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

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

I hope you all enjoy ♥




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fine, and I need a drink."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrothken nodded and walked up the stairs.

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

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

Hey Jacki! Welcome to Chorrol!

Now that you're posting here, I look forward to continuing to read Wrothken's story. I'm liking what you've got so far on the Unnamed Forum, and am looking forward to it continuing here.

Yay! Wrothken and Jacki have made their debut! Time to turn up Shinedown's Sound of Madness...

Nords, the other white meat...

I liked the foreshadowing you put into the beginning. First the part of Kvatch could burn and Kirsty would not leave. The second being the encounter with the tomato lady on the road. It is a nice, subtle reference to the insanity that is sure to follow...

Poor Wrothken, those blond Altmer beauties are hard to get out of your head...


nits:
I think you ran into the forum's swear filter here. It changes out objectionable words with random ones.
"Why don't you take that mace and shove it up your boat?"


You probably wanted wary here:
He was weary of anything created by goblins,

Yippee!! Jackie is at Chorrol.

I remember that you were working up to posting and asked people for advice. Then that forum decided to ruin everyones fun. Not fair that!!
Awesome to see you here and I wish you good luck!!

Your chapter was fantastic. The conversational style worked perfect for the personality of the character.
And what a character he is. Man that guy has woman issues. If he is still attached to Awour that much then I sense some real problems in the future.
Combine that with drinking and gambling problems and we could be in for a fun ride.

I loved the way he was looking for human contact, then the moment he saw the crazy tomato woman he kept walking.

More, more!!

Hi Jacki,

I really think you've got something here. Wrothken is immediately likable despite, or perhaps because of his problems with women (something all men can relate to, with or without legion armor). Your fight sequences were vividly described. I like the fact that Wrothken is perfectly willing to let an opponent run away.

It might be a strange thing to comment on, but something else that really struck me was your willingness to describe the useless junk that Wrothken finds in the chest. That kind of detail aids in the immersion.

And this:

Priceless!

Nice story, you write very well and descriptively. No gripes as yet, just try and make the text flow a bit more. It's fine to go off on random tangents, it's what makes a story a story, but too many and the reader will lose interest.

Good work !

Welcome to Chorrol!

We are all good peeps here.

Well, except for a certain weirdo called Foxy, anyway. Watch out for that guy, and don't write anything he could bend, twist, stretch or allude to in an innuendo.

Look forward reading more about the huggable Nord!

An innuendo you say?

Watch his emoticons as well :

Hey! My emokeeguns are CLEAN! What do you mean...

oh...

WATCH. Yeah, Ok.

haute ecole rider- Thank you, its nice to have another place to post. Now its like the bethsoft forums are where the spoilers are ^^

SubRosa- I'm glad you caught those. I wasn't sure if people would notice. And those blond beauties are definitely hard to forget. I'm sure Teresa can relate

Winter Wolf- Oh it would be a fun ride, seeing as how Wrothken is a bit of a lightweight...

Destri Melarg- I'm glad you liked the fight scenes. Foxy gave some good input on the bethsoft forums, so that helped a lot and so did acting it out with my pretend mace (it's a weight with ten pounds on one side )

Illydoor- I admit the first chapter is a bit rushed. When I was writing it I wanted to get to the juicy bits so bad that things came out quicker than they should have. The next few, I heard, take it much slower.

D. Foxy- Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to watch out for that guy Though, if he likes innuendo, he may have some fun with some future chapters

Remko- Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying the snuggly-bear of a Nord



Worthken woke with a horrible taste in his mouth. There was nothing quite like the taste of sour ale. He stood up a little too fast, clutching his head to try and stop the room from spinning. When things slowed down a bit, he picked up his armor and shirt and headed to the washroom.

Like the bedroom, the washroom was nothing special. Just the basics in a very small, yet clean, space. When he realized that he wasn't craving a bath, he knew his misery-wallow had gone too far. Sure, he wasn't obsessive about cleanliness, but he did enjoy a bath daily. He felt filthy otherwise. The fact that he spent the previous day in a cave should have given him that "I-need-a-bath-now" feeling. Stripping his pants off, he ran the water in the tub.

When he got out, he felt like a new man...almost. He could feel scruff on his face. He looked in the mirror, rubbing it. It was scratchy and he noticed that when the light hit it, it was actually red, instead of dirty, or as some called it, Bravil-water blond like the rest of his hair.

I'll have to take care of this soon, he thought. Ever since the first hair sprouted on his face at the age of fifteen, he was vigilant about keeping his face baby smooth. He was about to get dressed when he caught a glimpse of his full body in the mirror.

He was tall, even taller than a lot of Nords. He wasn't tanned nor did he have the body of a god. He was what Kirsty simply called "snuggly." And "fuzzy." Could that have been it? he wondered. He wasn't the type to check out other men, but he had a feeling Bacchus was pure muscle and not so "fuzzy." He rolled his eyes. "Doesn't matter," he told himself. "There's no excuse. None." He got dressed and headed downstairs. It was around midday, so he still had time to eat before heading out.

"...just appeared right there in the bay!"

Wrothken heard an excited voice coming from downstairs.

"Yes, yes, but what about that orange sludge coming from the sky?" Manheim asked.

The other man laughed, but not in amusement. "Cheese! Can you believe it? It was raining cheese!"

Wrothken saw them sitting at the table. Next to Manheim was a Redguard woman and an Imperial man. He was the one reporting the raining cheese.

"No!" The woman exclaimed. She looked out the window, as if she wanted to see for herself.

"I swear on my grandmother's grave," the Imperial said with his hand over his heart.

"What's going on?" Wrothken asked, taking a seat by the woman.

"A strange door opened up in the Niben Bay a few hours ago," the Imperial said.

"And it rained... cheese?" Wrothken asked.

"I swear it did."

Wrothken looked out the window as well. As hard as it was to believe, the Imperial seemed serious. "The Niben Bay?" He asked.

"Yes! See for yourself!"

Maybe he would go see. After all, raining cheese wasn't an everyday occurrence.

"Alright, where do I go?"

"It's straight down the path. Just don't stay too long. Who knows what'll happen next..."

He walked out the door, expecting to be able to smell it. Instead, the air was as crisp as ever. He strode down the path, almost breaking into a run when he finally saw it. Oily orange clumps decorated the water and some of the shore. A poor mudcrab was covered in it and had a hard time moving. He had to know. He took some from the mudcrab's shell and sniffed it. It smelled like cheese. It felt like it, too. Only one way to be sure, he thought.

He put the clump in his mouth. "Cheddar!" he exclaimed. He grabbed some more and began eating, wishing he brought some bread with him.

He sat on the shore as he snacked, looking to the strange island ahead of him. That had to be the door. Curiosity sparked in him again. It wasn't too far off, though he wished he had a water walking spell. He was reluctant, but in the end he couldn't skip it. He just had to know what was there, otherwise it would drive him crazy. He'd check it out and then come back. He took off his armor and set his torches down on the shore before jumping into the water.

The water was cool and surprisingly free of slaughterfish. Maybe it was the cheese, he thought, as some clumps of cheese were slowly sinking into the water floor. One in particular that seemed to change shape as it went, caught Wrothken's eyes. He stared at it falling until he noticed something strange. The island was not exactly an island. It didn't start at the ground, it just floated there. It made him a little wary, but, still, he was so close, a lot closer than he was to the shore. He decided he'd check it out quickly and then get back to the path. Like the Imperial said, who knows what'll happen next.

As Wrothken climbed onto the island, he was amazed by the plant life, though it too sported cheesy decoration. There were bright red mushrooms large enough for him to sit on. In a little pond, strange green pods bounced with the water. Long, thin stalks rose even taller than he was. He saw lavender, pear-shaped fruits hanging from a bush. However, all the plants were nothing compared to the stone figure at the top.

It had two pairs of eyes and formed three faces. They were the same bearded man bearing different expressions. On the left, he seemed to just be staring outward. The right on was grinning, though Wrothken thought there was something malicious in his smile. The center face had his mouth gaping open and glowing bright blue.

Two other people stood outside. A guard with his hand glued to his hilt and a Khajiit, muttering incoherently. Wrothken was about to ask the guard what was going on, when the guard cut him off.

"Can't talk now. That door has been making noises again. No telling what's coming out," he said, turning toward the door, which in fact had started making gurgling noises.

Within seconds, a dark elf came out, wearing a shirt with overly puffy sleeves and discolored pants. He was laughing hard, yet crying at the same time. Wrothken stared in his eyes. Something was very wrong with him.

"It’s not right. Madness...why? WHY? Everything is wrong," he said. He grasped his head firmly. "It can't be done!"

Wrothken's stomach churned with pity for the poor man. Obviously something went wrong in there. He took a couple steps toward him, when the elf shouted, "Stay away from me! I won't go back. You can't make me go back! I'll kill you all! You’re all going to die!" The elf pulled out a dagger from his belt and started toward Wrothken.

Wrothken wasn't sure if he could do it. The elf wasn't right. He probably didn't even know what he was doing.

"Stay back! This one's violent," the guard commanded. With only a few swings of his sword, the elf was freed from madness.

Finally able to talk, the guard approached Wrothken. "I say steer clear of that door. Nothing good to be found on the other side of it. Of that, I'm certain."

With a glance at the slain elf, Wrothken was about to head back when he heard a booming voice. "Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy! Useless mortal meat! Walking bag of dung!"

Wrothken looked around. The Khajiit was huddled in a ball, still rambling to herself and the guard was watching her like a hawk. There was no one else on the island, so who said that?

"A nice effort though," the voice said, as if he was taking back what he just said. "A shame he's dead. These things happen."

The voice was coming from the door. He turned at stared at it, wondering if the statue was actually alive.

"Bring me a champion!" It commanded. "Rend the flesh of my foes! A mortal champion to wade through the entrails of my enemies!"

Wrothken's brows furrowed. A champion? He wasn't... he couldn't... Then why were his feet leading him closer to the door?

"Really! Do come in! It's lovely in the Isles, perfect time for a visit."

He found himself right in front of the blinding light. No, I can't go in there, he thought. Look what happened to that guy! What if it happens to me? He looked up at the teeth, wondering for a second if it was a trap and the teeth would crunch down and eat him up. "What if I just take a quick peek? I'm sure I'll be fine. Just a peek," he reasoned.

He tentatively raised his foot and stuck it through the door. When he quickly pulled it out, it was still there, same as always. He tested it with his hand, and as before, it came back normal. With his eyes squeezed shut, he took the plunge and went in.



The area was not what he expected at all. Then again, he didn't know what to expect. The room was dark. The only light came from a single candle, only illuminating the immediate area. Physically, it was warm, but the dark stone walls and floor made him feel colder. In the center of the room, by the candle, a man sat at a table. He looked like he was middle-aged, due to the loss of hair on top of his head. A metronome on the table ticked loudly. The man had a book in his lap and he set it down, looking as if Wrothken had interrupted him at a cliffhanger.

"Was that you doing the hokey-pokey?" he asked.

Wrothken's cheeks flushed brightly. He didn't think anyone would see that.

"Just take a seat," the man said, motioning to another chair.

Wrothken sat down, looking around.

"What can I do for you?" He asked Wrothken.

"The door leads here?" Wrothken asked.

"Yes, you have entered the door and now you are here. Amazing, truly."

Wrothken narrowed his eyes a little. Was he being sarcastic?

"Um.. What is this place?" he asked, trying to ignore it.

