a man I despise. Sheogorath went too far when He allowed that outsider to come into the Realm and usurp the throne of Mania. Now I want Him to pay for what He did to Thadon, and to me, and to all that I loved. He took from me every person, everything that ever brought me joy and love, replacing it instead with fear, pain, and sorrow. He couldn’t stand the fact that my heart might love another more than it loved Him, so He took from me anyone He saw as a threat to my devotion to Him. How I didn’t see it before is almost shameful. But then, He keeps the truth hidden from us beneath the heavy and binding layers of madness which He claims is a blessing. That is the truth of the Shivering Isles. All of us that live here have been “blessed” with madness.

But no longer am I bound by those chains. The blessing of Order has freed me from slavery to that prattling fool, and my mind is no longer bogged down with insanity. I have come to a place of clarity for the first time in my life. I can now see how my life might have been, if not for Sheogorath and His Realm of Madness. Had I been given the chance to steer my own course, I might have led a normal life of no consequence. I might even have been happy. Instead, I am filled with anguish, and I feel as if my heart has been torn into a million tiny pieces while it still beat in my chest. Death will come swiftly; I no longer fear it, and I will welcome it with open arms. Only in death can I hope to find peace for what I have done. But even then, I may find nothing more than punishment—who is to say?

Thadon believed that when we die, we would all go to a place of perfect bliss and live together for all of eternity, never to feel pain again. But then, Thadon lived much of his life in his own false sense of bliss, a world created in his own mind with the help of his precious drugs. What a fool he was. And yet, what a beautiful soul he had. Even with all of his faults, I loved him. I still do, I guess. Our people can’t understand how a relationship ever developed between us; if you look at it from the outside, it’s easy to be shocked and confused by such an unlikely pair as Thadon and I. But one has to look much deeper, and return to the very beginning to understand. There is more to the story than what has been told, and only my heart still holds the truth of our love. Our love, conflicted by our madness as it was, was beautiful and pure. No one can understand that without knowing how it all began, and there is only one other person alive now who knows how the story goes. I began recording my story before the truth of my insane state became clear to me, and I gave it to a trusted confidant because I believe she will keep my story safely hidden away until the time is right for it to be revealed. Perhaps it never will be. One can only hope.

There is more to my life than what is here and now. I’ve lived 37 years, all within this Realm, and for an elf, I’m still very young. But in 37 years, I’ve had enough misery to last me an entire elven lifetime, and I’m ready to move on—whether to punishment or eternal bliss—or, more frighteningly, to nothingness. Whatever awaits me, I will face it with courage. I have no choice. The time has come, and I must answer the call, even at the cost of life itself, if necessary. And I take with me the only remaining link to Thadon that I have. The rest I leave behind me, and I pray that my story will not be lost. There is so much to it that has yet to be told, and all of it is part of who I am and who I was before. The events in my life have shaped me, like formless clay is molded into a twisted and beautiful masterpiece by the hands of a Demented artist. Everything that has happened to me has brought me to where I stand now, and it was all beyond my control. But the things I have witnessed, and the suffering that I have endured will not go down in history. Those who survive will view me only as a traitor, and I will be reviled.

But perhaps the time will come when my story can be told, and maybe then I will not be so misunderstood by all who have heard the echo of my name, trembled at the sound of my voice, and looked upon my cold and hardened face. So many have feared me. So many have ridiculed and betrayed me. And so many have seen me only as an enemy without a heart. But that is not all that true; I am not so cold and heartless as I have appeared. Like with each person, man or mer, there is more to me than what is seen on the outside. There are layers of emotion, thought, and experience that compose the depths of who and what I am. There is a side to me that was broken, and hidden away for many years. To those who truly knew me, I was a loyal friend, a doting mother, and a passionate lover. However, most people do not see the world for what it is. They see everything around them with a narrow view, and do not look beyond what is plain to see. Though I am a woman with a broken soul and a beating heart, to most I am only the Lady of Darkness, or the Mistress of Death. To them I am simply Syl, Duchess of Dementia….

Syl in Order robes

Yay you made it! Welcome to Chorrol Syl.

A good start to your tale. You take a character usually seen as a villain, and give us her side of things. I wonder if she will still seem the villain after we see more of her life from her point of view? Perhaps. But I am sure it will be a fun read either way.

And yet another Bosmer character! With three Bosmer girls, and three boys, we completely outnumber all the other races here!

How wonderful that you made it over here from Bethesda. Welcome the Chorrol Arena!

Yes, another member of the wood elf clan!

You have a neat premise here and I look forward to reading more of Syl.

Thank you both! Yes, I am glad to make my way here, and it will be nice to see if the response I get here will be any different than the one I received at Bethsoft? From what I've seen, there are a lot more writers and readers here, so it'll be interesting to see what happens! Thanks for the invite, SubRosa!

And if we Bosmer are now the most populous in Chorrol, then I'm going to feel quite at home here! Yay! (There's not much love for Bosmer over on the Bethesda forums, it seems...)

Yes, there are tons of Bosmer here. Acadian = Buffy, TheOtherRick = Talendor, Thomas "The Cook" Kaira = Derelas, Winter Wolf = Aradroth, then my own Teresa, and of course your Syl. Six ongoing stories with Bosmer protagonists. Who ever would have imagined that from the race that always wins the polls for "Most Annoying" or "Most Hated"?

A most interesting start! An excellent way to respond to the question of "what happened after Jygallag was freed?"

I'll be enjoying this one, I'm sure.

Interesting to play it as an NPC from the game. Syl rather appears in-game as a heartless umbrella seller, pardon the French, but NPCs in Oblivion rarely have very much depth. You will provide it instead, it seems.

Yes, hidden within that imaginary mind of hers, I saw great depth, and being interested in psychology, I wanted to explore that psychopathic mind.... Very interesting. . . .

Welcome to the fic forum !!! I saw many places I'd love to quote because of the sheer brilliance of wording - but don't want to spam your thread right off, lol. Here is one of my absolute faves:



Awesome Write !!!

Well, thank you! I am glad my prologue has already made a good impact. It was my intention to grab my readers and pull them in with the subtlety and mystery of what is to come. Hopefully you will continue to enjoy.

Here I am going to introduce you to Chapter One. I originally wrote it with the hope to publish (Bethesda never responded to my request, but at least I tried!), so in the introduction of the first chapter, I went into a great deal of description of the Shivering Isles and the Realm of Madness, with the idea that people who have never played the game might read the book, and they would deserve to have some understanding of the Realm right from the start. I will assume everyone here has played Oblivion and the Shivering Isles, though, so I will skip the greater part of Chapter One, and spare you the "niggling little details," as Sheogorath would put it. So, in the first chapter, Syl introduces us to her family and mentions some important details concerning her birth and her early childhood. There are some key events that helped to shape the child Syl and prepare her for becoming the young woman Syl.

For those who haven't been to the Shivering Isles, I have included links to some screenshots, courtesy the UESP wiki:

Map of the Shivering Isles

Dementia

Mania

Capital--New Sheoth

New Sheoth Palace

And so, without further ado, I give you: Chapter 1.1--Born in the Realm of Madness

The Shivering Isles is a world like no other; a place of unsurpassed beauty and scores of adventures. It is the Realm of Lord Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness—His creation and His crowning achievement. The Isles are, in a word, breathtaking. From the high mountainous lands of Mania, to the low treacherous swamps of Dementia, the Shivering Isles are filled with exotic plant-life and dangerous creatures that exist nowhere else in all the universe. With the primitive frog-like men called grummites, to the daedric monsters known as hungers, the Isles are a diverse world of men and mer, creatures and daedra, and unique flora. But with all this diversity exists little harmony, for the Shivering Isles is a realm divided.

It was into this world of division and madness that I was born, late in the year during the colder months of winter. I was born to Lord Gelebor, the Duke of Dementia, and his consort, Lady Adrial, and I was given the ancient elven name Syl, which means “faerie,” because I was always very tiny, even from birth. I was told by my mother that when she first saw me the day I was born, she had remarked that I looked like a little faerie, and so my name was set.

My mother was descended from ancient elven royalty, and her line could be traced back. My father had a similar heritage, but because he was born in the Realm, unlike my mother, his could not be traced. But both of them were Bosmer; Wood Elves, as we are called in the Tamriellic tongue that has become most prevalent, even in the Realm of Madness. My mother, being from Valenwood, taught me the elven language growing up, and we spoke both languages in our family life.

My father, Lord Gelebor, was a subject of great confusion for me growing up; for, as kind and doting as he was to me, he could be equally cruel and hateful to others. His enemies never knew the meaning of mercy, and even his friends did not wish to displease him, for fear of facing his wrath.

One of my earliest memories was of my father exacting his revenge upon a former friend and courtier who had insulted him. I never did find out what the man had done to deserve his punishment, but I clearly remember my horror as I watched the man being dealt with in the House of Dementia’s torture chamber.

I was in my sixth year, curious and full of mischief, as are most elves at such a tender age. My governess had become distracted, gossiping with one of the other servants, and I took the opportunity to slip away in search of adventure. There wasn’t much to do in the House of Dementia, and even at that age, my father insisted that most of my time be taken up with studying. So, naturally, I found great joy in escaping from my rather tedious and boring duties to use my natural ability to sneak through the shadowed corridors of the palace unseen.

It was my keen sense of hearing which alerted me to the agonizing cries rising up from the torture chamber—a grim and forbidding room of the palace which, up until that day, I had never seen. Alarmed but ever-curious, I could not resist sneaking down the stairs, ducking in the shadows when I heard one of the Dark Seducers on patrol nearby. When she had passed, I continued down with caution, and peered through the partially open door of my father’s torture chamber.

Seeing the man in chains, screaming and crying and begging for mercy as my father did unspeakable things to him, I gasped quietly and stood there and continued watching, riveted by the horrifying scene. Never had I seen so much blood. Never had I witnessed such a cruel fate as that man’s. And never had I known that my beloved Ada was capable of doing such terrible things.

It was only when I felt someone grab my tiny shoulder and pull at me that I finally managed to turn away from that scene. I let out a terrified scream, but was hushed quickly by Muurine, my Altmer governess.

“Shh…Hush, child,” she whispered. “You are not supposed to be here. Come—return to your chamber at once.”

Muurine towered over me, being High Elf, and when I was a girl she had long dark hair that was almost black. As I grew up, Muurine, who was over four-hundred years old, began to lose that color in her hair, and by now she has more white and grey in it. But she is still very beautiful, and like all mer, she has aged gracefully. I have always admired her, for many reasons.

Screenshot--Muurine

Muurine was a necromancer, and my parents had given her the added task of teaching me all the schools of magicka, as well as many of the other things I was expected to learn as a lady of Dementia’s court. Necromancy never interested me, as I could never get over my disgust and fear of corpses, but I learned everything else Muurine taught me with ease. I was a very good student, and Muurine often praised me for my “sharp wit and inquisitive mind,” and my parents were very proud, though I would never become the talented mage they had hoped I would be.

My first lesson in necromancy was when I was nine years old. My father had wanted me to start sooner, but my mother refused to let me be taught such things so young. Muurine took me to her house in Crucible, which she shared with her uncle, Leo, and the first thing that struck me when we entered her bedchamber on the second floor was the most horrid stench I had ever smelled in my life. When I looked around the room, it didn’t take very long for me to realize what it was I smelled—there were bloodstains, both fresh and dry, and body parts strewn about the chamber, everywhere except by the bed. I was horrified, but Muurine seemed completely unaffected by the sight, not at all surprised, and I wondered if this was what her bedchamber normally looked like.

As she began to bring me into the chamber, holding my hand, she explained, “This is my workplace, as well as my bedchamber. This house isn’t very big, of course, so I have to use this space for multiple things….”

She was about to say more, but that’s when I noticed a partially decomposed corpse lying in a corner, blood all over his unclothed body. I let out the most horrified scream, startling Muurine entirely, as she had not been expecting such a reaction.

“What in Oblivion, child? What’s wrong?”

“I-It’s…a dead man,” I answered, my eyes wide with shock as I pointed to it.

Muurine hardly reacted the way I had expected; she just looked at me without any thought, and answered simply, “Yes, I know.”

When she saw me trembling and unable to speak anymore, she let out a sigh, and said, “Look, Syl, you will just have to get used to these kinds of things. You’re a Demented child, for Sheogorath’s sake. It’s no wonder your parents have been so embarrassed by you, if you react this way just from seeing a corpse. What do you think necromancy is all about? Come now. We must begin your lesson. Your father is eager that you should learn the dark arts. There is no time to waste, child.”

