I was just reading the chapter with Kirsty and the.... ah- repossesion of certain items and I wanted say that that chapter contains everything I missed with the chapter in Xedillian. The title of her favourite book, is that a hint to your own preferences? Dusk and her Embrace.... Nice!

ps. You might wanna take a look at this part:
Seems to me there is a pice of dialogue by Wrothkar missing that She responds to with: "again with..."

Y'know, when I first heard of the name of Jyggalag, my mind instantly flashed to a picture of a lady with a 44 DD trying to run a marathon...

Ahh Cutter, my favorite denizen of the Shivering Isles (and I think the only Goth npc in the game? Well Falanu is close I suppose).

She's a bit of an odd one...
If she was not, she would not be in the Isles!

"Um...maybe." He picked up the box. "What's a matrix?"
I could not help but to hear Larry Fishburne saying "No one can be told what the matrix is..."

I loved Wrothken's meeting with Sheo, especially his thoughts on loving cheese. It was another little glimmer that he does indeed have the craziness inside of him to belong in the SI.

When I first heard of the name Jyggalag, I pictured Foxy having an instant mental image of a lady with a 44 DD trying to run in a marathon!



@ Jacki - you are doing a great job with Sheogorath, lol !!

Remko- I thought it would

D. Foxy- Funny, my mind flashed to something similar

SubRosa- I like Cutter too! I think I'm going to have some fun with her later

mAXL1- Thanks

~~~♥~~~

Sorry its been so long. I'll try to hurry with the next section




"Mania? Or Dementia?" Wrothken wondered, looking to either side. He watched the arrogant Golden Saints walk around with their chests puffed out and their noses stuck up so high, if it rained, they'd all drown. He didn't want to be anywhere near them, honestly.

On the other side, he saw the Mazken sashay around their half of the Palace district. They projected strength in a way that didn't show so much arrogance.

He sat down for another fifteen minutes before deciding to summon Haskill.

"I see you couldn't be bothered to walk the extra twenty feet to the palace," he said with a sigh. "What is it you require?"

Wrothken didn't bother repressing a smile. "I just wanted to ask you who I should visit first."

With an exaggerated eye roll, Haskill replied, "Thadon is aware you are here, and should be waiting for you. See him at once. Would you like me to accompany you? Hold your hand, maybe?"

Wrothken clenched his fists. He should have known that there would be a smart comment along with it. He tried to avoid making it obvious that Haskill got to him, as the chamberlain vanished. When there was no longer a trace of him, Wrothken headed to the House of Mania.



The House of Mania left Wrothken speechless. Directly in front of him was a long table filled to the edges with food. Roasts, pastries, fruit, and several things Wrothken didn't recognize and couldn't begin to describe sat piled in front of the people. What really caught his attention was the several topless women scattered about. Most of them sat in pairs next to one of the men, though a couple of them seemed to greatly enjoy each others company. Golden Saints stood at the door, unfazed by the party.

Wrothken was so busy staring at the women that he nearly bumped into a fully clothed Argonian. "How can I help you..." She squinted at him. "Sir? Miss?" She shook her head. "You all look alike to me. It's so hard to tell. Are you here to see Thadon?"

He nodded, his eyes drifting toward the other women.

She nodded as well. "I heard that you were coming, looking for Thadon. Yes, yes. Heard it all. Bored to tears by it. He's waiting for you. Unless he isn't. He wasn't, but then he was. Maybe he still is."

She motioned him to the end of the table, where a Bosmer in a large throne was sitting, surprisingly without any female company. When Wrothken approached, he stood up, smiling widely. Wrothken couldn't help noticing a dusting of green powder on his nose.

"Ahh yes, there you are! You couldn't imagine how long I've been waiting for you. So little to do, and so much time. Hmm, could you, in fact, imagine just how long I've been waiting? I don't think you could, but I might be wrong. I might also not care. Which is it?"

Wrothken tilted his head. Thadon spoke like a man hopped up on skooma. "Um... Not very long?"

"Hmm... It felt like rather a long time, but then long times get longer when you're standing around thinking about them. A curious thing, that. Long roads get longer too, if you're thinking about them, but what about long words? They don't change nearly as much." He shrugged. "Long, short -- it all ends up the same. Dust and tears. Usually tears first, then the dust. Dust can't cry, you see. That would be... well, amusing." He chuckled, then abruptly stopped. "You know what's not amusing? I don't have my Chalice of Reversal. It makes me sad," he said with a pout. "When I get sad, I don't care to do much of anything. I certainly don't care to help people who show up on my doorstep wanting something. Are we getting the picture here?"

Wrothken sighed. He got the picture alright. "Do you know where your Chalice of Reversal is?"

"Oh, so you've heard of it?"

"No."

"You haven't heard of it, yet you know its name? What a strange creature you are." Wrothken didn't bother pointing out that Thadon gave him the name. Somehow, he knew it wouldn't do any good.

"One of my favorite toys," Thadon said. "Does wonders for creativity. Well, not by itself, but it helps. Those Elytra, clever little bugs that they are. Is this making sense? Look, you eat the Felldew, then use the Chalice, and find the world a much brighter and happier place. Honest. But I don't have it. So I can't eat Felldew, because that would just be bad. I mean, really bad. Damn her!" He snarled, glancing to his left.

Wrothken looked over as well, but the he didn't suspect either of the women, who were feeding a roasted leg to a large man, had anything to do with the lost Chalice.

"Do you know who took it?"

Thadon looked back at him with a sly smile. "Opposites repel, strangely enough. All that... pleasure... and pain locked away now, as if it never happened," he said bitterly. "Unfortunately, the Chalice is locked away as well. I have no wish to retrieve it myself, but fetching it might do you some good." He groaned. "My head is positively throbbing now... can you see it? I need to lie down. Find someone to tell you the rest of the story. Get the Chalice." He stood up and wobbled to a door in the back.

His head was starting to throb as well. He took an empty seat to try to sort out what Thadon had told him. Thadon's Chalice of Reversal was missing. The Chalice helped him eat something called felldew. A woman took it, after a passionate love affair which is now being treated as if it didn't happen... Sympathy ran through him for a moment. The woman was from the House of Dementia, which could have caused a possibly fatal scandal... but why? And that still didn't tell him where the Chalice was hidden.

The Argonian woman returned, taking the seat next to him. "You've been speaking to Thadon. I can tell. He has a certain... effect on people. Did he mention me, perhaps?" She asked hopefully. When Wrothken gave her a confused look, she asked disappointedly, "Or was there something else you wanted to discuss?"

"He wants me to get his Chalice of Reversal."