"You approach the Shivering Isles. Through the door behind me lies the realm of Sheogorath, Prince of Madness, Lord of the Never-there. I am Haskill, chamberlain to His Lordship."

Wrothken nodded. "So, why did the door show up in the Niben Bay? And what was with all the cheese?"

"Because my Lord wills it to be so. It poses no danger to Mundus; no compact has been violated. It is a doorway, an invitation. Perhaps you will accept it for what it is." He paused, then added, "The cheese was merely a special touch. Surely you can't expect the arrival of Sheogorath's doorway to have gone on unnoticed. He was sure the cheese would catch someone's attention."

It sure did, Wrothken thought. Then he remembered the people outside. "What about that dark elf and the Khajiit?"

"They entered this realm and were ill-prepared. Their minds are now the property of my Lord."

"But, can't they be cured?"

"Cured?" Haskill seemed almost insulted. "You speak as if they are diseased! They live now in another state of being. Perhaps it is you that needs a cure."

Wrothken shrugged. He sure did, but according to some, the best cure for what he suffered from, was to head into a brothel. He chuckled, remembering Kirsty's response to that suggestion. "Oh, please. After five years with Awour, I think he's spent more than enough time with tramps." He cleared his throat and looked at Haskill. "When I was out there, I heard someone say 'Bring me a champion!' What was that about?"

"My Lord seeks a mortal to act as His Champion. As for His intent... to attempt to fathom it is a foolish endeavor. His will is His own; His reality follows suit. You are here because you chose to enter; you were not summoned."

Was he not? Wrothken remembered the pull the door had on him, the way he moved forward even as his mind protested.

"So, what now?"

"You do as you will. You may leave the way you entered. Your life will be none the worse for your time spent here. Or, you may continue onward, through the door behind me. If you can pass the Gates of Madness, perhaps the Lord Sheogorath will find a use for you."

"And if I go back?"

"Who is to say? There are always choices to be made. The Realm of Madness is no different in that regard. Your choices are your own. Enter or do not, but make your decision. I've other duties to which I must attend. Speak with me again when you have made up your mind. The anticipation is almost too much to bear." Once again, he sounded sarcastic.

Wrothken sat in the chair, and thought deeply. A Daedric Prince might have a use for me? I wonder what... But this is ridiculous! People come out of here warped out of their minds! What if the same happens to me? Oh, who am I kidding? I'm already mad! ....wait, if I'm thinking that, then I can't be mad. A crazy person never doubts their sanity... His head had begun to hurt.

Haskill cleared his throat loudly. "Well? Have you made up your mind? The tension is almost palpable."

"I'll do it!" He said. Even as the words left his lips, he didn't know what he was thinking! He had a thousand questions for himself, but for once he put them to the side. Today was the start of his new life, after all.

"Fine," he said, almost sounding disappointed. Wrothken had a feeling that Haskill was going to be a royal pain in the behind. "I'm sure my Lord will be most pleased, assuming you ever manage to see Him. You'll want to pass through the Gates of Madness. Oh, and mind the Gatekeeper. He dislikes strangers to the Realm. Enjoy your stay."

Haskill stood up and walked to the door. The moment he touched the handle, butterflies materialized from the walls. Thousands of them flew up into the air, revealing the Isles to Wrothken. He was breathless.

"That was amazing!" He said, but Haskill was gone. Wrothken was alone on the hill. "Well, so far, so good."

Good to see this funny chapter again!


Still makes me laugh!


I think he is better left lower-case. OTOH, this made me laugh out loud for the second time. Such classic Haskill!

Uh oh:

I think Chorrol's Censor Police has struck again!

I liked this phrase, remind me to steal it:
Bravil-water blond

Maybe he would go see. After all, raining cheese wasn't an everyday occurrence.
Not in Cyrodiil, but where Wrothken is heading....

This I also like:
Then why were his feet leading him closer to the door?
The same with Wrothken's musing that he had been summoned after all.

nits:
I think you ran into another forum's swear filter here:
I think he's spent more than enough time with [censored]s.

Nice piece, I'm enjoying this, particularly some of the one liners (which Haute has already pointed out). I'm looking forward to see how you describe the isles. I like the character as well, he seems quite normal... this far at least...

Good stuff

haute ecole rider- Oh goodness... I have a feeling this swear filter is going to be the death of me. >.>

SubRosa- I'm glad you liked my phrase You can steal it anytime

Olen- Thanks so much!




Wrothken felt like a child filled with wonder as he walked the path in the Isles. Even though it was daylight, the sky was littered with golden stars. Sometimes when he walked, shimmering bursts would appear, swirl around in the air and the vanish. Of course, he knew it couldn't be all stars and sparkles. The plane of Madness had to have a few undesirable things about it, which made him happy that the door leading back to Cyrodiil remained, just in case he had enough.

It wasn't long before he came across... something. It was short and green. It looked like the result of a love affair between a goblin and a slaughterfish. Wrothken noticed it had pants on. Maybe it's a resident? It looked appropriate given the area. The creature didn't seem to notice him, so Wrothken walked over to it. "Good day," he greeted.

The creature replied by taking out a primitive-looking dagger and growling. Wrothken felt a flutter in his heart as he realized he left his armor back in Cyrodiil. He still had his mace, so he took it out and swung. The creature was quicker than him. It spun and slashed his arm deeply. He didn't feel it at first, so he kept swinging, eventually hitting it mid-spin. When he finished, he started to feel the stinging in his arm.

He closed his eyes, focusing on a cooling feeling in his heart. It wrapped down his arm, and he soon felt it heal. He sighed. First thing he needed to do was get some armor.

The path was long and winding. On both sides there were broken pillars. When the pillars were new, it must have been majestic, he thought. At night it must be really beautiful... It brought to mind evening walks, which reminded him of strolls with Awour after a date. He sulked, remembering how she used to swoon over some of the actors when it was Theater Night at the arena. There was the first sign of the issue that he just didn't seem to notice. It wasn't that he objected to her finding other men attractive. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find Kirsty's voluptuous curves enthralling. The problem was when she would do it so blatantly, and then proceed to describe just how handsome and perfect they were. In fact, he recalled her going through a similar phase when meeting Bacchus for the first time. "There's nothing sexier than a man in metal," she had said, batting her long eyelashes. He felt so stupid. He should have known.....

He stopped in the middle of the road. It didn't matter. He was in a new place. Time for the new life to begin. He took a deep breath, picturing in his mind a small figure sweeping out a large pile of garbage, symbolizing his memories.

Now that he stopped that destructive thought process, he started remembering what Haskill had said. In order for him to see Sheogorath, he needed to go through the Gate of Madness. In order to do that, he had to get through the Gatekeeper, who apparently disliked strangers. Perhaps he can be reasoned with, he thought.

He entered a small settlement. A Redguard walked up to Wrothken with a big smile. "Hello, I'm Shelden. I've been here the longest. That's why I'm mayor of Passwall. That, and because I'm the best at being in charge. Welcome to my town! The place was pretty deserted when I got here. Of course, once I was here, others followed. Can't say I blame them."

"Oh, you're the mayor?" Wrothken asked. "So you'd know about the Gatekeeper, right?"

"The Gatekeeper?" A dark elf asked. He was a few feet away, so he had to raise his voice in order to talk to them. "He's pretty scary, isn't he? He's actually about to destroy a group of adventurers right now. Let's watch him in action."

"Wait, what?"

Sheldon and the dark elf ran up the hill. Wrothken ran to catch up wit them. He froze when he saw the Gatekeeper. It was two, maybe three times his size. It had a head, but no face. Just soft tissue where the eyes, nose, and mouth should have been. Instead of a right hand, it had a large bloody sword attached to its arm. It wore a metal collar that connected to a piece going down the center of its chest and then wrapping around its stomach. In its chest, Wrothken could see scabs shaped like large keys.

A group of adventurers clad in steel armor, stood by the Gatekeeper, barely reaching his knee. The Orc leader commanded them to fight and they obediently did so. Wrothken was horrified as the Gatekeeper threw them around like rag dolls. He had to help. He rushed in, beating the Gatekeeper's leg with his mace. The Gatekeeper didn't even seem to notice. It continued to crush the adventurers until they were motionless. Only after they were dead, did it look down at Wrothken. He didn't wait for it to attack. He ran down the stairs, stumbling over his legs. The Gatekeeper followed him only to the last stair. It grunted, standing as if to show where its territory begun.

Wrothken panted hard, trembling.

"Pretty scary, huh?" The dark elf said. "Jayred Ice-Vein's planning on killing him. I don't know how... the Gatekeeper looks indestructible to me."

"Well, good luck to him!" Wrothken said. He didn't want anything to do with it. It was unbeatable!

He walked around the settlement until he noticed an inn. He entered, taking a seat at the counter. The publican was an Altmer, who also happened to be blond. Wrothken pretended not to notice, though it made his heart sink.

"Hello, I'm Dredhwen," she said. She had large bags under her eyes. "No one was running this place when I got here. They left plenty of things behind, though. What do you need?"

"Nothing, now," he said, unable to look at her. Instead, his eyes were caught on a bust of a mustached man and the piles of lettuce and yarn around it.

"Hey."

Wrothken turned to see a brown haired Nord standing behind him. The Nord knelt down to whisper to Wrothken. "Rumor has it that you want the Gatekeeper dead."

This must be Jayred, Wrothken thought, recognizing the last name as of Nordic descent.

"I was," Wrothken said. "But after seeing him--"

"Before you get scared, let me tell you something. The Gatekeeper had a brother."

Wrothken folded his arms. "Oh, did he?" He had no idea how that was supposed to dispel his fear.

"Yes, but he's dead now. His bones have spoken to me," he put great, almost seduced, emphasis on "bones." "And they've told me how to kill the Gatekeeper!"

"....his bones spoke to you?" Wrothken shook his head. "Are you--" He was about to ask if he was insane, but then remembered where he was. "I mean, how can the bones help?"

"Look, they say the Gatekeeper is magical. I don't believe in magic, but I do believe in bones. And the best way to kill something is with the bones of its own. I can see the bones of a dead Gatekeeper in the courtyard of the Gardens of Flesh and Bone. Come with me and I'll show you how we can kill him."

Wrothken stared at him hard. Any other day, if a crazy person would have asked him to accompany them anywhere, especially with a name like "Gardens of Flesh and Bone," he would have run, not walked, away. However, there was something about Jayred that seemed sincere, if not a little creepy.

Finally, he asked, "Why are you willing to include me in this? Why not do it yourself?"

"Because I am an archer. The Gatekeeper doesn't allow for long-range combat, so I would be unable to take him on by myself. But you!" he grabbed Wrothken's large arm. "I know this isn't just bone! With the two of us, I bet we could take him easily! So what do you say?"

"Alright then, show me this garden."



"Here we are!" Jayred announced. He ran up to the gate, reaching toward the bones. "I know, I heard your calls. I'm here now. Shhhh...." He said under his breath. He turned back to Wrothken. "Hurry! Pick that lock open. I can hear them in there! "

"Pick? You never said anything about it being locked!"

"Well, of course it is! If it wasn't, I would have had the bones already! Think logically, man!"

Wrothken fumed. A man with a bone fetish was telling him to think logically? Still, he needed his help. First he tested it, shaking the gate hard. The gates remained shut. He reached in his pocket, hoping he had not lost his lock picks while he was swimming. When he felt them still inside, he breathed deep. He stuck it in the lock and forced himself not to rush through it. He found that it was a relatively simple one, so it only took him two picks to get through it.