She was completely unsympathetic to my fear of corpses, but that was not unusual in my case. None of the Demented had been sympathetic to me for it, but I had thought that perhaps Muurine would be. She had been with me from the time I was weaned, and she was like a second mother to me. In fact, I would say I was closer to Muurine than I have ever been to anyone in my entire life—even my mother.

My mother, who was always loving and dear to me, often became my father’s source for relieving his frustrations, and his abuse of her haunted me painfully as I was growing up. Not a day went by when my father did not find cause to beat her, and he didn’t care who was around to see it. Even with his excuses, I never understood why he was so cruel to her, for she never seemed to really deserve such brutality. But my father was never to be questioned, and I was too young to have courage enough to stand up for my mother against his fury.

It also became apparent to me then that my father was never faithful to my mother. It had never occurred to me why my mother slept with me in the chamber I shared with Muurine, instead of with my father, until the day I saw him in his private garden with one of the chamber maids. I was at an age where I still did not understand why I was not allowed simply to go visit my father in his quarters at any time, and I had not yet seen him that day, so I was eager to spend time with him. But when I went into the garden, I saw him standing before a young Breton woman with rust-colored hair. They were speaking in hushed voices, and I saw that the front of her bodice was loosened.

When my father reached out to touch her cheek and began kissing her, I turned and fled, embarrassed and ashamed. I suppressed my tears and tried not to let it bother me, but it hurt me to know that my father was keeping company with the maids in the palace, instead of with his wife, my dear mother. I didn’t understand it, for my mother was a very beautiful woman, with golden hair and soft blue eyes. I always wanted to look like her, but I would never be blessed with her fine golden locks. Instead, I had my father’s brown hair, so dark it was almost black. My eyes were more like my mother’s, a soft shade of blue; but mine were more intense than hers, likely due to my passionate nature, for which I was often chided.

My father was strict and he would not tolerate disobedience from anyone. He was an imposing presence, stern, and tall for a Wood Elf. Even the largest and strongest of men feared my father. His thundering voice left many terrified and trembling. His dark eyes were always cold and hard—except when he looked at me. I was my father’s pride and joy, and he loved me like no other. He was the one who always called me Syl Aranel, meaning faerie princess, and he gave me everything I desired, except the one thing I desired above all else—freedom. But he was always there for me, and any who might dare to cross me better beware.

Though I had often seen my father’s dark side growing up, with me he was kind and loving, only hard when he needed to be, and never cruel. He was very dear to me, and I trusted him always. All my life I always called him Ada, which is the endearing form of the elven word for father, Adar; so, it may come as a surprise to some of you that I ever became Duchess of Dementia at all—for, the way to the throne was not my birthright, nor my heritage. It was a position given to those who had earned the Madgod’s favor, and anyone was eligible to take control of one of the ruling Houses. How I came to sit on the throne I’ll not go into now, but I will say this much—I did not inherit the throne from my father, as that never happened in Dementia. There was a lot more involved than that, and it was always very bloody.

My parents did not raise me to take over as the ruler of Dementia, but I was still well-acquainted with the customs and functions of court life. I had been given every luxury available to a Demented girl, and Ada gave me everything I asked for. Perhaps I was spoiled; I have been accused of it, though I never believed it. But court life was not always perfect and exciting, as those of the lower classes might think. There was much expected of me as a proper young lady, and at times my life became quite tedious and boring, and I wanted badly to escape from it when I was younger.

Even as a child, I was dressed every day in only the finest clothes, always in darker colors. The Demented have never worn anything bright, like the Maniacs have always preferred, but we do not only wear black all the time. My favorite color to wear in my youth was always crimson, the only bright color accepted in Dementia, due to its blood-like appearance; but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate black much more thoroughly.

Living as I did in the palace, I rarely ever got to play with children my own age. In fact, I hardly ever got to play at all, and I was given only half an hour each afternoon to play on the palace grounds under Muurine’s supervision. I was not allowed to have friends, as my parents were always wary of most everyone around them, but as I approached adolescence, that would begin to change. Once I started blossoming into a young woman, that changed very rapidly, and I attracted many admirers.

My mother spent many afternoons with me in my quarters, and she was a light in my life for most of my childhood years. She always encouraged me to follow my heart, and she told me to never let any man control my life and take everything away from me. I didn’t understand what she meant at the time, as I was too young and naïve to comprehend it. Because of that, I had to learn to follow her advice the hard way. It seems I learned a lot of lessons the hard way, but such is life. Muurine always said, when I would tearfully ask why things were so difficult, “what have you learned when times were good, dear?” She taught me that all life is suffering, but that suffering makes us both stronger and wiser, if we will allow ourselves to learn from it. In Dementia, such a philosophy is often taken to the extreme, as physical pain is commonly used as a means of cleansing the body and purifying the soul. It is not uncommon for the Demented to physically harm themselves; and it can be very gratifying to our twisted minds.

What a powerful insight into Syl's early years !! (And into living in the Realm of Madness!) Your ability to transform words into visual images is amazing !! Great Write !!!

I really enjoyed the part with Muurine and her Uncle Leo. How nice to see the groundwork for that laid so early on! Muurine being Syl's magic teacher was a brilliant idea. Likewise Syl's aversion to corpses is a good piece of character-building. It reminds me of Himmler, who nearly fainted at the sight of a mass execution.



nits:
Please do not see all this as being antagonistic. I think you have some real talent. But you have fallen into some of the most common traps of beginning writers. I offer up the following critique in the hope that it will help you improve your writing.


I see one major issue with most of the piece, you are telling us all this rather than showing us. You avoided it with the part where Muurine took Syl to her house, and we saw it for the first time through Syl's eyes. That was excellent showing. But the remainder of the piece is mostly telling it all to us.

For example, you tell us that her father sleeps around. It would have been better to give us a scene where Syl sees a young hottie make the walk of shame from his room, still putting her clothes back on. Then he comes out a few minutes later.

The other thing that comes with telling, is that you gave us a big infodump on Syl's past. We really do not need to know any of that to start with. Worse, nothing turns off a reader than an infodump at the start of a piece (or anywhere else in it). It is far better to slowly reveal these things as the story progresses. Let them slow out naturally as we see Syl going about her daily life. For example, rather than tell us that as a Bosmer she has better sight, hearing and agility that others, give us a scene where she uses these advantages, hearing someone's whispers, noticing something in the dark, catching a ball suddenly thrown at her, etc...

It is good to have all this background information in your character notes. That way you can build a cohesive, and rich, story. But think of it as an iceberg. The reader should only see the tip of it at one time. Never all of it at once.


Now on to some more specific things I noted:

on the 16th of Evening Star in the year 370 of the 3rd Era. The sign of the Warrior guides my path,
This strikes me as being strange. Why would the Shivering Isles keep Imperial Eras? Or Months and dates. We known the Greymarch happens every thousand years, and wipes the slate clean of everything. Only a few ruins remain from the time before the previous march. All history is lost, as no one in the current period even recalls that there was a Greymarch a thousand years before. It is only hinted at in one of the game books.

Plus since their sky is completely different from that of Nirn, it also seems unlikely that their star signs, if there were any at all, would be the same.

I realize that creating an entirely new calendar is a lot of work, as well as starsigns, but perhaps it would have been better to simply leave these things out entirely instead?

The Demented have never worn anything bright, like the Maniacs have always preferred, but we do not only wear black all the time. My favorite color to wear in my youth was always crimson,
Crimson seems rather bright. Perhaps something more like rust, or maroon would work better?


Even as a child, I was dressed every day in only the finest clothes, always in darker colors. The Demented have never worn anything bright, like the Maniacs have always preferred, but we do not only wear black all the time. My favorite color to wear in my youth was always crimson, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate black much more thoroughly.
When I was a child, my governess, an Altmer named Muurine, would brush my hair every morning for half an hour before putting it up in a simple girlish style. Muurine was quite tall, being High Elf, and when I was a girl she had long dark hair that was almost black. As I grew up, Muurine, who was over four-hundred years old, began to lose that color in her hair, and by now she has more white and grey in it. But she is still very beautiful, and like all mer, she has aged gracefully. I have always admired her, for many reasons.
The forum ate the space between your two paragraphs here. That can happen when you copy and paste from a word processor.

SubRosa: Your advice is welcome and appreciated. (And thanks for pointing out the spot where the space was neglected--I will go back and fix it right away.)

As far as the telling, yes, I see what you mean. I guess in chapter one I'm still sort of introducing a lot that you are right about me probably not needing to do. Thanks for the tips. But I will let you know that as chapter one continues, and then through the rest of the story, /i do move away from telling the story to actually showing it. The reason I'm telling here is that I was concerned about making the story too long, and I wanted to sort of skip most of her childhood, to keep it from getting too lengthy. But Chapter Two will also cover part of her childhood, with more of the story actually being shown.

The star signs--yes, I suppose it would be different in the Isles, and probably isn't necessary to have in the story. I never thought of that, I guess, and I got a little confused about whether or not the daedric realms would use such a system or not. I will keep this in mind for the future and make any necessary changes.

Crimson, I guess, is not quite the right word to use for the color. Maybe it should have been more like maroon or burgundy. At the the same time, I think of crimson as being the color of blood, which is why it would be acceptable to the demented, but perhaps I should have worded that differently, then, to explain this.

Tell me what you think of the changes?

mALX: Thank you for the compliments. I am glad you have enjoyed it thus far, and I hope you will continue to do so.

That does look better. I looked back through the books you can find in the SI, and I found that not one ever mentions years, months, or dates. So Bethesda went to a lot of trouble to avoid the issue. Rather painfully so in some cases.

You might consider going back and completely re-writing that post, and perhaps some of the other ones with more telling. One of the blessings to migrating to a new forum is that it gives you an opportunity to do some retooling. Both Acadian and I took full advantage of this when we brought out tales over here from the Beth forums. Sometimes removing large chunks of the old story, and other times adding on even larger pieces of entirely new material. Mine probably doubled in size when it came here, given all the new stuff I added. But even the old parts all got reworked. Thanks to that, it is a much better story than it was over at Beth.

It is your story though. So while I might offer advice, it is only advice. Do what you feel is right for the story. Your name is at the top after all.

Well, if no one minds the story getting a little longer, I don't mind adding more to it. I was trying to keep it short before only because of my original intention to publish. But I suppose if it's not being published, I can expand on it. There are many ideas I had already, but the fear of making it too long for Bethesda to want anything to do with it had me trying to shorten it.

I would love to do a reworking of it, as you said, and I think I will take advantage of it. Thanks again for the advice.

Make it as long as you want it to be. The great thing about writing on a forum like this, is that you can write for its own sake. Not only is it personally satisfying, but it is also wonderful practice. My own writing has improved dramatically since I started TotFS. I have seen similar improvements in many others as well.

Plus, the longer you make it, the more the rest of us have to enjoy. Ooops, Foxy is going to love that line!

All right, done and done! I have gone through chapter one and rewritten it, changing the order of some things, removing some things which were unnecessary, and adding a little more actual "scenes" to it. Although much of it is the same, it is better than my original. Hopefully you will agree.

I've pasted it over the original above.

I love the changes! I haven’t played SI, and the description you gave at the beginning set the scene for me. The snippets from her childhood really come alive now. We can feel her embarrassment and shame at seeing her Ada in the garden with the maid, for example.

Thanks! Yes, after SubRosa gave me those tips, I took some time to think about how I would change it and got to work right away. I agree that it does come alive more after the changes, and I am much more satisfied with it now. After going over it again, I also noticed that before it was not very well organized--it seemed like I jumped around too much, but I used this opportunity to organize it better so it flows more smoothly. I appreciate all the feedback, and thank you for taking the time to read my story and comment on it.

Yay, another tiny wood elf!! She probably suffers from a chronic sore neck like my elf does - Screenshot

We learn a great deal about our little fairie here, and I can see already you have a wonderful way of working with the mentality that one might find in the isles to make it come to life. I am greatly enjoying learning about Syl.

You had completed your edits by the time I read this, so I cannot compare it to the original. I will say that it does weave some 'showing' to break up the large amount of background that you cover here.

I heartily agree with SubRosa that you should not be afraid to expand with detail and linger as you wish. Realize that 'showing', particularly when amplified by lots of dialogue can require a very large amount of text to cover ground. Sometimes 'telling' is effective for quickly covering a large amount of ground when required. This can be helpful if a more detailed 'showing' of the material would become tedious or repetitive. Sometimes a detailed 'showing' of a few key snips is the answer. A mix is what we generally use, but 'showing' is always the most dynamic and immersive to read. Generally you want to really rely on 'showing' for scenes that you want to be particularly powerful or memorable.

