Hey everyone.

This has been rattling around my head for a while now, and I figure I might as well get it started with and continued while I've got the drive to write it. As you might have guessed, the following is based off the Shivering Isles, but I'm doing my own thing with it somewhat, so I should probably say now that, while there are bits of this that you'll recognise, there are a lot of parts that you won't; I'm bringing in a lot of new character ideas and so forth, and there will be interesting things done.

Anyway, I'm not very good at this whole introduction business, so I'll just let you get on and read it. Do enjoy!




Chapter 1-The Champion


Do not be here when it will come. It is hungry. It is angry. It has plans. Your nice little world which you’re reading this in won’t be all that nice if they come to fruition. Oh no. You lucky, lucky things. You honestly have no idea. Must I explain?

Very well. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin.

Let’s step back. Right now, we are at the end. To begin at the end is impossible. Not impossible, no, not here, nothing is impossible here, but to begin at the end here is implausible. Is that the word I want? No. Unnecessary. It is doing it wrong. Sometimes it works, but here it does not. So let’s take a step back from here.



His fished crashed down, crunching bone. A scream rang out.

“Mercy! Please, mercy!”

“Mercy?” he asked, gauntlet raised above his head, his scarred, battered face contorted with rage. “You want mercy? That’s just too good.”



No, not far enough, further back we go. We need to get to before that. No context. That’s too close to the end for what we want.



He and Her Ladyship turned around on the glass platter as it rose above the city, stepping around one another’s feet as they danced.

“See,” she said. “I told you you’d be good at this; it’s all about the rhythm.”

He nodded, glancing down at their feet self-consciously as they moved.

“Relax,” she said, steering a hand gently down his back, guiding him along. “You’re learning fast, my dear.”

The world spun below them as they danced on their rotating glass platform, hovering in midair.



No, further back still. Is this it? Is this the place?



He pulled himself up the top of the ladder, through the trapdoor, into the great glass globe at the tower’s very top. He stared at the figure sitting cross-legged a few feet from him on a cushion, and the eyes of the man stared back at him.

In a voice as thick and rich as Felldew, Sentinel said; “Ah, you’re here. I saw you coming, you know.”



Not here, no. No, no, where is it? Where do I start?



The Angel of Rage slammed down before him in a landing that sent a cloud of ash blossoming around her. Wings of flame and lightning pinned themselves to her back, and a mace of fire materialised in her hand. Her ruined face twisted into a grimacing snarl as she beheld the intruder.

“Why are you here, mortal?” she demanded. “Why should I not destroy you?”



Not yet. She comes partway through. This is all too late, nobody will understand it, you fool!



They opened with a creak, and he saw it spread before him. A twisted landscape of gnarled roots, growing upwards into the air whilst leafy branches clawed at the ground. Rock formations of shimmering, rainbow stone formed bizarre shapes, ones that seemed to gain form as you looked at them, moved, grew, reached towards you. Faces grew from the scenery, hungry mouths and gasping maws, clawing talons.

He blinked and glanced away, setting off for the city in the distance.



No, not quite. Nearly there, nearly there. Here we are. Here, we begin.



He was drinking to the death of his best friend.

He getting slapped on the back, cheered, toasted, hailed as a hero, bought drinks, and all for the simple reason that he had just killed his best friend.

The night was a blur of tankards, one swallowed after another. There were yells of encouragement, the crowd urging him on once more, their favourite, their hero, their champion. He could only remember them being quiet from earlier, when they had all fallen silent right after that moment.

The taste of ale, the smell of smoke, the offensive eye-watering blur of flaming torches. He couldn’t focus his gaze properly, he noticed, and his tongue felt numb. He was getting drunk. Good.

“’nother drink!” he slurred out, swaying as he did so. Behind and beside him, the rest of the Blue Team cheered their approval and assent, ordering another round. He wasn’t paying tonight. He didn’t know who was paying tonight, and he didn’t care. What he wanted right now was noise. What he wanted right now was cheering. What he wanted right now was distraction.

His head was numb, spinning, buoyant. He managed to grin as complete strangers approached him, shook his hand, and grinning was good. Grinning meant he was happy, and he knew that it was important that he felt happy, that everyone expected him to be happy. He thought he was happy, so he was. He had the ale down the hatch, and that was good. That was a good way to get happy, get happy quickly.

“That’s our Carnius. Ain’t that something? Our Carnius, of all the people.”

That was one of the boasts. One of the favourites

“Waterfront boy, he is. Knew him since he were a kid.”

And there, another. He could pick the threads of conversation out as the Waterfront locals boasted about him, their Carnius, who had grown up around here. A real local hero. Something to boast about. Something to be proud of. Just went to show.

He stood, the sudden movement sending him swaying. There was a chorus of questions about what he was doing, where he was going and he answered them with; “Goin’ out back. Be back in a minute.”

He stumbled outside, moving through the inn, the crowd of blurry faces parting before him. He caught snippets of detail, a grin from an admirer, an alluring look from a hopeful wench, a torch burning in a bracket, a knot in the wooden surface of a table. The din of the tavern muted as he entered the back alley. It was a good tavern, that one. Good stories there. That time he and Agronak had nearly got arrested for brawling, only for the Watch to recognise who they were and haul everyone else off but leave them be, shaking their hands as they did so. That was one of the good ones. One of the favourites.

He urinated down the back wall, in the quiet, concentration taken up by the task at hand, before he finished relieving himself. And then, for a moment, in the quiet that followed, he was drawn back to earlier that day, in the hush that had come. The hush that had come when the battered, broken corpse had slumped to the floor of the arena, armour clattering, as Carnius had stepped back from the body of Agronak Gro-Malog, the Grey Prince. The hush that had come as he had limped away, down to the bloodworks. The hush that had come as he had done so without acknowledging the silent crowd, with the cheering only rumbling into his range of hearing as he had splashed chilly water from the Basin of Restoration onto his face.

And for a moment, the clarity and the harsh reality he had been avoiding since then hit him like the blow from a warhammer. Agronak was dead. He had killed him.

Carnius Hackelt, new Grand Champion of the arena, leant forwards against the wall and quietly wept for what he had just done.

AAAGH!!...WHERE'S THE REST OF IT??!!!...IT FINISHED!!...IT CANNOT FINISH!!...IT HASN'T FINISHED YET!!!...

Oh my (mad)God I love it...*Bounces excitedly like a puppy*...

There's this...



And then...Oh my God there's this bit...



!!!!... ...

If you do not finish this story and tell me what all that meant then I shall come to Nodnol and find you...Even if it takes me knocking on every door in the city...Aaaand then trying to figure out what you actually look like...Damn...Didn't think this threat through did I?...Thermos...

Aaamywho...FINISH IT!!...AS IT HAS ALREADY FINISHED...THEREFORE YOU MUST END IT HERE...

Yes...

An absolute nice one!!!...

*Applauds till his hands burst from sheer joy*...

This is blashphemy. This is madness. This is the Madgod!

Anyways, like the new idea. I was never a Sheogorath fan, nor crazed about his Nut-House realm we all know as the Shivering Isles, but I still think it's cool. Especially Dementia. Dead Grey Princes? And Carnius the new champion? This will be interesting.

"They opened with a creak, and he saw it spread before him. A twisted landscape of gnarled roots, growing upwards into the air whilst leafy branches clawed at the ground. Rock formations of shimmering, rainbow stone formed bizarre shapes, ones that seemed to gain form as you looked at them, moved, grew, reached towards you. Faces grew from the scenery, hungry mouths and gasping maws, clawing talons."

Welcome to th Shivering Isles.

McBadgere: Mmm...kay...

*Surreptitiously reaches for taser*

Cheers, though, and I'm pleased you like what you see. Sentinel and the Angel of Rage will both be expanded upon. They're both awesome. Especially Rage and her sisters. In fact, a lot of the characters I've thought up for this are going to be rather odd and unique. You might even say I'm going a little...

...crazy with them.

I'm a terrible person, I know. If you choose to stop reading from that comment alone, I completely understand.


Darkness Eternal: Thanks very mcuh.

Pleased you liked that bit of description, and expect some more like that; I've been reading quite a bit of Lovecraft lately...

Oh wow. I'm looking forward to this, Colonel Mustard!

Cool story, Colonel! I haven't got SI yet, so I'm kinda lost during the first bits, but I can still kinda relate to what's going on.

I'm also noticing the opening poetry, sweet stuff. It looks like a lady's torso, the way it's centered!

Grits: Thanks very much, and I hope you enjoy it!

Lay Saga: Well, those characters/sections are actually all original ones, so you're no more lost than anyone else reading this at the moment; I'm doing a lot of my own thing with the Shivering Isles, so don't worry too much. I'd recommend picking SI up at some point if you get the chance, though; it's probably one of the best TES expansions Bethesda have made.

And I can't say I noticed that poem shape up until now. Huh.

I aim to! Problem is I'm so backlogged with character ideas atm. I want to get to the point where I finish (or feel the story should end) some of my current games. The way it's looking right now, I won't even get to Si until next year!





.

A Shivering Isles Fan-Fic? Why in all my years (not many), I've never seen one of these. Colonel, I am really intrigued to see where this goes.

Ah, I know the feeling, Saga. Actually, that's a lie. I kind of make one character to suit a playing style and then do everything with them. Because I'm one of those people with absolutely no sense of romance.

And thanks, Zalphon, though there is Madness Helps Me Save Myself just a few threads down; helped inspire this, I might add.

I see. It must be a personality type or something. Some of us make one character and game with him/her/it forever, while others (myself included) feel the need for multiple characters.

I thought I had one of the biggest character lists around. I've had 12 in Oblivion, 4 so far in Skyrim, and at least 7 or 8 un-created or un-started ideas for characters. But then one day glargg made a list of his characters! His list blows mine away...I think we're talking in the neighborhood of 50 characters so far.

Y U NO ROMANTIC? Well, we all have our own little problems and I guess disinterests. You cna always fill your house with romance novels and watch chick flicks and interview love struck couples

Dude...I'm married, and I have no idea about romance... ...

Update already!!...

Lady Saga: 16, with more planned? Blimey, I've got 3 and I've done a good majority of the main questlines you can do with them...

Darkness Eternal: God no, I'd hate that.

McBadgere: Ask, and ye shall receive.



Chapter 2-Her Ladyship

Carnius walked through the streets of the Imperial City in the same way he always did; disguised and unseen by its people.

To them, he was just an ordinary man, muscular in build with battered features, a scar on his left cheek, a nose that had been broken and clumsily reset. An adventurer, a mercenary, a hired thug or perhaps a soldier. Perhaps not worth the time of someone looking to mug an easy victim, but nothing out of the ordinary.

People only recognised him, Carnius found, when he was wearing his gauntlets. That was his mark, his uniform, and bystanders realised who he was only with those on. The rest of the time, he was nobody.

Today, he liked that. He felt like being nobody. Though he could do without feeling like his skull was lined with dog hair.

He made his way past the tall, vaulted, white stone buildings of the market district of the Empire’s capital, along the cobbled streets. The streets bustled around him, people both rich and poor brushing past him, while the stink of horse dung and sewage pervaded the air. He avoided the main road, where carts and horses rumbled along, and kept a wary eye looking skywards in case anyone was dumping waste out of a window.

His journey had the final destination of the Arena, and as he reached the imposing stone building the sound of cheering reached his ears. A match on, he thought, and judging by the volume and relatively scant enthusiasm of it, probably a pair of pit dogs. He smirked at the realisation that he was able to judge that just from the sound of the crowd, but he supposed that wasn’t surprising; he knew the crowd, knew its moods and fickle favours, had performed for it more times than he cared to remember.

“Carnius,” Hundolin called as he approached, the Arena’s bookie raising a hand in greeting. “Back here already? I though Ysabel was letting you have a little time off.”

“Thought I’d work off the hangover on a punchbag,” Carnius said.

“Might not be happening,” Hundolin said. “Her Ladyship is watching the match at the moment; she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Oh, she is?” Carnius asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll go speak to her.”

So his sponsor had turned up to match the day after he’d won his title as Grand Champion. He’d seen her at the match, of course, but to have her coming back now was surprising. She was probably looking for new talent.

Nobody was quite sure who Her Ladyship was. She was nobility, without a doubt, a duchess or lady or something similar, but anyone Carnius asked was never certain about what she was duchess or lady of. But she had money, excellent taste, was a regular customer to the arena and had, in her time, sponsored several promising gladiators, Carnius included. That sort of thing was enough to make sure people didn’t ask too many questions, even if nobody actually knew her name.

He made his way up through the stands, to the top where the boxes for the richer customers were reserved. At the busier matches, the top corridor was usually lined with bodyguards for each individual box, but this time it was occupied only by the twins Her Ladyship employed. They nodded a greeting to him as he approached, which Carnius returned, and one of them pushed the door open for him.

“I wasn’t expecting a visitor,” Her Ladyship said as Carnius stepped into her private box. “But it’s good to see you, Carnius.”