"It's precious to him, and that's all that matters. It's his own business. But, didn't he mention where it is? Oh... I see. How brilliant of him." She seemed to be swooning every time she praised him. "This is for you as much as it is for him. Oh, very good Thadon! Dunroot Burrow is your goal, my friend. And what a goal it is."

"Dunroot Burrow..." He said, taking out his map. "Where is this place?"

She pointed. "Yes, right there. A most unique place. Of course, the Chalice would be there!" She cupped his face in her scaly hands. "Don't you see? It's the Elytra! They're the reason. The Chalice, Felldew, Elytra... it's all connected." She poked his nose. "One without the others is no good, poison. Oh, a rough road awaits you. Some Elytra there are... different. You'll need to get Felldew from them, and eat it. Can't get in without it. But once you do... He wants you to learn for yourself. Learn, grow, experience. It's his way. I shouldn't say more."

Wrothken looked around the table. "What's felldew?"

She tapped her lip, lowering her eyes. "Well, perhaps Thadon would want you to have a bit more guidance. He did say that you should talk to me, did he not?" She stroked his cheek softly. "Felldew is a poison, little one. A very dangerous drug. You'll feel good at first, but that wears off, and if you go long without it, you'll suffer."

Wrothken felt a numbing throughout his body. A drug? Thadon was trying to get him addicted to drugs?! Without saying anything, he got up and dashed outside.

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

My dilemma, exactly!

Well written. I liked the little details, like the green powder on Thadon's nose, the differences between the Golden Saints and Mazken (I prefer the dark ladies myself), and Haskill's neverending sarcasm.

one nit: That's a tough one that gets by many people. Its the 'g' that gets doubled, not the 'r' - exaggerated.

More please.

He watched the arrogant Golden Saints walk around with their chests puffed out and their noses stuck up so high, if it rained, they'd all drown. You had me laughing out loud with the end of this!

I never got any further than this is the SI main quest. So from here on out it will all be new to me. I like how you wrote Thadon. He seemed quite, manic. As h.e.r. noted, the dusting of powder under his nose was a nice little addition.

That was brilliant!
As a sidenote, I am quite partial to Dusk and her Embrace too although "haunted shores" is my favourite track on that album.

Your depiction of Haskill is spot on!

I'm still with you and quite enjoying your romp through the Shivering Isles. I liked what you did with Cutter!

haute ecole rider- I prefer the Dark Seducers sooooooo much more than the Golden Saints. Way too stuck up for me.

Sub Rosa- Then you're in for quite a treat during these next few chapters!

Remko- I LOVE Cradle of Filth. They are so romantic. My favorite off Dusk and Her Embrace (other than the title song) is A Gothic Romance ♥

mAXL1- He is so much fun to work with

Acaidian- I'm happy to see you I'm sure you'll enjoy some of my later plans for her






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

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

Bliss reminded him of Kvatch, only without street vendors or an arena. The streets were clean, the buildings were in good shape. Everything looked positively normal.

"Sa-weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet rollllllllllll!"

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

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

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

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

Wrothken walked around Bliss, squirming inside every time a Golden Saint glared at him. Something about their accusing eyes made him worry if he actually did something wrong. With each stare, he would quickly lower his eyes to the ground, as if to disappear from their view.

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

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

The bookstore itself looked relatively normal, though Wrothken suspected something was up. He looked around for the owner, though when he saw her his heart dropped to his stomach.

She was an Altmer, slimmer than Awour, but blond as well. Her eyes were light hazel, with a green hue. She swished her hips as she walked, licking her full lips. She leaned forward, her chest threatening to fall out of her almost obscenely low cut gown.

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

His jaw nearly hit the floor. She was direct at least, and even though he liked that in a woman, there was no way he would be able to look at her without thinking of Awour. "I.... No, thank you, though, but..." He shook his head. "Do you have anything on the Chalice of Reversal?"

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

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

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

Wrothken nearly jumped out of his skin. She sure was persistent. "Sorry, but... um..." He tried to think of something other than "you remind me too much of the girl who broke my heart then stomped on it." He backed away, placing his hand on the knob. "You know what? I have a... a thing. So why don't I just go?"

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

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



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

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

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

Those words stung more than any physical blow ever did. He was told that his father was a dealer in skooma and moonsugar. His deals and association with bandits are why his mother had to take him and his sister from Skyrim to Bruma. His father stayed for awhile, until he chose the drug to his own family.

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

He had originally longed to return home, but he couldn't bear the "I told you so" he was sure he'd receive. Instead, when he returned home, it would be with his head high.

"You're going to be just like your father." The words rang in his mind once more. If he did develop an addiction to felldew, would she be right? After all, his father's addiction had nothing to do with Sheogorath...right? No, of course not, he thought. That would be silly.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmmm..." He said. It wasn't the taste. That was horrible. It was the feeling that he enjoyed. He felt relaxed, calm... happy even. He licked his hand clean of the remaining felldew. He felt a pleasant tingle all over his body. "This isn't half bad."

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

ARGH! You stopped on a cliff hanger! I love what you did with the felldew tasting terrible, but he was licking his fingers - huge detail imagery there!!!!

Sontaire certainly seems a strange one. I've never played SI but from your description I might have to get it, it sounds most strange and entertaining... Certainly he was right about it not being just a bookshop.

And now he's on felldew. Any land which has narcotics bubbling out of dead insects is a strange one...

I love how bizzarre the isles are and how well you portray them

I have to agree with mALX. Though the image I had was of a dog licking Bitter Orange off his bandaged leg (Bitter Orange is a substance you spray on bandages, etc. to keep dogs from chewing them off. Only works half the time, the other half, it just makes the particular dog go for the bandage more).

I'm glad you feel the same way about the Golden Saints as I do. Stuck up, snobby beeyotches. However the men look better in Golden Saint armor than they do in the Dark Seducer one (brrgh!).