I also endorse the recommendation to view your already posted elsewhere episodes as rough drafts for your current version as we are always learning and improving. Similar to SubRosa, the original 69 episodes of Buffy's story that formed the basis for what is here at chorrol grew to 101 episodes and I am almost into completely new material now. The revision dropped a few things and added a great deal. I now view Buffy's story as simply the neverending tale of her life - and elves live a long time. Speaking of my own story, let me thank you for reading it. I am so enjoying the insights you are providing!

When working with your older episodes, don’t feel attached to any length cutoff points you may have had. That is, don't let long episodes simply grow. Don't be afraid to break them into post-sized pieces. As we have discussed, most of us find 1000-2000 words to be about ideal for a single post or episode.

I am so pleased that you have joined us and are hopefully finding the warm support and encouragement of like-minded writers here that seems missing at the other forum.


Nit- The Shivering Isles is a world like no other; a place of unsurpassed beauty and scores of adventure.
Mixing plural (scores) and singular (adventure) at the end of this. Perhaps: 'scores of adventures' or 'abundant adventure' or maybe even 'unsurpassed beauty and adventure'.

Acadian--Thank you very much for your encouragement and advice--and also for pointing out the mixed plural/singular in the first sentence. I went back and fixed it right away.

And yes, Syl certainly knows what that's like, craning her neck to look up at all those towering Altmer and Nords and Imperials! I loved the picture; thank you for sharing it.

All--I am overjoyed at my warm reception, as well as the willingness of my readers to help me make my writing the best it can possibly be. I welcome all the advice, corrections, and questions that you may have, and I thank you for taking the time to come and learn Syl's story. I will thoroughly enjoy our time together here in Chorrol.

Chapter 1.2--The Unwanted Surprise

My father took a new mistress a few months before my tenth birthday, and my mother seemed more distressed than she had even been before, though I didn’t understand it at the time. She often cried herself to sleep at night, while I lay in bed, holding her and trying to help her feel peace. I was her only source of comfort and joy at this point, as my father’s hatred of her had become quite apparent. She confided in me often, though I was perhaps too young to hear so many of the things that she told me. She had no one else to talk to about her feelings, though, for all of her friends had abandoned her. Muurine was the only person she considered a friend anymore, but she knew better than to confide in her, as Muurine always had a love for gossip.

In those days, my mother had become much more depressed and paranoid. She trusted only me, and was certain that everyone else was out to get her, for whatever reason. I didn’t understand it, why she was always so fearful. To me the world was exciting and new, but to her it had become a living nightmare. Gone was the beautiful and loving mother I had always known. Now she was worn out, disheveled, and agitated. She rarely even left my quarters anymore, and every sudden noise made her jump from fright. She trembled when in my father’s presence, and she was always nervous and fidgety. She had hallucinations at times, and she would mumble constantly to herself about someone named Ceridwen, who she had apparently wronged, but it would be many years before I understood what that was all about.

Sometimes my mother would tell me that we were living in a terrible place, and that we needed to get out of the Realm, and return to her home in Valenwood, where she had grown up. This was a terrifying thought to me, as I had known only the Realm, and I longed to be nowhere else, even as a child. I thought my mother was speaking nonsense, but I always stayed by her side, holding her hand and pretending to understand what she was talking about.

“They are coming for me, Syl,” she said one day, looking very seriously into my eyes and tightly gripping my arms. “Do you understand me, girl? They are coming for all of us! We have to get out before it’s too late. We have to escape…. Promise me you won’t let them take you, Syl. Promise me!”

“I promise, Mama,” I tearfully replied, just wanting her to stop saying such horrible things. Though I thought she was only talking nonsense, a part of me was genuinely terrified that what she was saying might be true.

By this point, my father pretty much ignored my mother altogether. He spent most of his free time with Alanwen, who was much younger than mother, and also very clever. She had him wrapped around her little finger, and he hardly even noticed me when she started coming around. I became jealous of the attentions he paid to her, as I had never been ignored by my father before. But I believed she knew what she was doing, and I disliked her intensely. She would smile and wink at me in what I took to be a conniving and victorious manner, as my father went off to his quarters with her, instead of spending his breaks with me as before.

With my mother’s fearful ranting about Alanwen, I began to wonder if she wasn’t out to get us after all. If she could get rid of us, she would have my father all to herself; and she was insanely jealous whenever he did choose to spend time with me instead of with her. That’s when I would give her a little wink and a smile, the same way she always did to me. If looks could kill, I’d have dropped dead right then and there, for Alanwen hated me intensely in those moments.

Alanwen and I actually started competing for my father’s attentions, and I began very quickly to win more often than she did. That just went to show that no woman could ever come between me and Ada. I was the number one girl in his life, and nothing could ever change that. Sure, as I got older, we had our ups and downs; but overall, my father never abandoned me, and he was my hero. I trusted him completely then, even though I didn’t always agree with him, and I knew that he would never do anything deliberate to hurt me.

What did hurt me to see, though, was the way he treated my mother. When she was having one of what I termed her ‘episodes,’ sometimes she would go to my father and plead with him to “get rid of that witch,” meaning Alanwen. She also begged him to give her a Dark Seducer to guard her, as she was certain that her life was in danger. My father was very unsympathetic to her, and he would only push her away and tell her to go back to “hiding in Syl’s quarters.” He would only beat her if she continued to pester him, which she very often did when she was in that state.

It pained me to see such displays between my beloved parents, and I was torn between them both. I would sometimes pull at my mother’s hand, begging her to leave my father alone and come back to my chamber with me. When she didn’t listen, my father would send me away while he punished her for her “stubborn disobedience.” I would obey, but I always watched from the corridor, unable to pull myself away, my heart breaking with every blow he gave to her. Then, when my father was finished, he always went to his quarters to recover with Alanwen, and I would run back out to my mother, who was crumpled on the floor, beaten and too weak to get up on her own.

I helped her to my quarters, where she would lie on the bed and curl up into a ball to sob like a child. I could not heal her with magicka, as at this time my magical abilities were limited to only healing myself, and very little at that point. But seeing my mother injured and uncaring enough to heal herself made me eager to develop the ability to heal others, and it was in this way that I was quite skilled. I never worked so hard to develop my own healing abilities, and few people know this, but I am better at healing others than I am at healing myself. She was my inspiration in this way, and it has been very useful to me at times. If only I had been able to save her.



For my tenth birthday, my father decided at the last minute that he wanted to take me out for the day, just the two of us (and the Dark Seducer bodyguards that accompanied him everywhere). We went out riding in the countryside together on the most beautiful black mares in all the Shivering Isles. Horses were a rarity in the Isles, and only the wealthy could afford to keep them. But we did have some around back then, until our Lord decided that he no longer cared to have horses in His Realm, for reasons that were never made entirely clear. We rode freely through Dementia, though we never strayed from the roads, while the four female Dark Seducers ran behind us at a steady pace to keep up.

Let me take this moment to explain something, to any who may not actually be from the Isles. Most of the Dark Seducers and Golden Saints are actually female. Males in their culture are much rarer, and also less desired, than the females. When I speak of the Mazken and the Aureals, most likely they are females, unless I say otherwise. Males are regarded as being less dependent and mostly useless in their culture, and the females hold all the highest ranks and the best positions. Why this is, I do not know, but I have never seen finer warriors than the females I have fought with in battle…

My father and I rode to Ashwood, a beautiful and exotic city in the south of Dementia that has long since been destroyed, and we were greeted there with much Dementia-styled fanfare. Everyone recognized right away that the Duke was in their midst, and their attitude toward him seemed to be one of great reverence. I never saw any other attitude toward my father, except when there were assassination attempts on him, but I never understood that because I had never seen anything but admiration from his people. I assumed, as a child, that my father was well-liked by the people of Dementia, but I would come to learn that their praises of him were merely pretense. In truth, my father was greatly despised by his people, because most of them were starving and unhappy under his rule. He did little toward the good of Dementia, and spent most of his time amusing himself with women and indulging his skooma habit. If you’ve seen Crucible in its current state, you’d be surprised to hear that it was much worse when my father reigned as the Duke of Dementia.

When we climbed off our horses in Ashwood, he took me by the hand and led me to the Great Tower of Ashwood. The Great Tower was the tallest building in Dementia, not including New Sheoth Palace. Inside the tower was a large chamber, with stairs that wound around up to the top, and it was open to the roof almost like a lighthouse. There were lookout platforms at the top, and from there one could look out across the whole of the land and far into the endless sea. It was a sight to behold, especially to a child, and I was left in awe.

After that, we went to the dressmaker’s shop where my father surprised me when he ordered a new dress to be made for me that very day. I picked out a deep crimson taffeta, and I wanted it lined with black lace, and I felt like a princess being able to have a new dress just like that. I wasn’t aware that the reason the dressmaker was able to make a new dress so quickly was that she and her seamstresses had to put all other orders on hold to finish mine by the time that was specified by my father, or they would have been imprisoned in the dungeon in the House of Dementia and whipped for their incompetence.

While we waited for the dress to be made, he took me to the public garden in the centre of Ashwood. It was beautiful there, with lush greens and perfect flowers. An exotic wooden bridge crossed the lily-pad covered pond to a gazebo on a small island in the centre. I loved every minute of it. Father watched me with a smile on his face as I talked and laughed and played. I knew that he loved me, and that I would never lose him. I was the sparkle in his eye, and I never felt more beautiful and more worthy than when he looked at me that day.

At the end of the day, with my new dress neatly wrapped in paper and tied with string, we headed back to New Sheoth. It had been one of the best days of my life, and I thought that nothing could shatter that perfect day for me. I rode with a smile, talking about how much I loved my new dress, and I couldn’t wait to wear it at the party that evening. Mama was going to be so proud when she saw me in my beautiful new dress, and she had promised me that morning that she was going to have a wonderful surprise for me at the party that night.

When we got back to the palace, I took my dress from the Dark Seducer who had carried it, and I ran to my bedchamber, eager to unwrap it so that Mama could see. Father called after me, telling me to wait, and not to go to my bedchamber just yet, but I simply couldn’t wait to show Mama, so I disobeyed and pretended not to hear him calling. He would forgive me just this once, I decided, because it was my birthday. I giggled as I ran down the corridor, thinking how much fun it was to be a little disobedient, and knowing that this time I could get away with it.

When I threw open the door to my chamber, I saw my mother standing there in the middle of the room, and I started telling her about my dress. But she didn’t respond, and she looked at me with an empty gaze, and then she slowly disappeared. That’s when I realized that what I had seen was not what I had thought. All my life, I had always seen things that others couldn’t, and this was the very same thing. My smile faded and I dropped the paper-wrapped dress, feeling my stomach wrench as I noticed the body on the bed. It was Mama, and she was sprawled across the bed in an unnatural position; her eyes were partially open, and her arm hung off the side. On the floor nearby was a silver goblet, with a small amount of wine still lingering inside where it could not leak out with the rest, which had likely soaked into the deep purple rug that rested beneath it.

My father had been chasing after me, but he stopped when he saw me there, staring into the room at my mother’s pale and lifeless body. I was frozen in terror. I didn’t need to venture into the room any further to see that my mother was dead. Then all at once, I let out the most fearful and miserable scream and ran down the corridor to my father. I fell into his arms, screaming and sobbing while he held me tightly and asked me what I’d seen. I was certain he hadn’t known what I was going to find, but Alanwen stood behind him, staring at me with a look on her face I could not decipher. But I was certain she had something to do with it, and I began screaming and pointing in her direction, telling my father that she had killed my mother. But father wouldn’t believe what I was saying, and he took me away very quickly while the Seducers and servants went in to clean up the body. Alanwen just stood there, emotionless, staring at me the whole time; I was sure that I was next.

Simply fantastic! I love this look into Syl's childhood, and the very dysfunctional nature of her family. It is just what I would expect not only from the Shivering Isles, but especially from the ruling house of Dementia. Even here we can see the seeds of paranoia being planted in Syl's mind. Plus her mother's very oblique reference to the Greymarch was excellent!

until our Lord decided that he no longer cared to have horses in His Realm, for reasons that were never made entirely clear.
I love this explanation for the lack of horses!

The first part is outdone by the second half, showing us Syl's birthday with her father. I have to say that before they even returned, I got the impression that her mother had been murdered, and that was the reason that her Father took her to Ashwood. Syl seeing her mother's ghost was excellent, and drawing the conclusion that Alanwen was responsible. Now I cannot wait to see what is next!

WARNING: WALL OF TEXT INCOMING!!

SubRosa touched on it before, but it bears repeating. The mistake that you are making with this first chapter is that you are treating it just like the prologue. We already heard Syl speaking from an 'Undisclosed Location in the Shivering Isles.' I know you want to go through Syl’s childhood quickly to get to the meat of the story, but simply telling us about events and how she feels about them does the character (and the reader) a disservice.