"Here I am!" Jayred cried, rushing past Wrothken. He sat by the large skeleton, rubbing his hands all over it. "Yes, yes, you knew I'd come, didn't you?"

Jayred spent plenty of time delicately gathering up the bones. Before adding each one to the pile in his arms, Jayred would coo to it and occasionally gave one a kiss. Please don't let me turn out like this, Wrothken thought.

"Alright," Jayred said, acting as if his behavior was the most normal in the world. "From these bones, I can make the arrows. Just give me a few hours and I'll be ready."

Wrothken closed his eyes, trying to force away the hideous image of what he suspected Jayred might be using the "few hours" for. "Right," he said. "See you in a few hours."

Jayred headed back to Passwall. "I've been waiting so long for you. Let me get you in my nice warm house..."

Wrothken shuddered. If this was just the fringe of madness, he was almost afraid to see what would happen once he got to the heart of it all.

I enjoyed reading this again.

This made me chuckle:

Only because I've long held the idea that there's nothing sexier than a man in uniform. Of course, now that I'm older than I used to be, I would add, except for a man that's out of it.

The whole scene with Jayred and picking the gate lock was well done!

And this is an excellent example of foreshadowing:

Sexy man in uniform = Chippendale dancer.
Sexy man out of uniform = use your imagination.

Good description of a Grummite (or Grubbite, as I always call them):
It looked like the result of a love affair between a goblin and a slaughterfish.


So someone has voluptuous curves!
He'd be lying if he said he didn't find Kirsty's voluptuous curves enthralling.
rawr for Kirsty!

Some sound advice here:
if a crazy person would have asked him to accompany them anywhere, especially with a name like "Gardens of Flesh and Bone," he would have run
I guess the SI has been working on Wrothken though, because he followed Jayred. I always liked that Nord. He and his obsession with bones was genuinely creepy, in a Texas Chainsaw Massacre kind of way. I really liked how you portrayed him hearing the bones of the dead gatekeeper speaking to him.


nits:
hoping he didn't lose his lock picks while he was swimming
this might read better by saying:
hoping he had not lost his lock picks while he was swimming

*clap* Excellent work, Mad-One!

Can't say it any better than this. I have taken two level 30+ characters to the Isles. Both were killed by the Gatekeeper, so I can identify with Wrothken's desire to steer clear.

I have a special treat for all my readers.

CLICK TO SEE KIRSTY!!

I just noticed she looks a bit lopsided and I can't do hands very well >.> Wrothken should be up in a couple days.

Thanks to everyone who's been reading and posting It's one of the highlights of my day



While Wrothken waited for Jayred to finish, he stared up at the sky. It was pitch black, spattered with clusters of stars of every color. He wished the sky in Cyrodiil looked that way. If only he could have shared it with-- No, her name is not allowed, he reminded himself. A deeper, uncontrollable part of his mind retorted with, Yes, but you can't stop me from showing you...

He saw her again. She didn't have that gracefulness that Altmer were supposed to possess. Actually, she tripped and stumbled into anything and everything. But Wrothken thought it was adorable, just as long as she didn't hurt herself. He remembered shortly after they met, she tripped and he caught her. Cliche, but the look in her eyes at that moment made him blush several shades of red. In fact, it was that moment that gave him his first kiss...

He grunted, violently shaking his head. He didn't want to remember! He just wanted to forget it all and be done with it! Jayred's taken long enough, he thought. He just hoped he wouldn't accidentally take his anger out on the wrong person.

After getting directions from Sheldon, who bragged that he knew where Jayred lived because he was the mayor, Wrothken headed straight to Jayred's house. He banged on the door.

"Uh... Who is it?"

"It's been hours," Wrothken said. "Are you done yet?"

"Oh, sure, sure!" Jayred opened the door and let him in.

Wrothken expected some sort of strangeness, but not to the extent it really was. Skulls, rib cages, and all sorts of other bones sat carefully arranged in bowls and on shelves. His table seemed to be constructed entirely of bones, along with a set of matching chairs. When he looked closely, Wrothken noticed that the bowls were actually skull caps.

"The arrows are ready," Jayred announced, holding two bundles of them. "Here are some for you, and I'll keep some."

"Actually," Wrothken said, handing the arrows back. "I don't have a bow and I'm a lousy shot anyway. I think you should keep them instead."

Jayred shrugged, sticking them in his quiver, on which Wrothken saw tiny bones forming a design of a larger bone. "Then let me give you something else," he said, heading to a large chest in the corner of the room. He opened it and motioned for Wrothken to look inside. The chest held a full set of steel armor. "I was going to use it to model some bone armor, but since you'll be up close, I think you'll need it more."

Wrothken looked it over. It was in good condition. He wanted to ask where Jayred had gotten it, but something told him it would be better not knowing.

"Now, let's go kill the Gatekeeper. We might die. But there's worse things."

If Jayred died, at least he would eventually become his obsession, he thought.

"Just remember to keep the Gatekeeper off me. The key to killing him are these precious bones."

Jayred led the way up the hill, just as a Dunmer in an extravagant black dress was leaving teary eyed.

"I'll take your bones!" Jayred yelled, as he started shooting his arrows. The Gatekeeper howled. It was a disturbing muffled noise, as he had no true mouth. As it turned toward Jayred, Wrothken struck its knee with his mace. Unlike last time, the mace made a difference. The Gatekeeper grabbed its leg, howling miserably. Before he knew it, Wrothken was hurled into the air. As he hit the ground, he saw the Gatekeeper running after Jayred. He dragged himself up, trying to focus. Thankfully, even with blurred vision, he was easily able to make out the giant orange mass.

Wrothken stood behind the Gatekeeper, beating its legs. He learned to duck underneath it anytime it turned. Eventually, he scored a lucky his and shattered one of its kneecaps. The Gatekeeper let out a piercing cry, so loud that all of Passwall emerged from their houses to watch.

Wrothken knew he had to hurry. He had no idea if Jayred was running low on arrows. He looked around, and suddenly had an idea. He ran to one of the trees and started climbing.

"What are you doing?" Jayred shouted.

"Just trust me! I need you to get it over here."

Jayred growled, but did as he was asked. He walked backwards, shooting the arrows at the Gatekeeper, until it was close to the tree Wrothken sat in. When it was close enough, Wrothken jumped from the tree, grabbing onto the Gatekeeper's collar. He pulled himself up and used all his strength to whack the Gatekeeper on the side of the head. As the Gatekeeper was falling, Wrothken realized that he didn't think it through enough. He had nowhere to go, except down with the giant.

The ground sent a flash of pain throughout his body. He sat up, throbbing.

"We did it!" Jayred cried. He slapped Wrothken hard on the back. "Congratulations! I was afraid it would be your bones coming out instead of his. Don't worry, though. I would have taken good care of them..."

Wrothken didn't answer, for fear of snapping at the Nord for hitting him so hard. He just started to heal himself.

"Anyway, the honor of taking the keys from his corpse is yours."

Wrothken looked at the dead Gatekeeper. "Actually," he said to Jayred. "There are two keys. Why don't we each take one?"

"Sounds like a plan to me!" With gusto, and probably some bone fondling, Jayred ripped out a large turquoise key.

Wrothken was a little more hesitant, and even more so when the crying dark elf from earlier threw herself on the monster's body. "My baby!" She sobbed. "My poor, poor baby!"

He tried to be discrete as he used his mace to drag the other key out. "You beast!" The dark elf fumed. "You'll rue this day, I swear it!"

"Um..." Wrothken wasn't sure how to respond when she burst into tears again, cradling the Gatekeeper's head against her chest. He picked up the red key and looked at the two doors. He was about to go through one of the dark walkways when Haskill appeared behind him.

"So, you've managed to kill the Gatekeeper. Pity," he said, looking at the slain beast. "Well, you'll now be able to enter the Realm proper. You'll notice there are two doors. One leads to the lands of Mania. The other to Dementia. Enter through either one. The lands are quite distinct, but both are Sheogorath's domain. You'll want to seek out Lord Sheogorath. I believe He has plans for you." He looked Wrothken up and down, adding, "Try not to disappoint Him. You will find Him in New Sheoth, in His palace. It is best not to make Lord Sheogorath wait. His whims are fleeting, and should He decide you are no longer necessary, it would be to your detriment."

Wrothken felt the urge to punch him, but he resisted. "Where can I find New Sheoth?"

Haskill sighed exasperatedly. "Must I do everything? Here, take this." He handed Wrothken a map. Passwall was on the western part of the Isles and New Sheoth was far to the east.

"I'm sorry that it isn't colored. It's all I have."

Wrothken thought he saw a very slight smirk as he growled. He turned and entered the gates to Mania. It was time to see what Sheogorath had in mind for him.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again! Classic Haskill! You certainly are having a lot of fun writing this guy!

Mmmm, Kirsty. Wrothken must be insane to leave that behind...

This was nicely done:
If only he could have shared it with-- No, her name is not allowed, he reminded himself.

As haute noted, this is brilliant:
"I'm sorry that it isn't colored. It's all I have."

As a side note to Destri and anyone else having problems with getting past the Gatekeeper, the trick is to ask around Passwall about it. Someone will give you a hint to spy on Relmyna when she goes to visit her "baby" every night...

You paint an alarming picture of Jayred, but you certainly capture the madness of the shivering isles in this piece (not least with him).

He turned and entered the gates to Mania. - not sure why but this line is great, very Sheogorath.

This is a fun piece and I look forward to seeing what madness lies within mania.

Excellent drawing of Kirsty
Made me have thoughts dirty
Now excuse me, 'cos when I her see
Ah needs to drink - my throat gets thirsty

haute ecole rider- Oh yes. Haskill is a lot of fun to do. I love his sarcasm

SubRosa- Well, he did head into the Shivering Isles....

Olen- Thanks a lot

D. Foxy- Oh my! My story received a Foxy poem! Squeeeeee!! I feel so honored



The path of Mania looked colorful from the distance, but the path in Dementia looked like it was a quicker trip. He would have time for sightseeing later. It was nearly midnight when Wrothken reached the entrance to New Sheoth. A tall, slender woman stood at the gate. Her skin was a creamy blue, like a Dunmer, but she had light blue eyes, like Wrothken's. He could tell that she wasn't man or mer because her pupils were slit, much like a serpent. She wore a very revealing outfit, though as Wrothken got closer, he noticed it was supposed to be armor.

"Madgod's blessings," she greeted. Her voice was soft, yet strong.

"Um... thanks." He consulted the map. "Is this New Sheoth?"

The woman smiled at him. "Yes. We Mazken guard Crucible in New Sheoth. We ensure the Demented remain orderly and respectful of our Lord Sheogorath. "

"Crucible?"

"New Sheoth is a symbol of our Lord; divided, yet perfect. The southern half is known as Crucible." Wrothken felt like he could listen to her talk all night. Unfortunately, his body ached and demanded sleep. Daedric prince or not, Sheogorath would have to wait until morning.

"Is there an inn that I can stay at tonight?"

"Head straight through the gates and it'll be the first door on your right."

"Ah.. Thank you," he said opening the large doors.

"Walk with our Lord."

Wrothken was surprised by the appearance of the city. It gave off a feeling of such depression, though he wondered if it was because of how late it was. He was pleased to see that the inn, Sickly Bernice's Taphouse, was just where the Mazken said it was.

It was large and would've been borderline fancy, if not for the dust bunnies and cobwebs in the corners. The entryway was dimly lit, with more light coming from downstairs. He heard a woman cough and the clinking of glasses, so he knew someone was down there.