Good work with the background we learned about Wrothken's father. It ties in very nicely with his current quandry concerning the chalice and felldew.

He'd find normality around the Shivering Isles when Kirsty joined the Thieves Guild.
Funny he should think that after Kirsty employed a thief!

spend one night with me and I'll remind you why they say 'love hurts'.
Does she actually say that in the game? I have never played with a male character, she just threatens all my girls about stealing 'her' men.

First, I do not think I ever properly welcomed you to Chorrol.... So, welcome- we are so glad to have you and your wonderful story here. I have not played the SI expansion yet, so I will be seeing new things through your eyes.

The first paragraph draws me in immediately- conflict, enough description to tell me what I need to know, the character's name- and some of his personality.

"Oh, and she said something about them eating other people occasionally. That indeed was a dealbreaker. After all, Wrothken was a big, broad shouldered man; he could easily feed a family of four and then some. He also didn't know if Bosmer had a preference toward "white meat." "

There is a wicked and warped sense of humor at work there- and I should know.

Loved the description of using a (flare?) spell to light the torch.

Good fight scenes, which also give more insight into Wrothken's personality. Using the "clean up scene" at the Inn of Ill Omen to give a description of the "snuggly, fuzzy" Nord was also quite clever.

The rain of cheese and the "was that you doing the hokey-pokey" got a laugh out of me- at work.

"I don't believe in magic, but I do believe in bones." For some reason, I really like that statement. As a matter of fact, everything about Jayred is quite fun.

"With gusto, and probably some bone fondling, Jayred ripped out a large turquoise key." Snortle!

Will catch up- I hope later today. But for now, work summons me- rather like Sheogorath.

This continues to be great fun to read! I loved summoning Haskill to ask about the feldew - brilliant. Like some of those once a day powers, I tend to forget about being able to summon him.

Update, m'dear???

mAXL1- Thanks. I've noticed that certain things that are addicting or bad for your body but "fun" taste pretty bad...

Olen- Thank you, I actually almost did just the Oblivion MQ. I'm glad I decided to go to the Isles. It's been so much fun

haute ecole rider- Men in Dark Seducer armor look kinda silly to me... Then again with the females, I fail to see how that can be considered protective...

SubRosa- Yes she does, though of course nothing ever happens no matter how many times you visit

treydog- I'm always happy to hear from a new reader. I'm glad you're enjoying it♥

Acaidian- Oh I summoned him to death during my first play through. I hotkeyed him!

D. Foxy- Here it is!





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He went deeper in the tunnels when he came across a tree stump with green mist sprouting from the top. He got closer and prodded the round green top with his mace. It jiggled for a moment before it spread open wide. Inside, he saw a few pink bottles with the word "heal" engraved on the bottom, along with a ring, a spoon, and a tomato. First he emptied the contents of the potions to the floor. "Here we are," he said, looping the bottles around his waist. He also took the tomato for later use.

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, the Iron Champion closed for the night and it was time to go home. His feet ached, but his stomach was filled and he got his share of the septims for the night. Instead of heading straight home like usual, he left the city to pick some wild flowers for the kitchen. Awour recently mentioned that the house looked a little plain compared to other houses. This would be a good start.

He was late, but not by too much. He knew she wouldn't worry. That wasn't like her at all. He just hope she would like the flowers. Each one was specially picked just for her.

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

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

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

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

Awour didn't plead or even apologize. "I don't care if you know," she said. "He's a real man!"

Bacchus didn't say a word or even look at him. Wrothken stared into Awour's suddenly hateful eyes. Not a hint of love was seen in them. It shrank him. It killed him.

She walked up to him and guided him out the door, slamming it behind him. As he heard her retreating footsteps, he finally broke down, bawling at the top of his lungs. Never in his life had he felt so much pain and betrayal.

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

He panted heavily, tears streaming down his face. He was scared. Never in his life had he seriously thought of hurting a woman, or anyone else. The fights he was in were self-defense or rough-housing with friends. He didn't even know he had all that in him. Maybe the Isles finally got him....or maybe it was time for his bottle of felldew.

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



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

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



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

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

He spent too long spitting the moss from his mouth and picking chunks of bark from his teeth. His body didn't want to move anymore. His vision started to blur. He was reduced to crawling when he saw it. The glowing elytra was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It skittered towards him, unfazed by his presence. He was so happy, he didn't have the heart to kill it. Instead, he crawled over to it and suckled the felldew directly from its mandibles.

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well done all around. This was both lots of fun and creepy at the same time. I loved how you described Wrothken's craving for felldew. It was both subtle and hilarious. Could he put it in his boot! Further into the story it finally turns to ominous , as we see how deeply the cat has sunk its claws into Wrothken's back (to borrow the phrase from Olen).

Was he getting used to explorations? Or was it just the felldew?
I'll go with door #2 there... '

Ahh, so now we see the events of the fateful night when Wrothken caught Awour! That was nicely done. Wrothken seems a bit wimpy though. Most men would have gone the bash things with a mace and say things Molag Bal would blush at route.

It tasted like...tree!




nits:
He looked down at his ??? and fury began to bunch up in him.
You seem to have lost some text where I put the question marks.


. He was late,
Looks like a period slipped in at the start of this paragraph.


By the time he finally killed them, he was feeling down again.
I think you missed a the in there where I bolded it.


He ran down the trail as fast as he could.r
Looks like Haskill slipped in an extra r at the end when you were not looking...

Poor tree
The part of Wrothken biting into a branch and actually ralizing it tastes like wood was priceless

Good piece, the bit with him licking the felldew from the mandibles was genius (if rather nasty). And biting the tree, very funny. Especially when 'it tasted like.. tree'.

I like the balance you strike between humour and darkness, it's most certainly a funny piece but it has a darker side to it. A bit like the Isles really.

Excellent.