Chapter 1.1:

First off, specificity, you need to focus your story. You have a tendency to jump around quite a bit in relaying the events of Syl’s childhood. The paragraph that begins with . . .

That is your opening! Nothing written before that can hold a candle to this sentence of a dozen words! It draws us in and establishes everything we need to know about Syl and the strangeness of the Isles without having to explain anything to us. I loved every part of her ‘necromancy lesson’, but then you abandoned it so that Syl could spend the next nine paragraphs telling us about her mother’s abuse, her father’s infidelity, her own dress and play habits, and the violent politics of Dementia. All of these things would be better served by allowing us to see them occur over the course of a day, or even a single afternoon.

Check it:



Chapter 1.2

Again, you need to focus the events of the chapter into a specific moment in time so that we as readers can see what is occurring without Syl having to tell us. Alanwen should walk around the palace like she owns the place, having firmly established herself as Lady Adrial’s replacement. Syl’s hatred of the woman should be felt in the palpable tension that exists in the palace halls. Not only does Lady Adrial confine herself to quarters, she confines herself to Syl’s quarters! Syl and Muurine are the only people to whom she will speak, and her speech has become increasingly erratic (even for Dementia). The dialogue that you have here, when she says: “They are coming for me Syl,” is great! But instead of ‘she would sometimes say’, just have her say it. As readers we need immediacy. Things that ‘would’ happen never have the same impact as things that ‘are’ happening.

Competition between Syl and Alanwen for the affections of Lord Gelebor should take concrete form. How do they compete exactly? We need a scene with them doing so (perhaps you could even open this section of the chapter with it, because such an opening would establish their enmity towards each other and create the tension within the palace).

The events of the second part of this chapter are very specific and absolutely terrific! My only advice here is to take the indelible scene in the public garden and use that same level of detail for their ride through Crucible and into Ashwood. Syl telling us that her father was despised doesn’t carry the same impact as her seeing the looks given to them by the citizenry. I would also suggest that you actually give us the dialogue when Syl comes into her chamber to tell her mother about the new dress.

I think you have the makings of a fantastic novel here! The problem, as I see it, is that Syl is too far removed from her own story. Let her nine/ten year old self carry the action. Get her in there, and get her dirty!

GAAAAH !!! Cliffhanging ending, riveting story so far !! Your attention to detail makes for a very powerful read, as does your great storyline !!

SubRosa: Thank you for your compliments. I am glad you found it to be more captivating. It's a slow start, I think, but it gets better as Syl gets past the early childhood and moves into the aftermath of her mother's death, and her adolescence.... Hopefully I will continue to make my story work for all of you.

Destri: Thank you very much for your imput. I do see what you are saying, and I will go back over it and take a look to see how I can incorporate your suggestions into the story better. I've already gone back to that part with Syl's mother warning her about wanting to leave the Isles, and I made it present-tense, rather than "she would say..." I like your suggestions, and I will try to work on them to make it better so that Syl can be more part of her story. But also, don't forget that some removal from her tale would be expected, as it is Syl writing her memoirs, long after most of these events occurred. So, there would be some part of her, probably mostly due to her madness, that would be detached from her past. I will try to do better, though, so you will hopefully continue to read and enjoy Syl's story.

mALX: Thanks! Yes, I'm a pretty detail-oriented person. And yes, a cliffhanger. I love cliff-hangers, and whenever I am able to end on one, I am pretty thrilled because I like to leave my readers on the edge of their seats and anxious for more! Unfortunately for all of you, many of the secrets that are hinted at early on will not be revealed in full for quite some time. They'll eventually fall into the back of your mind, and then when the time comes and you discover the hidden truth, you'll remember those hints (hopefully) and be like, OMG!!! At least, that is my intention...

There are two distinct parts to this episode (1.2).

The first part is competent and spells out much of Syl's family history. The word memoire does indeed come to mind. Somewhat historical, covers lots of ground.

The second part is exciting because we feel as if we are right there with our ten year old farie princess sharing her beautiful day that is laced with dark innuendo, then ends in a tragedy that pulls at our heartstrings.

A special salute regarding Alanwen. You project volumes about her based simply on those 'looks' she exchanges with Syl. Fabulously effective and her mysteriousness contributes strongly to the unique feel for the SI you are giving us.

Throughout, you infuse a deliciously foreboding and ominous feeling that seems so very appropriate for a girl from Dementia. I am so enjoying this wonderful story and am so glad you are bringing it to us!

Nit: Let me take this moment to explain something, to any who many not actually be from the Isles.
I'm sure you want 'may' instead of 'many'.

Acadian: Thank you so much. I don't want to get too repetitive, but I appreciate all of your help and encouragement. It is so refreshing to find so many like-minded people here.




Also, thank you for pointing this out to me. I had not noticed it, but I will fix it right away.

Chapter 2.1--Unsolved Mysteries

The death of my mother hit me very hard, especially because it had occurred on my birthday and I had been the one to find her. The reason for her death was not explained to me, but the others apparently knew and they were all very quiet about it when I was around.

The day after her death, I was walking to my chamber when I overheard some servants gossiping about it. “Such a shame,” one of them was saying. “I would never have expected such a thing. And that poor little girl, left without a mother…. It’s tragic.”

The other servant huffed, and replied, “She wasn’t much of a mother or a wife, always hiding in her daughter’s chamber, as if she was safe nowhere else. And then, to do this--I’d say the Duke and his daughter are better off!”

Seeing me standing in the corridor as they walked by, the other servant shushed her, and they changed the subject quickly, after giving me a nod and acting like they had nothing to hide. It was always like that when I was around, and I wondered why everyone was being so secretive about my mother’s death. I was the one to find her, after all. What did they have to shelter me from?

They didn’t want me to know what happened, but I had my suspicions. My father assured me that Alanwen had nothing to do with my mother’s death, but I simply refused to believe it. Nothing would convince him otherwise, though I challenged him to tell me what they were hiding, if not Alanwen’s guilt.

Instead of answering my questions, he sent me away and refused to talk about it, saying, “Syl, if you knew the reason for your mother’s death, it would only hurt you even more. It is best, for now, if you do not know the details—it will do you no good to know more.”

I couldn’t understand why he wanted to protect a murderess, especially one who would likely try to murder me next, and it bothered me intensely. It was then that our relationship started to become strained, and it would be years before things truly improved.

Had the thought occurred to me that my father had conspired with Alanwen to kill my mother? Certainly. But I knew my father better than that. If he had wanted my mother dead, he would never have killed her on my birthday. He loved me too much to do something like that….



My mother was buried in New Sheoth Graveyard a couple days following her death, on a cold, wet, and windy Sundas afternoon. The wind blew raindrops from the trees when it had ceased raining, and the roads were thick with mud. It was a gloomy day for a burial, indeed, and I wondered if my inner turmoil had somehow affected it to be that way.

As the High Priest spoke a long sermon about the meaning and purpose of death, and the sorrows of life, my mind wandered. I felt numb inside, and I just stared at the black wooden coffin that was my mother’s final resting place, wondering to myself what it would be like to die.

Movement in a nearby tree caught my eye, and I noticed a raven perched on a branch and watching me closely. I imagined that the bird could sense my loss, and that it had come to the cemetery to lessen my pain. I even imagined hearing the bird’s voice in my head, saying, “Fear not, little child. Death is only the beginning.”

I shuddered and turned my attention back to the High Priest, catching only the end of his sermon, “And now, in our grief, we must bid farewell to this beloved wife and mother, Lady Adrial. May her soul go and not attach itself to this world, but move on to the everlasting void. In Sheogorath’s name, so be it.”

Death was a terrifying prospect to me, if all I had to look forward to was an eternity of darkness and misery, or the empty life of a soul bound to the world and unable to move on. Imagining my beloved mother in such a state brought fresh tears to my eyes, and I buried my face in Muurine’s skirts, while she pulled me close and sighed painfully.

I had noticed little emotion from my father that day, and Alanwen seemed more bored than anything. This only confirmed her guilt, as far as I was concerned, but I excused my father’s lack of emotion by convincing myself he was simply in shock.

The stone that marked my mother’s grave was plain and simple—not the usual for a Duke’s wife—with only her name and the date of her death carved into it. I left a single flower upon her grave, after she was buried; it was a white lily, which was her favorite. Then my father lifted me onto his horse while Alanwen followed riding mine, and we returned to the palace.

Muurine stayed with me constantly after that, doing whatever she could to comfort me. She sat in my chamber with me, holding me tight as I cried myself to sleep every night. It seemed like she was the only person in the whole Realm that could understand my pain, and while I felt like my life had stopped, everyone else moved on as if nothing were changed.

“How can they smile and laugh?” I asked Muurine one day, as I followed her into the city one afternoon. “How can they act as if everything is the same, when nothing can ever be the same anymore?”

“They do not understand what you are going through, child,” she responded, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “They do not know what it is to lose a mother so dear to them. But come along, we mustn’t dawdle.”

Muurine was a shameless gossip, and she spent many an afternoon conversing with friends in Crucible. After my mother’s death, she had no choice but to drag me along to her friend’s homes for tea and the daily gossip. Father allowed it, but we had to be followed by a pair of Seducer bodyguards whenever I left the palace. As I looked back over my shoulder at their towering figures, I wondered if they understood my pain. But their expressions were the same as always, and neither of them offered even a hint of sympathy when I glanced at them.

While Muurine and her friends gossiped over tea, I sat in a corner working on my penmanship and needlepoint—dull and boring work, but Muurine detested idleness, saying it was a sign of laziness and low-breeding. She always said, “Why waste time sitting around and doing nothing, when you could be doing something useful?” I failed to see how needlepoint and gossip were useful tasks, but who was I to argue?

Since the weather was pleasant, Muurine took me out to play on the palace grounds, but it was rather boring having no one my own age to play with. While Muurine talked with one of my father’s courtiers, I sat in the grass and daydreamed, gazing up at the sky with its glittery clouds, admiring the way they sparkled with magenta light among the white puffy mist that composed them. The clouds in the Shivering Isles are unlike any others, so I’ve been told….

My attentions were drawn away from the clouds when I noticed a frog jumping from one stone to another, in search of flies to make into his supper. Giggling, I climbed up and chased after it, hoping to catch it. But the frog managed to evade capture, disappearing into some thick brush and scaring a grasshopper out of hiding. As the grasshopper sprang toward me, I screamed with a rush of excitement and ran to Muurine, hiding myself in her skirts.

Before long, however, I was off again, exploring my small and sheltered world, gasping in amazement as I watched a butterfly come my way. When she perched on my finger to show off her colorful wings, I was left speechless, and I held my breath, not wishing to frighten her away. After the butterfly flitted away to find a flower, I turned to Muurine, and cried, “Muurine! Muurine! Did you see it? Did you see the butterfly?”

“Yes, dear, I saw it,” she said, forcing a smile before returning to her conversation. She could hardly care less.

Sighing and turning away, I caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman standing off by some trees on the Mania side; she watched me with a strange look on her face, which I could not explain. I had seen her there often, all of my life, but she never attempted to speak to me, and whenever I spotted her, she would move away and appear to have vanished. I could never see her face very clearly, but she reminded me a lot of my mother. I assumed I was only thinking that because of how badly I missed my mother, though, and I pushed it from my mind and continued playing for what little time I had, wondering if she was some sort of ethereal being who was sent to watch over me. I never imagined she could be anything else.

Holy Cow, there are like three mysteries going on at once here !! GAAAAH !!! I think Muurine is protecting her from whoever killed her mother, and the Dad (or someone) spread it around that she took her own life (but Syl would know that is a lie). Then the raven would be her mother's spirit (and possibly the butterfly too) ... the beautiful woman must be a relative of the mother ... GAAAAH !!! I am probably wrong about everything - but I am LOVING this so far !!!!

he would never have killed her on my birthday. He loved me too much to do something like that…
I just love the wry and twisted outlook in Syl's thought that her father would not murder her mother on her birthday. Any other day to be sure. But not her birthday!

There is one way to know for sure if her mother was murdered or took her own life: if she turns up on the Hill of Suicides.

The raven was a welcome sight. Well, for me at least. I do realize that most other people see them as dark, foreboding figures.

And who is this strange Manic who Syl glimpsed at the Palace? Interesting.

Chapter 1.1:

You paint a very Demented picture of life in Dementia here. THis is the realm of madness, and therefore the normal rules do not apply here. I am quite glad you have grasped that idea so well.

Syl's first practical lesson in necromancy was very sardonic. You have a very good black humor about you that fits the realm perfectly.