Carnius was unsure exactly how she had known it was him, but he supposed it was just one of the things Her Ladyships was capable of. A perfectly manicured hand, kept with a near-obsessive meticulousness by some beautician, patted the vacant seat next to her, and she said; “Please, take a seat.”

“Thought you might want to see me,” Carnius said, looking down at the arena. “Seeing as your sponsorship’s over now. Ysabel’s disappointed.”

“I’m sure she’ll live,” Her Ladyship said. “No doubt she’s already lining up candidates for me to invest in.”

This got a chuckle from Carnius.

“Either of those two pit dogs down there worth my coin?” Her Ladyship asked as she noticed the direction of his gaze.

“Blue team one, I reckon,” Carnius said after a thoughtful minute, watching as the Argonian in question blocked a flurry of axe blows from the Nord he was fighting with his shield. The lizard-man made a spirited swing at the yellow team fighter with his flail, but the Nord simply stepped back out of the attack’s reach before it could hit home.

“Really?” Her Ladyship asked. “He appears to be losing. You aren’t just saying that out of a sense of patriotism, are you?”

Carnius shook his head.

“He hasn’t been trained,” he explained. “That Nord’s only winning because he has been. And he’s not exactly making all that good a job of the match.”

“I see,” Her Ladyship said. “A potential Grand Champion, do you think?”

“No,” Carnius said.

“What makes you so sure?” Her Ladyship asked.

“He’s a pit dog,” Carnius replied. “Too early to tell.”

“And when can you tell that someone is a potential Grand Champion, then?”

“When he’s in the arena facing Agro…facing me,” Carnius replied. “That’s when.”

Her Ladyship nodded.

“Well said,” she said.

There was a silence between them as they watched the match. The yellow team’s fighter split the Argonian’s shield, before a kick sent the blue team gladiator sprawling to the floor, knocking his flail from his hand. The Nord’s heavy boot stamped down on his opponent’s chest, pinning him to the ground, axe raised to split his skull.

“Kill him! Kill him!” some members of the crowd chanted as the Nord looked around for confirmation as to whether he should spare the lizard-man before him or not. Beast-folk always seemed to get more people chanting for their blood, Carnius had noted in the past.

“Well, shall we let him live?” Her Ladyship asked. The Nord’s gaze had fallen on her, of course; getting the favour of a noble was a good way to win future funding for better equipment and training, and it always did well to do what they demanded.

“Let him go,” Carnius nodded. “Owyn can give him a dressing down, but he won’t be half bad once he actually figures out how to use that weapon of his properly.”

“Very well,” Her Ladyship said, sounding somewhat disappointed. “If he proves himself, perhaps I’ll give him a little funding. I’m feeling generous, now that my primary investment has paid off so handsomely.”

She stood, and said in a voice that somehow carried, despite the fact that it wasn’t raised; “Spare him; he’s proven himself well enough to earn that.”

The Nord nodded, getting a mixture of cheers and jeers from the crowd, stepping off the Argonian’s chest and allowing the beast-man to rise. The two fighters limped away to their respective exits, each one of them going to their own Fountains of Restoration to heal up.

“I remember your first match quite well, you know,” Her Ladyship said after a moment, returning to her seat. “The youth stepping out of his cage armed with nothing more than a pair of steel gauntlets and punching the other pit dog into submission. You were the first unarmed fighter I’d seen in the arena. Do you remember that, Carnius?”

“Course I do,” Carnius replied as the arena began to empty. How could he forget? That first, bloodthirsty thrill of victory, the elation of the crowd cheering him, and that beautiful, golden-skinned woman standing in her box, smiling at him and raising a goblet of wine in a toast.

That had been nearly fifteen years ago, and somehow Her Ladyship hadn’t aged a day since, keeping her looks of a woman in her mid thirties. Probably some enchantment they put into the makeup of the nobles or another trick like that, he reckoned; it was the sort of thing the rich folk could afford, after all. There were dark rumours that her agelessness was because she was a vampire, but Carnius couldn’t help but feel that that was nonsense. She simply didn’t seem like a vampire; vampires were, according to rumour, able to turn men mute with terror with a look, but when she smiled at Carnius she had a way of somehow making him feel a little taller and a little better about himself. Probably had some High Elf blood in her or something like that.

“So what does the future hold for you then, Carnius?” Her Ladyship asked.

“Now?” Carnius said. “I’m not sure. Training, a few matches here and there, that sort of thing, I suppose. What Agronak did before…you know.”

“You sound like you’re at a bit of a loose end, there,” Her Ladyship said.

“I suppose; I was so focussed on actually become Grand Champion I never actually thought about what I’d do after it.”

Aside from them, the arena was now empty.

“Well,” Her Ladyship said. “Perhaps you will find something new to fill your time soon enough. Maybe it is time to move away from the Arena.”

Carnius snorted at that, and got a raised eyebrow in return.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“It’s a gladiator thing,” Carnius said. “You can’t leave the Arena, once you sign up. Sure, you can go work as a mercenary or an adventurer or something like that, but you can’t leave it.”

“Why not? Is it part of your contract? Are you hunted down if you go?”

“No, it’s just…you can’t leave,” Carnius replied. “It’s a rule, or an obligation, something like that. It’s not written down, but you come here and you stay here. You don’t die of old age; you die down there, in the ring. Every gladiator does.”

“I’ve heard of plenty of who died elsewhere,” Her Ladyship said.

“They aren’t proper gladiators.”

Her Ladyship gave a quiet chuckle at this.

“If you’re sure that you are,” she said. “Then stay.”

Carnius frowned for a minute, trying to figure out what she meant by that, before she rose.

“I suppose I should leave, seeing as the match is over,” she said. “Good luck with holding that title of yours, Grand Champion.”

She swept away towards the door, before Carnius called out; “Wait a minute.”

Her Ladyship stopped.

“Yes?”

“I never asked,” Carnius said. “Why did you choose to sponsor me? Of all the contestants down there in the arena, all that time ago, why me?”

“Because I saw potential for a champion,” Her Ladyship said. “That’s the only reason why.”

“And why do you want a Grand Champion?”

“Everyone needs a champion, sooner or later,” she said. “I’m just looking out for the right person for the job.”

She stepped through the door, and was gone.

Most definately loving the Arena vibe currently going about the place at the mo!!...

Yes, I know this is Imp. City... ...

Love the wander through the Market District, odours and all... ...

The Arena section itself was brilliant...

That Woman™ was a brilliant mixture of charm and creepyness...So very intriguing...Methinks that she's not all that she seems... ...Oh, sorry Her Ladyship™... ...

Fantastic start up...With absolutely no shock will the words - looking forward to much more - be received...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

So Carnius is all about hand to hand, then? Or does he also use weapons?

I particularly liked this line



because some of my characters also get like this. Some days, she (it's always she in this case) just wants to be a "nobody". Not famous. Not recognized for her successes. Just a regular townsperson. My paladin in Oblivion and a cleric I was playing in Skyrim are both like this.

Loving the start of this Colonel, the flashing from different beginnings. Tells me that you've got way more in store planned for us!

The character development of your afflicted champion is already intense, a gladiator with feelings, how about that. Can't wait to see what affect the Madgod has on him!

Awaiting the next update eagerly friend.

Hello everyone; sorry for the delay in updating, but my internet connection unexpectedly dropped out on me about a week or so back, so I've only just managed to get a dongle into my laptop now (not sure how long I'll have to read updates of stuff once I'm done posting this up, so I'm basically poking my head through the door). But that's the main reason why an update has been rather slow coming. Apologies.

McBadgere: Thank you very much; charm and slight creepiness was what I was going for with Her Ladyship, so I'm pleased I managed to nail that combination. Glad you liked the rest as well. *Tips hat*

Lady Saga: He's all about hand-to-hand; I do Tae Kwon-Do myself, so I figured I'd go for a fighting style that I know the mechanics of quite well.

And yes, sometimes you just want a nice day in the shade, away from the public eye, don't you?

Illydoor: Egad, you're alive!

I do indeed have a lot of cool ideas in store for all of this, and some of them are going to be very fun to write indeed. And I'm enjoying writing Carnius' character a lot already; the Isles should have a few iunteresting effects.

Thanks very much for reading, everyone!



Chapter 3-The Biggest Runt on Nirn

“Carnius,” Owyn said as the new Grand Champion stepped under one of the arches that supported the Arena’s main structure. “You’re back already? I wasn’t expecting to see you here just yet.”

Carnius shrugged.

“Thought I’d spend some time on the punchbag,” he said. “Got a bit of a headache; work it off.”

“Ahuh? Y’know, Ysabel had a few ideas about what you could do now you’re the new Grand Champion,” Owyn said as Carnius shrugged his shirt off and stepped up to one of the sacks full of straw hanging from the ceiling that he used for training.

“I’ll bet she does,” he said as he began to strike it, a series of rapid blows that thudded against the cheap leather bag.

“She was thinking about matches against animals,” Owyn said as Carnius continued to pound the punchbag. “Maybe once a week; something regular to pull the crowds in.”

Carnius nodded, focusing most of his attention on the leather before him. The point of impact, where he struck again and again, was beginning to sag. If he’d had his gauntlets on, he probably would have ripped it open by now.

Owyn frowned.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Later, Owyn,” Carnius replied, not relenting from the rain of blows he was slamming onto the punchbag.

“Eh, fine,” Owyn said. “I’ve got to go yell at that pit dog about his performance in the ring, anyway.”

The Redguard left, and Carnius’ brow furrowed in concentration as he attacked the bag. It was a relentless activity, and he paused only every minute or so to catch his breath. He’d soon run out of steam just from the sheer remorselessness of it, but it was the sort of thing he wanted to do. You didn’t have to think when you worked over a punchbag; you just hit and hit and hit and hit. The world was pushed to one side, any worries or troubles you had could be lost in the same implacable repetition of striking one blow after another. You just worked away, losing your mind in the rhythm of fists striking against leather and letting the minute drift by.

“Champiiioooon!” a hoarse, rasping voice cheered from behind him all of a sudden. Carnius knew who that was; there was nobody else it could be.

“Hello, Ta’Xarna,” Carnius said, not looking away from his work.

“What’s this?” Ta’Xarna asked from behind him. “Where is Khajiit’s greeting?”

“Said hello, didn’t I?”

This got him a snort of derision, but Carnius ignored it and continued his punching. He was beginning to flag, he could feel, run out of energy, but considering how long he must have been doing it that wasn’t a surprise.

A furry hand waved in front of his eyes and Carnius stepped back out of instinct, pushing it away from him and bringing fists up on an automatic reaction, swivelling on the spot to face Ta’Xarna. The tiny Khajiit just grinned at him.

“Just making sure you were all there,” he said as Carnius lowered his fists. “You pay attention to Khajiit now, yes?”

“Oh sod off, Ta’Xarna,” Carnius replied, shaking his head.

“No,” the Khajiit replied. “You are Grand Champion now. We are celebrating!”

“I celebrated last night,” Carnius said.

“We are celebrating again,” Ta’Xarna replied. “Khajiit is taking you to a tavern, getting drunk, finding a pretty wench and making much love to her. You are doing the same too. Different wench though.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe share if she is pretty enough and no other good women are around.”

“For the Nine’s sake, it’s too early to get drunk,” Carnius said. He frowned and added; “What time is it, anyway?”

“After sunrise and before sunset,” Ta’Xarna said. “And not too early to go and get drunk. Never too early to go and get drunk. Now put a shirt on, we’re going to find a tavern.”

Carnius probably could have told Ta’Xarna to get lost and continued with his work, but that would have had little success in stopping the efforts of the five-foot Khajiit, so he just shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, picking his shirt up from where he had left it and pulling it on. “Let’s go.”

“That’s my boy!” Ta’Xarna said with a clap of his hands, the soft pads on them muffling the noise. “We will find two pretty ladies today! Elves, Khajiit is thinking.”

The Khajiit and the Imperial made a strange pair as they left the arena, the small beast-man chatting animatedly to his fellow who stood a good head taller than him. His arena name, the Mighty Ta’Xarna, largest runt on Nirn, was a joke that only he could like, but despite the fact that the scimitar he fought with was the size of him and he did battle in a jester’s cap, Ta’Xarna was as vicious as they came. Not to mention that the crowd absolutely adored him.

The tavern they picked a waterfront one, despite Ta’Xarna’s protestations that all the women worth his time would be up at one of the fancier establishments in the city. It was dark, quiet and slightly dingy, just what Carnius was looking for, and the rather dumpy barmaid there knew them both well enough.

“Back already, I see,” she remarked as they pushed open the door.

“Eh, we were going to come here again sooner or later,” Ta’Xarna replied as they took a seat at the bar. “Might as well make it sooner.”

This got him a laugh, and he added; “Two meads for this Khajiit and his fine friend.”

“Coming up,” the barmaid nodded, pulling a pair of pewter mugs from under the counter.

“Why did we come here?” Ta’Xarna asked, glancing around at the barely inhabited bar. “I don’t see a single woman here worth Khajiit’s time.”