He followed the sounds and saw a middle aged woman behind the bar. She wore a deep violet corset with long sleeves with black fringes on the cuffs. The hooped skirt was layered with the black fringes as well. The poor woman looked miserable and she kept coughing. Her face was etched with lines, though none indicated smiles. Her face told a story of constant worry.

Seated at the bar was a woman who made Wrothken's heart skip a beat. She had jet-black hair that cascaded down to her wide hips. Her skin was a smooth caramel color. Her outfit was much simpler than the proprietor's; a tight band across her chest, as if she was trying to flatten herself, and a pair of dingy brown pants. When Wrothken entered, she turned for a moment and he noticed her bright green eyes. He couldn't stop staring at her. It was as if Awour stepped into a mirror only to come out looking like her opposite.

Wrothken glanced at her repeatedly as he approached the bar. When he sat down, the older woman cautioned, "Don't get too close now, dearie. You might catch what I have."

"Oh," he said, scooting back a little. "Are you sick?"

The girl next to him chuckled a little and his face went red.

"Be nice now, Kalila," Bernice said. "The boy's new here, so he doesn't know yet." She turned to Wrothken and said, "Well...it seems I am dying. Yes, these may be my last days in the Shivering Isles. That is unless someone like yourself could help me find the cure. But no one has taken me upon my offer, even with the promise of a reward. Ah, well it's been a good life I suppose..."

He knew what she was getting at. She seemed like a sweet old lady, but he was so tired. He didn't think he could stay awake long enough to even remember any directions given to him. "Can I have a room please?"

"Oh..." She sounded disappointed. "Alright then. There's one upstairs, first on the right for ten gold."

He handed her the gold. "Thank you. Maybe you can tell me about the cure in the morning?"

"Oh, sure, sonny. That is, if I make it..."

Wrothken felt bad, but he knew it would be better hearing it when he was fully awake. He took a final glance at Kalila and headed upstairs.



Right when he woke up, Wrothken headed back downstairs to talk to Bernice. It was more crowded than it was the previous night and it smelled of strange flavors. He was surprised to be disappointed that Kalila was nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, dearie," Bernice said as soon as he sat down. "Fancy a quick meal?"

He looked at the other plates, but didn't recognize anything. "Um..."

"Oh, silly me. I forgot that you're our newcomer." She coughed violently. "Excuse me. Now, how about I get you some grummite eggs with some toast? Though I really shouldn't cook it. I might pass my sickness on to you..."

"Wait, Bernice about that. Can you tell me about the cure? I'd be willing to help."

"There's only one place in all the Isles to get the cure for what I have... Knotty Bramble. There, on the lowest level of the place, is a pool containing the cure: aquanostrum. Legend has it that it bubbles up from an old statue."

"Is that a store around here?"

She started to laugh and cough at the same time. "Oh, no, dearie. Here, do you have a map?"

He nodded and pulled it out. "It's right about here," she said, drawing an "X" near the road coming from Passwall. "Apparently it only exists at the bottom of Knotty Bramble...ah well. So close, yet so far."

Wrothken looked at the marker and nodded. "It's really not that far out. I'll go out there soon."

For the first time, he saw her face light up. "Oh, thank you so much!" She sounded like she wanted to hug him. Handing him a silver flask, she said, "Now, how about I fix you up your breakfast. You'll need it if you're going to be heading out to Knotty Bramble. Oh, and dearie?"

"Yes?"

She leaned in slightly. "Be careful."

Wrothken stiffened. "Are there creatures down there?"

She laughed. "Oh, come now. You defeated the Gatekeeper, didn't you? A few grummites shouldn't be a problem for a strapping young man like yourself!" She lowered her voice a little. "I saw you looking at Kalila last night. Don't give me that look; I'm sick, not blind. There's something strange about that one... Just promise an old woman you'll be careful."

Wrothken looked around, noting everyone here was a bit strange, though he figured they must have each thought themselves normal. "Alright, I promise," he said.

Nice piece. I enjoyed the meeting with the Mazken (I love them, I guess my avatar kind of gives that away), and Bernice has always been one of my favorite characters (although Cutter is still my #1 - When you hack into the warm flesh and feel the blood splash, think of me...).


There's something strange about that one.
Its the Shivering Isles, there is something strange about everyone!

OOOH! You are an artist as well as a writer!

SubRosa- I like them too, much much more than I like the Golden Saints. Those, I'd like like to punch sometimes >.>

mAXL1- -shy turtle- Yeah.... I think this is the first picture I ever sat and did for more than ten minutes. Wrothken is next, but he might take a bit longer since I have a lot of trouble drawing men.




The palace of New Sheoth was glamorous compared to Crucible. The castle and walls were made from gray stone. The right side was lit with blue flames and more Mazken walked around. On the left, gold dominated the area, with bright flame and gold skinned women wearing gold armor.

The area was silent and serene, though Wrothken sensed hostility. He watched the women carefully, noticing the hate in their eyes any time they looked at each other.

"Mortal!"

He jumped, seeing a golden woman walk up to him. She was nothing like the Mazken he spoke to before. She seemed to look down upon him. "What business do you have here?"

"Sheogorath--"

"Lord Sheogorath to you, Mortal."

"Okay... Lord Sheogorath wanted to see me."

She huffed. "Are you the one who slew the Gatekeeper?"

He nodded.

"Very well. He is in the center doors of the palace. Now go."

Wrothken stared at her as she walked away. Who lit the fuse on her... Oh forget it, he thought walking down the path to the doors. There were two of them with a woman from each group standing guard. The Mazken smiled at him as he approached, and the other one glared. He walked to the Mazken.

"Don't let theml get to you. Their attitudes are most disgraceful to our Lord Sheogorath." She sneered at a passing gold woman. "The so-called Golden Saints. One day, Lord Sheogorath will finally recognize their bull-headed stupidity and expel them from the Realm."

He nodded and entered the castle.

Just like outside, the interior was divided. The right side had yellow flames and the carpet was bright red. The left, was lit by blue fire and had black carpet. The carpets went right up into the throne where a man sat. "Well, look who's here! You! How about that?" he cried. Wrothken recognized his voice from the door in Cyrodiil.

He was clapping as Wrothken approached. He appeared to be a wise man, with gray hair neatly slicked back, a distinguished beard, and a few wrinkles. However, one look in his amber eyes told him he was exactly the opposite.

"A new arrival!" He shouted, clapping him on the back. "A shame about my Gatekeeper. I'm so happy, I could just tear out your intestines and strangle you with them."

Wrothken felt a chill inside and he wanted to take a step back, but Sheogorath had his arm firmly around him.

"I suppose an introduction is in order. I'm Sheogorath, Prince of Madness! And other things. I'm not talking about them." He said, folding his arms. "You've probably figured that out by now. Let's hope so. Or we're in real trouble... and out come the intestines. And I skip rope with them! But, perhaps now's not the time. You've made it this far. Farther than anyone else. Well done! Take this trinket of mine. Perhaps it will serve you well. Or look lovely on your corpse." He handed Wrothken a copper amulet. It felt warm and when Wrothken put it on, he felt a light tingling sensation around his skin.

Sheogorath didn't wait for Wrothken to say anything before continuing. "I've been waiting for you, or someone like you, or someone other than you, for some time. I need a champion, and you've got the job," he said, poking Wrothken in the chest. "Time to save the Realm! Rescue the damsel! Slay the beast! Or die trying. Your help is required. A change is coming. Everything changes. Even Daedric Princes. Especially Daedric Princes."

"Change?" He asked. "What kind of change?"

"Daedra are the embodiment of change. Change and permanency. I'm no different, except in the ways that I am. The Greymarch is coming. And you're going to stop it."

"The what?"

"The details aren't important. At least not right now. Eternity is on a rather tight deadline. We'll get back to that later."

Wrothken's head was spinning. To say this man was off-balance was an understatement. He wanted something stopped, yet the details weren't important? He didn't press because he wasn't sure what would happen, what with talk of skipping rope with intestines.

"Okay, so what should I do now?" Wrothken asked.

"Now? You run an errand for me. An important one. Of course, anything I tell you to do is important. My Realm, my rules. You're going to Xedilian, one of my favorite spots in the Isles. It's a little place I use to take care of unwanted visitors. And some are more unwanted than others."

Wrothken wasn't sure if he had been one of those "unwanted visitors," but if it would keep his innards in place, he was willing to do anything.

"What's in Xedilian?"

"The Gatekeeper took care of most of the unwanted, but he's dead. We'll have to remedy that soon, as well...." He cleared his throat. "Anyway... there are those that have other ways into my Realm, and they're on the move. We don't want them here. Trust me. So, you're going to get Xedilian up and running. Here's a little book to tell you how, and the Attenuator of Judgment. You'll need that, too." He handed Wrothken what appeared to be a tuning fork and a book. "Of course, you can always get more details from Haskill. He's a detail-oriented type of person. A big help. And a snappy dresser. Now, get going. Before I change my mind. Or my mind changes me."

Wrothken looked at Haskill. There was no way he was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was confused.

He opened the book and headed back to Crucible.



The book caught Wrothken's full attention. Not only did it explain what exactly to do, it showed a few sides to Sheogorath. The writer seemed almost fearful of any consequences he might pay for the slightest mistake. Just as he was about to turn the page, he collided with someone, knocking her to the ground.

He gasped, seeing Kalila glaring up at him. She was dressed the same way as before, only her pants were rolled up, exposing her toned legs. "Oh.. I'm so sorry! Here," he said, holding his hand out.

She ignored it, and got up on her own. Her eyes were like daggers, saying everything her mouth wasn't. She turned and headed away from him. It took awhile to realize that he was staring after her. He regained control of himself and shook his head violently. Maybe it was her stark contrast to Awour that was attracting him to her, but he promised Bernice that he would be careful... though there was no harm in looking, right?

He sat down outside a shop and pulled out his map. Xedilian was a ways away, located southeast of Passwall. He was happy to see that Knotty Bramble was on the way. As he folded up his map, he heard someone call to him.

"Hey you!"

He looked over at a blond man hiding around the building's corner. "Come over here. I need to talk to you."

Wrothken looked around and walked up to him. "Yes?"

"I've got a proposition for you. Best not to talk about it here. Meet me at the sewer grate northeast of the Sheogorath statue. Come after dark. Come alone." He then walked away.

Wrothken stared after him. What was the proposition? And why did he want it alone and night? Well, there was the obvious... But he didn't think it was that. The man looked and sounded miserable. He shrugged. There was no time to think about it now. He had a few important errands to run.

The palace of New Sheoth was glamorous compared to Crucible.
Some people would say that Bravil is glamorous compared to Crucible!

I like how you portrayed the arrogance of the Aureals, and highlighted the conflict between them and the Mazken.

I always liked this line:
"The details aren't important. At least not right now. Eternity is on a rather tight deadline. We'll get back to that later."

This is an excellent sentence, simple and direct, yet incredibly eloquent:
Her eyes were like daggers, saying everything her mouth wasn't.


nits:
"Are you the one who slayed the Gatekeeper?"
slew would read more smoothly here. It is dialogue though, so if that is how she would talk, then keep it.

It is easy to see why the DLC received such a great response from the public. The landscape was huge and felt very different to Cyrodiil. It is awesome to see that you have captured it so well. Great write.

I lost track of the number of brilliant Sheogorath quotes here that you wrote!! Fantastic.

Take this trinket of mine. Perhaps it will serve you well. Or look lovely on your corpse.
I have always loved this quote. One of his best.