I wonder if Syl will grow up to be jsut as masochistic as the rest of Dementia? We already know she is different, and would probably have done better being born in Tamriel, but then that would have been even more boring now, wouldn't it?

Chapter 1.2:

Quite gut-wrenching for Syl to have to learn of her mother's murder on her birthday. It is doubtless to me that her father was the culprit, and I really don't think I want to know what will be going through her head when she discovers her father was responsible. Perhaps this facilitated her descent into madness?

It would seem that it was getting consistently harder and harder for Syl to love her father over the course of this chapter. Still, I'm quite sure that it will not be with glee when she witnesses his inevitable death.

And I also see she fell into the deep trap of attempting to understand the Madgod's decisions! Best not attempt that again, Syl, otherwise your brain will explode.

If it helps, though, horses are to the Madgod what ducks are to the chocolatiers. Having no way to blend their long tails into his world as they reminded him too much of his beard, he presumed the presumption that word assumed that he assumed that they assumed that horses would remind the general populace too much of the Madgod's beard, which is, all things considered, a work of art. Ergo, without the assumptions presuming the presumptions that came after future of the visions of the Madgod, he decided that horses simply were not needed to support the realm's many curtain-hangers (numbering exactly zero), and therefore banished them.

I may have fudged a few details, though.

While the 'memoire' format is still giving this the 'passage of times past' feel that I believe you want, you are really incorporating plenty of dynamic memories and dialogue that 'show' Syl's youth and make reading about it a joy.

'I failed to see how needlepoint and gossip were useful tasks, but who was I to argue?'

'…wondering if she was some sort of ethereal being who was sent to watch over me.'
Syl is indeed a fairie princess, for she has three ethereal beings watching over her in this episode alone. First there is the appearance of a raven - well-known spirit of a fellow Bosmeri lass with a mane of scarlet and faint smile. Then Syl is visited by a butterfly - spirit of another wood nymph with golden locks. And finally the arrival of yet another spirit - this one a mystery, and in the form of a beautiful woman.

I continue to thoroughly enjoy this, and applaud your impressive talent!

mALX: Hehe, leaving you guessing and in suspense...that is precisely what I am up to... but the answers will not become clear for quite some time.... Glad you are enjoying it.

SubRosa: Yes, you can see the rather unusual mentality of the Demented at work here, and also Syl's ability to see her father's capability for murder, yet at the same time, her love and trust in him distorts her ability to see it fully. But, is it what it seems, or is there more to it than meets the eye...?

Thomas: Thank you. Yes, I have always had a fondness for psychology, and a sort of ease with being able to empathize with the villains, and to see their side of the story. I have always been drawn to the darker side of life, though not to the point of completely succumbing to it; and I can sort of understand what it is to be on the brink of insanity, struggling to hold onto self-control. I grew up with a mother who has bi-polar, and a father in denial about his depression, so I guess I've witnessed some of the varying degrees of madness first hand....

Acadian: Thank you. It is my hope to present a picture of Syl that shows her depth--both the good and the bad that exists within all of us. I want to promote understanding and sympathy for the one perceived as the villain, and give her the chance to show us what the madness of the Shivering Isles did to her truly innocent and good soul. The best of men can be corrupted, and good people can do some terrible things if pushed too far to stop themselves...
And of course, I must have some humor spread throughout, to keep it from getting too dark and miserable.


Chapter 2.2--The Errand Boy

On Sundas mornings, when the Madgod favored Dementia, we went to the Sacellum Arden-Sul to hear the High Priest sermonize the teachings of the Demented. I tried to listen carefully, but I could never get myself to enjoy sermons, and very often my mind wandered. I couldn’t help but wonder what the High Priest of Mania was thinking as he sat in his own pulpit, praying quietly to himself while trying to ignore the words that the High Priest of Dementia spoke. I often wondered, though never aloud, what was it that made the Manics so terrible? Why did they disagree so strongly with our teachings?

The one time I did ask this question aloud, Muurine answered sharply, “The Manics are blinded by their inability to see beyond the tips of their noses. They do not really care about what is true and what is not, because they would rather eat and drink and act like fools. The only thing they care about is themselves, and nothing more. Just stay away from the Manics, Syl. They are no good, and they cannot be trusted.”

That was easy enough to obey, though I didn’t feel any more assured of the evils of Mania than I had before I’d asked my question of her. I’d never even met a Manic, up to that point in my life, having only seen them from afar. They didn’t look all that frightening to me—if anything, they were just a bit odd, with their bright colored clothing and over-the-top mannerisms. I only stayed away from them because I was told to do so, and because I was chaperoned whenever I left the palace.

Soon after my mother’s death, I began sneaking out of the palace, because I hated always being followed by Muurine and my father’s Seducers. It felt refreshing to wander the grounds, believing that I had finally found the freedom I was so badly beginning to crave. The Seducers that patrolled the grounds, of course, knew who I was and reported to my father what I was up to. He let me continue to think I was escaping, though, because the Seducers would still be able to keep an eye on me, as long as I never left the palace grounds. Of course, being only a child, I never imagined venturing any further. But that would soon change, when one particular escape brought a meeting that would forever change my life, in ways I could never have imagined.

It was grey and wet that morning, but the afternoon sun began to peek through the clouds when I snuck out that day. I wandered down to my favorite thinking place, by one of the giant roots that grew up from the ground, twisting up toward the ramparts and holding tightly to one of the columns. When I sat down, I rested my head in my arms upon a dampened rock, quietly thinking and trying not to cry. It had been months now since my mother’s death, but I still thought of her all the time, unable to chase the painful memories from my mind. I missed her so terribly, and a part of me felt empty; something vital was missing and could never be replaced.

I let out a sigh and closed my eyes as a tear slipped gently down my cheek. That’s when I heard a small voice nearby, asking, “What’s the matter with you?”

My eyes shot open, and I was surprised when I turned my head to see a small boy standing only a few feet away. He had soft brown hair and green eyes the shade of a perfectly polished emerald. He was mer, like me, and given his petit size, I assumed he was also Bosmer. Other than size, he appeared to be around my age. But he was not Demented. This I knew right away, as his clothing was most certainly Manic in style, simple as they were; he was likely a servant of the House of Mania.

“Nothing’s the matter with me,” I said defensively, turning away again and trying to ignore him, as was expected of me. But then he came closer.

“If nothing’s the matter, then why are you crying?” he persisted. “Did somebody hurt you?”

“I’m not crying,” I protested; but then I had to wipe some tears from my cheeks and use my sleeve to dry my eyes. When I looked back up at him, he was still watching me curiously, and I finally grew tired of his gawking. “Why are you talking to me? Don’t you know that I’m Demented?”

“Yeah, so…?”

“So…it means we can’t talk to each other,” I replied. Then I added, with an air, “Besides, I’m a faerie princess. You’re just a pauper.”

The boy laughed. “You’re not a faerie, or a princess! Faeries have wings, and there’s no such thing as a princess in the Shivering Isles.”

“There is too!” I cried, upset that he would laugh at me. “My father says so, and he is always right.”

“I’ve never known anyone who was always right. Only Sheogorath….”

“My father is the Duke of Dementia,” I said haughtily, rising to my feet. I was pleased to find that I was, in fact, taller than he by just a tiny bit. “You’re just a little peasant—what do you know?”

“I’m not a peasant!” he cried, his cheeks reddening a bit. “Peasants are those birds they sometimes have on the supper table, and I’m not a bird—I’m an errand boy.”

Now I laughed. “You’re stupid. Peasants are poor people; pheasants are the birds of which you speak.”

He simply shrugged, unbothered by my insults. “Well, at any rate, I’m still not a peasant. I’m not poor.”

“You look poor,” I replied. “Your clothes are dull, your hair is dirty, and you smell like a barn.”

“I don’t care,” he said with a shrug. He then added, “You probably don’t even know what a barn smells like, so you’re not a very good critic.”

“What are you, an imbecile or something? Why are you even talking to me? Don’t you have work to do, errand boy?”

“Not now,” he answered, still not letting my attempts at insulting him work to bring him down. “The Duke said I could go out and play.”

“The Duke? You mean the Duke of Mania?”

“Mmhm. He’s my master, and my cousin’s uncle.”

“Wouldn’t that make him your uncle, as well?”

“Why would it? He’s not related to me; only to my cousin.”

I’ll admit I was a bit confused. But I didn’t want to look bad in front of a commoner, so I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Whatever. Why would I care who is and isn’t related to you?”

“You wouldn’t, I suppose,” he replied. Then he suddenly thrust his hand toward me, and said, “I’m Thadon, by the way. What is your name?”

I looked at his outstretched hand with hesitation. I knew I shouldn’t be speaking to him; my father’s hatred of the Manics was far from secret. But Thadon didn’t seem like someone not to trust, so I asked myself, what would be the harm in shaking his hand?

“I’m Syl,” I said finally, taking his hand and offering a meager smile. He became elated, and a smile spread across his face that was so filled with warmth and honesty, that I couldn’t help being drawn in by it from the start. My smile then grew, and it was the first time I had really smiled since the day my mother died.

“Syl is a pretty name,” he said thoughtfully. “What is its meaning?”

“It means faerie,” I replied, to which he smiled.

“So, you really are a faerie, after all!”

“I told you I was, didn’t I?”

His smile became more serious then, and he looked downward for a moment, almost shyly. When he looked up again, his eyes met mine, and he said, “You’re pretty, too. I like your eyes. They are like the sky, only prettier.”

I blushed. I had never really received compliments about my appearance before, so I wasn’t sure what to think about it. But I said, in a timid manner, “Thanks. I like your eyes, too.”

“Thank you!” he exclaimed, seeming overjoyed by my compliment. His emerald green eyes continued to examine my face, while I continued looking down shyly.

He laughed suddenly, causing me to look up and ask, “What?”

“Oh, nothing…. I’m just happy, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Why not? I’ve made a new friend!”

“I never said I was your friend.”

“Aren’t you?” he asked. “I thought you were…. But perhaps I was wrong.”

“Thadon, we can’t be friends. It’s against the rules.”

“What rules?”

“Well…my father’s, for one; he would never allow me to befriend a Manic.”

He glanced around almost impishly, and then said, “It’s not a crime if no one knows about it.”

“That’s foolish,” I stated bluntly. “We could get in a lot of trouble.”

“I know,” he replied with a shrug. “But I like you. You’re nothing like what they’ve said.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re Demented,” he answered. “But you’re also very nice. And you haven’t bitten me yet, so I’d assume you’re not going to.”

“Who says we bite people?”

He shrugged. “My cousin and all my other friends….”

“That’s absurd. We’re not vampires. We don’t bite anybody…. But I fail to see why you would call me ‘nice’; I’ve been anything but kind to you.”

“That’s not true,” he argued. “You shook my hand, and you gave me a compliment. That’s called being nice.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. “Whatever.”

“Say,” he said suddenly, “would you like to run errands with me in the afternoons? Some of the people give me candy as a tip, and there’s even some people who give me gold!”

“Why would I want to do that? I’m not a servant. I’m a lady of esteem.”

Again, he shrugged. “I thought you might like to share some of it with me, that’s all.”

I looked at him curiously. Sharing wasn’t selfish; but everyone said that the Manics only ever thought of themselves. What did he want out of me? Was he really only seeking friendship? It seemed hard to believe. Before I came up with an answer, though, I heard Muurine calling my name, and I gasped aloud. “I have to go!” I cried, turning to leave.

“But wait!” Thadon called. “Will you come with me tomorrow? I go out at 2 every afternoon….”

“I’ll try!” I shouted, running up the steps as fast as I could in my heavy brocade skirts, afraid of what might happen if Muurine saw me talking to a Manic child.

I met her as she was walking away from the doorway to the House of Dementia, and she asked, suspiciously, looking toward the staircase, “Who were you talking to?”

“No one,” I said, without a hint of dishonesty in my voice. “Just one of the Mazken….”

She was unsure of my answer, but she seemed to decide I was telling the truth, and she turned to lead me back inside, saying, “Well, hurry up! You’re late for your dancing lesson. The Duke will not be pleased.”

As I followed, I looked over my shoulder to see Thadon coming up the steps. He watched me disappear inside, and then returned to the House of Mania, presumably back to his duties.

What a delightful episode! Not to mention one that will doubtlessly change Syl's life forever. So here we meet young Thadon, catching her eye with his forbidden Manic style. Under it all is of course the division between the two cultures, which doubtlessly only adds to the attraction, as all forbidden fruits do.

Don’t you know that I’m Demented?
This is wonderful when taken out of context!