“You can go and find some later,” Carnius said. “I just want a drink.”

“Fine, fine,” Ta’Xarna asked. “You’re Grand Champion now, I’d think you want to celebrate it a bit more.”

“Just wish Agronak was here,” Carnius said.

Ta’Xarna shrugged.

“I’ll miss him too,” he said. “But he always tugged my ears.”

“Everyone tugs your ears,” Carnius replied, giving a small grin despite himself. To emphasise his point, he grabbed one of Ta’Xarna’s ears and pulled it, earning a yowl of protest, Ta’Xarna flailing a paw to fend him off.

“Leave Khajiit’s ear alone, or you’re going without one,” he growled, bearing his teeth. He shook his head. “Anyway, Agronak’s ear pulling was special. You could tell he really meant it. That always made Khajiit feel loved.”

Carnius nodded, before Ta’Xarna said; “Don’t worry, I’ll let you have a few years as Grand Champion before I go and steal your title.”

“That isn’t funny,” Carnius said, shaking his head as the barmaid set their drinks down in front of them. “Cheers.”

“Is pretty funny for Khajiit,” Ta’Xarna replied.

“Yeah, well you’ve always had a strange sense of humour,” Carnius replied, to which Ta’Xarna shrugged.

“Is normal one for any old Khajiit,” he said. “You Imperials just don’t get it.”

“If you’re sure,” Carnius said. He raised his tankard, and said; “To Agronak.”

“To Agronak,” Ta’Xarna echoed, clinking his against Carnius’. “And all the other good friends we’ve lost in the arena.”

Carnius nodded at that last comment. It was a sobering truth that both them would most likely die on the sands just as the Grey Prince had. It was probably why he wasn’t feeling as bad as he thought he should feel; he’d grown used to this sort of thing.

“Hey!” someone called across the tavern, and Carnius glanced over to see someone hurrying over to him. “Hey, Carnius, lad! I heard about you and the arena.”

Carnius glanced over to see an old man with a walking stick limping towards them, a grin on his weathered, wrinkled face.

“Gannall,” Carnius said as the old man approached. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Suppose not, suppose not,” Gannall said. “I don’t mind, don’t worry; you were probably busy training up till now, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Carnius said slowly, who decided to mention that he had simply been neglecting to come down to the waterfront for a while. “Didn’t you see the match?”

“Couldn’t afford a seat,” the old man said, pulling up a stool. “And I didn’t want to go bothering you for one, before you say that you’d have given me one; I may be poor, but I’m proud. Never begged anything off another man in my life, and I’m not starting now.”

He shook his head.

“To think,” he said. “I knew you since you were a little lad. And now look at you; Grand Champion of the Arena!”

He grinned and clapped Carnius on the shoulder.

“Your old dad would be proud of you, if he was still around to see it,” he said. “We’re all proud of you down here, you know; a Waterfront lad, getting famous from nothing. Just goes to show that there’s hope for us all, eh?”

“Suppose it does,” Carnius said, shifting in his seat as if suddenly uncomfortable. The last thing that had crossed his mind was doing the Imperial City Waterfront, of all places, proud, but if that was what the old man liked to think, then he was welcome to think it, Carnius supposed.

“You know what’s best about you and all this?” Gannall said, completely unaware of any discomfort on Carnius’ behalf. “You stuck with us, despite all your money and fame; you didn’t suddenly brush us all off and go mingling with nobby types and saying that we were good for nothing. You stuck by us. That’s something special, that is.”

“Thanks,” Carnius said, unsure what to say.

“Ah, don’t go thanking me, lad,” Gannall replied. “Y’know what, I’ll leave you and your Khajiit friend to your drinks, but I just wanted to say that. You did a good thing, sticking with your roots.”

He stepped up, and began calling to the barmaid for a drink, and Ta’Xarna watched him go.

“You know,” he said after a moment. “Why do you stay down here, anyway?”

“I just do,” Carnius said. “My house down here is fine. Besides, I was born here.”

“Khajiit was born in the docks in Anvil,” Ta’Xarna replied. “Doesn’t make them any better. As soon as Khajiit had the money to come and be a gladiator, he didn’t stay back in his awful shack in the port. Khajiit got his money and got himself a house. Now look where he lives; big place in the Elven Gardens, with garden, dining room, bedrooms, even a secret cellar for Skooma and Moon Sugar. Where do you live? Run-down hut down here, even though you’re making lots of cash with every fight you do.”

“My house is fine,” Carnius said. “I’m happy with it. Besides, you know I’m no good with numbers; if I tried to buy a place I’d just get ripped off.”

“Who’d do that to you? You’re six feet tall and can punch someone to death.”

“I just don’t think it’s worth the trouble.”

“If you’re sure,” Ta’Xarna said, though Carnius could sense the doubt on the Khajiit’s voice.

The real reason was more than that, but if he told Ta’Xarna then the best he’d get would be bafflement and at worst the Khajiit laughing in his face. Agronak probably would have understood, Carnius reckoned, but not Ta’Xarna, as much as he liked the cheerfully sociopathic beast-man. The reason why he hadn’t moved away was the same reason you never left the Arena once you joined it; if you were part of it, it owned you, forever. If he’d bought a new house with the money he’d won in the arena, nobody would say anything, and nobody would do anything, but there would be that quiet wellspring of resentment that would always bubble away back where he was born. It always happened when people managed to make money and moved away. Had Carnius left, people would quietly remark to themselves; “Carnius thinks he’s Better Than Us. He’s got Ideas that are Above His Station. He’s let it all Go To His Head. He’s Letting The Side Down. He’s Associating With All The Posh Types now.” He’d no longer become a beloved local hero, but instead be the one who sold out to fame and riches and forgot where he came from.

Of course, his sponsoring from Her Ladyship was probably him associating with the posh types in any case, but nobody seemed to have noticed that outside of the arena. After all, why talk about that sort of thing when you could talk about the time that mad Khajiit in the jester’s cap chopped a Nord in half with a scimitar? Or that time the Grey Prince had beaten four men alone, armed with just a short sword?

He drained his drink as that memory jogged something important, rising from his seat.

“Where are you going?” Ta’Xarna asked, frowning. “We’re nowhere near to being drunk.”

“I’ve got something I need to do,” Carnius said.

“Can’t it wait?”

“No,” Carnius replied, putting a handful of septims on the counter. “It’s important. That’s for the mead.”

Ta’Xarna frowned.

“If you insist,” he replied. “Maybe I can go to a place with prettier girls, now. Find those two elves I wanted.”

“Yeah, fine,” Carnius said, hurrying out.

Ta’Xarna shrugged before finishing his own drink, shaking his head as he set it down. If Carnius was gone, he supposed, there was nothing to hold him and his fun back. Now, at least, he might find something worth his time.

Aaawwww!!!!...Ta'Xarna is so sweet!!!...My Gods he made me laugh!...

Loved the idea of him fighting in a jester's hat... ...

They made a good pairing, Carnius all quiet and moody and the Khajiit all funny...Loved it!!...



LMFAO!!...

Love it...

Many brilliants!!...Well done to you Sir!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Just a thing, use italics to emphaize the thoughts. You seemed to have missed it in the last chapters

Dude, I loved the gladiatorial fight in "Her Ladyship". Gives me reason to keep writing so I can reach the arena sections in the other story. Love the Roman effect of the citizens cheering for death of a poor showing. It must be horrible to have your life end at the roar of the howling mob. Her Ladyship, a vampire? No way!

Dood! You do Martial Arts? That kicks @$$. No pun. But it's good to see Carnius do some hand to hand fights himself, a welcome relief from the other combatants. The tavern toast part was interesting, I loved seeing the group toasting to Agronak. The bravado vibe was greately written here, as was the fellowship. And being Grand Champion means you get money and hoez Gold and Wenches.

It's back! (finally)

McBadgere: Yeah, I've developed a soft spot for Ta'Zarna while writing this too. He will be appearing again, worry not.

Darkness Eternal: I know about italics thing but I haven't actually had any active thoughts in the last few chapters...

Glad you enjoyed the gladiator scene, and I was trying to get some sense of what it would be like to have your life in the hands of a crowd (plus it never made sense to me to have all the arena fights to the death; you'd just run out of gladiators...), or entirely dependent on whether a rich patron is in a good or a bad mood. And no, Her Ladyship is not a vampire, though I can imagine that she and Alucardius would probably enjoy one another's company.

And yes, I do do Martial Arts (krapow!), which will hopefully make Carnius' fight scenes nice and realistic as well as being visceral and exciting. And as for the gold and wenches, well...I wonder how long their appeal will last.


Chapter 4-The Parting Gift

You prepared for these things when you worked as a gladiator. In a profession where death was a constant that hung over you on gossamer threads, it was foolishness not to. Those who lasted in the arena knew that the likelihood of each match being their last increased with every bout, and so took some measures and made preparations. Everybody at the arena had the sense to get their affairs in order soon.

Agronak had not had anything as fancy as a proper will and testament made with a lawyer, mainly because he had never trusted them. Instead, he had given Carnius a key and made him promise that he would do as he had asked with it if he ever died in the arena.

Carnius’ first destination was his house on the waterfront. He unlocked the door to his small, shabby and yet well kept one-storey home and headed through the main room into his bedroom. It was simple and Spartan, more a place to sleep than to live, with the only other bits of furniture being a bedside table, a wardrobes for his clothes and a chest to safeguard his possessions. There were no books or even any pictures; Carnius hadn’t time for the latter and he found former too much trouble to work out for it to be any kind of pleasure.

He picked up the chest with a grunt, heaving it to one side and pulling back the threadbare green rug it lay on top of. Underneath that was a trapdoor, and he clicked back the bolt and lifted it up.

Beneath it, there was another chest. There were several items here that were most important to him; much of his coin, as, like Agronak, he held with local wisdom that said it was bad to trust lawyers, bankers or any of their kind, a few other bits of personal memorabilia and the key.

He took it and tucked it into his pocket, closing the chest and placing it back in its hiding place, dropping the chest over it and making sure that the rug wasn’t obviously disturbed. His work done, he left his house, locking the door behind him once more as he headed for Agronak’s old house.

When he found it, there were already people there, people he didn’t know. Opening up the door, going through it. Ransacking and looting it.

He strode towards one of them who was standing outside it with a heavy ledger and a quill, and asked; “What’s going on? Who are you?”

“Quinitus Tarral, Imperial Office of Taxation and Audits,” the man replied. “The inhabitant of this house here passed away yesterday, and as he specified no inheritor in his will it’s now property of the Empire. You a friend of his?”

“Yes,” Carnius replied. “And you can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Quinitus asked. “It’s all perfectly legal.”

Carnius shook his head; he couldn’t argue with that.

“Look,” he said. “I’m a friend of his. He made me promise to do something with his money for him if he died. I need to get it.”

Quinitus snorted.

“Nice try,” he said. “He’s got no will, so you don’t have a leg to stand on, let me assure you of that. Now move along and stop wasting my time.”

“Is everything still in there?” Carnius asked, changing subject.

“Yes, it is, seeing as we’re still making an inventory of it all,” Quinitus replied. “And that doesn’t mean you’re getting in.”

“Right,” Carnius said. “Thanks.”

He stepped past Quinitus, through the front door.

“Hey!” the clerk called after him “Where are you going?”

“In there,” Carnius said as he entered the spacious hallway.

“You can’t do that!” Quinitus protested. “Don’t make me call the Watch!”

“Call them if you want,” Carnius said. “I don’t care.”

Quinitus hestitated as Carnius stepped into what looked like a study before hurrying after Carnius.

“I’m warning you,” he said.

Carnius turned on him, and Quinitus gulped as he realised just how much taller and brawnier than him Carnius was, clutching his ledger to his chest like a shield.

“Look,” Carnius said. “I made Agronak a promise that I’d do something with his money for him if he died. I know you’re just doing your job, but if you keep getting in my way then we’re going to have a problem. Understand?”

“Yes,” Quinitus managed. “Look, I know you might be upset if he was your friend, but I really can’t let you do this, please! There’s a legal process and everything we can work it out, but I can’t just let you march in here and take things. I’d lose my job if I did that.”

He shook his head, and said; “Who are you, anyway?”

“The new Grand Champion.”

Quinitus was quiet for a moment, before he said; “Oh.”

After a second he added a hesitant; “Congratulations, I suppose.”

“Thanks,” Carnius said. “Now look, can I get Agronak’s money out? I’m not just going off with it, and he made me promise to do something with it. Look, he even gave me this key for his strongbox and everything.”

He fished it out of his pocket to prove his point, and Quinitus frowned. Carnius could see he had the small man running scared, and he had enough self-preservation instinct in him to decide that refusing the Grand Champion was a bad idea.

“I suppose,” he said after a moment. “Seeing as you have the key and everything, it counts as a verbal contract. And if the money’s with a trusted party and is accounted for, it should be alright. Nothing I’d lose my job over.”

Carnius nodded.

“Say it was a charitable donation,” he said. “They don’t tax those, do they?”