He looked down at his **** and fury began to bunch up in him. When he looked into it, he saw Awour

That sentence made me blink -
A man saw a girl in his prick -
but I pray thee, writer who astounds -
shouldn't it be the other way around?

Powerful, Powerful, POWERFUL Write!!!!! This has to be the best chapter yet, you ROCKED it!!!!! I can't pick any part to post, it was all too great!!

Your depiction of the addiction, his inner dialogue, the darkness you are able to portray in thoughts and deed - WHEW !!!!

Yes, this was quite brilliantly done, as well as most entertaining and fun to readl Bravo!

Jackie my dear! Excellent writing! I enjoyed every word of it....sorry to be such a bad commenter!

SubRosa- Working with the felldew addiction was pretty difficult, so I'm glad it turned out right ^^



For the life of me I could not find this! Thank goodness for ctrl+F

Remko- Lol I got the idea during my play through. After all, it IS the same shade of green...

Olen- The licking part was gross. Then again, if I ran into a giant cricket covered in chocolate... Mmmmmm (tastes just like a Crunch bar XD) My humor really works with SI, so I'm glad I did it

Foxy- Lmao!

mALX- This was the hardest chapter for me to do because of the addiction. I'm so happy to hear you enjoyed it

Acadian- Thanks ♥

minque- Oh you're not a bad commenter! I'm glad to have you reading ♥




Kirsty could hardly sleep at all. Her stomach was knotted with worry. After lying in bed and thinking about it for a few hours, she couldn't believe that she allowed some stranger to break into Wrothken's house and take jewelry. Maybe Lilitu-- if that was even her name-- wasn't a thief after all, but an undercover guard trying to put a stop to the Thieves Guild. Or maybe she and Awour were old friends, looking to catch Kirsty in something, just so they can report her later. For all Kirsty knew, she was a thief, but was going to run off with the spoils.

Realizing that sleep wasn't going to come to her, she decided to get to work.

She walked downstairs to the bakery and stood at the counter with a quill and parchment, checking her sales for the previous day. She made around fifty sweet rings yesterday, but didn't have enough for everyone who wanted one. She could try for seventy-five...but then again it was Tirdas. For some reason, Morndas always sold more sweets than any other day. "Sixty rings," she decided, writing it down.

Immediately she set to work. She found a large bowl and emptied a sack of flour into it. She was so happy to have left Valenwood. Flour, since it's grain, is forbidden by the Green Pact. Instead, they use bonemeal. It wasn't bad, but it didn't give the bread that fluffiness she loved. She took out a jar of honey and mixed it in, creating a thick paste. After forming the rings and soaking it in wine, she put them in the oven.

While she waited for them to cook, she started preparing some croissants and chocolate muffins to be baked as well. By time she was ready to open, her apron and any unprotected part of her dress was covered in powder.

The other townspeople were starting to wake up. People who still sold wares from carts were setting up outside the arena. She looked down the street, but still didn't see Lilitu. She bit her lip nervously. "Calm down," she told herself. "She probably isn't awake yet."

After the breakfast rush, though Lilitu still hadn't shown, a man carrying a sack full of papers walked in. Kirsty's heart raced. Did Wrothken finally send her a letter?

"Morning, miss," he said, handing her a copy of the Black Horse Courier. "Special edition," he said with a nod.

He walked away as Kirsty caught the headline.


Black Horse Courier

SPECIAL EDITION!
Rain of cheese! Transdimensional door appears!

An ordinary, peaceful morning on the Niben Bay was suddenly turned upside down when a downpour of cheddar cheese coated the immediate area. Locals from Bravil and the Imperial City scrambled to get a basket of the cheese, but by time they got to the area, guards had been sent to keep people from consuming it until it could be tested for poisons.

At the same time, it was reported that a strange door opened up on a mysterious island in the bay. Plants not found anywhere on Nirn were found, prompting a mass gathering of mages to examine and gather them up for potions. Several adventurers arrived on the scene as well, seeking to find out where the door came from and what its purpose is. Few have come out, and those who have seem to be driven mad by whatever's inside. A Bravil guard who has been posted at the door was quoted saying, "I keep telling them that nothing that enters come out right. They don't listen. Stupid kids got their heads filled with ideas of fame and fortune. Guess who gets stuck cleaning it up." The obvious madness in the victims has caused many to wonder if the door is something from Sheogorath. However, because all who have entered have become too disturbed to talk, there is no way to confirm that.

Chana Mona, the priest in Bravil's chapel of Mara, has been conducting her services outside by the bay, warning people to stay away. At first her words were unheeded, but seeing as how most have either gone insane or haven't returned at all, more are gathering to listen to her sermons.


She couldn't believe it. What it some kind of joke? What would they report next week, cupcakes in the lake? She crumpled it up, wondering if someone at the head office noticed the joke paper. Looking outside, she saw Lilitu wasn't out yet, but Awour was. She looked furious. Obviously, she and Lilitu were not in cahoots, and Lilitu did her job. Now her only concern was her bringing the jewelry back. She was a thief, after all.



Lilitu couldn't remember her dream, but she knew it was unpleasant. Visions flashed before her eyes too quick for her to recognize anything. She remained wrapped in red sheets, her hand still on the poem. She read through it again, but it failed to give her the same fuzzy feeling it did before.

Dolce ran up to Lilitu before she even made it downstairs. She jumped up on her, in her usual good mood. Lilitu held her face. "You know you have your own bed." She tapped her on the behind. "Off."

Dressed in a soft robe, she went to the kitchen and chopped up some beef. Dolce quivered as she tried to refrain from jumping up on the counter. Lilitu set the beef in a blue dish and set it on the floor. Dolce immediately pounced, greedily eating it as if she hadn't been fed in days.

While she ate, Lilitu got dressed. "Come on, Dolce," she said, after she finished. "Time to make a delivery."



When Kirsty finally saw Lilitu, she felt a wave of relief, with a slight flash of jealousy. Lilitu was wearing a red high-necked corset top, which recently became fashionable in the area. Kirsty had been highly disappointed to find that it was impossible to stuff herself into one and a custom made top would have been far too expensive. She looked down. Sometimes the blessing so many girls envied was so much more of a curse.

Lilitu smiled, taking a seat in front of her. Without prompting, Dolce sat down as well.

"Special delivery," Lilitu said, handing Kirsty a small coin purse. She opened it, gasping sharply when she saw the earrings and the ring nestled inside. "You look surprised."

"No, I just..." She couldn't admit that she thought Lilitu would deceive her.

"Don't worry about it. Most people who hire thieves for the first time don't expect the merchandise to come, especially if they have no experience with the guild."