And you haven’t bitten me yet, so I’d assume you’re not going to.
I love this!



nits:
but the afternoon sun began to peak through the clouds
You are looking for peek, which is to look. Peak is the highest point on something, such as the top of a mountain.

You’re late for you dancing lesson.
Looks like Thadon absconded with the "r" in your!

Thanks for pointing out these mistakes! I changed them right away. It's amazing how other people's eyes can catch mistakes that I've missed, though I've gone over it several times myself to edit. Just goes to show how very helpful it is to have others proof-read!

Ooh, nice foreshadowing !!!



ROFL !!! And the fact that it is said with a straight face makes it doubly hilarious !! Do I detect a little transferance of pain from the loss of her mother in Syl's actions toward Thadon? Probably, because she is definately not mean spirited or thoughtless. Lucky thing her target was immune to her attempts, lol.

I love how you developed both characters so effortlessly in that scene !!





This exchange had me in stitches !!! I really enjoy how creatively you are sculptering the differences between Dementia and Mania !!! I think I've actually learned something about Shivering Isles reading this that I never picked up in game !!

I am loving this story in a way I was not able to love SI in the game !! Awesome Write !!!

This was a delight! You really got into a dynamic scene quickly in this episode and it as a fabulous scene at that! I smiled all the way through this encounter between the little Demented and the even smaller Manic. You did a great job of imparting loads of personality to Thadon and Syl here. Wonderful dialogue!

I loved the overtones of forbidden fruit and class constraints.

“Peasants are those birds they sometimes have on the supper table, and I’m not a bird—I’m an errand boy.”

SubRosa: Again, thank you for pointing out the errors. And thanks for enjoying this episode! This is one of my favorite scenes, so I took more care in making sure to develop the two characters we know so well, and to portray them as they should be. We can already see in them the personalities that define them in the game, but because of their youth and innocence, it is not quite as distinct.

mALX: I am glad you picked up on the transference in Syl's actions toward Thadon. And Thadon was just too naive and sweet to let it bother him. Plus, he couldn't help being intrigued by the little Demented girl who calls herself a fairy princess.

Acadian: Thank you. Yes, this was originally my first truly dynamic scene. I wanted the first meeting of theirs to really stand out, as it is perhaps one of the most important scenes in the whole story, because it sets the stage for what is to come.

To all: The innocence and naivete of children was important for me to portray in this scene--neither of them really understands the class-restraints and the differences of culture that separates them. Thadon, as we saw, couldn't care less about it, and Syl only does what she is told out of fear. But Thadon's charm manages to break through the layer of protective ice that Syl has already begun to construct around herself, and their friendship blossoms, despite the huge rift between their people. But can it withstand...?



Chapter 2.3--A Forbidden Friendship

The next afternoon, at two on the hour, I decided to sneak out to meet Thadon. I doubted that he would actually be waiting for me, until I saw him sitting on the rock where I’d been crying the day before. I noticed right away that his hair looked freshly cleaned and it shined in the sun; he also had it pulled back with a leather cord, and he looked very handsome. Was it because of what I said? Was he trying to impress me?

He jumped up the moment he saw me coming, and exclaimed, “Syl! You came!”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Well, sort of—you said you would try. I’m glad that you made it.”

I looked behind me and around, to be sure that no one was watching us. Then I took his hand and began walking toward the door to Bliss, saying, “We must go quickly, so nobody sees us. I could get in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“I know,” he said, following me cheerfully. Somehow I doubted he really understood just how much trouble I would be in if we were caught. He obviously had never been caned before….

Once we passed through the doorway into Bliss, I relaxed a little more. Though I would stick out very obviously as a Demented girl, no one there was likely to recognize who I was, if they even cared, so I was out of trouble—at least for awhile.

Bliss was nothing like I had ever seen, and I was in awe right away. The streets were paved and clean, the stone buildings were glistening and white; nothing like the grey and weathered buildings that lined the mostly unpaved and muddy streets of Crucible. The air was fresh, and it smelled of a mixture of jasmine, aster blooms, and various spices—cinnamon was the most prominent, and it tickled my taste-buds, exciting my senses. The air in Crucible was nothing like it—more a mixture of must and decay, most unpleasing to the senses.

The water in Bliss, which was the same water that ran through the House of Mania’s throne room, was channeled into a sort of waterway that flowed in waterfalls and streams through the city. The water was clear and clean, unlike the water in Crucible, which was anything but clean once it left the House of Dementia and flowed into the streets of the city, making the mud even worse in some areas. There was no channel for the water in Crucible to flow through, so it was rather unsightly, and it caused problems with insects and contributed to the growth of mold on some of the buildings and statues.

Another difference between the two halves of the city was that everyone in Bliss seemed cheerful and vibrant, so full of life. Muurine always said that it was because they were all on drugs, but they just seemed happy to me. No one gave me any odd or unfriendly looks, though I very obviously didn’t belong in their part of the city. They all greeted me kindly, with a smile and a wave, or a nod of the head. Thadon greeted everyone we passed, and they all seemed to know who he was, and they liked him.

“I have to stop at the shop, first,” he said to me suddenly, bringing me out of my thoughts. “The Duke ordered a new pair of shoes, and they arrived from the cobbler in Highcross today.”

“All right,” I replied. “I’ll just wait here.”

“Why?” he asked, giving me a funny look. “Don’t you want to come in with me?”

“I don’t know if I should; won’t they ask me to leave?”

Thadon chuckled. “You’re very strange, you know that?”

“No, I’m not!”

He shrugged and went on. “Tilse Areleth is really nice. She owns the shop. She won’t make you leave.” He lowered his voice a little, and said, “She’s the one who tips me with real money! Come on, you’ll see!”

He pulled me by the hand into the shop, which had a sign out front that read: Common Treasures. Once inside, we were greeted by a tall woman with flawless blue skin, red eyes, and copper colored hair—she was a Dunmer, or Dark Elf. All Dunmer had blue, green, or grayish skin, and red eyes. Some people were afraid of them, but I thought they were beautiful and exotic.

“Greetings, children,” the woman said. “Thadon, who is your friend?”

“Hello, Tilse!” Thadon beamed. “This is Syl. She’s a Demented faerie, but she’s actually very nice.”

Tilse Areleth smiled warmly, and her red eyes turned to me without a hint of unkindness. “It’s so good to meet you, Syl. My name is Tilse, and I own this shop. Feel free to browse, and buy anything you like. And because you are Thadon’s friend, I’ll even give you half off anything you buy.”

“Th-Thank you,” I stammered, shaking her hand and forcing a smile. I was always shy around people I didn’t know well, but it was especially so around Manics.

“Actually,” Thadon put in, “we’re here to pick up a package for Lord Antonius.”

“Ah, yes,” said the shopkeeper, going behind the counter to retrieve a package that was wrapped in brown paper. “Shoes, are they not?”

“That’s the one!” he chimed, taking the package in exchange for money. “Thanks, Tilse.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “I’m always happy to be of service to Antonius. Let him know I’ll be at his supper tonight; and also tell him that I get to have him first afterward. Last time he chose that floozy, Mathilde, and I don’t appreciate it after all I have done for him.”

“I’ll tell him,” said Thadon. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I figured I likely didn’t want to know, either.

“Thanks,” Tilse replied with another smile. Then she held out her hand. “And here, keep one of the coins, for your troubles.”

Thadon eagerly accepted the coin, though he had been expecting it. I was surprised then, when she pulled out another coin and offered it to me, saying, “And I can’t forget to tip your helper, too. Go ahead. Take it.”

I hesitated, as I had never been given money before. But Thadon looked at me in an urging manner, so I took the coin and thanked her for her generosity.

Before we left, Thadon ended up trading his coin back to her for a bag full of sweets; he asked me if I wanted anything, but I shook my head. I wasn’t about to blow my first drake on something so unnecessary; I was going to save it for something special, perhaps.

He shook his head with a chuckle, as if it were odd for me to save my coin. But then he took my hand and led me out of the shop with barely a goodbye to the shopkeeper.

“Where are we going next?” I asked, as he led me through the city.

“To take a break and enjoy our reward,” he replied. “That was my only errand for the day, and the Duke isn’t expecting me back for another hour.”

He took me to a beautiful area that was like a park of some sort, where waterfalls and fountains flowed beautifully around colorful plants and flowers. There were a couple of people walking together there, but they paid us little attention as he led me to one of the bridges that crossed over the stream. Flower petals that had fallen off some trees nearby were floating on the water, and it was enchanting.

Thadon perched up on the railing of the bridge and began eating his sweets, while I stood awkwardly nearby, watching him eat. Then, with a mouthful of chocolate, he offered some to me; but I declined, even backing away.

“Why not?” he asked, after swallowing his mouthful. “Don’t you like chocolate?”

“I…can’t,” I replied, backing up another step.

Thadon raised his brow and wrinkled his face in confusion. “Why…can’t you? That sounds awfully silly. It’s just chocolate—it’s not like it’s poison or something.”

“I’m…allergic.”

“Allergic? How can you be allergic to chocolate? That doesn’t sound natural. Who told you that?”

“My parents did, because I almost died from eating some when I was three.”

“That’s odd. I’ve never heard of someone being allergic to chocolate.”

“Well, now you have.”

He lied back on his elbow again and swung his leg as it dangled off the edge of the bridge. Then he popped another chocolate into his mouth, and said, “That’s very sad, you know. Chocolate is my favorite thing in the world! I would die if I was allergic. I would eat it anyway.”

“That would be foolish,” I replied. “Why would you kill yourself just to eat chocolate?”

“Because it tastes so good; I just couldn’t live without it!”

“You could—if you wanted to.”

“Well, I wouldn’t.” He chuckled a little, and then he giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

He snickered, then replied, “I was just thinking, if I were allergic to chocolate, then they would have to put on my gravestone: ‘Thadon. Died a very happy boy, with a mouth full of chocolate!’”

He laid back his head and held his stomach as he shook with laughter, but I was not amused. I thought he was being entirely foolish, and I found little to laugh about having a deadly allergy. But then he suddenly lost his balance and fell into the water below. I gasped and ran to the side of the bridge, to look down at him. He was soaked to the bone but uninjured, and his chocolates floated away.

“My chocolate!” he cried in alarm, sitting up and watching it disappear down the stream. Then he let out a disappointed sigh and splashed his hand in the water. But when he heard me laughing, he looked up and smiled at me. He began laughing, too, as he pulled himself up.

“Perhaps it’s a sign from the Madgod that you shouldn’t be eating chocolates,” I suggested through my laughter.

“Only when I’m around you,” he replied. Then he bowed to me as if he had just put on a show. I laughed even more, and then ran down to the edge of the stream as he bent down to rinse his hands in the water.

“You look ridiculous,” I giggled, as he smiled up at me in his water-drenched state.

“Oh, really?” he asked. Then, out of nowhere, he grabbed the hem of my skirt and pulled me into the water with him.

I screamed as I splashed into the cold, knee-deep water, and at first I was furious. But when I saw him laughing again, I couldn’t help but join in, and after he helped me up, we stood in the stream together laughing like a couple of clowns and splashing at each other.

When we settled down, he climbed out and helped me to do the same. Then we tried to shake ourselves off while the warm air and sunshine began very slowly to dry us off. He stood there smiling at me for a moment, until I asked, “What?”

“You have a beautiful laugh,” he said with sincerity. “It’s like a melody on the breeze, and it’s pleasing to my ears.”

I became bashful again, and I looked down at my dripping black skirt as I cleared my throat. “I’m going to have a hard time explaining this to Muurine and my father….”

“Who’s Muurine?”

“My governess,” I replied. “She’s been with me for most of my life, and she takes care of me all the time since my mother died….”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It was Alanwen; I’m sure of it.”

“Alanwen…?”

“My father’s concubine…. He says she’s not guilty, but I know she killed my mother. She had to have done it; no one else could have possibly been responsible.”

“Why won’t he punish her then?”

“He loves her,” I replied with a sigh, leaning on the railing, as we were back on the bridge again. “But she doesn’t love him—not really. She just wants to have my father all to herself and be his wife. But my father isn’t going to marry her. He knows better than that.”

Thadon didn’t answer. He just let out a sigh and looked down into the water. It was not like him to be quiet—that much I had already figured out—so it intrigued me.

“What’s wrong?”

He shrugged and turned away, leaning on the railing more and sighing heavily. Then he said, “My parents died when I was six. I don’t remember them a whole lot, but I do still miss them.”

“How did they die?”

“On the road from Hale, where I was born; they were attacked by Grummites.”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“I was with them, but my mother hid me in some bushes when the attack began. Just as she got up and turned back to help my father and my older brother fight, her throat was slashed right in front of me….”