“No, no,” Quinitus said. “You can take the money, if you want. Just don’t punch anyone, please.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Carnius replied as he pulled open a cupboard on the desk Agronak had. He wasn’t sure how much the Grey Prince would have actually used it; he was hardly the most academic of people. The speculation was immaterial, however, and what was more immediate was the grey steel box in there. He placed the key in its lock and clicked it open, pulling the lid back to inspect the stash of Septims within it. He wasn’t sure of the sum within, but Grand Champion was a well-paid title and it was certainly a lot. He closed it, nodding in satisfaction, taking it and tucking it under his arm.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m done.”

He doubted there was much else he could do for Agronak’s house now.

Quinitus nodded, then hesitantly held up his quill and asked he asked; “I don’t suppose you can sign my ledger, could you?”

“Fine,” Carnius shrugged. “Where do you want me to sign it?”

Quinitus flicked to the back of it, to a blank page, and said; “Just there would be fine.”

Carnius nodded, taking the quill and scrawling something approaching his name on the parchment.

“Now there’s a keepsake worth hanging onto,” Qunitius said, ripping the page from the book. “Thank you.”

“It’s alright,” Carnius said, making for the door.

He left Agronak’s house with his package, heading back through the crowded streets of the Imperial city. People bustled around him, but paid him no more heed other than to move out of his way. Soon enough, he had found his destination; a large building of white stone, one that looked old but was still well kept, with the words ‘Saint Allesia’s Home for Parentless Children’ written on a sign above the door.

He rapped his knuckles on the heavy oak door, and after a few moments of waiting it swung open for him. He was greeted by an Imperial woman, who asked him; “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?”

“I’ve come to make a donation,” Carnius said. “Just a bit of, you know, charity.”

He rattled the strongbox and the girl nodded.

“Of course, thank you,” she said. “Come on in.”

She lead him through into a small side room, and nodded for him to set down the strongbox on the table.

“How much are you giving?” she asked as Carnius did so, pulling the key from his pocket.

“I’m not sure,” Carnius replied. “I was just giving you what’s in the box.”

He pulled the lid back, revealing the contents, and she gasped as she looked at the gold within.

“By the Nine,” she murmured. “I…there must be thousands in there. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. There’s been work on the building we’ve needed to and we were worried about how we were going to get the money, but this is…thank you, thank you.”

She bit her lip, tears of amazed gratitude beginning to well before she cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” she managed. Carnius was standing a little uncomfortably, blushing at the outburst of emotion. “This is just…it’s quite a shock, that’s all.”

“It’s fine,” Carnius said. “I think I understand.”

She nodded.

“What’s your name, sir,” she said. “I mean, we were hoping to build a new set of dormitories and if you wanted to we could name it after you; this should pay for it.”

“It’s not my money,” Carnius said. “I’m giving it on behalf of a friend of mine. He, ah, he can’t deliver it himself.”

“Oh,” the woman said. “I’m sorry to hear that. It was a very generous thing of him to ask for. What was his name? We can put up the new wing as a memorial for him, if you think it would be the sort of thing he would like; it would be a good thing to be remembered by.”

“Yeah, he’d like that,” Carnius said. “His name was Agronak; Agronak Gro-Malog.”

“The Grey Prince?” the orphanage’s proprietor asked, to which Carnius nodded. “I see. I suppose he was well known for being charitable with his money.”

She smiled at him, and said; “Thank you, again. There would have been a lot of people who would have kept this, I think. It was good of you to do this.”

“I promised him,” Carnius replied with a shrug. “And I’m a man of my word.”

“And the world could use more men like you,” the woman said. “Thank you again, sir. I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

“I’m sure you will,” Carnius said. “I think I should go, though. Good luck with making that new wing.”

He rose to left, before he was stopped by the orphanage’s owner asking; “I didn’t get your name, sir. What is it?”

“It’s nothing important,” Carnius said. “I was just a friend of Agronak’s, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” she said. “But if it’s all the same, thank you. We’re in your debt here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Carnius replied. “I just passed the money on.”

He nodded a farewell to her, which she returned, still sitting by the box with a disbelieving air about her. He made his way through the front door, making sure the latch closed behind him, and it was as he stepped back onto the street that he realised something; he had absolutely no idea of what he was going to do with himself next.

Yeah, not all contests ended in death. People didn't want to waste a life that they invested on. Its like murdering a famous football player because he did a poor showing in during a football game, you know. I reread the Ladyship scene(Isabelle) weeks ago, and yeah, I did conclude that she is not a vampire. I knew that

Good that you do martial arts. As a practitioner and a writer, I am quite sure you will write a compelling yarn on the do's and dont's and how's of hand to hand combat. Gold and wenches...good for a time. Depending on the individual, their appeal can diminish quite significantly.

We certainly get to see more of Carnius in this chapter. For example, his not so extravagant living conditions and lack of books means he either is short on coin or he prefers a more humble living space. The lack of books tells us he is not much of a reader either. I like the fact that a memorial of Agronak was offered. It wa still sad to see the fallen champion's house ransacked and looted. Good chapter. We can only wait to see what is in story for Carnius.

RL has kept me from catching up on too many of the stories here. But I thought I'd check yours out as it is still quite short.

I have to say, you hooked me from the first post. The various scenes we saw are excellent teasers of the story to come. Ending with the death of the Grey Prince (one of the real tragedies in the game, I have to admit) is a most excellent way of beginning the narrative.

Be as crazy as you wish - it's the Madgod we're talking about, right? He isn't called Mad for nothing, right?

After that first chapter, I really, especially liked the most recent (The Parting Gift) as it tells us more about Agronak's character and the sort of man Carius really is. It gives us a real sense of history that is so much more enjoyable than seeing a full-developed character spring out of the waters of Lake Rumare, so to speak.

Being a bit of a grammar dictator myself, I am quite pleased by the technical quality of your writing, as well. I find nit-filled stories very difficult to read. This story isn't typical of that sort of tale, and I can just enjoy what you, the writer, is trying to tell us. Thanks for taking the time to put out this sort of quality - it is much appreciated.

I think I will keep following this story, just to see the dance scene with Her Ladyship, the Angel of Rage, and Sentinel. Those teasers showed me the kind of characters they are, and I'm intrigued!

Ta’Xarna is tremendous fun to read. I love that Qunitius asked for an autograph. Pure enjoyment, Colonel!

Oh-ho-hooo yes!!... ...

A fantastic episode that shows much of Carnius' character in that he didn't just run off with the money...Then again, this is possibly why he's a Champion eh?... ...

Loved the section at Agronak's house...The dialogue was perfect... ...Made me smile muchly...

Brilliant stuff...

Looking forward to more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Darkness Eternal: Indeed, people did not want the gladiators they had invested in from dying; one of the odder things about Oblivion was that all the fights were to the death, but I can understand that from a design viewpoint.

On the martial arts thing, I'll say now that that isn't really my main focus with the story (it'll appear, of course, but still...). I'm more trying to focus on character and, in this case, the setting.

And on the lack of books, Carnius isn't much of a reader, no; I'm trying to go for a hero who, while still a smart person, isn't particularly well educated and was unable to get good schooling when he was younger. Thus, books don't mean all that much to him, and he can, in fact, barely write, hence the scrawled signature.


Haute Ecole Rider: Thank ye kindly, good sir! (Or possibly madam. Internet, you know how it is)

I'm glad you're enjoying this, and having Carnius develop over the course of the story is somewhat my intention; I'm trying for somewhat of a Bildungs-Roman story, so I want him to grow out time, and full development straight out of the lake would be counter productive.

And on the grammar note, I always try and keep it good. But thank you in any case. And enjoy the characters when they appear!


Grits: Thanks very much indeed!


McBadgere: Well, it wasn't so much that Carnius is a champion that caused him to honour Agronak's wishes as it was that he's a basically decent person. And I'm glad you liked the section at Agronak's house; I enjoyed writing it a lot, and I'm pleased you enjoyed reading it too.




In short, thank you everyone, and I love you all!
Except you, Clive. Go back to your corner.

I also took tae kwon do as a teen, but slacked on it in as high school started. Got to green belt before I decided I liked sleeping in on Saturday mornings instead, or partying with all my friends the night before.



I was thinking this would be you-know-who. I think you did this on purpose, hey?

Y'know, that didn't actually occur to me in the slightest. Barely pay much attention to Harry Potter nowadays...

And that's pretty cool that you did TKD too; I'm planning on sticking to it for a while longer (kind of wishing I'd started earlier) and might even go to study it in South Korea.

Nice concisely written post there - not too rambling and elaborate to kill the pace of the story.

Can't wait to see what trouble is going to come Carnius' way, he just seems like a guy that attracts it!

Rather sullen too, wonder which side of madness he will prefer...

Just one thing:
very nitpicky really but it couldn't be Spartan, Carnius' couldn't know what that is! I only say because I posted Dawncaster (holy crap such a long time ago) in some forum and everyone went nuts because of a scene with a clock in it, which was not 'lore-friendly'.

Also, what martial arts do you do? Shotokan Black Belt 2nd Dan over here

Maybe Nirn has a Sparta somewhere else in the world that they wound up coining the phrase about... ...And, personally speaking, if I'd read yer story, (is it here btw?) I'd have been quite happy with the clock...I mean, why bother giving the player one to look at if they're not going to have them in the world...And, right, why give the chapels such big bell towers if yer not going to put a clock on the front of it?...My twopenneth...

But then I'm not one for staying inside the lore...If you know what I mean... ...

*Taps foot impatiently*...Mustard?...

Eh, that might be true if it was in dialogue, but I'm not sure how well it holds up seeing as the term 'Spartan' has evolved from meaning 'from the region of Sparta, in Greece' to 'simplistic and minimal' and that the term is being used as a description from the author, not the character. So it would be a valid adjective to apply, surely? I mean, if you wanted to be legalistic about then there's a whole ton of adjectives and other words that you wouldn't be able to use simply because Nirn lacks the cultural/historical context for them to have come about.

And the Shivering Isles has a metronome. That's basically a clock. So the clock works.

And the martial art is Tae Kwon Do, currently at green tag; I started fairly late in the day.



What?

Sorry old mate...

Tried to suggest impatience and excitement towards reading more...

*Shrug*...

That's what I said! I'm sure all the chapels have clocks!

It was that Redrock guy Mustard, don't know if you remember him?

Yeah the story's knocking around here somewhere McBadgere, never did get round to finishing it . On something new now though, might get back to it sometime in the future.

Quick! Call the Arcane University! We've got a threadomancer on the loose!


Chapter 5-The Door

There's scratching. Scratching in the walls. I don't know what it is. I don't know why there is scratching. Nobody told me that there would be this damn scratching.

I listened. Put down my quill, halted this chronicle, something dangerous in itself (don't tell them, please. They'll be angry with me. We can't let that happen) and listened against the walls. There is a scraping, a gnawing, a scratching, something eating away at them. It must know I'm in here.

Oh no. Please, if you're reading this, send help. Send help, stop it before it gets in!

But the chronicle…the chronicle must continue.

Must write it or they'll see I've stopped…

The crowd roared as the razor-edged claw closed over the heavy gauntlet, clattering against Daedric ebony and gripping. The land-dreugh tugged, trying to stumble Carnius with the grip it held against him, but the gladiator moved with it. He pulled himself in as he swung a punch with his free hand, slamming the spiked knuckles of the heavy metal gloves into the thick carapace that guarded its arm. The bone armour cracked on the impact and the claw released, and Carnius braced raised his arm as the other one swung towards him.

It hit the vambrace protecting his wrist and he turned his forearm as it impacted. The claws slid away before they could get a grip and Carnius' hand twisted around, gripping onto it as the land-dreugh lost balance, the crablike creature shrieking in anger and dismay before his free fist slammed home on the joint. Its cries turned to those of pain as the armour around it cracked into jagged shards that sliced into muscles and severed nerves, the claw lolling uselessly as the crablike being stumbled away from his grip.

Across the arena sands, man and beast faced one another. Carnius panted, blood pounding in his ears as he sized up his opponent in an instant. One of its claws was now useless, nothing more than a barely-controllable club with a sharp, bony edge, the other still working but injured. The razor-tipped forelegs it had were still very much in commission and sharp enough to gut him if he wasn't careful, and he needed to get around those if he wanted a chance to kill it. The head was what he needed to deal with; pulp its tiny brain and it would die.

A moment later, he had formulated a plan for that. One that would look nice and dramatic for the crowds, too.

He moved, shifting over to the left, the dreugh following his movements as he did so. He pressed along the wall of the arena, yelling at the beast as it watched him. It dithered for a moment as the crowd yelled and bellowed for it to do something, before the noise and pain pushed it too far and it charged forwards with a shriek of anger.

Carnius crouched, grabbed a handful of grit and hurled it at his enemy as it skittered towards him. It gave a hissing wail as it was blinded, stumbling and staggering away. It drew to a halt, its remaining good claw scraping over its beady eyes as it tried to clear the stinging sand, and Carnius moved. It may not have hit the wall like he had hoped it would, but it was good enough.