Kirsty's cheeks burned. She felt so stupid. "Here, I know you wanted to do this for free, but at least take this, on the house." She handed Lilitu a fresh sweet ring.

When she took a bite, Lilitu's cherry red eyes suddenly seemed to glaze over and she moaned softly. "What is this?" she asked, quickly taking another bite.

"Just some sweet rings. I haven't come up with a good name for them just yet."

"I can think of some, but they're more suited for the bedroom than the kitchen. This is amazing!"

Kirsty reddened a little. She was usually too busy to hear people's compliments. "Um.. here's something for your dog, too." She stepped from behind the counter and set down a slab of ham. Dolce sniffed it curiously and took a hesitant lick, as if she wasn't sure she could trust it. Satisfied, she scarfed it down in a single bite.

Dolce took a step toward Kirsty and sniffed her hand. "Now she'll be your friend forever," Lilitu said. They were quiet for a moment before she said, "So, I'm just going to come out and ask. Who's Wrothken?"

"Wrothken?" She asked. "He's my brother."

Lilitu raised her eyebrows. "Your...brother?"

Kirsty shook her head. "Not exactly. I mean he's been like a brother. You know, looking after me and helping me out with stuff." She set her head on her hand, sighing. "He helped me run the place. Drunks listened to him more then they did me."

"Intimidated?"

Kirsty laughed. "Yeah. He's more like a big teddy bear, but people don't know that. All they see is a giant Nord with hands big enough to squash them."

"A Nord..." Lilitu smiled, licking her red lips. "I see. So, he's your brother, who lived with the high elf, and you wanted me to steal jewelry from their house." She looked outside. "She broke his heart, didn't she?"

Kirsty nodded. "He caught her in bed with another man."

Lilitu continued to stare outside. "It's sad how girls do that, and then they wonder why they can't find a good man. They've all been hurt so bad that they turn to jerks so they won't go through the pain again."

Kirsty nodded in agreement. She had been with far too many guys who kept to at a distance or who were cruel to her, just to avoid intimacy. She was about to ask Lilitu how she knew his name when Dolce sprang up, her ears folded back as she growled softly.

"Who was it?" Awour screeched, storming in. Her eyes were wild.

Kirsty's heart dropped to her stomach. She quickly tucked the coin purse in her skirt. "What are you talking about?" She asked. Her palms were starting to dampen.

"Don't play dumb with me! I know it was one of you!"

"Do you mind?" Lilitu asked. "I'm trying to enjoy a nice breakfast."

"Shut up!" Awour started to walk toward her, but Dolce started barking violently. "I'm going to find out, but until I do, you both had better watch your backs!"

Lilitu flashed a grin. "That's fine, sweetie, now shouldn't you get to work? The brothel's the other way."

Awour glared at her, hate filling her eyes. "I swear, I'll make you pay, Ashborn."

"You mean like all your customers? I suppose fair is fair."

Kirsty could see that if Dolce wasn't there, the two would've gotten in a brawl right there.

Awour spat on the floor before leaving.

"What a class act," Lilitu said.

Kirsty put her hand over her heart, trying to calm it down.

"If you're worried the guards would find out, don't. For one, she has no proof. Secondly, even if they believed her, I wouldn't turn you in. There is honor among thieves."

Kirsty managed a weak smile. Lilitu was good at making her feel at ease. She wasn't like the other girls she met. She didn't seem to have a drop of unnecessary cattiness in her. For years, Kirsty yearned for some female bonding. Sure, she had a few male friends, but they weren't the same. Could it be she finally found a good match? "Listen, after I close, do you want to just...talk?"

Lilitu smiled. "That'd be nice. How about some wine at my house?"

Kirsty nodded. "I'll bring some sweet rings."

"Sounds perfect. Dolce and I better be going. You never know when some business might pop up."

As Lilitu and Dolce left, the feeling of comfort left her. She found herself looking out repeatedly, worried that someone was going to come in and start trouble while she was alone. "Don't be silly," she told herself. "I'm not alone." Other patrons were eating and drinking, though there was only a handful of them. The chapel bell rang twelve times, letting her know that the lunch rush would be coming in soon. Cooking would take her mind off things, at least until the evening.

Great dialogue!!! You have a huge storyline going here!!!

I'm loving the two storylines, the Kirsty one is developing well and she is becoming a strong rounded (pardon the pun) character. Makes me wonder how she'll get on with Lilitu and what Awour will do.

The newspaper article was sublimely perculiar. I loved it.

I like these scenes with the wimmin's as much as I do those of Wrothken. I suppose because they are all about relationships. Both the good and bad aspects.

I do wonder more and more why Awour was with Wrothken in the first place though. You describe him as the standard 'Nice Guy', which is a guarantee to never get laid (well, by a woman at least...). Awour seems like your cheerleader/queen bee of the clique type. The last kind of girl who would be interested in someone like Wrothken. It makes me think that she was playing him from the start to get at his money?

Speaking of Awour, her type usually surrounds herself with a clique of female cronies. Not to mention men whom she twists around her little finger to get whatever she wants from. Maybe we will see some of that in the future, when her promised vengeance comes at the hands of such types?

Good description of Kirsty worrying about Liltu. It not only shows us that at heart she is still very much an honest citizen, but also smart enough to run all those possibilities through her head.

Bonemeal to make bread! That's fertilizer, and a vector for Mad Cow disease! Ewwww! No wonder all those male Wood Elves in Oblivion are kooks! I definitely prefer Kirsty's version of bread!

Seriously though, I liked your description of Kirsty's morning cooking. I imagine that she would have to be a very early riser to bake her treats before the morning rush. That is just as much the case now as it was in the ancient world.

Dolce has a blue dish? You mean something in Liltu's house is not red?

Sometimes the blessing so many girls envied was so much more of a curse.
It is nice to see some acknowledgment that super-gigantic boobs are really not a good thing at all, in spite of what men all seem to think...

Sometimes the blessing so many girls envied was so much more of a curse.
It is nice to see some acknowledgment that super-gigantic boobs are really not a good thing at all, in spite of what men all seem to think...


Speak for yourself! I have special needs - I was a bottle-fed child!

But you have made up for at least three lifetimes of....er...nevermind, lol.

That Lilitu is some piece of work Loved it Jacki!

This continues to be great fun to read. You bring your characters to life wonderfully!

mALX- Oh yes, its going to be a pretty large web of events.

Olen- A good pun The newspaper idea came from Shades on the Bethsoft forums. I think I'll continue with them once the Oblivion crisis begins

Sub Rosa- Yes, all of Dolce's belongings are blue. It'll be explained later on as to why its so color coded with them.

D. Foxy- Lol I know, but it really is no fun not fitting into nice shirts because of them

Remko and Acadian- Thanks so much ♥

Everyone- I'm so sorry this has taken so long. It's been a crazy week