His voice broke then, and I saw that he was trembling as he began to cry. The experience had been traumatic for him, and he was still terrified. I put my arms around him, and he soon began to relax. When he looked back up at me, his green eyes were still filled with tears.

“Because the Duke was a friend of my mother, as my aunt was married to his brother at the time, he took me in and has raised me ever since. You were right, Syl; I’m only a peasant….”

Taking his hand, I smiled, and said, “No. I was wrong. You are a prince, to me, Thadon.”

He looked up at me and smiled, then threw his arms around me. We stood on the bridge there, dripping and cold, but locked in a warm embrace. After that, he grabbed his package for the Duke and began leading me back to the palace. We held each other’s hand very tightly as we walked, and I said, “I’m glad you are my friend, Thadon. I’m sorry I misjudged you, at first.”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “I’m glad that you’re my friend, too. We’ll be friends forever, won’t we, Syl?”

“Of course,” I answered, with a warm smile, as he opened the door to let me into the palace grounds. And so it was—we were friends.

That was just absolutely adorable! I never would have imagined Syl and Thadon being such cute kids, but now that I have seen it, I cannot picture them any other way. Portraying this scene from their childhood was an excellent choice, as you help us bond with both the characters before they grow up, and things start to get really nasty.


I would die if I was allergic. I would eat it anyway.
I am sure he would! Here we see the road that led Thadon to Felldew. Who ever would have imagined that chocolate is a gateway drug!

I have to agree with SubRosa on absolutely everything she said here. Seeing them before the inevitable pain that will mar their futures was not just an excellent choice, it was a brilliant one. I also agree with her that Thadon shows signs of a future addictive personality even as a cute tyke.



AWESOME WRITE !!!!!!

“This is Syl. She’s a Demented faerie, but she’s actually very nice.”
You simply MUST consider this as the new title for your story! It is perfect!

This episode was as delightful to read as eating a box of chocolates! Adorable is a very good word here.

Before we left, Thadon ended up trading his coin back to her for a bag full of sweets; he asked me if I wanted anything, but I shook my head. I wasn’t about to blow my first drake on something so unnecessary; I was going to save it for something special, perhaps.
What a neat insight into perhaps a difference between Manic and Demented thinking. I was reminded of the grasshopper and the ant fable.

SubRosa and mALX: Indeed, chocolate is the gateway drug in Thadon's case. After all, an addictive personality always starts small, before it leads to such harmful addictions as greenmote and felldew. And thank you. I am glad you have come to see the innocence that once lied within these two infamous characters!

Acadian:I don't recall that fable, but I'll have to see if I can find it. Any way you can point me in the right direction? And thank you, of course. Yes, these scenes are very possibly my favorites, simply because it reminds us how truly amazing and adorable children are in their innocence. Even I sometimes forget this, like when I walk into the kitchen to find eggs smashed on the floor...lol

All: I have added links to screenshots found on the UESP wiki, throughout the prologue and chapters. Some of them are within the episodes (past and current), and you can find them when the text in the middle of the story is bold. This is mostly for the readers who haven't been to the Shivering Isles, but also for any of you who care to check them out!


Chapter 3.1--Cold, Harsh Reality

My friendship with Thadon was the first real one I had ever had. We were of the same age, and we got along swimmingly back in those days, long before the madness of the Isles had consumed us. To this day, I still don’t know what it was that drew us to each other. Perhaps we were just lonely. But there seemed to be something special between us right from the start, and we began spending every afternoon together, running errands for the Duke of Mania and playing in Bliss.

There was a fountain in Bliss, near the gate that opened to the countryside of Mania. It was a beautiful statue made of gleaming white marble, depicting Lord Sheogorath seated atop a pillar in all His splendor, with three beautiful mermaids gracing the column below Him. Fresh, sparkling water flowed up from beneath the Madgod and spilled into the fountain below, signifying the life-giving waters that He pours out for all of His people to drink. That fountain enchanted me as a little girl, and Thadon would take me to visit there often.

The first time Thadon took me to that fountain, he brought a couple of drakes with him and gave one of them to me, saying, “Here, make a wish. They always come true when you wish at the fountain of Sheogorath’s Graces.”

“What?” I asked, completely puzzled as he stuffed the coin into my hand.

He looked at me incredulously, and then he burst out laughing. “By Sheogorath, have you never made a wish at a fountain before?”

I always felt uncomfortable and self-conscious being the brunt of his jokes, and I hated when anyone laughed at me. Holding my arm and looking down uncomfortably, I shrugged my shoulders, and answered meekly, “No one has ever told me to before….”

“Well then, let me show you,” he said, walking up to the fountain and gazing at the statue for a moment. “All right, first you close your eyes and wish for something that you truly want. But you can’t say it out loud, or it won’t come true. Then, you toss your coin into the fountain, as you make your wish, and if your heart is pure, your wish will be granted.”

“And what are you going to wish for,” I remarked sarcastically, “chocolate?”

Thadon cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked down at the ground, “Well…I can’t now that you’ve guessed it…. I don’t know what I’ll wish for. Perhaps you should go first.”

I rolled my eyes and chuckled a little, stepping forward and looking down into the water. This all seemed a silly Manic ritual to me, but I would try it, just for fun. After all, what could it hurt?

Taking a moment to clear my head, I closed my eyes and thought about what I would wish for, if I could have only one wish in the world. When I had decided, I took a deep breath, dropped the coin into the water and made a wish.

“There,” I said, stepping back and turning to Thadon. “That was easy.”

He smiled, and said, “See? And now, you just have to wait and see if your wish comes true. Now it’s my turn!”

I waited and watched as he repeated the ritual of making a wish, and after it was finished, he turned to me and smiled. “Do you want to know what I wished for?”

“I thought that if you told me it would not come true?”

“So I did,” he replied. “But I’ll tell you anyway, and hopefully it will still come true.”

“It’s your wish, not mine,” I said, shrugging carelessly.

“I wished for a kiss from a beautiful elven maiden.”

It took me but only a minute to realize that he meant me, and then I felt my face turn scarlet and I looked away with embarrassment. “I…have never kissed anyone before.”

“Neither have I,” he responded, looking at me hopefully. “My cousin, Baenlin, who is a year older than me, has kissed a girl before. He told me about it last week, and he said it was okay. I was…hoping to try it, but…only with the girl that I like.”

“Well,” I said slowly, still trying to form a sentence in my mind, “perhaps if you…ask the girl…she might say yes. I mean, it…it’s worth a try.”

He stepped closer to me then and reached for my hand. I felt a fluttering in my stomach unlike I had ever felt before, and when he looked into my eyes I thought I was going to faint. Holding my hand in his, he asked, “Syl, will you be my first kiss?”

In that moment, it was as if time was suddenly standing still, and my heart raced. I was afraid, and yet I wanted to kiss him. I had never thought of kissing a boy until then, but I wanted to kiss him. And so, without saying a word, I leaned in and closed my eyes as we pressed our lips together in a brief but meaningful first kiss.

When we looked at each other after it was done, there was a moment of awe written on both of our faces. But very quickly we realized what we had done, and the awe was replaced by surprise and embarrassment, and then we both mumbled some hasty words and ran from each other. We were only children, after all, and it was too awkward for us then.



Getting over the awkwardness of our first kiss, Thadon and I continued to play together the very next day. We quickly forgot about it, and he took me to the Halcyon Conservatory, which was the Duke of Mania’s garden, where we were able to play without the fear of being caught by my father, or anyone Demented, for that matter.

The Halcyon Conservatory was beautiful and exotic; with butterflies fluttering about, and roses growing on vines that wound around the columns supporting the open roof, it seemed like a place filled with enchantment. Thadon and I could run around playing hide-and-seek among the trees and plant life, while the Golden Saints patrolled, paying us little attention. I’m sure they didn’t care for a Demented Wood Elf playing with their master’s servant, but they never said anything, and Thadon and I played and laughed freely, at ease in our surroundings.

The Duke of Mania, Lord Antonius, was a tall Imperial with olive-toned skin and thick black hair that was streaked with white, reminding me of ground pepper. He spent much of his time in the Halcyon Conservatory, reading and painting and watching us play. I knew that Lord Antonius and my father hated each other, so I was at first afraid that he would disapprove of my friendship with Thadon. But the Duke was most gracious and kind to me then, and he always welcomed me with a warm voice and a friendly smile.

Occasionally, Thadon’s cousin, Baenlin, would play with us; but he remained more aloof, jealous, no doubt, of his cousin’s new playmate. On one occasion, Baenlin even tripped me, supposedly by accident, but I’ve always believed it was on purpose. He laughed when I fell, splitting my lip on a rock, but Thadon rushed to my side to help me, and he grew very angry at Baenlin and yelled at him furiously.

Baenlin stopped laughing and glared at Thadon, saying, “What good is it to defend your Demented girlfriend, Thadon? Who cares what happens to any of the Demented? Anyway, it was only an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Thadon didn’t believe him, and the two of them argued a little before Baenlin stormed off, and then Thadon turned back to me. “Don’t mind him, he’s only jealous. Here, let me help you get cleaned up. Lord Antonius has a healer who can fix that up, and no one will ever know the difference.”

After that incident, we stopped going to the Halcyon Conservatory, and continued playing together in the streets of Bliss, where we sometimes met with strange looks, but never any unpleasantness. We would have gone on forever this way, had we been able to. But, like all good things, it had to come to an end.

We were returning to the palace grounds after running a few tiny errands that took us about an hour, and we were holding hands, as always. Upon entering from Bliss, however, I saw Muurine walking toward us, calling my name, and I pulled away very quickly. But it was too late—she had already seen us.

Stopping in front of us, Muurine took one look at Thadon and glared at me furiously. “I have been looking all over for you! Your father knows what you have been up to with this…Manic boy. He is not pleased. You will follow me at once!”

I began to plead with her, but she grabbed me by the arm before I could even finish, and began dragging me behind her without another word. Thadon watched with a worried look on his face, and that’s the last I saw of him that day.

Just inside the House of Dementia’s main hall, Muurine turned and slapped me across the face, saying, “Fickle changeling! How dare you do this to me! Your father is about to have my head because of this. How dare you make friends with the enemy?”

“But Thadon was nice to me,” I argued.

She merely scoffed. “Nice? You thought he was ‘nice’? How can you be such a foolish girl? Don’t you listen to anything your elders say? The Manics are not to be trusted! Do you hear me, Syl? They are only nice if they want something from you. The moment you give them what they want, they’ll turn around and stab you in the back! You are a very stupid, foolish girl! You’d better hope that your father doesn’t blame this mischief on me, or I’ll kill you myself, do you hear? I’ll not be punished for your riff-raff.”

She grabbed my wrist again and pulled me to follow her to my father’s throne, where he sat with his steward and his mistress on either side. All of them knew I had been playing with a Manic child, and no one seemed very pleased—least of all, my father. He had never looked at me the way he did then, and I felt very fearful of him for the first time in my life. My punishment, he decided, would be fairly light, by Demented standards, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. I knew this punishment all too well, and I feared my father’s strong arm. But he would not be the one to beat me this time.

As her punishment for not watching me more closely, Muurine was given the task of being the one to deliver the beating. She didn’t want to do this to me, as I was only a child, and she loved me very dearly. But she knew that she had no choice, so she took the cane that was brought to her without hesitation.

With coldness in her dark brown eyes, she looked at me, and quietly said, “This is your own fault, Syl. You knew better, and yet you disobeyed one of your father’s most fundamental rules. I hope you learn from this, child—for your own sake, I hope you learn. Kneel!”

I tremblingly obeyed, closing my eyes to prepare myself for the first strike. It was always worst when it began, but after the first few strikes, it would start to numb a little, and then it was mostly tolerable. Muurine had never been the one to beat me before, so I wasn’t sure of what to expect. But the first strike of the cane on my back alone proved that she was much stronger than she appeared, and my shrieks from the pain echoed through the main hall for the next five minutes straight.

When my father was satisfied, he told her to stop, and then she helped me to my quarters where she used a spell to heal me right away. I curled up in my bed with my knees to my chin and wept quietly, while she sat nearby, looking worn out from her exertion and perhaps a little remorseful.

“I’m sorry, Syl,” she said in a soft and motherly voice. The warmth had returned to her eyes again, and she looked sincere. “You know I had no other choice. I hope you have learned you lesson. You are a daughter of Dementia. This is where you belong. You have no business speaking to a Manic. They are not our friends. You will understand this one day, when you’re a little older. But you are not to see that boy again—is that clear?”