He darted behind it while it was distracted, vaulting onto its back. The dreugh shrieked as it realised where he was, jolting as it tried to throw him and slicing a claw towards him. Carnius grabbed onto one of the lesser arms that protruded from its back with one hand, blocked with the other, the thick chitin claws glancing off the Daedric ebony and throwing it away.

He took his opening, pulled forwards and punched.

The blow crashed into the back of its skull, snapping the shell that protected it and pulping the soft meat beneath it. The Dreugh shrieked and toppled forwards, staggering before Carnius drew his fist back again, the spikes on his gauntlet's knuckles dripping with transparent pink blood and chunks of bone and gore. He smashed it home again, and the Dreugh pitched forwards, toppling onto the sands.

As he rose the crowd roared, clambering to their feet as they bellowed their approval. He looked around at them and raised an arm in acknowledgement. He could pick out coin being passed between customers and bookies along with a few angry words here and there.

He gave a final wave as he headed back down towards the Bloodworks, making his way through the tunnel built from viscera-stained stone. He pushed open the door at the bottom, smiling as he looked at the gore-stained basin in the circular room at the bottom.

He splashed water from it onto his face, the cool and salty liquid running over his skin and bringing the dirt with it. The enchantment on the basin took effect immediately, the fatigue in his muscles seeping away and the nicks and bruises from the fight fading and closing.

Owyn was waiting for him in the Bloodworks, and the Redguard nodded the new Grand Champion his approval as he saw him.

"Good work," he said, stepping from the wall which he was leaning on. "Crowd loved that one if the noise they were making out there was anything to judge by. Here, your pay."

He handed Carnius a small purse that gave a quiet clink as it dropped into the gladiator's palm. Carnius pulled its neck open to check it, the red glint of light within showing its contents to be rubies.

"Should be a thousand Septims' worth of them in there," Owyn said. "Easier to carry than that many coins."

"Thanks," Carnius said as he pocketed it.

"Of course," Owyn said, the Redguard stepping through into the rest of the damp innards of the Bloodworks. There were a few gladiators lounging about, practicing against dummies or sparing against each other with wooden weapons. "Hey, pit dog!"

The Argonian he addressed looked up from where he was expecting a shield, and a clawed hand picked up a flail.

"You're on in two minutes, pit dog," Owyn said. "Head up to entrance, get ready."

"Of course," the Argonian said, standing up and sliding on a helmet, heading past them. He paused as he saw Carnius. "Hey, are you…?"

"Not now, pit dog," Owyn barked. "Head up; crowd's waiting."

"Good luck, kid," Carnius added, to which the lizard-man nodded his thanks. He hurried away up the stairs, scaly tail brushing against the floor with a dry hiss. "Saw him before; was doing alright. He any good?"

"He's a quick learner, I'll give him that much," Owyn replied. "And he's survived this long. Refuses to hear that his flail's not the best weapon for the sort of brawling you get in an arena."

"If I remember right, you said the same thing about me fighting with my fists," Carnius replied. "Look how that turned out."

"You just got lucky," Owyn said.

Carnius snorted.

"What?" Owyn asked.

"Every one of us here is just a wet-behind-the-ears pit dog to you, aren't we?" Carnius asked, gesturing to the gladiators.

"Well, what can I say?" Owyn said. "That's what I all saw you as, and first impressions stick. Except for Ta'Zarna."

"Oh, and what was he?"

"A goddamn maniac. And that never changed."

Carnius shrugged at this, and Owyn suddenly glowered.

"Arran!" he called out to a Redguard gladiator who was practising a series of combat manoeuvres with a pair of scimitars. She stopped what she was doing as the Blademaster approached. "What in the Nine's name do you call that?"

"I'll leave you to your berating," Carnius said as he stepped over to the small locker and mannequin that held most of his arena possessions. He slid off the studded leather tunic and kilt that formed the large part of his armour as the Imperial Arena's champion, and removed his gauntlets. A shirt and trousers of loose, cool and clean cotton, top dyed blue and the bottom simple black, were pulled on, and he inspected the gauntlets. They were still flecked with a few stray chunks of Dreugh-matter, and he wiped them off with a cloth, setting about oiling and cleaning them the best he could. The daedric metal that bladed his knuckles was undamaged, the hardened ebony resilient enough to withstand anything a Dreugh could throw at it and was already clean of blood; he had noticed that was always a strange trait of those bands that ran along them, as if it were somehow drinking it in.

The work did not take long, and soon enough he left, heading into the bustling streets of the Imperial City with his gauntlets safely stored away in the Bloodworks. The crowds flowed around him as he made his way along the pavements, his journey uninterrupted aside from when he was nearly sprayed by a sheet of water from a passing carriage. He halted by a street corner where a boy was standing with a bundle of scrolls under his arm, brandishing one of them like the sceptre of some king, and bellowing at the top of his lungs; "Black Horse Courier! Black Horse Courier! Get all the news you could possibly want here!"

His gaze glanced towards Carnius as he saw him draw to a halt.

"Want a copy of the Courier, mister?" he asked. "Only a Septim."

"What's it reporting on today, then?" Carnius asked.

"What everyone's talking about," the boy said. "The island that's appeared in the middle of the Niben Bay."

"Island?" Carnius asked.

"Yeah," the boy replied. "It just appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the night, with this door on it, and nobody knows why. People are worried that it's another gate from when the Hero of Kvatch stopped them last time, but nothing has come out yet."

"Let's see a copy," Carnius said, interest piqued.

"Course, mister," the boy said. "One Septim, please."

Carnius reached for the purse at his belt, and realized that the only one he had was the pouch of rubies that Owyn had given him. He took one of the precious stones out of it and handed it to the boy, who frowned.

"I don't think I can change this, mister," he said.

"Just keep it," Carnius said. "I don't need it, anyway."

"Really? Thanks, mister," the boy said with a grin, handing over a rolled up copy of the Courier. "Wow. Have a good day. Thanks."

"Not a problem," Carnius replied.

He left, heading towards the Elven Gardens district, deciding to read the scroll over some lunch at the King and Queen. The bouncer at the doorway, a grizzled Orc who had once been an adventurer if his scars were anything to go by, nodded at Carnius as he passed through the door; his clothes may have been far simpler than that of most of the upper-class tavern's clientele, lacking as it was in jewellery and ornamentation, but it was clean and there was a sack of coin at his belt, and that was enough for the hulking Orsimer.

Eating here was somewhat of a guilty pleasure for Carnius, but as he ordered a platter of bread, cheese and a few slices of cured pork, he felt he needed a good lunch, and the inn served the best in the city. He waited at the table for his order and unfurled his copy of the Courier, tracing a calloused finger under each word as he read.

Niben Bay Mystery Door!

In a bizarre and alarming turn of events for the citizens of Bravil, the city finds itself to be the neighbour of a new landmass within the Niben Bay. The small island, no larger than fifty feet in size, is reported to have simply appeared in the middle of the bay at midnight with a flash of light, much to the surprise of the local residents. On the island itself, it is reported that a gateway, shaped like three faces, is the dominant feature, along with a number of plants that local experts from the Bravil Mages Guild have been unable to identify as anything belonging to Mundus. Fearing that it may be another incident similar to the attack that Bravil suffered during the Oblivion Crisis, Count Terentius dispatched a contingent of city guards and mercenaries to seal the area; while nothing Daedric has come out of the gate, the mercenaries who entered returned from their experience after having suffered some kind of severe shock, and reports say that their recollection of events beyond it remains somewhat incoherent.

Commenting on the situation, Captain-

"Interesting read?" a voice asked from behind Carnius. The gladiator glanced up as the chair opposite him was pulled away and Her Ladyship sat.

"Interesting enough, I suppose," Carnius said, raising an eyebrow. "Can't say I expected to see you here, milady."

"I was here on some business of mine and thought I would stop off for something to eat," Her Ladyship replied. Behind her, Carnius could see her two bodyguards waiting nearby, the twins' hands resting on the pommels of their weapons "And who should I happen to see other than my favourite gladiator enjoying some lunch of his own?"

"What sort of business?" Carnius asked.

"Oh, there have been one or two trade opportunities that have recently opened up here in Cyrodiil that my own estates and people could benefit from," Her Ladyship replied. "I'm merely helping the process along the way."

"That the sort of thing nobles usually do?" Carnius asked.

"Not typically, but the territory I rule over is rather unusual," Her Ladyship said. "I need to take a more active interest in its affairs in order to ensure that things run smoothly."

She snapped a finger at a servant girl, and glanced at Carnius as she hurried towards them. "But in all honesty, I'd rather give business a rest for the moment and simply enjoy some lunch with a good friend of mine."

"What can I get you and your friend, ma'am?" the serving girl asked, bobbing a curtsey as she reached them.

"Just a luncheon platter, if you may, with sliced chicken instead of the usual pork," Her Ladyship replied. "And some wine; do you have any good vintages in your cellar?"

"We have a few bottles of Surilie Brothers three ninety-nine, ma'am," the serving girl said. "Would that be acceptable?"

"Perfect," Her Ladyship said. "One bottle, chilled, and two goblets for Carnius and I. That will be all."

The serving girl curtseyed and hurried away to fetch her order, and Her Ladyship turned back to Carnius.

"Now, how has your time as Grand Champion been treating you so far?" Her Ladyship asked.

"Can't complain," Carnius replied, setting his copy of the Courier down on the tabletop.

"Can't complain?" Her Ladyship asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're the Grand Champion of the Imperial City Arena, with fame, gold, inns treating you to free drinks and hordes of women who are completely overwhelmed with admiration for you and you merely can't complain? You'll forgive me if I'm a little incredulous about that."

Carnius shrugged.

"Well, I suppose it's good," he said. "I'm pretty lucky to be where I am, after all."

"And yet now you're here, it isn't enough," Her Ladyship said. "Tell me, Carnius, what lies in store for you now that you're actually Grand Champion?"

"Training, the occasional match, that sort of thing," Carnius said. "What I did before, really."

Her Ladyship nodded.

"You were perfectly happy being a gladiator before you become Grand Champion," she said. "So why the sudden change in heart?"

Carnius was quiet for a moment, leaning back in his chair before he said; "I liked doing all this gladiator stuff back when I was working towards something. I had…I had purpose, a goal. Something to achieve."

Their conversation was interrupted for a moment as the serving girl Her Ladyship had talked to earlier set down a few trays with food, along with the bottle of wine in ice and a pair of goblets.

"Enjoy your meal," she said with a curtsey, disappearing a moment later to deal with a customer."

"Go on," Her Ladyship said, pouring a goblet of wine and passing it to Carnius.

"Well, now I'm here I don't really have anything to work towards. I've won," Carnius said. "I kind of feel like…what's that term sailors use? When there's no wind?"

"Doldrums, I believe," Her Ladyship said.

"That's the one," Carnius said. "Doldrums. It's like that. Before, there was a breeze, wanting to make it to Grand Champion, but now I'm actually the Grand Champion, it's gone. I'm just drifting. I don't have any direction now."

"There must be something for you to do, I'm sure," Her Ladyship said.

"Well, there's talk of getting the Arena over in Kvatch going again now that the city's beginning to get back on its feet," Carnius said. "I figured that I could probably help there; got experience in this, after all."

"I've heard much that same, but in all honesty, how long will that take?" Her Ladyship asked. "After all, they still have to worry about how well stocked their granaries are and if people are going to bother trading with them; the good people of Kvatch will have a few more pressing matters to deal with before they can make time for gladiators and circuses, I believe."

She took a sip of her wine.

"So," she said. "You want something better to do with your life, then. A new goal, perhaps. Why not simply leave the Arena and do something else?"

"Look, I've said before, it isn't like that," Carnius said. "You can't just up and go."

"I'm well aware of what you said, Carnius, but it simply makes no sense to me," Her Ladyship said. "It seems to me that it's for the best if you have yourself a fresh start, but you seem to be quite insistent on staying there."

Carnius shrugged, ripping a hunk of bread from the platter before him and taking a bite.

"Tell me, Carnius," Her Ladyship said. "Would you call yourself a free man?"
"What sort of question is that?" Carnius asked with a frown. "Of course I would."

"I see," Her Ladyship said. "Then it seems to me, Carnius, that for a self-proclaimed 'free man' you wear an awful lot of chains. You don't wish to leave the Waterfront despite the fact that it's a gods-forsaken pool of filth-"

"Hey!" Carnius managed.

"And you will defend said gods-forsaken pool of filth despite the evidence that piles up to paint it as such," Her Ladyship continued. "And you choose to linger at the Arena for no discernable reason even though it's clear that you are simply wasting your time there."

She shook her head.

"What in the name of all the gods that have ever been are you doing, Carnius?"

"And why do you care?" Carnius asked.

"I suppose it's because I invested a great deal of time and effort in you," she said. "And I've come to care about you as more than just a mere investment as well. But if you want to sit here in your doldrums and spend the rest of your life doing nothing of worth simply because you feel obliged to then I suppose there isn't much I can do about it."