I second this!!

though there was no harm in looking, right? - Rather similar to the thought which got him intothe Isles... Nicely done, shows a side to him which makes him ideal for the setting, if only because anything in the Isles might be harmful.

Well, there was the obvious... But he didn't think it was that -- this line made me laugh. I like the humor you spread through the piece next to the story, it makes it great to read and fits well with the setting.

Nice piece.

Thanks everyone




As Wrothken walked the dreary path toward Knotty Bramble, he finally had time to think. Sheogorath chose him as his champion. How he would love to go home and shove that in people's faces. Champion of a Daedric Prince. A completely insane one at that! That had to come with perks and boy, would Awour be sorry then!

He imagined strolling down the walk in Kvatch dressed in fine clothes, Kalila on his arm-- He blushed, thankful no one was around to see it. What could it be about her that drew him in? Sure, there was the parallel to Awour, but was there anything else? He often heard girls telling each other that the best way to get over a guy was to get under another one. Could that be true for him as well? He smiled, knowing that he wouldn't mind one bit finding that out.

He looked down at his map and saw that he was close to Knotty Bramble. He looked to his left and saw nothing. He walked over a hill and was just about to leave when he caught sight of a round spot attached underneath the tangled roots of a tree. The circle was covered in shiny bumps and couldn't be a natural part of it. It had to be the entrance to Knotty Bramble. Remembering Bernice mention something called grummites, he took out his mace and raised his shield, and he went in.

The interior was among the strangest places he'd ever been to. Inside the tree, other plants flourished, as if the tree were merely a host. Everywhere he turned, he ran into giant mushrooms, or glowing orbs as big as his head. He came to a fork in the tunnel, but one was blocked off by roots. He tried hammering his way through, but they were too strong. He had no choice but to go the other way.

As he headed into the depths of the tunnels, he came across one of the goblin-fish creatures. Those must be the grummites. It was walking toward him, when their eyes met. The grummite ran up to him, wasting no time as it began to hack at the air between them. Wrothken watched it and when its arm was down, he gripped the mace tightly and slammed its arm and then hit its head.

Two more waited for him further down. The moment they saw him coming, they rushed him, slashing him so fast, he could barely get any hits in. They're fast little bastards, he thought. He kicked one of them hard and focused more on the one still in front of him. As it became worn down, the other came back, but it was easier to deal with a quick one and a weakened one than it was to deal with two of them at their prime.

He wandered around until he came across another door similar to the one leading outside. Once he opened it, he heard the sound of water.

His heart rose as he followed the sound. He was on a higher level with the pool directly below him. For a second, he considered just jumping in, but he decided against it due to his armor and not knowing how deep or shallow it was.

A few grummites took notice of him and after beating them, he took out the flask and he made sure to fill it to the top. He closed it tightly and put it away. "That was simple enough," he said, walking back to the exit. Then he noticed several egg sacks floating in the water. He frowned, realizing that the grummites were probably just protecting their eggs. He felt slightly bad, but he knew he couldn't beat himself up over it. If he didn't defend himself, the grummites would have killed him without any remorse at all.



Daylight greeted him as he stepped back outside. He wondered for a moment if he should run back to Crucible and give Bernice her cure, but he decided against it. He didn't want to risk Sheogorath's anger by taking too long.

As usual, while he was walking, unbidden thoughts crept into his mind. He wondered if Awour noticed he was gone? She must have, he thought. You don't go from seeing someone daily to not seeing them at all and not wondering about it. He also wondered if Awour did anything to set Kirsty off.

Wrothken remembered when he told Kirsty what happened. He had been crying so hard that his words were incoherent so he had to repeat himself several times, which just made him cry more. Kirsty was furious. Someone once told him that girls with red hair have the worst temper. Whoever said that obviously never met Kirsty. Either that or they made her so angry that they never had the chance to tell the tale. The short brunette was livid and Wrothken only stopped crying because he didn't have the strength to bawl and hold her in her chair. He begged her not to do anything but she wouldn't promise. She said she couldn't and then started to rant about how girls like Awour were the reason she can't stand to be around other women. She swore up and down that if Awour said one word or even glanced at her the wrong way, she was going to beat her into the next era.

It wouldn't have been so bad if she had just been honest instead of sneaking around. He didn't even know how long it had been going on. Part of him wanted to go back and ask, but he was afraid of the answer. He didn't want to hear that it went on for months or with multiple people. He didn't want to worry that it was his fault or that he just wasn't good enough. He had been far too scared to find out the truth, even though hated asking himself why or what he did to cause it.

He shook his head, remembering that he banished her from his mind. Besides, there was plenty of other fish in the sea. Of course, the first image to pop in his mind was Kalila. He could tell she didn't like him, but what he would give to spend some time with her and get her to give him a chance. He grinned. Maybe it was the fact that Bernice had warned him about her. It gave her the "forbidden fruit" appeal. If he could get Kalila to go to Kvatch with him and rent a room somewhere.... Oh, that would get Awour's panties in such a twist! She was jealous enough over Kirsty, but if he was openly with someone else? It gave him momentary happiness, but then his heart sank as he realized that she probably wouldn't care. After all, she was the one who left him, not the other way around. Even still... he thought. He knew he wanted to get close to Kalila, if not to make Awour jealous, then to at least keep his mind occupied.



The bridge leading into Xedilian was guarded by a grummite. Wrothken was taken by surprise; he had been expecting adventurers, if anyone, to be there instead. After taking care of it, he proceeded inside.

It was nearly black inside. Wrothken was faced with the choice of stumbling blindly or using his shield. He set his shield down by the door and hoped he wouldn't need it. Taking out a torch, he walked up to the door. He tried pushing it open, but it wouldn't budge. It was metal, not wood, so he couldn't break it down. "What in Oblivion...?" he muttered, feeling the door for a knob. Eventually he came across a brick with a red face sticking out slightly. He pressed it and the door opened up right away. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for more of those.

The old fort looked like something he would have seen in Cyrodiil. Old tapestries hung on the walls. They looked like they were once fiery red, they were now covered in mold and dust. At one point, a gold crest decorated the bottom of each tapestry, but he could only see the faint tracings. Every corner was home to a large, smelly mounds that Wrothken tried his best to avoid, as he didn't want to imagine what it was for.

It wasn't long until he came to a room with three grummites inhabiting it. Two of them wielded daggers and the other simply disappeared before Wrothken's eyes. He was so surprised, that he didn't react in time to the two quick ones. They nearly backed him into a wall with their attacks. He tried focusing on one at a time, but it was harder than he thought, as they kept bouncing up as they hacked at him. He finally finished them off and looked around for any sign of the invisible one. He got his hint as soon as he was struck with lightning. His body tingled painfully as he caught sight of the last grummite. It held a long spear with a crystal at the end of it. A focus crystal, he thought. He ran over to it, not even caring about the mound of filth it stood on, and he took it out with a blow to the head.

He picked up the crystal and looked around, trying to find where it belonged. He found it in the next room, where a round altar sat with a faint glow at the top. He placed it on the glow and it floated there, making a soft humming sound.

One down, two to go.

He headed down the stairs were he saw three more grummites. They were facing a fire pit with three large totem poles in the center. They bowed and occasionally made movements as if they were having seizures. Wrothken tried looked beyond them to see if there was a way he could sneak around them, but it was too dark to tell. His only choice was to go in and look for himself.

Like he expected, the moment the grummites saw him, they rushed to attack. Two of them came at him with their daggers and the third remained behind as it readied its bow and arrows. This time, he was more prepared. He was able to get good hits on the first one, taking it down quicker. The other one required more time, and it was happy that the other grummite obviously couldn't see him, as the arrows flew feet away. Once he took care of the second one, he headed for the archer. It didn't even try to run away as he bludgeoned it to death.

As he walked, he started feeling a prickling in the back of his neck. It felt like something was behind him, but each time he turned, there was no one. It made him wonder if there was another invisible grummite silently stalking him, waiting for the perfect time to strike. He could almost see it every time he started walking.

"Oh, snap out of it!" He said. "Stupid place is making you paranoid."

He came to a split in the path. Two metal doors were on either side and a push block was directly in front of him. He looked at either one, wondering which it opened.

Only one way to find out...

He pressed the button. only to feel the floor vanish from beneath him. He landed hard on his back, crying out when he saw the body of a dead grummite.

He sat up, clutching his throbbing head. It took him a few moments to focus properly in order to fully heal himself.

There was no way to get back up to where he was, so he walked around, hoping for the best. He was half relieved when he found another trio of grummites, one wielding a crystal staff. He almost laughed when the staff user was in such a hurry to attack, it accidentally shocked one of the grummites to death. This time, Wrothken took out the staff user, just to ensure it didn't turn invisible on him. After that, he took care of the other one. Once again, he attached the focus crystal to another nearby altar. Just one more.

The halls led him to another room with a couple of grummites. He was starting to get used to them and found it a lot easier to dispatch them. Inside the room, there was a flight of stairs leading to no where, leading Wrothken to think that it might have been a throne room once. He was about to leave when a sparkle caught his eye from the top of the stairs. Curious, he went to check it out.

The sparkle came from a round topaz. His heart sank. He used to call Awour his precious topaz, due to her golden skin and hair. He chucked it across the room.

The next place he came to was a large door that opened normally. He wanted to be relieved that he was almost done but the topaz, and the memories associated with it, was bothering him. Instead, grummites relieved him, since he could easily take his anger out on them instead.

He bashed them in repeatedly until the halls were cleared. With the last crystal in place, let out a loud sigh of relief. All he had to do was tune the crystal and he could go and relax. After glancing down at his beat up armor, he added something else to his to-do list.

Walking down the hall, he heard the all too familiar croaks of grummites. Just as he thought, a group of three grummites guarded the resonator at the end of the room. He was so tired, but the thought of a hot bath at Bernice's gave him the drive to go forward and fight. The first two were dagger-users and the last was an archer. The two grummites hopped up in his face, repeatedly slashing at him. At that point, he stopped trying to focus on one at a time and just delivered the beatings to whoever was closest. The archer remained where it was, pelting him with arrows. He wished he had the shield with him, but there was no use in that. Wishing it wouldn't get it to him. Instead, he just had to dodge the arrows until he got to the grummite.

Just like the last archer, it didn't run or switch weapons. It took the beating until its death.

Wrothken took out the Attenuator of Judgment and hit the cluster of crystals once. Immediately, it began to hum loudly. The sound was so pleasant that Wrothken strongly considered taking a nap underneath it. He wanted to so badly, but since he was finished, he was ready to leave Xedilian.

To his right a door opened up, revealing a red glowing tile. He went to look at it, hoping it was an exit, but there was no door underneath it. He was going to head back, but the door shut behind him and wouldn't budge. He banged on it repeatedly until he remembered the red push block from when he first entered. All he had to do was push this one and he would be home free! Since it was on the floor, he assumed it would need a lot of weight to activate it. he stood on it and suddenly, he only saw bright red shimmers before him. Time to relax, he thought happily.

Wrothken's internal musings about The Banished One (Awour) really made this chapter shine for me. You really are doing an excellent job at making him a living, breathing person.

I love this:
Sheogorath chose him as his champion. How he would love to go home and shove that in people's faces. Champion of a Daedric Prince. A completely insane one at that! That had to come with perks and boy, would Awour be sorry then!

This is a great turn of phrase:
she was going to beat her into the next era.



nits:
but wast there anything else?
I think the Mad God played a little trick on you by slipping an extra "t" there.