~~~♥~~~

Awour



Awour stood in front of the arena, watching as Lilitu disappeared down the bustling street. She narrowed her eyes. She must have had something to do with her stolen jewelry. Kirsty wasn't the type, but the Ashborn.... Talos only knew where she and that mutt came from and what they were doing.

She wanted to follow her and see if she still had it, maybe steal it back, but she was afraid she would be too obvious. Maybe after a few days, when her guard was down, she could find a way to get them back. Instead of stalking, she turned and went home.

She frowned, looking into the messy living room. Remnants of last night's lunch and dinner was still sitting on the coffee table, next to a pile of books. Crumpled papers littered the floor.

The kitchen wasn't much better. A bouquet of flowers, once fresh and fragrant, now smelled sickly sweet and the lightest brush on a petal turned it to dust. Bottles of wine were all over the counter, along with pots and pans caked with burnt food.

As usual, she felt the sudden urge to clean so she could entertain friends, but a few minutes into it, she gave up and went to her room, crawling onto her bed. She held her pillow tight, imagining it to be Bacchus. She set it back in its place, hoping it would retain its scent for the year he would be in the Imperial City, training for the legion.

"A whole year..." She groaned. She was already feeling overcome with loneliness...and other urges. Her eyes traveled along the room, settling on Wrothken's battle axe. Her heart fluttered, remembering his strong arms...those big hands...broad shoulders...plump, soft lips... She growled softly. Why didn't he fight back? Of course, she knew exactly why and she wanted to kick herself for it.

All her life, she was told that she couldn't change a man. Well, a man may not be able to be changed, but he sure can be trained. Back in Bruma, Wrothken used to hang out with a rough little group and he, being the tallest and brawniest, was one of the roughest, complete with a volatile temper. When he was away from his friends, however, he showed a softer, sweeter side. One that proved to be eager to please, especially since he had never had a girlfriend before. Soon enough, Awour got him to spend less time with those delinquents, and more time with her. She figured that if she could get him to be less tempermental, she could have a sweet guy who always doted on her and maybe even spoil her a bit, he would be the perfect man for her. Training began quickly.

At first it was difficult. The littlest things, like harmless flirting, overly affectionate friends, didn't quite send him into a rage, but it made him pretty upset. Still, all it took were big juicy tears and a whimpering, "Wrothken, you're scaring me," to quiet him down. Then he always started crying and apologizing for overreacting and pleading with her to not be afraid. By the Nine, that was irritating. Thankfully, it only took a few moments of fake tears and trembles to get his temper in check. Unfortunately, when he stopped getting upset, he stopped seeming to care. He'd make a face, but that was as far as it went. Sometimes, she'd even flirt heavily with a man, just to try and get some kind of reaction out of him.

Not that she didn't truly want Bacchus. When Wrothken began working with Kirsty, he had taken a liking to her sweets. That better be all he took a liking to... He had gained a few pounds and while it wasn't all that much, it stood out in comparison to Bacchus' completely toned, tanned body. Oh, the feeling of his body pressed to hers was like nothing else...though he wasn't very open minded, like Wrothken had been.

Her brow furrowed as she began thinking. Wrothken always managed to see that she was taken care of. Not to mention, he always bought her the things she wanted, without a lot of prodding. He was pretty clean too. Bacchus may have been a hot piece of beefcake, but damn he got musky quick and sadly, he was not friends with the bath. Another thing, Wrothken was always around and not only brought food home, but cooked it too! And he was a damn good cook. Bacchus couldn't boil water without burning it. Maybe he could, but Awour could not and would not live on ale and meat pies from the carts in front of the arena.

Why in Oblivion am I even thinking about him? She thought. Months ago, when she first started seeing Bacchus, she decided that she wanted him, not Wrothken. Besides, she was far too young to settle down! She had another few centuries to live and explore. Wrothken didn't expressly mention marriage or anything, but she was sure it would come up eventually.

She growled and plopped back on her bed. What to do.... On one hand, Wrothken was a nice guy...and that's just it. She didn't want a nice guy. Bad boys were so much more fun. If she would have realized that in the first place and not forced his temper away, maybe things would have turned out differently. On the other, Bacchus was hot. Great body, great hair, total package...but he didn't take care of her. Bacchus didn't even leave a single septim for her to live on, while Wrothken used to give her plenty to care for herself while he was out for just a few hours! She rolled over. If only she could have a bad boy who also pampered her the way she liked. Oh well, you can't have it all... Or can you?