I nodded slowly, but continued to look away. Muurine sighed and said, “Good. Then I assume you have learned your lesson. I shall leave you alone now, and give you time to rest. Don’t forget, there is a party tonight, to celebrate your father’s birthday. He will be having four traitors tortured for the entertainment, and you mustn’t miss it. You need to get over your girlish qualms about such things, as they are a part of life, and they are quite enjoyable. Your father has demanded that you sit through the entire show this time—after your disobedience with that Manic child, I would advise that you obey.”

With that she left me alone, and I began crying again. As a child, I hated seeing other people being tortured, even if they were my father’s enemies. I did not understand the necessity for it, but he had grown tired of my terrors, as people in his court were beginning to talk. It was my mother’s fault, he said, because she wouldn’t let me be exposed to such things when I was younger. But now that she was gone, he was insisting that I watch these torture sessions once a week, and it was horrible for me as a naïve and ignorant child. I would get over it, in time, and plenty of my enemies have discovered this the hard way.

It was important for me, as a young girl, to make my Ada proud; so, I was trying my best to see things more his way, and I sat through the entire show that night, hardly moving. I was rewarded for my wondrous efforts, and the courtiers stopped talking about the Duke’s unusual daughter that very night. From that point on, none of them doubted my Dementedness again.

* Old Business: The Ant and the Grasshopper is one of Aesop's Fables. To paraphrase a brief wiki summary: 'The fable concerns a grasshopper that has spent the warm months singing while the ant worked to store up food for the winter. When that season arrives, the grasshopper finds itself dying of hunger and, upon asking the ant for food, is rebuked for idleness.'

The fable lightly came to mind when Demented Girl questioned why Manic Boy was going to spend his gold on something as fleeting as chocolate.

As the two youngsters developed their forbidden friendship, Romeo and Juliet also came to mind.

* New Business:

Your linked UESP shots are very helpful, since I don't get to the Isles very often.

And a beautiful first kiss! Very touching and superbly written. Innocence, only to be lost before the end of the episode.

What a wonderful job you did of painting the demented mind of Muurine as she beat Syl, then apologized like a mother, then extolled the virtues of torture!

This episode did indeed feel sort of like an innocence lost. Syl's dark reminder that she would learn to torture her enemies really brought that feeling home at the end.

* Nit: The first time Thadon took me to that fountain, he brought a couple of drakes with and gave one of them to me,
I think you want 'with him' instead of just 'with'.

The added pictures do help wonderfully. It hearkens me back to the old days when novels would have illustrations in them, usually a dozen or so per book.

Again, Syl and Thadon are so sweet! Their first kiss was wonderfully done, especially with the embarrassed flight afterward! Oh, to be so young again!

I wonder if Baenlin is the same one from Bruma?

Syl's beating was just as I expected would eventually happen. One thing though, you never described exactly how Muurine did it. With her bare hands and feet? A flogger? A cane? etc...


He will be having four traitors tortured for the entertainment
Yippie! Party time in the Shivering Isles!

none of them doubted my Dementedness again
Well that's a relief!


nits:
My friendship with Thadon was the first real friendship I had ever had.
You have a repeat of friendship in the same sentence. You might change the second occurrence to one.

Wonderful foreshadowing here !!


Their first kiss - Ah, so Sheogorath's rumors about Syl and Thadon come true (sort of), lol.

Thadon's innate charm is very visible in this scene, Awesome Write !!







SPEW !!! You always catch me off guard with these hilarious references !!!!



Even after the sadness of the scene itself, this gives a chuckle.

You are doing an amazing job with bringing this story into depths of SI that I never thought of - hugely creative write !!! I am loving this !!

These last few chapters have been excellent! Your story takes us in surprising new directions. We see the wonderfully sweet innocence of youth through the friendship between Syl and Thadon. The harsh realities of life in the Isles are embodied by Muurine’s brutality upon their return to Dementia. Seeing her slap Syl across the face gave us an instant reminder of just who Muurine really is. Behind the love that she so clearly has for Syl lies a woman who still collects body parts for display in her living room! I am left wondering how Syl will manage to disobey Ada’s edict in the future, because I think that Thadon has become her particular form of chocolate.

Hard to fathom Syl ever getting any enjoyment from watching people get beaten to a bloody pulp in front of her. That's just the kind of shocking revelation that makes me truly believe I am there in the Shivering Isles. You say you are insane? Well, if that is true, please don't stop, as your insanity is quite delightful and endearing.

It was hard to read of Syl's punishment, however, it was not unwarranted. Caning was a very popular disciplinary tactic in the Middle Ages (it only recently fell out of favor), and Syl certainly did break her Father's word (not to mention his law). I am glad he had compassion enough to hold back on his daughter, but nonetheless, I do hope Syl learned to respect her father a little better.

It's not fun to be punished, but it has to happen from time to time. You paint an excellent picture of Syl's past here, and I hate it that I'm being left hanging now.

Good show!

I have only scanned this to date, but it is clearly brilliantly written, and there is a compelling backstory being laid down. You lay the foundations for Syl's future paranoia superbly. You show how she learns from a young age that court life is ruled by Machiavellian tendencies, and we see her competing with Alawen for her father's attention, and taking relish in 'winning'. She will carry these experiences into adulthood and this is really a fascinating exploration of her character. Many thumbs up from me so far!

Acadian:Thanks for the story of the Grasshopper and the Ant. It sounded familiar, but at the same time it didn't. Indeed, it does fit that scene with Thadon and Syl very well.

I am glad you like the links. I've enjoyed the screenshots in everyone else's fan fics, so I decided I could use UESP to add screenshots to mine, to make it a little easier to envision.

Also, thank you for the nit. I fixed it right away.

SubRosa:I've read a lot of old novels, and I loved the pictures in older additions. It's really a shame that we've moved away from that.

Nope, different Baenlin. But I liked the name, so I snatched it for Thadon's cousin. I wanted a similar sound to their names.

I also changed the scene of Syl's beating, so it's more clear how she was beaten. Thanks for the tip--and also the nit.

mALX: Oh yes, it was important for me to show Thadon's charm right from the start. Even as a kid, he was already showing signs of his future casanova-like personality. They say the Duke of Mania has a way with women...

SPEW !!! You always catch me off guard with these hilarious references !!!!--Hehehe. Isn't it great?

Destri:Thanks! Yes, the first chapter was still more of an introduction, so it wasn't as dynamic. But, unless I want to sort of graze through something, from the second chapter onward there is a lot more dynamism between the characters.

And yes, it was also important for me to show the confliction and depth in characters such as Muurine. She loves Syl, but Muurine is literally insane. And we also see an inkling of the strong feelings about what it means to be Manic and Demented that leads Muurine to the ultimate act of betrayal against the Duchess she raised and loved.

Thomas:Thank you. Glad my insanity pleases you.

Yes, caning was brutal but common, and I thought it fit perfectly with the pseudo-medieval world of TES and the Shivering Isles. Poor Syl had to endure caning fairly often as a child, and it taught her the lesson of hard love.

Ceidwad:Thank you. Yes, Syl resists madness for quite some time, in fact, but once she is taken by insanity, we see what she became--I'd say paranoid schizophrenic is a good way to describe Syl's particular form of madness.

And she certainly does take pleasure in winning and in being on top. She is very complex, so while she can be humble and caring, she can also tend to be selfish, demanding, and prideful. She would likely have made an excellent Duchess, if only she were not insane!

All: I thank you most humbly for your compliments, criticisms, help, and support. You are all taking a part in making Syl's story be the best it can be, and your enjoyment of it makes me ever more eager to keep her story going, as well as improve it along the way. You are all my inspiration and my motivation. Thank you for taking the time to be a part of this journey with me and Syl, into the depths of madness.




Chapter 3.2--Lessons

A couple of weeks passed before I even attempted to sneak out to the palace grounds again, but I was not intending to speak to Thadon. I just wanted to find a moment of quiet solitude under the shade of the trees—another much-craved luxury that I rarely got to have. When Thadon came through from running his usual errands in Bliss, he saw me and gasped, running to approach me.

“Syl?” he asked quietly, glancing around to make sure we weren’t being watched. “Syl, are you all right? I haven’t seen you in so long; I thought I was never going to see you again! Did you get into trouble?”

“Of course, I did,” I replied in a rather unfriendly manner. “Are you a fool, Thadon, to still be talking to me? Go away, before we both get in trouble.”

“But, Syl…I…I want us to still be friends. You said that we would be friends forever, and I thought that you meant it.”

“We can’t be friends, Thadon; don’t you understand? We’re not the same.”

“Sure we are. We’re both Bosmer. We both have brown hair. And we’re the same age….”

“None of that matters, Thadon! It’s what’s inside us that is different. You’re a Manic, I’m Demented…. We can never be the same.”

“But, Syl….”

“Just…go away!” I cried, bursting to my feet and shoving him to the ground. “I never want to see you again!”

I ran away from him, as warm tears slid down my cheeks. Returning to the palace, I shut myself in my room, slamming the door so hard that Muurine awoke from the nap she had accidentally taken in a chair, and she sat up, asking, “Syl? What’s with all the noise? Where have you been?”

“Nowhere,” I snapped, sitting at my writing desk and returning to my studies, where I was supposed to have been the whole time. Muurine often fell asleep while I attended my studies in the afternoons, and that was how it was so easy for me to sneak out. Thank the Madgod for necromancy and the Rooftop Club, both which kept her up late nearly every night.

She sighed and moved to a chair, still groggy from having been awakened from a relatively deep slumber, and never bothered to ask again what I had been up to that day.

I never did see Thadon again—not while we were children, that is. He was busy serving Lord Antonius, and I was busy with my own life of learning to become a proper Demented lady, whatever that was. I was eager to learn, but I was not an easy child to raise. This was due to my fiery and independent spirit, which often got me into trouble, but no one ever asked me to be anything other than what I was. There is an old elven saying, which Muurine often applied to me: “Elven children are slow to come, and most demanding of their welcome.” Apparently it was even more so with noble elven children, and Muurine certainly had her hands full with me.

I continued to join Muurine while she made her rounds in the city to gossip with friends. While she visited, I sat by with my usual tasks, but now I was instructed also to listen carefully to their conversations, while not actually joining in. She said that it was imperative for me to pay close attention to the forms and patterns of speech in conversation—a lady must have a proper way of speaking, as well as writing. It seemed that there were a lot of things which a lady must do properly, and the lessons got quite boring at times. But I was still eager to be a fine lady, like my mother had once been, and like all the other ladies in Dementia’s court. The way they talked, the way they walked, even the way they ate, distinguished ladies of esteem from commoners. I had to learn those ways, or I would never be truly accepted in my father’s court.

Apart from learning to be a lady, and trying to get better in the schools of magicka, I was also instructed in the study of alchemy. This began when I was eleven, and I came to enjoy it quite thoroughly. It was the only arcane art in which I managed to excel. I still remember the hours I spent with her at her house, listening attentively to her lessons in alchemy. She was an excellent teacher, and I was an eager student. We stood there at the table in her quarters, and I watched as she carefully cut into her ingredients, showing me how to properly harvest the parts that were useful, and paying close attention to her descriptions of them.

“You must watch closely,” she told me, “and make a clean cut where necessary. One slight mistake could make a good potion into a deadly poison. You’ll want to know well which one you make, or you might harm yourself unawares.”

“But how will I know, Muurine?” I asked, fearing the consequences should I make a mistake.

“Listen well, and I will show you,” she replied, smiling as the lesson continued. “The Isles are filled with everything you would ever need to make potions and poisons. There are rich supplies all around you, growing from the earth, and breathing with life. You will likely never need to gather your own supplies, as your father has servants who will do that for you. But it is important that you should know how to identify the plants and each of their parts, and what they are useful for.”

“What are you making now?” I asked, looking at the strange alchemy equipment, and the scores of ingredients she had on the table, and wondering how I would ever remember all this.

Muurine smiled, and replied simply, “We are going to start with an easy task. Making potions to do good things can be much more difficult, but it is almost too easy to make a lethal poison. Today I will show you how to make a poison with the power to stop the flow of blood through your veins within minutes. It is very potent, and it is odorless. One would never know it was there, until it was too late. Take care not to touch anything unless I tell you to, and never drink a potion if you are not absolutely certain of the effects it will have on your body….”

The poison she taught me to make in this, my first lesson, would come to be of use to me in later years, but as a child I had no reason to believe I would ever have use for poisons. Still, I watched and listened carefully, drinking in every part of the lessons, fascinated by the ability to turn seemingly mundane ingredients into powerful elixirs.

However, it was about this time that I became interested in another area of study that would move me ever further away from the arcane arts, and help me to build a reputation for myself that would last me a lifetime. In no time at all, I would become one of the most promising students in the art of combat that Dementia had ever seen.