She swore up and down that if Awour said one word or even glanced at her the wrong way
I think he stole the "d" in glanced as well.

He got his hint as soon as he was struck with lightening.
in this context, that should be lightning.

Knotty Bramble is one of my fave dungeons, especially looking for amber!

SubRosa- Thanks

mAXL1- I love looking for amber! The stumps are so sparkly



When he opened his eyes, he expected to see the beautiful sky and the path that would lead him to Crucible. His eyes widened and he looked around, halfway hoping that he did actually go to sleep beneath the resonator, and was just dreaming. Sadly, his aching body told him otherwise. Instead of being outside, he saw that he was still inside the fort, only there was a Dunmer with him.

He walked up to him with a wide smile and said, "Finally, Lord Sheogorath has sent someone to assist me! But where are my manners?" He cleared his throat, muttering, "Must get into my professional tone..." He cleared his throat once more and spoke in a deeper, more even voice. "Welcome to Xedilian, I'm the dungeon caretaker, Kiliban Nyrandil."

Wrothken sighed deeply. "Why am I still in here?"

"Xedilian would normally have sent you back to the entrance when you stepped on the pad in the Resonator Chamber. Since you're up here, I can only surmise that adventurers are already entering the dungeon as we speak." Kiliban seemed almost pleased.

"That's nice, but that doesn't really explain why I'm still here."

"I'm afraid until the adventurers are dealt with, Xedilian will keep you here. Even I can't will its doors to open. To put it bluntly, you're stuck here for the moment. No disrespect intended."

He sighed. His bath would have to wait. "Alright. How do I deal with them? Should I just go out there and tell them to shoo?"

Kiliban laughed. "Oh, heavens no! The adventurers must go through a cycle. All you need to do is decide what becomes of them. Will you drive them insane or will you pull the life from their bodies?"

"What?"

"Here," Kiliban held his arm and led him to a transportation tile. They arrived in another area overlooking a large room with a small tree-creature. "Now, these adventurers seek a place to live here in the Isles. Since that horrid Gatekeeper isn't around anymore, it's become easy for just anyone to stroll in and set up shop. As you know, Lord Sheogorath only welcomes those He sees fit for residency. Now, it's up to you to decide whether or not they're worthy." He patted him on the shoulder. "I bet you're just tickled pink! Now, about the buttons. When you push the appropriate button, an event will unfold for the adventurers to experience. One is physically harmful... usually lethal traps or creatures... something relished by the residents of Dementia. The other choice is more mental. They are designed to make the adventurers lose their grip on reality, much like the residents of Mania."

"I see..." Wrothken stared at the tiny creature. He wanted to know just how something so small could cause insanity.

"Oh, look! Here they come!" Kiliban said.

A group of three men entered. The first was an Orc in a suit of Orcish armor. He carried a large claymore on his back. The second to enter was an Dunmer wearing aqua robes, and the last was a brown-haired man. Wrothken couldn't tell what race he was.

"...now keep your weapons ready and watch your backs. Do what I say, and we might just get outta here alive." The Orc said to the other two.

They stopped and stared at the small creature. The Orc began to laugh.

"Awwww.... ain't it cute! What in Oblivion is that thing?" He continued laughing.

"This is one of the 'horrid guardians' of which the stories spoke?" The third man asked.

"Be careful," the Dunmer warned. "There may be more to this creature than meets the eye."

Kiliban nudged Wrothken. "Press a button," he whispered.

Wrothken looked at both of them. One was smiling and one was frowning. Self-defense was one thing, but he couldn't bring himself to decide to kill them just for fun. He pressed the smiling button.

"What a joke," the Orc said, walking past it. "Let's be rid of this thing and continue on our way."

Wrothken heard a faint hiss, but he didn't think they could hear it. The other men did double takes at the small creature.

"Are my eyes playing tricks, or is the creature growing?"

It didn't look any bigger to Wrothken. He looked at Kiliban, who was smiling widely. "The button you pressed released hallucinogenic spore gas into the chamber. It's tricking them into believing the creature means to kill them. Don't worry, its bark is far worse than its bite." He chuckled at his little joke.

Wrothken looked back at the chamber where the men were scrambling, desperately trying to get away from the creature. The hissing soon stopped. The adventurers calmed down and the creature crawled into a corner.

The Dunmer panted hard. "All this time it was merely an illusion," he said wiping sweat from his brow. "How clever."

The Orc turned around and walked slowly toward the other man. "Wait... what's wrong with Lewin?"

Lewin was on the ground, huddled in the fetal position. He stared after the creature. "...ma-makes no sense...should be d-dead...what...who..."

The Dunmer frowned. He walked over to the Orc, placing his hand on his shoulder. "I think this place got to him... perhaps we should leave."

The Orc shook his head. "We'll pick him up on the way out. He'll have to fend for himself."

The remaining men entered another room, leaving Lewin behind.

"Watching them run from the Giant Gnarl gets me every time," Kiliban said happily. "Another chamber, another victim to eliminate. Hurry, the anticipation is overwhelming!" He led Wrothken to the next platform.



The first thing Wrothken saw was a pile of gold and jewels the size of Kirsty's bakery. Instantly, he made a mental list of all the things he could buy with such a large amount. The only problem was that it was locked up in a large cage. When the Orc and Dunmer entered the room, Wrothken knew they were thinking the same thing.

"Look!" The Orc pointed. "I told you! Treasure! Let's have at it, Syndelius."

They ran up the flight of stairs leading to it. The Orc grabbed hold of the bars and shook them hard. "Blast! The cage is locked. If only Lewin were here... he could get us through this in no time."

Syndelius reached through the bars, but he quickly pulled back, hissing in pain. "It's hot! Do you think you can pry the door open?"

The Orc descended the stairs. "Forget it! This is obviously a trick! Let's get out of here."

Wrothken looked at Kiliban, who nodded his head. He pushed the smiling button.

"To be so close, and yet so far. If only we had the key! Wait.. do you hear something?"

A vague jingling sound started to grow louder and louder until hundreds, maybe thousands, of keys spilled to the floor.

Syndelius whooped loudly. "Look! Keys! One of them must open the gate! We're rich!"

The Orc flooded his arms. "Let's get out of here, Syndelius. This is obviously a trick to waste our time!"

"I'll know it when I see it! Yes... it must be here!"

The Orc grabbed his arm. "They're all fake! Just come with me now!"

Powered by his lust for gold, he wrenched free and dug through the keys. "...find it... yes... I must find the key... rich beyond all my dreams..." He laughed under his breath.

"Bah! Suit yourself!" The Orc shot him a dirty look and walked off.

"Must find the key! Must find the key!" Syndelius sung.

Kiliban chuckled. "Too bad none of those keys fit the lock... hahahaha! Last chamber... this should be entertaining."



After getting on the pad, Wrothken was transported to a room that looked like it had been taken from nightmares. The floors and parts of the wall was stained with blood. Rotting corpses were hanging from their neck or attached to the walls. Some were scattered across the floor. Wrothken had to fight to keep his breakfast down.

The Orc walked down the stairs, obviously a little disturbed. "Steady, Grommok... steady," he said to himself. "You've been through worse before. What more could this place possibly throw at you?"

Wrothken was afraid of what it would do, but he pressed the smiling button. Purple light flashed and Grommok fell to the ground. His spirit stepped out of his body, looking at it in horror.

"What!? How in Oblivion can I be dead? This is impossible! Nothing killed me!" He cried out a little, looking around the room. "I didn't even get a chance to fight! No chance to defend myself? No chance for battle? Why? Impossible! This is impossible... Grommok has never lost a fight! Never!" He knelt down, clasping his head. "No! This is all wrong! This isn't how it's supposed to be!"

The light flashed again and Gromok was back in his body. He didn't seem to notice at all. He kept mumbling to himself.

Kiliban patted Wrothken on the back. "You've made short work of the intruders. Sheogorath should be proud to have such an efficient apprentice." He led him to the last pad.



They arrived in another room that was near the entrance. Kiliban stood in front of a large chest. "As is the tradition, you are to be awarded a focus crystal as a token of your fine work. I'll have it sent to the palace and placed in the main hall, if you wish to take a look at it."

"Alright... and you mentioned some earnings?"

"Oh, yes... of course. It seems a most unusual weapon was recovered from the Orc warrior, Grommok. Never seen anything like it, but perhaps his journal can give you some useful information. Beyond that, take whatever else you need from the recovery chest... you've earned it!"

Wrothken opened the chest, hoping the unusual weapon would be a battle axe or a hammer. He was disappointed to see a large claymore with a violet gem on the guard. He held it up, admiring its beauty. It was a lovely weapon and since he had no use for it, at least he could sell it for a decent price. Among the other treasures, he found an amulet, fifty gold, some lock picks, and a strange black cube with swirling blue patterns all over it.

"You're free to go at any time of course, just up that hallway," Kiliban said shaking his hand. "Good luck to you!"

Wrothken nodded and was relieved to be able to go home. As he walked down the hall, he heard a harsh, metallic scraping. Before his eyes, a large crystal rose from the ground. He found it strange, but he kept going. Within seconds three strange beings ran at him. It looked as if their armor and weapons were made from the crystal. They didn't utter a sound as they descended on Wrothken, attacking with long lances. Kiliban must have heard the commotion as well. He gasped when he saw them and began flinging spells at the men. Once they were down, Kiliban rushed to check on him.

"That was quite a battle. I hope you are uninjured."

Wrothken looked at his armor. It was dented and cracked badly. "I'm fine, I guess. Who were those people?"

"You've not heard the legends? How could that be?" Kiliban looked at the men in disgust. "Those "people" as you call them aren't people at all. They are the soulless abominations known as the Knights of Order," he spat.

"Knights of Order?" Wrothken tilted his head.

Kiliban didn't answer. Instead, he pushed him toward the door. "You must proceed to Sheogorath at once and tell him the Knights have returned! Quickly now... go!"

He pushed Wrothken out and slammed the door shut. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. These Knights of Order must mean very bad news.

Very bad news but very big treasure! - I hated having to make the decisions on those adventurers, that pushed me a place I didn't want to go...but I did it anyway, lol. Great Write!!

This was part I really liked in the SI main quest. Mainly because I was playing Saya, and she is quite the viscous sort. I drove most of them mad as well. It seems fitting, considering the SI and all. I will be interested to see how Wrothken deals with doing it.

Ahh, Dawnfang/Duskfang, one of the neatest weapons in the game.



nits:

They didn't utter a sound as the descended on Wrothken
Looks like Sheo stole the y in they here.

I liked but I didn't like it as much as the first few chapters. Let me explain why. I love your huggable Nord character. I felt the chapter in Xedillian was too much of a re-cap of the events in the game without much of your dry humour entwined with it which I loved so much in the first chapters.
But I think I know why. I also sometimes have difficulty giving my own twist to set events. It's sometimes much easier starting with a clean sheet so there is nothing restraining you. ifyouknowwhatImean..


Look forward reading more.

mAXL1- I felt bad while I did the quests. I always wind up driving them insane instead of killing them

SubRosa- Dawnfang/Duskfang is awesome! In my last save I waited until I was a higher level, just because I wanted it stronger! Too bad it doesn't change based on whether you pick blunt or blade -pout-

Remko- I understand where you're coming from. This quest in particular was pretty hard to personalize because its just push a button and watch the reactions. Also, I was in a bit of a rush to get to the next chapter >.> I know its a bad habit and I'm working on that



Kirsty wiped the counter impatiently, though she had just cleaned it fifteen minutes ago. Wrothken had been gone for a few days and not one single letter from him, letting her know he was okay. He was a big boy and could take care of himself, but still. He promised.