If she could train Wrothken into being more docile, could she untrain him? It was worth looking into. Of course, that was only if he ever showed his face again...




Kirsty was glad she joined Lilitu for wine. All day, she had been tense, jumping each time a guard entered the bakery for a quick snack. She was terrified of getting arrested for being an accessory to theft. After a few hours with Lilitu, she felt much more relaxed. Maybe it was the warm hearth, maybe it was the aroma of lavender and vanilla, maybe it was Lilitu's way with words, or maybe it was the wine. That was probably it, even though it had a bitter after taste. Whatever it was, it mellowed her out enough to enjoy the evening, and even talk about things her sober self would be to shy to discuss with anyone.

When Kirsty was ready to head home, Lilitu insisted on giving a guard a few extra septims to accompany her. Kirsty resisted, but was thankful by the gesture. After all, she didn't want to wind up in the wrong place or worse, taken advantage of by some creep.

As she crawled into bed, she felt safer and incredibly relieved. With Wrothken gone, she had felt incredibly lonely and a bit scared. Sure she could look out for herself, but when Wrothken was around no one would dare even think of trying anything. Without him she felt vulnerable. Not anymore... she thought. When she was with Lilitu, she felt bigger and stronger. If only there was a way to make sure she was around more. She tried to think of excuses to have her over more, but her thinking became fuzzy and she crossed the thin threshold into her dreams.

I know I've been remiss in commenting lately.

You've been writing some pretty darn good stuff. Normally I don't read this sort of fiction, but I like what you're doing with the characters too much to ignore this.


This made me laugh! And I keep thinking of Bacchus as Michelangelo's David - nice, toned body, but just a little light in the testosterone department. Of course rumor has it that Mikey was from the other side of the fence, so that may explain David. I wonder if there's some subversive meaning in the direction of my thoughts . . .

Oh well. I'm enjoying this story anyways!

Ahh, a chapter from Awour's pov! Excellent! It is very cool to see inside her head.

Well, a man may not be able to be changed, but he sure can be trained.


Bad boys were so much more fun.
Quoted for truth!

Actually, I think she meant BED boys were so much more fun.

Nice update, I can't say I read much (any) of the type of story the last part would classify as but you bring the characters out well so it's good to read for that and the promise of an oblivion crisis... well...

I like seeing inside all the different character's heads too, you really seem to know them all.

Nicely done, Jackie and fun to read!

I disagree, he was beefy and sweated quickly - wouldn't that mean a LOT of testosterone? - but you picked out one of my fave places too - Jacki's details bring these characters to life!!!!!

Hautee Cole Rider- He's somewhat like that.... Though I read something about the statue supposed to be showing lots of fear and that's why... you know...

Sub Rosa- I liked it from her perspective and it was surprisingly easy to tap into her attitude. I plan to do more later on.

Foxy- She did!

Olen- I do, it's like they all like to spring into my head and take over when I write. And the Oblivion crisis makes it so hard to write because I have so much planned and I'm being impatient

Acadian- Thank you as always ♥

mALX- Thanks so much. That's what gets me into stories, the livliness of the other characters.





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just some beer."

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

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

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

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

"Oh, thanks friend. Usually by time I find it, it gets cold and I have to get a new one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not get out of the city then?"

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

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

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

He wasn't quite sure what he meant and was almost afraid to find out, but Wrothken felt bad for him. He couldn't imagine being unable to indulge in a good sleep.

"Please?"

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

"Well, the only thing is that there can't be any walls nearby."

Wrothken nodded. "Then right after I speak with the Duke, I'll find you a bed."



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

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

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

And our Jacki Dice is back in the House...or is it the other way around...(inside *hehe* joke there)...





Great to have you AND your delightful story back!!! Do you know whenever I get the blues reading Champion of Madness never fails to cheer me up?

O.O My word!




I have missed you Foxy and I'm glad to know my story cheers you up!

Loved the way you segued into Amiable's quest for a safe bed to sleep!

Groping for a cup of coffee indeed! He he!

Good to have you back. It's been a while!

I was just wondering where my Champion of Madness had gotten off too, and here you are, back with another installment of the Shivering Isle's Snowman.

Wrothken's sojurn to the Choosy Beggar was excellent. You really put the insanity into the Shivering Isles. Amiable was especially well done.

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

From the Champion of Rad-ness to the Champion of EGAD!-ness,

Greetings and no peepings,
I trust this time your posts ain't fleeting
And if I had your account I would be tweeting
To make sure your face would be heating!!

Tee hee!

NOW WRITE SOME MORE!!!

I've missed this, it's good to see it continued.

Nice job in linking the quest he's on to the next one with him stopping by the pub. I love your portrayal of the inhabitants of SI too, you have them so perfectly insane and funny. The coffee was a nice touch.

Wrothken doesn't seem to be going excessively mad yet (certainly his annoyance at the locals suggests not), but I suspect he'll be worshipping cheese with the rest of them soon enough.

Home again, home again, piggity pig.

After a long nap and a refreshing shave, he decided to take a walk around the city before he had to see the Duchess in the morning. He felt relived as he walked through Crucible. Though the buildings were just as shabby as Bravil and the streets barely paved, he had come to love them. To him, they were warm and welcome. Even a little cozy. He was even considering making it a permanent home. That was, if he survived Sheogorath's tasks.

What in Alduin's name did he get himself into anyway? He sighed. At least he didn't have to kill innocent people. That would be truly mad.

A few people were out, though it was well after dark. At a distance they all seemed peaceful...and normal. As much as he wanted out at times, he couldn't let these innocent people suffer at the hands of Jygglepuff or whatever his name was.

He was about to head up the street back to Bernice's Taphouse when he saw the blond Imperial who wanted to have a private word with him. He considered hightailing it away from him, but he was spotted. The Imperial smiled a little and walked up to him.