Carnius shrugged as he chewed on a mouthful of salted pork and bread.

"Look," he said. "I need to stay here, alright? It's what's expected of me."

Her Ladyship was quiet for a moment, before she said; "Perhaps you are right, Carnius. All I'm saying is that you should keep your options open."

Her gaze fell on the open copy of the Courier that was resting by Carnius' plate.

"Speaking of openings, I see you've heard about that doorway and mystery island," she remarked.

"It's an interesting read, I'll give it that," Carnius said. "You think it might be another Oblivion gate like the ones that we got in the Crisis?"

"Call it a hunch, but I'm not certain," Her Ladyship replied. "There are no hordes of ravening Daedra spilling forth, for a start."

"Maybe," Carnius said. "Still, the people who did go through got a shock from something in there. Not sure if anybody else is going to be following through."

"I would beg to differ," Her Ladyship replied. "I have a feeling that there are going to be a great number of people doing quite the same thing."

"Really?" Carnius asked. "Who would that be?"

"Adventurers, I would guess," Her Ladyship said. "People seeking fame, riches and glory. But others too; those who want a fresh start, or run where people aren't going to follow, where they can leave their old lives behind. You always get souls like that."

Conversation turned as they ate and drank, meandering through various subjects, and Carnius found he was enjoying himself. Considering the vast gaps between their backgrounds, he had somehow felt that he and Her Ladyship would have no common ground. But despite this, the conversation was enjoyable, flowed on its own accord and Her Ladyship seemed to be having an equally good time. If anyone from his local home on the Waterfront could see him now they would either be amazed or outraged.

"I'm afraid I really must be leaving," Her Ladyship said some time later, just as she was finishing the last of her wine. "As much as I've enjoyed talking to you there is still a good deal of business that needs attending to."

She smiled at him as she stood.

"We should meet up again, sometime," she said. "I'll send a courier to find if you if I'm in the Imperial City again."

"Of course," Carnius said, heading towards the door. Her Ladyship fell into step behind him, her two bodyguards following behind. "I'd like that, I reckon."

He pushed open the door, and allowed Her Ladyship through into the street. She waited for him on the pavement for a moment as he stepped through.

"Well, I suppose this is where we part ways," she said. "I hope you find some kind of calling, Carnius. I really do."

"Thanks," the gladiator said. Her Ladyship curtseyed him with a smile that seemed to mock what she was doing, and swept away up the street. Carnius watched her go for a few moments. Then he returned back to the inside of the King and Queen, found their table and picked up his copy of the Black Horse Courier so he could do some more reading on this doorway.

...

A fine feast you return with m'friend!!...

Amazing stuff!!...

Loved the fight at the start...Nicely done...

And agains withs thes mysterious womanses!!... ...

Absolutely brilliant writing...Love it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds most heartily*...

Oh yeah...

This...



Was just amazing, made the hairs on the neck and all that...

Brilliant return matey...*Bows*...

Thank you, good sir McBadgere! Very pleased that you're enjoying this once more and I'll do my best to make sure that my future posts are somewhat less tardy.

Glad I managed to get that opening part suitably chilling, as that was exactly what I was going for; yay for unnerving and mysterious subplots!

P.S. I am also completely unable to say 'And agains withs thes mysterious womanses'. All that it's achieved is me lisping all over the place and me getting a few funny looks from my mum.

This is a very fascinating story. The level of detail you use truly makes the world feel real. Even the fight with the Dreugh was riveting. Hopefully Carnius goes and investigates this strange, new island (I'd truly be surprised if he didn't judging by the name of the story).

Actually, I'm planning on having the rest of the story detail how Carnius decided not to go and instead lived a largely unfilling life of empty fame and this actually has nothing more to do with the Shivering Isles whatsoever.

And I'm pleased that the details are working; whenever I write stories in video game worlds I always try and add as many of them in as I reasonably can in order to bring them to life more than the games do, as I don't have the same restrictions as a game does.

MOAR!!


Chapter 6-Through the Looking Glass

The last person that Carnius wanted to see at the moment was down in the Bloodworks as he entered them. Practising a feint of some kind with his huge scimitar, Ta’Xarna’s pads were skittering and hissing against the stone floor as he moved on the balls of his feet as he swung the curved blade with a whoosh of movement. He saw Carnius and grinned, bringing the blade up so that its tip pointed towards the ceiling.

“Carnius!” he called. “I did not expect to see you here just yet. What are you doing?”

“Just getting some things of mine,” the gladiator replied. “Don’t mind me.”

Ta’Xarna shrugged and went back to his practise, slicing a figure of eight in the air before him as he whirled the scimitar around. Carnius let him work, heading to the chest and mannequin where his things were kept. His first action was to slide his champion’s raiment off its place on it rack, and place it into the pack he had dumped at his feet. Noticing what he was doing, Ta’Xarna halted his practice, frowning at Carnius.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Carnius paused as he unlocked the chest that stored his gauntlets. He had really been hoping to avoid this conversation.

“Getting some things together,” he said, not looking up at the Khajiit.

“And putting them into a backpack,” Ta’Xarna said. “You are travelling?”

“Yeah,” Carnius said. Overhead, noise muffled by the thick stone, he could hear the faint, dull roar of a cheering crowd. “I’m going away for a while. I’m not sure how long, yet.”

“Leave?” Ta’Xarna asked. “But you are Grand Champion.”

“And that’s why I want to leave,” Carnius said.

“But you can’t just go,” Ta’Xarna protested. “The Arena needs its champion. And you’re that champion.”

Carnius shook his head.

“That’s the problem,” he said. “Look, what does every gladiator here, every pit dog and brawler and all the others want to do once they join up?”

“Become Grand Champion, of course,” Ta’Xarna said.

“Exactly,” Carnius said. “And here I am. Grand Champion. I’ve achieved the goal, I’ve won, I came out on top, and I hate it.”

This earned him a raised eyebrow.

“Why?”

“For a start, I had to kill Agronak,” Carnius said. “And as much as I’ve been trying to put that behind me I’m still having trouble doing that when I have to come in here every day and see where he used to be. And now I’m here, I’ve got no goal. Nothing keeping me here. I’m just going to have to sit around and kill time until somebody kills me. I need a fresh start, Ta’Xarna, and I need to go somewhere where nobody will try and follow me. I need to do something new.”

Ta’Xarna was quiet for a few moments, before he said; “Khajiit thinks he sees.”

“You do?”

“Think so,” Ta’Xarna said. “And Khajiit does not think he could stop you if he wanted to.”

“Alright,” Carnius said. “Thanks, Ta’Xarna.”

“It is no problem,” the Khajiit rasped. “You are good friend for Khajiit.”

Carnius extended a hand, but Ta’Xarna simply grabbed him in a hug, a tuft of fur on the tips of his large ears brushing against Carnius’ cheek. The Grand Champion nearly staggered before he hugged Ta’Xarna back. It was broken a few moments later.

“You will be coming back, yes?” the Khajiit asked.

“Honestly, I’ve got no idea,” Carnius said. “Maybe.”

“Then where are you going? Khajiit might need to find you.”

“That doorway in the Niben Bay,” Carnius said.

“The one that the Courier says has that strange land behind it that drives people mad?” Ta’Xarna asked. “Are you sure?”
“As I said,” Carnius said. “I need a fresh start. I’ll see what I can make of that place.”

“If you are certain,” Ta’Xarna said. He shrugged. “I wish you the best of luck, my friend. And you will be welcome back here in the Arena if you decide to return, of that I will be certain.”

“Thanks, Ta’Xarna,” Carnius said with a smile. “I’ll miss you, my friend.”

“And me you,” Ta’Xarna said. “Now go, my friend. Go and visit the land that makes everybody go mad. Perhaps Khajiit will follow one day; he would fit in nicely.”

Carnius grinned at him, placed his gauntlets into his backpack and left.


The journey to Bravil had been a pleasant one, in its own, rather unexciting way. Carnius had taken one of the Imperial mail coaches that jolted and rumbled between the cities, delivering passengers and letters as they went, and had spent the last three days enjoying the journey. It was fairly slow, and while the two brawny carthorses that pulled it moved faster than a man could walk, it was certainly not a match for the speed of a single rider, and the horse of the Legionary that guarded it never had to move faster than a canter.

Along with the driver and the soldier guarding it, Carnius shared the ride with a young alchemist who had just graduated from the Arcane University and was visiting her aunt in the city, and a Nord with aspirations towards becoming a merchant. They were pleasant enough company, though Carnius was carefully vague about what he was doing, but much of the conversation was occupied by the doorway in the bay; the alchemist was determined to collect some of the samples of its bizarre flora to present to the university, but much of the talk was of the people who had returned from it in the past week, every one of them having been driven mad. That news had been almost enough to deter Carnius, but he was determined to see this through; for some reason that he couldn’t quite explain, he wanted to visit that door, to go through and see what lay on the other side. He was determined to.

The carriage rumbled to a halt at the gates of Bravil, where the bridge that linked the town to the rest of the land met the road. Carnius clambered down as the coach driver set about dealing with its cargo and the horses, staying only long enough to pay the man before he left.

To his east was nothing of interest to him, only hilly wilderness, but to his west the entire Niben Bay sprawled out before him, the vast expanse of water iron-grey as it reflected the cloudy sky. He could see an island sitting in the centre of it, sharing the water with a number of fishing boats that were scattered across the lake, bright light glowing from some unseen source on the miniature isle. At the bottom of the slope that lead down to the shore was a small collection of huts next to a pier, several rowing boats tethered to it.

On the porch of one of the huts, a Bosmer with greying hair was reclining on a rocking chair and smoking a pipe, and a single eye opened as he saw Carnius approach.

“Greetings, traveller,” he said with a nod to Carnius. “What do you need? Fresh fish? Bait and tackle? Line and hooks?”
“Actually, I was hoping I could hire a boat,” Carnius said.

“A boat?” the Bosmer asked. “What for?”

“I’m hoping to get to that island,” Carnius said, pointing out to the small chunk of land in the centre of the bay.

“Oh, you’re one of those, eh?” the bosmer asked. He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt of effort. “Well, if you’ve got a deathwish then I suppose it’s not my place to stop you. Be ten septims to ferry you across, Imperial.”

Carnius shrugged and handed over a small handful of coins to the Bosmer, who lead him along the pier to a rowing boat. Carnius slung his pack into its bottom and climbed in, the Mer following suit, pulling out a set of oars with wrinkled and calloused hands and setting a steady stroke to push them across the water. The journey only took a few minutes and lacked conversation, and the elf pulled the boat up next to a pontoon on the island, bid Carnius farewell and pulled it away back to the bay’s far shore.

A man in the uniform of one of the city’s guards was waiting for him, his sword sheathed and his helmet nowhere to be seen, and Carnius raised a hand to greet him as he approached. The air here was hot and damp, greasy with muggy warmth despite the clouds that hid the sun, and Carnius could already feel sweat creeping down his neck.

“Hail,” the guard called as Carnius approached. “You’re here for the doorway, I’m guessing.”

“That I am,” Carnius said. He frowned as he saw that the guard’s blade was made from barbed and bladed ebony, no doubt Daedric in origin. He wondered where he got such an expensive and rare weapon from on the mere pay of a watchman.

“Thought so,” the guard said. “You’ll want to talk to Captain Prentus about that; he can fill you in. He’s just up the pathway.”

He gestured to a small path between two thickets of bushes whose long, vine-like branches had wound around each other to form ropes of some kind, tipped with flowers that somehow bore an unsettling resemblance to a grinning skull. To his left, what looked like a gigantic mushroom towered a good ten feet in the air, thick trunk twisted and contorted so its bulbous head faced down onto Carnius himself.

A buzzing sounded next to him as he walked up it, and he glanced over to see an insect hovering next to him, examining him with three faceted eyes, suspended in the air by a trio of wings that span around above its head. He waved at it and it darted away into the undergrowth.

Carnius stopped at a large canvas tent that stood on one side of the pathway, and glanced in. A couple of men in guard’s uniform were talking to each other and Carnius called; “There a Captain Prentus in here?”

“That would be me, friend” one of the guards said as he glanced up at Carnius. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here about this doorway,” Carnius said. “I heard you could help me.”

“I see,” Prentus said. He glanced back at the other guard. “We’ll talk later, Gyrus.”

He stepped out of the tent, and nodded to Carnius.

“Walk with me, friend,” he said, setting out along the path. Carnius fell into step next to him as they headed up towards what looked like steps leading up to a stone platform. “What’s your name?”

“Carnius Hackelt,” Carnius replied. “Formerly of the Imperial City.”

“Captain Gaius Prentus,” the guardsman replied. “Just call me Gaius.”

“So, Gaius, what exactly is this doorway?” Carnius asked as they began to climb the stairs. “I mean, what does it look like?”

“See for yourself,” Gaius replied as they reached the top.