She watched the delivery man and his sack of letters pass the bakery yet again. She huffed and threw the rag down hard. As soon as he came back, she was going to beat him with her rolling pin.

A sweet, spicy scent filled the area, letting her know that the sweet rings were done. She carefully took them out and set them in a basket that sat on the counter. A few people were already starting to gather and in moments they were sold out. Some left disappointed that the latest favorite was gone, but Kirsty was happy to sell them chocolate filled croissants or apple-spiced muffins instead.

She almost forgot her sour mood when a certain harlot entered with another other girl. Kirsty took a deep slow breath, trying hard not to fantasize about jumping over the counter and beating some sense into her. Awour didn't dare ordering anything, which was good. Kirsty wouldn't risk her shop by poisoning her, but there were so many other vile things that could be done to a person's food.

Awour and the other girl sat at one of the tables in the center of the room. "I still can't believe he left all his junk behind," the other girl said.

Awour shrugged. "I guess... though I still have these," she said, lifting her hair up to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. "And this," she said, showing off a topaz ring. "I'm gonna go sell them tomorrow, though." She laughed. "Stupid boy ran away and he doesn't know that he'll be paying for my new wardrobe!"

The two of them cackled loudly.

"Excuse me," Kirsty said, her ears burning. "After all the hard work he put into saving up to buy that jewelry for you, you're just going to get rid of it like that?"

Awour scoffed. "Look, I know you're friends with the little crybaby, but what I do with my things is frankly none of your business."

Kirsty shook with rage. She had a point. Like it or not, they were hers to do with what she wished, but after the weeks of saving and scrimping Wrothken had done...

"Speaking of," Awour continued. "Where is he anyway? His clothes are way too big to fit Bacchus and I don't want them stinking up my house anymore."

"Your house? He's the one that bought the place!"

"And he's also the one that ran off with his tail between his legs, so by default, the house is mine now, along with all the stuff that I can sell off. That way while Bacchus is in the Imperial City training, I can support myself."

The tremors in her body were visible to anyone watching. She glanced at her chopping knife, wishing with all her might she could teach her. Wrothken was a great man, one of the last "nice guys" that she knew. If he wasn't her "big brother," she would've scooped him up immediately.

"You know what? I don't know where he is, but I know one thing for sure. Once he's recovered from your selfish betrayal, he's going to be glad you did what you did, and he's going to find someone a lot better than you. Not that it's going to be difficult. He told me he prefers women with curves, not ones that look like ten-year-old boys. Now you, and the tramp you brought with you, can get out of my bakery."

Awour stood up with her jaw clenched. Of course, Wrothken had said no such thing, but Kirsty knew that Awour was self conscious about her figure. She knocked over her chair and then she and her friend left. Kirsty's sour mood had turned completely bitter.



By late evening, Kirsty was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she repeatedly mixed up orders. Most people were understanding; they thought she wasn't used to working alone. In reality, her conversation with Awour made her really stop and think about the black and white in which she had previously saw stealing.

Her entire life she was taught that with hard work, you could have anything. Her mother died during childbirth, so her father had to work twice as hard to support his young daughter. He was often gone from the time she was awake until she had fallen asleep at night. When he was home, he had to fill the role of father and mother. Through everything he did, he was able to give her a comfortable life. She always ate and had beautiful clothes.

When she was old enough, she decided to move to Cyrodiil. She lived close, so the journey wasn't expected to be hard. Her problem was surviving when she got there. Her first job was harvesting grapes for wine near Skingrad. Eventually she saved enough to have a little cart so she could sell pastries outside of the arena in Kvatch. After years of skipping meals just to have enough spare septims to make more pastries and perfect her recipes, she finally bought the Iron Champion bakery, conveniently located across the road from the arena. In all that time, she never resorted to stealing. In her not-quite-so-humble opinion, the Grey Fox should have been tied up and had rotted food thrown at him until he passed out from the stench. She said it often and believed it...until now.

When the bakery first opened its doors, Wrothken was there to ensure that things stayed under control because, when a busty Bosmer with a high-pitched voice tells a group of drunken idiots to shut up, they laugh and pay her no mind. When a tall, broad shouldered Nord says it, mouths shut and drunks magically sober up a little. It wasn't a fun job or well-paying, but he never complained. In fact, he was happy to do it so that he could buy little gifts for his beloved. It made Kirsty sick to imagine them pawned off so she could lay about all day. As much as she hated to do it, she needed expert help with what she was about to do.



After locking the doors behind her, Kirsty set off for the alleys in the west side of town. She draped a cloak over herself with the hood casting a shadow over her eyes. Skooma sellers glanced over at her as did a few working girls standing outside the brothel. Kirsty quickly averted her eyes, keeping them at the ground.

She walked to a man laying on the ground in ratty clothes. "Um...excuse me," she said. "Are you a beggar?"

The man snorted and rolled over, facing away from her. "Listen, I need to speak to the...." She cleared her throat. "The Gray Fox. Can you tell him that I need some things stolen?"

"Looking for a thief?"

Kirsty turned around and saw a Dunmer standing behind her. Next to her was a medium sized dog, seeming to glare at Kirsty. She leaned in and asked, "Did he send you already?"

She laughed. "No, actually I could hear you from across the road. You know, the Gray Fox isn't the only one with eyes and ears, if you know what I mean," she said, tilting her head toward a passing guard.

Kirsty nodded. "Right..."

"Listen, it's been awhile, but if it's a thief you're looking for, I'd be willing to help you out."

"Really?" She squeaked. "Wait, why?"

"Like I said, it's been awhile. Fencing has many benefits, but it's nothing like the thrill of picking locks and sneaking around."

Kirsty folded her arms. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You're asking me how you can trust a thief?"

"No, I mean... how do I know you're any good?"

"They always ask..." She muttered. She held up a black coin purse with red lace covering it. "Look familiar?"

Kirsty's hand flew to her side and she paled when she noticed her missing coin purse. The Dunmer tossed it to her. "Come on, we can discuss details at my house."



Kirsty was surprised at how much red the Dunmer's house contained. Red curtains, red table cloth, red candles, red chairs. In the light of the house, Kirsty noticed that her hair was red, though her black eyebrows revealed that the color was unnatural. She wore a red blouse with reddish brown pants. Her lips were dark red. The only gems on her jewelry were rubies.

As Kirsty crossed the threshold, the dog turned and barked viciously. "Dolce!" The Dunmer said. She pointed at a creamy blue pillow by the window. Dolce gave Kirsty a glare and went to her bed.

"Sorry," she said. "Dolce is like a man in that the only way to her heart is through her stomach. Anyway," she said, offering Kirsty a seat at the table. "We haven't been properly introduced. My name is Lilitu Serano. And you are...?"

Kirsty hesitated.

"I know you're trying to be anonymous, with that...outfit, but seriously, if I posed any danger, I'd rob you and lock you up in the basement." Kirsty glanced at the dog, who was chewing on a large bone. "Just think of this as an ordinary business transaction."

"Okay, I suppose. I'm Kirsty," she said, removing her hood.

"Alright, Kirsty. Now, about the items you want stolen..."

"Right, well, they're in town. It's just a couple items that I'm concerned about. A pair of diamond earrings and a topaz ring. The problem is, I don't know if she sleeps with them on or not."

Lilitu nodded, twirling the curled end of her ponytail. "Don't worry, I can handle that. Who's currently in possession of the jewelry?"

"Her name is Awour. She's got long, really long, longer than yours even, blond hair, green eyes--"

"Today, was she wearing a light green dress, with long sleeves and silver trim around the cuffs? Kind of a round face for a high elf? An attitude problem?"

"You know her?"

"I wouldn't say know her... I just moved here a couple days ago, but I did meet her this morning. She was pretty insistent on petting Dolce and nearly lost a hand." She looked affectionately to the dog. "Can't blame her for trying, though. Such a pretty girl!" She cleared her throat. "Anyway, she began to scream about diseases until I told her off." She laughed a little. "And so she has sworn that I am 'going down.'"

Kirsty rolled her eyes. "That sounds like her."

"Well, since she's such a pain, I'll be more than happy to get what you need, and I'll do it for free."

"What? Are you sure?"

She leaned back in her chair. "Completely. I can't stand people like her and I think it'll be fun to take her down a notch. You'll have the jewelry tomorrow morning."

Kirsty stood up. "Thank you. You know, I never thought I'd ever do something like this."

"You think I pictured myself working for the Gray Fox? Some things just happen. Just one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"I need to know where she lives."

Kirsty led her outside. "It's that house there," she pointed. "The one with the purple curtain."

"Great. See you tomorrow."

Kirsty nodded and went back to her bakery. She couldn't help smiling as she passed Wrothken's house. She envied Lilitu. She would've sold her soul to be the one to rob Awour blind in the middle of the night.



When Kirsty left, Lilitu found herself staring after her. That girl is certainly blessed by Dibella, she thought. Dark, shiny hair, cool brown eyes, a cute little beauty mark above her plump lips. And that figure! She'd kill for it. She sighed, shaking her head. Some girls have all the luck, she thought.

She opened her curtains and placed a chair so she could keep an eye on Awour's window. First step was waiting for her to fall asleep. Shortly before meeting Kirsty, the chapel bell rang nine times. Sadly, without the opportunity to watch her for days, she had no idea what time she usually went to bed or if she slept alone.

Lilitu couldn't tell how many minutes had passed, but she knew that she couldn't stare at the window too much longer. She was starting to get antsy. Her favorite book, Dusk and Her Embrace, sat on the table by the couch. She leaned over and grabbed it, opening it up to where she left off. Within seconds, she was swooning. Romance novels were her guiltiest pleasure.

Before she knew it, the bells chimed eleven times. She set her book down, wondering where ten o'clock went. She must have been so focused in the book that she didn't notice. Awour's window was dark, but she wasn't sure for how long. She smiled, opening the book back up. Just three chapters and she'd get ready. That was plenty of time for Awour to sleep.

Three chapters became four, since Lilitu couldn't stop once it got heated. She giggled, fanning herself with the book. Who knew a literal bloodbath could be so...hot?

She went up to her room and slipped into more comfortable clothing. She pulled her hair back into a bun and put a cowl on over it, to avoid letting any red strands loosen and fall to the floor. After grabbing her lock picking set and a couple potions of night eye, she left the light on in her bedroom to make it appear that she was still home. She blew Dolce a kiss, as she always did before leaving her alone in the house. Not only was it a way of saying goodbye, it let Dolce know that it was time for guard mode. Dolce sat in front of the door, ready to do her job. "Good doggie," she whispered, locking the door behind her.



Not many people were on the streets so late at night. The occasional guard passed by, but he paid her no mind. He probably wouldn't even recognize her in the morning if the passed each other again.

When the area was clear, she stopped in front of Awour's door. She placed her hand on the knob and barely twisted. It was locked. She looked around to make sure no one was around. She double checked and then took out a tension wrench, an item similar to the probes used in Morrowind. Slowly, she slipped the tension wrench into the lock, gently moving it around to get a feel for the lock. She twisted it counter-clockwise first, immediately feeling it stop. She turned it the other way and felt a little more room to move. With her free hand, she took out a lock pick and put it in the lock, feeling each pin. She laughed softly, counting only three pins. It wasn't that strong of a lock. She carefully pushed each one up, feeling the second one to be the most stubborn. She pushed it up repeatedly until it set in its place. Then she moved on to the first and third. Once they set, she looked around once more and went in.