"Ah, I'm glad you came," he said, leading Wrothken back to the statue. "So, are you interested in earning some loot?"

Wrothken was hesitant to answer. He imagined all sorts of scenarios that would earn him loot and so far none seemed pleasant. However, he decided to see what it was before refusing.

"Sure, why not?"

"Great!" He cried out. He hugged Wrothken tightly before composing himself. "There's a... a simple task. Yes, a simple task that you must perform." He took a deep breath. "This life, it's... well, it's too painful. Everywhere I look, I see death, dying, and decay. When I dream, I see a world without sunshine. I’m constantly on the verge of retching up, or falling asleep, or screaming at someone who doesn't deserve it. I'm just so fed up with it all. Look, there's no point in talking about it. Action must be taken. You must... I need you to kill me."

Wrothken was stunned. "What? You... no way..." He took a breath. "Why not just..you know... do it yourself if that's how you feel?"

"Have you seen those miserable souls on the Hill of Suicides? Do you think that kind of existence is any better than this? No. You must kill me. I don't necessarily want to see it coming. And I want to die here in the city so all these people finally believe me. They'll wish they were nicer. You probably want to do it without spectators though, so you don't get in trouble. Best to make it look like an accident. But remember, I don't want to see it coming. Take me unaware."

"Oh for the love of..." Wrothken threw his arms up.

"No! Not like this!" He screamed. "Please, no!"

"One...two...three..." Wrothken counted through clenched teeth. He needed to get back to bed before he accidentally made the Imperial's wish come true.





As he was heading back to the taphouse, he heard someone shout, "Kick him in the shins!"

He looked around, but no one was around him. It sounded like it was coming from the roof. He walked behind the building and saw a flight of stairs. He ran up to see what was going on, and ws surprised to see Kalila in the center of a circle of excited people, beating up an Orc twice her size. When she kicked him onto his back, the crowd cheered and toasted their drinks. Kalila panted heavily, wiping her hair from her face. "Alright, who's going next?"

Kalila... With everything going on, she had slipped his mind, but with her standing before him, skin glistening with sweat and her hair plastered to her face. He recalled just before he left to get Thadon's Chalice, she mentioned that she liked his innocent look and wanted to get together later... His hand immediately flew to his cheeks. He wondered if she would notice.

"I'll go again," Cutter said, shoving through the crowd.

"You lose on purpose!" the Orc said, brushing himself off.

"He's right," Kalila said. "Besides, I've already got someone in mind. You," she said, looking at Wrothken.

An Altmer scoffed. "He's not in the group! You can't!"

Kalila growled. "I can and I will. Come on."

Wrothken froze for a minute, finding him to be the center of her attention for the second time. Again, he was reminded of the stark contrast between her and Awour. Awour disapproved of sparring. Apparently, only delinquents did that. What the silly elf didn't understand was that it was a way to bond. He licked his lips, eager to bond with Kalila.

He stepped in the chalky circle, remembering his sparring days with his friends. It was several years ago, but felt like last week.

He faced Kalila and, as was customary, at least in his circle, he bowed deeply. Kalila responded with a slap to his head. The crowd roared in amusement. "What are you doing? We're fighting, not dancing!"

Obviously, she wants to start now... As he lifted from his bow, he threw a punch at her face. She pushed it up, leaving his side perfectly exposed for a hit to the ribs. He grunted, but didn't back down. Instead, he threw a quick jab, hitting her cheekbone.

She stumbled to the side as the onlookers gasped. While she rubbed her head, Cutter shouted, "Go for neck!" The others began to shout where else she should attack.

Kalila rushed forward, her fist headed for his nose. Wrothken blocked with his right hand, redirecting her punch, and grabbed her wrist and pulled her downward. He then pushed down on her head, making her fall on the ground.

She got up, fire in her eyes. "Oooohhh..." the crowd said. She swung several punches at him and he dodged or blocked each one. Though he was doing quite well, Wrothken was starting to get goosebumps every time their eyes locked. He could feel something different about her. Instead of punching him, she began grasping him. The crowd had quieted down and a quick glance at Cutter's furious expression told Wrothken something was up.

Finally, she spun around with a kick. Wrothken caught it and she pulled him close. His heart pounded out of control as he realized what was about to happen.

She roughly pressed her lips onto his. She pushed him off and said, "Your bedroom now."

He was only too happy to oblige.



Wrothken's mind spun as her lips hungrily covered his face and neck. When they crossed the threshold to his room, Kalila slammed the door behind them.

"Get your shirt off," she demanded, pulling her clothes off.

He did as commanded and didn't object when she roughly pushed him on the bed. As she explored him, his mind wandered off.

As Kalila stripped him the rest of the way down, he thought, If only Awour could see this! I bet she thinks I'm wallowing in misery still. Ha!

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Kalila began screaming in terror.

"W-what's wrong?"

She cowered in the corner, looking at him with wide eyes. She continued screaming as he took a step toward her. Before he could get another word out, she ripped the door open and ran downstairs sobbing.

He quickly put his pants back on and headed to the stairs, where he could hear her screams.

"He's...deformed!" She cried out.

"Dearie, what are you talking about?"

He heard mumbling and then Bernice's laughter. "Oh, sweetie, that's not deformed. All men have that."

"It's repulsive!" She made a gagging noise. "I never want to see anything like it again!" The patrons chuckled a little.

Why, oh why did he even think for a second it would end well? His fantasy shattered, he went back to his room. He screamed into his pillow until he tired himself out and fell asleep.

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

Jygglepuff or whatever his name was.


I loved the rooftop fight club. I thought it was cool when I came across it in the game, and I wanted to join in too. It was brilliant tying it into Kalila, and using it as a lead into her and Wrothken getting in the sack. But that was even better!

"He's...deformed!" She cried out.
Oh poor Kalila, she's been playing for the wrong team all this time!

All in all, I like how you are piling the craziness on. Every part of this segment underscores that this is indeed the Realm of Madness.



nits:
The words that you bolded, are usually italicized instead.