It was a statue, of sorts, carved from veined grey stone that was flecked with mold in the shape of three heads all conjoined at one eye in a manner that made Carnius’ skin crawl. At its centre where the edge of the two outermost foreheads met was a cleft, as if an axe had been driven through the crown and the water stain that flowed down from the divide’s nadir was a trail of blood. Each bearded face held a different expression; the left a mirthful smile, the right a vicious snarl and the centre was opened in a scream or a roar, a bright ball of soft-edged light glowing from it. As Carnius looked up at the central pair of eyes, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the carven pupils were staring at him.

“There it is,” Gaius said. “It appeared about a week and a half ago, now, and me and the rest of the Stonetakers were sent by the Count himself to guard it.”

“Stonetakers?” Carnius asked.
“We earned that name in the Crisis,” Gaius replied. “We had to fight our way through an Oblivion Gate that was threatening Bravil, took the Sigil Stone that was sustaining it.” He tapped the head of spiked mace of black and crimson steel that rested at his belt. “I took this mace here from a Dremora Lord, of all things. But we’ve been guarding this place to deal with anything that tries to come through.”

“And what has been coming through?” Carnius asked.
“So far, only the people who went in,” Gaius said. “And none of them have been right in the head when they come back.”

“I heard as much,” Carnius nodded, looking at the gate. There was greenery on either side of it, he saw, the left’s dominated by garish and bright flowers, the right by large, drooping mushroom and fungi, all of those a dismal grey-brown in colouration. “Nobody’s come back sane?”

“Not one,” Gaius replied. “We generally get the more harmless ones off the island and to the local chapel where someone can look after them, but the violent ones have to be dealt with rather more severely. Doesn’t help that half of those ones seem to all be heavily armed mercenaries and adventurers.”

“I’m guessing that there are a lot of those,” Carnius said.

“A fair number,” Gaius replied. “There’s also been quite a lot of people who’ve come here because they feel like they’ve been…called.”

“Called?” Carnius said.

“That’s the only way I can describe it,” Gaius said. “A lot of people have arrived here because of some kind of compulsion; just turned up because they felt called to this place somehow. People looking for purpose, I’d say. A lot of them had no real idea why they were considering coming here, but felt they had to go anyway; there was a High Elf who had come all the way from Chorrol here just a few days ago, and he hadn’t even heard of the doorway. Just felt he had to go east for some reason, and found his way here.”

Carnius nodded.

“I’m guessing you’re going in there for the chance for gold,” Gaius said, glancing up and down at Carnius, clad as he was in his armour and carrying a backpack filled with supplies.

“Not quite,” Carnius said. “One of those ones hoping for a second chance, I guess. I just thought I’d go prepared.”

He tugged at the backpack’s straps.

“Well, no more time to waste,” he said. “I’m going in.”

“Best of luck to you in there,” Gaius said, extending a hand. “I’d rather you didn’t go in at all, but it isn’t really my place to stop you. If you have to, then I suppose you have to.”

“Thank you,” Carnius replied as he shook Gaius’ hand.

He bunched his hands into fists, the leather pads around the palms of his gauntlets creaking, set his teeth and headed into the portal’s yawning, hungry maw.

I am inclined to agree with him. Once you've achieved a goal that you've strived for, it really seems in a way like you're losing something. Maybe there should be a term for this... Post-Completion Depression?

Anyways, another good chapter I am eager to see where you take it.

The return of a gladiator champion! Welcome back, Colonel Necromancer Mustard.

This update was absolutely juicy with battle scenes and blood that reminds us the gritty, intricate details of the life of a gladiator. From a full arena of gladiators and Dreugh slaughtering to a handful of rubbies and Owyn berating pit-dogs and the inevitable revelation of the mysterious door in the island. I enjoyed the read and I absolutely loved the fact that you stayed true to some of the characters. Owyn's humor, her Ladyshipps' personality as well.

In the following chapter, you also present the emotional weight that holds down against Carnius in his title of Grand Champion and his deed to attain it. I love how you reminded us that even though gladiators kill, they also feel sympathy and sadness. I very much loved this and I am glad you used it.

A good trip away from the IC to the Bravilian territory and at long last, close to the mad gates of Hell The Madhouse! We are presented with a great detail of the gaping maws of the doors to Oblivion and how it has been devouring the people who willingly walk into its inviting jaws. So, Carnius goes to the Shivering Isles for a second chance at "redemption". This was a great touch, giving him more feeling than your average adventurer wanting to go in for coin only. His steps into Oblivion is definetly the first steps into a new battle that will undoubtedly rival the ones he had in the arena. . .one that will change his life drastically. Excellent read!

Oh and a minor negative below.


Nits: "Ta’Xarna shrugged and went back to his practise."
Should be practice.

Not Areldur?! *Falls to knees*...Ow...Noooooo!!...

An excellent chapter which travels many miles exceedingly quickly...Add that to Ta'Xarna (who deserves his own spin-off series!!... ) and the fellow passengers, it's very impressively done!!...Some people have a lot of trouble with moving things along that fast... ...

Aaaamywho, brilliantly done...Loved it muchly...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*..

Zalphon: Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call it depression, but it's human nature to be driven by and targets to aim for, in order to get a sense of purpose. Once we actually reach that goal, it's only natural for us to seek a new one in order to simply avoid becoming bored of life.

Darkness Eternal: Thank you! It's good to be back!

I'll admit that the hardest part of wirting this so far has been working out Carnius' motivations for going through the Doorway; the drive to get away as far as he can is a good one, but I liked the somewhat sinister idea of the gate 'calling' to the lost too and it helped to actually coax him through. Actually getting that drive to go through down onto the page in a convincing way was tricky, but I'm pleased I managed it.

Also, old bean, I might just say that it is actually how we spell practise over here in Blightly, wot. So from where I'm standing, my good chum, 'practice' is the wrong way to spell it!

*Puffs pipe and adjusts monocle*

McBadgere: It wasn't any specific Elf, so don't worry about it being Areldur. At the stage in history that the story is set in, he'd be off Knight-of-the-Nineing at the moment.

And the idea of a Ta'Xarna spinoff is a very, very tempting one now that you suggest it. Please don't put such enticing ideas in front of me, McBadgere; I'd rather just focus on one story at the moment.


Thank you all very much, more should be coming soon!

*Coughs* We spell it both ways...Practice means the same but is a noun and Practise is a verb...And bizzarely, they both have the same definition...Repetition of something to gain skill...

What?...I can read a dictionary too you know?... ...

Soooo...Who would be Grand Champion now that Carnius is gone?...*Walks away whistling*...

...

And in this case, as it is Ta'Xarna's practice, the spelling with a 'c' is the correct use.

You see that! You got grammarred, suckah! Grammarred in tha face! IN THA FACE!!

And fine, you can be Grand Champion while Carnius is gone, seeing as you really want to.

*Puts back out by swinging his mighty weapon...*...Damned magic swords!!...Nah, I think I'll leave it to Ta'Xarna...

And please...Keep yer grammar out of my face!!...It's unseemly... ...

Though I will admit...I did not know that about the two versions...My thanks... ...

Accidentally misspelled the word ‘contorted’ as ‘contortured’ in this chapter. Part of me now wants to start a campaign to get that word in the dictionary…

Chapter 7-Fringe

The first sensation was one of pain. Pain as every atom of his being was ripped apart. Pain as they made the transition between one plain of reality and another. Pain as they assembled themselves with a boom of displaced air back into the form they made up.

Carnius cursed, stumbling forwards and falling on his hands onto a floor of cold stone, lit by the harsh blue-white light of that portal behind him. He rested there for a moment, gasping for breath in lungs that were raw from the shock of being unmade and reformed with such violent suddenness.

“How very dignified,” a voice that dripped with good breeding and contemptuous class remarked. Carnius raised his head, breath still ragged, to see a balding man with grey hair and a hooked nose sitting behind a desk of thick oak, a jacket of black velvet covering an embroidered red silk shirt. The gladiator pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself down a little. “The floor is quite clean, you know.”

“Fine then,” Carnius said, looking around the room he was. It was small, at most a dozen square feet in size, made of grey stone. Its only furnishing was the desk, topped with dark green leather, and two chairs on either side.

“Please, take a seat,” the man behind the desk said. Carnius sat, placing his pack by his side and noticing the metronome on its leather surface, the thin metal arm swinging back and forth between two faces, one which snarled and one which smiled. “I imagine you’re here about the door.”

“I suppose I am,” Carnius said, still looking around the room. “Who exactly are you?”

“I am Haskill, the Chamberlain to the Lord Sheogorath,” the man replied. “And currently laboured with the most arduous duty of serving as the greeter to those who decide to come through his doorway.”

“And where exactly is this place?” Carnius asked.

“We are on the borders of the Shivering Isles,” Haskill said. “Beyond this room is the Realm of Sheogorath, the Prince of Madness and the Lord of the Never-There.”

“Right,” Carnius said. “Sheogorath…he’s one of the Daedra Princes, isn’t he?”

“What an astute act, to remember a piece of lore widely known to just about all the people of Nirn,” Haskill replied. “I’m sure you must be so proud of that. And before you ask, this doorway is an invitation, and that is all; it poses no threat to Mundus and no compact has been violated. All it seeks to do is allow people entry and egress to and from the Isles.”

“What about the other people who came through here?” Carnius asked. “The ones who came out mad.”

“They entered this realm and were ill-prepared for it,” Haskill replied. “Their minds are now my lord’s property.”

“Can they be cured?” Carnius asked.

“Cured?” Haskill raised an eyebrow. “You talk of them as if they are diseased. Their minds simply exist in another state of being, now. That is all. They may one day be reverted to their original state, they may not. But there is no simple ‘cure’.”

“So why this invitation?” Carnius asked.

“My master seeks a mortal to act as his champion,” Haskill replied. He looked Carnius up and down, surveying the grizzled and scarred gladiator. “As to why, I do not know, and seeking to divine such reasoning is a fool’s errand.”

“Right,” Carnius said. “So what happens if I choose to go on through the Isles?”

“Who can say?” Haskill asked. “There is always choice, wherever you go, and the Realms of Madness are no different in such regard. But if you choose to pass through the Gates of Madness, perhaps Lord Sheogorath will find you of use.”

He steepled his fingers and leant back in his chair.

“So,” he said. “Will you enter, or will you leave? And do make up your mind quickly; I have not got all day.”

“I’m going in,” Carnius said, resisting the urge to glower at the man.

“Excellent,” Haskill said. “Should you find your way through the Gates of Madness and into the rest of the Isles, then by all means, pay his lordship a visit in New Sheoth.”

He slid a folded parchment across the table, and added; “This map should also be of use to you if you succeed in passing through the Gates. Good luck.”

He stood from the chair and walked away, fading from view as he walked towards the far wall and leaving Carnius alone in the room.

“Hold on!” Carnius protested. “There’s no door to get out of here.”

He looked around the room, frowning.

“Damn posh types,” he muttered. “This some kind of joke?”

The walls stirred. Carnius blinked as a wave of tiny movements rustled across the stone, and hundreds of bright blue wings bloomed out from them. A great flock of butterflies burst out of the ceilings and walls, flapping around him as they formed a trail of colourful insects that flew towards the sky. They went sunwards, and Carnius frowned as he watched them go with the realisation that the walls had simply disappeared.

The landscape around him was alien in every way that he could possibly imagine. He was one the top of a hill, and the ground around him was jagged and rolling, as if the bones of the soil had snapped upwards but failed to break the skin, or the soil had suffered some great tectonic seizure that sent fissures and hills rumbling upwards in violent spasms. Where trees would have grown, instead colossal fungi of impossible vastness covered in thick rubbery skins snaked and wound towards the sky, thick trunks cavorting over expanses of ground. Cloying and thick undergrowth spread beneath the cyclopean mushrooms, some of it blooming with bright flowers while other had heads that trailed vines of a pestilential brown; some seemed to be normal trees and firms that he recognised from Cyrodiil, but others were overgrown and bloated fungi or strange plants that had a peculiarly fleshy quality to them. There was the sound of birds calling and insects chirruping from the plants around him, chittering and hooting and shrieking of all volumes and pitches.

In the distance he could see what looked to be a massive wall of black basalt rising from the ground over the other side of a valley, great ramparts shining slick in the sun that shone bright upon it. There was a cobbled pathway down from the top of the hill Carnius was on, lined on either side by broken and toppled pillars, and as he set off down it, he found the air here had that same damp, breathless quality that it had on that island in the Niben Bay.

With nowhere else to go, Carnius set off downhill along the path. He kept a wary eye on the greenery around him as it rustled and shifted, and part of him couldn’t help shake the feeling that there was something in the plants, or perhaps the plants themselves, that was preparing to leap out at him.

The first being that he met in the Shivering Isles that was not Haskill then tried to kill him.

He met it as the path reached a dip in the landscape, path roofed by roots one of the immense, twisted mushroom trees that had its head crowned by twisted and contorted branches that reached towards the sky like broken fingers. It was an ugly, froglike creature that was squatting in a puddle beneath the massive plant’s underside, and a flat, jowly head set between hunched shoulders turned to face him. It gave a guttural growl, limp lips wobbling with the noise to expose browning teeth, and raised an axe and shield of crude pig-iron and splintered wood.

With a baying noise, it charged, axe raised, ready to swing down and split Carnius’ skull. The gladiator relaxed his stance, raised his hands and waited for it to reach him. This was what he had been doing for fifteen years, and compared to some enemies he had fought, this creature was child’s play. The axe was in its right hand, he noticed, the shield in its left, and it wore no armour. He knew what to do.

The weapon swept down and Carnius sidestepped to its right. His left hand shot out and closed around its wrist, stumbling it as he turned and used his grip with his left hand as a cantilever with his shoulders and stepping forwards to slam his clenched fist into the side of its skull. With a crunch of bone, it collapsed, side of its skull caved in and leaking blood.

Carnius breathed the damp air heavily for a few moments as his body called for air in anticipation of yet more combat, adrenaline pounding in his head. He scanned the area, but could find no more of its companions, and took a few deep breaths to try and still the hammering of his heart as it pumped oxygen throughout his body.

Once it had calmed somewhat, he set off again, skirting around the puddle that had formed beneath the tree’s roots. For a moment, he paused as he saw the pale yellow of the mushroom tree’s undersides, where trunk began the metamorphosis into roots; thousands of semi-regular bumps, in the rough shape of a square rose from its underside, each one of them dimpled and slick with damp from the air. Carnius peered at it for a moment, and the started as he realised what they were. Teeth. Thousands and thousands of teeth, all of them somehow growing from the underside of this tree.

He shook his head, continuing along down the pathway as it began to wind its way uphill, the greenery beginning to thin out. Part of him was considering turning from this bizarre and exotic place, where the only people he had met so far were some kind of fat Argonian that wanted to kill him and a snooty toff. The thoughts trailed off as the path began to dip once more and he saw a building in the distance, a construction of sturdy white stone without any window or doorway he could see. As he approached, more details became clear; carvings in a language that he couldn’t read adorned it in a manner that seemed more like the randomly splashed slogans of graffiti than the work of any stonemason. As he rounded the other side, he saw its doorway, a portal of thick brass with its centre shaped like the mouth of a woman, face contorted in a scream or a snarl. There was a strange humming in the air around it, and Carnius extended a cautious hand to see if it would swing open. For a moment, his vision flashed black and there was a screaming in his ears before he stumbled back. He let it be and continued down the road. As rocks began to rise up on either side of him, the road forked. There was a signpost, and Carnius stopped to read it. At best, it was cryptic and at worst, downright useless; the one pointing to the left pathway read ‘The Gardens of Flesh and Bone’ and the one to the right ‘Passwall’. The other four markers on it, however, seemed to point to no path in particular, and simply read ‘Rage’, ‘Lust’, ‘Pride’ and ‘Despair’. After a few moments of deliberation, Carnius took the right pathway, deciding that this Passwall place sounded the most like civilisation of some kind.

His guess was right; less than fifty yards along the path the rocky walls that had started to rise receded, and building with a thatched roof and plastered walls came into view, part of it straddling the road as an archway. He headed through it, emerging into what looked like the central square of some kind of village. It was a decrepit, swampy place, the houses all raised on stilts and the whitewash on their walls peeling from the damp, thatch on their roofs half-rotten. The place seemed deserted, and Carnius frowned.

“Anybody home?” he called.

For a moment, all he heard was the same cries and chatters of the birds and insects in the undergrowth, and he wondered if the village was abandoned. And it was then that he heard the roar.

The bellows of some immense, enraged beast, the sound hit him like a wall, and his gaze shot towards its source, up a stepped path climbing a hillside on the village’s edge. Silence fell, the creatures of these Shivering Isles cowed into silence by the noise, and Carnius turned to face it. After a moment, drawn by some kind of curiosity that he couldn’t explain, he followed it up, deciding to see what the source of the noise was.

He found what he could only call an arena; there was a flat expanse of stone, shaped in a circle and ringed by small cliffs, and, the one vital ingredient that made a battle into a show, a crowd, all of them watching the two combatants. One side was nothing Carnius could call unusual, a group of adventurers of some kind, wearing and wielding a variety of armour and weapons. But their opponent, on the other hand, was something else; some kind of giant standing a good twenty feet in height, collared with iron, its head covered with a heavy helmet. One arm ended in a massive, rusted cleaver that was flecked with blood, the other in a vambrace and a great hand. Its skin seemed to be made up of patches sewn together over flesh, glowing tattoos spiralling and whirling across it before they were covered by its irons.

Carnius stepped into the small crowd of people who were watching, and they cheered as the monster picked up an adventurer and used the unfortunate man as a club to smash one of his comrades away, the broken corpse sent flying before it slammed into the massive onyx gate that the combat took place before. It roared again, the deafening noise made tinny by the helm it wore, before swinging down with its cleaver on an Orsimer who tried to slip around its flank and stab a claymore into its stomach, separating his midriff from the rest of his body in a spray of gore.

Taking advantage of the opening, a Khajiit wielding twin daggers slipped around its behind and stabbed the weapons into the back of its thigh in a bid to lame it. He was rewarded with a bellow of pain before the Gatekeeper kicked back at him, the beastman barely able to scramble out of the blow’s way and scamper out of reach.

As it turned, Carnius saw the wound in its leg was simply fading from view, sealing up with only a trail of brackish blood to mark its presence. An arrow from a distant Bosmer situated at the edge of the arena sunk into its neck, where the veins should be, but the giant being merely tore it from its neck and the injury sutured itself shut.

These adventurers were good, Carnius would give them that much, working as a team to try and bring the thing down; the remaining ones had split into teams, following directions bellowed at them by an Orc, ones armed with spears trying to bait and distract the creature at arm’s length while a few more tried to slip round its flank and take it down there.

A spear stabbed into its gut, the haft of the weapon digging deep into the organs of its stomach and the monster bellowed in pain. It stumbled back, clumsy footsteps almost flattening the Khajiit that had managed to land the blow with its axe just a few moments ago. Finding respite, it reached to the weapon embedded into it and tore it free with a wet squelch, its haft and head dripping with viscera. The hole in its stomach beginning to close, it hefted the spear in its hand, gaze turning towards the Bosmer archer who was nocking another arrow to his bow. A moment later, accompanied to a yell of delight from the crowd, an overarm throw sent the weapon screaming into the Wood Elf and skewered him through the chest.

One of the others, an Imperial armed with a pair of swords, cried out a name and sprinted towards the fallen Mer, uncaring for the presence of his foe. A moment later, a great hand grabbed him, lifted him into the air and slammed him down on the floor with a crack. He did not rise.

If Carnius was in their position he would have already cut his losses and run; whatever healing abilities this creature possessed, it was too much for their own weapons to overcome, and even thought they were good fighters with solid tactics this creature had them outmatched. The only problem was that the giant they fought had them outmanoeuvred; they battled it with their backs to the gate, and no way out besides getting through it.

There were only four left now; the Khajiit, who had backed away, their commander and the two spear-bearers, one of them now grabbing a mace from its sling in place of his lost weapon. With a deep, rumbling growl, the massive creature advanced, footsteps thudding against the ground.

“I told you the Gatekeeper was going kill them all,” Carnius heard someone in the crowd next to him remark to another spectator. “Look, he’s going to finish them off right now.”

The Gatekeeper, as it was called, bellowed a challenge and charged, ground shaking beneath its steps. The adventurers tried to scatter, but a swing from its cleaver slew two of them as they tried to get away, before the Gatekeeper turned and grabbed the Orc who was making a swing at it with his claymore, Mer and monster alike bellowing in fury. It squeezed, bone cracking under the pressure, and it dropped the mangled body as it advanced on the Khajiit. The beastman yowled in terror as he found his back pressed against walls, trying to back away from the Gatekeeper, and bolted away in a desperate sprint in the hope of getting around it.

A massive hand closed around his tail, swung him up into the air and swung him back down to the ground once more.

The crowd cheered and applauded as the Gatekeeper stopped what it was doing, casting around for any more enemies before simply standing still. Their entertainment gone, the crowd began to disperse back down the hill, and after a few moments Carnius was alone at its top with only a Dark Elf woman in a dress of bloodstained blue silk for company.

“Wasn’t that simply marvellous?” she exclaimed to Carnius, joy written across her features. “I always feel so very proud of him when I see him do his work!”

She clapped her hands together, smiling in joy, before she looked at Carnius proper and frowned.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I suppose I am, yes,” Carnius said.

“I thought so,” she said. “I’m Relmyna Verenim, by the way. And who are you? Another pilgrim hoping for a blessing to take root? Or perhaps…are you an adventurer, like those degenerates that my darling Gatekeeper just had to deal with?” She frowned. “No, you might be dressed like one but you don’t really look like one, do you. Perhaps you won’t be quite so unspeakably vile as they were.”

“I’ve never been adventuring before ma’am, no,” Carnius said. “Carnius Hackelt, by the way.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Relmyna said. She looked him up and down, before she nodded. “Then I suppose I am pleased to meet you, serjo Hackelt.”

Carnius glanced at the Gatekeeper, and back at Relmyna.

“Do you mind telling me what that ‘Gatekeeper’ thing is?” he asked.

“Him?” Relmyna asked. “Why, he is my beloved child! He is the consummation of Sheogorath’s wisdom in the womb of my genius. His birth was painful and bloody, but well worth it. From it, I made the perfect guardian; he does not rest, he does not eat, he does not allow any other than those permitted to pass and he cannot be killed.”

“Who are those permitted to pass?” Carnius asked.

“Those with Lord Sheogorath’s blessing, of course,” Relmyna said. “You, however, do not yet possess that, I don’t think.”

“So how would I get past him, through those gates over on the other side?” Carnius asked. “Get to the rest of the Isles?”

“To get through those gates, you would need to get the keys,” Relmyna said. “And they are sewn up within the body of my child. You would need to kill him to get them first, and you cannot kill him. It is the perfect defence, and I am a genius for conceiving such an idea.”

“How would I get that blessing, then?” Carnius asked.

“It would be difficult for you,” Relmyna said, looking him up and down once more. “Difficult, but not impossible. Your problem is that your soul is dull, uninspired, lacklustre. If I were to cut you open then the world would be wholly unimpressed by your uninteresting blood. You are simply too…” she paused, as if the word she was to say next was somehow taboo. “…sane.” She shuddered.

“Right,” Carnius said, somewhat perturbed by the way she talked about cutting him open.

“Still,” Relmyna said. “You do have quite a remarkable musculature on you. A client of mine is looking for a someone to serve as a base for a flesh-sculpture and your muscles would be nicely suited for that. Of course, I’d need a better bone structure and that skin on you would have to go, but-”

“Ma’am,” Carnius interrupted. “I have no idea if you’re complimenting me or something there, but I have one to thing to say to that. I’m not normally inclined towards assaulting people at random, but if you keep on talking about me like that then I will hurt you.”

Relmyna shrugged.

“Fine then,” she said, setting off down the path back down to Passwall. “Good luck getting past the Gatekeeper, by the way. You’ll certainly need it if you want to get into the Isles the way you are right now.”

Carnius lingered a few moments longer, watching the Gatekeeper as it nudged one of the corpses with the horny, jagged toenails of its foot. Then he began the short walk to Passwall, wondering just what he had managed to get himself into.

I really liked this chapter. The description of the butterflies was masterfully done as well as the conversation with Haskill. He's annoyed, but he's quite subtle about it and I really like how you played that off.

The comment on being "too sane" was also quite...accurate for the location. In the world of the insane, is sanity not the equivalent to insanity?

Anyways, a great chapter which I really enjoyed. It was well-written and I am eager to see it continue. I think you could put an interesting spin on a questline I really enjoyed.

Oooh, that was soooo nice... ...

loved Haskill...He makes me laugh...

Absolutely beautiful description of the Isles...Amazing stuff...

Truly breathtaking fight against the Gatekeeper...Well done that man!...

Excellent chapter...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Zalphon: Thank you very much indeed; Haskill is one of the easier NPC personalities to pin down (mainly because he's quite a well developed one, and one of my favourites to appear in Oblivion/The Shivering Isles) but I'm pleased I managed to get him right.

On the sane thing, I'm actually planning on having the term be an insult on the Ises, and I mean really bad one too, though that's an interesting point on the relative state of sanity; seeing as sane behaviour is determined by the majority, if the majority is insane are they not then sane?

Glad you liked it, and more should be comign soon. There will be spin on this, too, don't worry; hopefully, spin you should like. Thanks!

McBadgere: Thank you very much!

I'll admit I probably owe a fair amount to H. P. Lovecraft for the actual description of the Isles (man's a master of giving incredibly evocative descriptions when he wants to be), and I've been aiming for the same level of the macabre and gothic in them.

And if you think that that fight against the Gatekeeper was good, wait until you see when Carnius has to deal with it...