She took out her first bottle and swished it around. It had been a while since she bought it and she hoped it still worked. She drank the potion, forcing herself to swallow the gritty bits that always seemed to sink to the bottom of the bottle. She blinked and when she opened her eyes, everything was light blue.

The place was simply furnished. A loveseat in front of the fireplace, a little table next to it. In the kitchen, there was a small, round table and two chairs. The flowers on top were wilting and brown. A short shopping list was pinned to the wall. Something about it touched Lilitu's heart. It seemed so cozy, though very cluttered. Dishes sat on the kitchen counter and there were old papers everywhere.

She proceeded up the stairs into the bedroom. The door was unlocked, so she sighed in relief. She didn't want to spend too much time sneaking around. Her book had gotten pretty juicy.

The first thing she saw was a large bed with Awour sprawled out in it. A large axe hung up on the wall. Lilitu had a hard time imagining Awour even lifting it. She tiptoed over to the slumbering Altmer, lightly lifting her hair up. No earrings. If she didn't need to be silent, she would have sighed in relief. She was exaggerating when she told Kirsty it wouldn't be a problem to take the earrings out. She set her hair down and looked at her hands. No ring, either. She looked at both night stands and neither of them had a jewelry box on them.

There was a large chest under the window. It was locked, but Lilitu managed to open it quickly. All she found were men's shirts that were twice as big as Lilitu and reached her mid-thigh. She put them back and shut the chest.

She was about to check the wardrobe when a sparkle caught her eye. On the desk were the earrings and the ring along with a note.

"Approx. 130 septims for both."

She picked them up, note included and stuffed them in her pocket. She turned to leave when she noticed a small mountain of ripped or crumpled papers by a wicker basket. Lilitu glanced at Awour. Was she a writer or something? She picked up one of the crumpled ones and smoothed it out.

"Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean
Higher than any bird ever flew
Longer than there've been stars up in the heavens
I've been in love with you.

Stronger than any mountain cathedral
Truer than any tree ever grew
Deeper than any forest primeval
I am in love with you.

I'll bring fire in the winters
You'll send showers in the springs
We'll fly through the falls and summers
With love on our wings.

Through the years as the fire starts to mellow
Burning lines in the book of our lives
Though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow
I'll be in love with you.
I'll be in love with you.

Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean
Higher than any bird ever flew
Longer than there've been stars up in the heavens
I've been in love with you
I am in love with you..**

~Always, Wrothken"

Lilitu was breathless. Her sinuses burned as she forced herself not to cry. It was so beautiful... what was it doing crumpled on the floor?! She looked it over once more, recognizing the name as a Nord. She looked back at the axe and remembered the giant shirts. Obviously, the two had ended things. The poem made her want to believe that Awour was at fault, but she had no way of knowing for sure.

Lilitu walked over to the bed once more, staring down at Awour. Even with the negative feelings she had, she had to admit that she too had beauty...physical, anyway. Her face may have been round, but it made her look more youthful. Her hair was beautiful in both luster and color, something Lilitu felt a flash of jealousy over. She had big eyes and thin brows, arched perfectly. She wasn't stringy; she was less top heavy than Kirsty and herself, but with wide hips, the ones men often saw as perfect for child bearing. She read the poem once more and shook her head. To let go of a man who could write like that... if that was what happened.

When everything went dark, she realized the potion was no longer in effect. She took long steps, setting her toes down first as she felt for the door. When she was out, she carefully walked down the stairs. She felt her way toward the door and opened it slightly. A guard was passing by, but he didn't notice the door opening a crack. He continued down the street, turning at the corner. Lilitu slipped out and casually walked back to her house.



After pouring ylang-ylang oil into the bath, Lilitu sat in the steamy water, reading the poem repeatedly. Each time, she felt her heart quicken. She wanted to know where he was. She heard of people who can decipher everything about a person based on their handwriting. All Lilitu could tell from the writing alone was that it was likely written by a man. She also heard of people who can hold something belonging to someone and then connect mentally with the person. If only she had that power.

The poem accompanied her to bed that night and she couldn't help wondering if one day, a man with a heart like Wrothken would as well.

~~~~~♥~~~~~

**The poem is a song called Longer, by Dan Fogleberg

Dolce

Yay for a Chick Chapter!

she was going to beat him with her rolling pin.
This almost made me fall off my chair!

So we finally see Kirsty and Awour! I can see why you were looking forward to this. What is Awour's phone number? 1-900-IMASKANKYHO? And Kirsty is a busty Bosmer? I guess she makes up for the stringy kind!

Somehow I think Lilitu, with her fascination for the color red, might be more suited to a life in the SI than Kvatch... I was half-expecting her to dye her dog's hair red as well! (and perhaps have Sammy Hagar's Red playing in the background? Or maybe Crimson and Clover? Seriously though, Dolce is adorable! Is he yours?

I especially loved Lilitu's envy of Kirsty's figure, and of course Kirsty's envy of Lilitu being the one to rob Awour blind! That sort of thing is just so very real.

Naming a romance novel after a Cradle of Filth album & song! How brilliant! It is a great title for a bodice-ripper though...

I liked your description of lock picking. Showing it to require several tools, and a bit of skill. The dead flowers in Awour's house (I mean Wrothken's) was a good touch too. They are last ones he bought for her I expect, before he found out what a two-timing ho she is.

Also, Lilitu's bath and use of ylang-ylang oil after her robbery were a nice touch at showing how she decompresses from the adrenaline of a robbery.


nits:

Next to the her was a medium sized dog,
I think you have a leftover the from a previous edit. Or Sheo is playing a little prank on you...


Well, since she's such a pain in the boat,
Looks like the forum's swear filter got you here, unless Awour is really navally inclined...

I can testify to the filter. When I tried to say Aye Arr Ess Eeeh, the forum changed it to 'British Boat'.

Nice description of lockpicking, much more accurite than the game, in fact accurite enough to make me wander if you've tried it. Gives it a good sense of realism.

More characters too, you introduce them well. A thief with an obsession for red and a liking of romance novels... genius, good original character.

SPEW! ROFL!

*

@ Jacki - I love this chapter! This is my fave so far! Now we are getting somewhere! Your details slipped in so smoothly that the reader sees the scenes before them - this is the best chapter yet IMO, I love it!


*

Jackie, I have read your story, and find it quite enjoyably endearing. Very nice!

so have I and I second Acadian here.....excellent writing!

Actually, I have it on good authority that her number is


69-99-MUNNYCUNNY

Oh my! I think this is the most comments I've gotten on a single chapter!

SubRosa- Thank you. Yes, Dolce (her actual name was Sergeant) was mine. That's the last picture I have of her since she hated having her picture taken. She's making me so impatient to get to the Oblivion Crisis!
I'm glad you agree that Cradle of Filth titles make good names for bodice rippers. Some of their songs are so romantic And you caught the flowers! They are indeed the last bouquet Wrothken bought for her.

Olen- Thanks The only lock picking experience I have is sliding a credit card through my bedroom door when I accidentally lock myself out! However, my friend's dad had to pick the lock of a place I lived when my jerk roommate locked me out and I remember him bringing a lock picking set with him... what a night that was. I got the details online on how to pick them

mAXL1- This was my favorite chapter to write! Its easier for me to do these ones because its so much easier to get a female perspective.

Acadian and Minque- Thank you guys! I hope you keep reading and enjoy

D. Foxy- ! I should have a contest to see who can come up with the best numbers, but then again everything might wind up replaced with boat and British boat and who knows what other random words

~~~♥~~~

A few pictures for you all to enjoy-

Lilitu

Wrothken
He didn't look that skinny on paper -_-'' Just imagine him a bit huskier

and a map of everyone's house

Map of Kvatch





By time Wrothken made it back to Sickly Bernice's Taphouse, he felt like collapsing right in front of the door. His entire body throbbed in sync with his thudding heart. Beads of sweat lined his hair, slowly falling down his face. When he sat down, his legs felt the familiar, pleasant burning throb of a good workout.

"Oh dear," Bernice said frowning. "Your cheeks are so red! Have you caught a fever?"

He shook his head. He didn't tell her that he ran most of the trip, fearful that more Knights would show up. Instead, he pulled out the silver flask and set it before her.

"My stars..." She whispered, lifting it up. She swished it around. Her face lit up as she opened it, taking a whiff. "Oh, you saint!" She grasped Wrothken's hand for a moment before gulping it down. The gray pallor washed away from her face immediately, being replaced by a cool ivory color. "Thank you, thank you!" She smiled widely.

Wrothken would have enjoyed her happiness more if he wasn't so dead tired. "You're welcome, Bernice. Can I have a room for a couple hours?"

"Dearie, you can have a room whenever you want. No, put your gold away, I won't accept a single coin. You saved my life. Just do me a favor and don't tell anyone. I wouldn't want someone to get too close and get me sick all over again. Now, you go on up and rest. Afterwards, I'd recommend that you go see Cutter, just up the road. She can fix your armor up for you. Do be careful, though. She's a bit of an odd one..."


Rested, bathed, and finally shaven, Wrothken felt wonderful. He gathered up his armor and walked down to Cutter's Weapons.

A flash of butterflies fluttered about in his stomach when he entered and saw the bloody puddles on the floor and table. Standing in front of a blazing furnace, was an incredibly pale wood elf. Her white skin looked even brighter against her dark hair. She had large green eyes heavily shadowed with black powder. Her smile gave Wrothken chills.

"They call me Cutter," she said, in a soft, slow drawl. "You must be the new boy. I bet you taste delicious..."

He set his armor on the table, keeping his distance. "Bernice said you'd be able to fix this up?"

She held up the cuirass, licking her lips as she traced her finger over the gashes. "I bet you bled all over the place." She looked at the other pieces and set them aside. "I can fix them for fifty gold."

Wrothken raised his eyebrows. He was sure he didn't have that much, but then he remembered the items he received in Xedilian. "Do you buy things too?"

She nodded.

"Good," He said. He set the claymore down, noticing the purple gem had turned orange. It had to be a trick of the light. "I'm not sure what this is, but maybe you can find a use for it," he said, setting down the black box.

Cutter gasped. "A matrix! Are you sure you want to sell it?"

"Um...maybe." He picked up the box. "What's a matrix?"

"Let me show you something," she said. She took his arm, the iciness of her hands piercing through Wrothken's shirt, and she led him to the other side of the room, where two sets or armor were displayed.

They were made from the same material, one built for a man, the other for a woman. It was an almost sickly, dark green color. A vision of a tortured soul was etched on the cuirass, and a monster's face on the shield. The helm was something that the face of evil would wear. Wrothken placed his hand longingly on the glass. That armor was scary enough to strike terror in the heart of any enemy, be it a grummite or a Knight of Order. He had to have it.

"It is made from Madness Ore," Cutter said, picking up what looked like a large, black thorn from the table. "Spirits of ancients souls are trapped in the Ore. Find it in ancient ruins. Grummites are also especially attracted to it." Wrothken briefly remembered seeing the thorns in Xedilian, but at the time he didn't think anything of them. "It's a supple and flexible ore, yet it holds a good edge. I can shape the sharpest of blades with it. I can also create magical items."

She set the ore down and took the box she had referred to as a matrix. "Tradition dictates before each master smith dies, she hides these magical molds in the world, like pouring salt deep into a wound." She licked her lips slowly. "Over time they soak in magical energies from the world around them, the way you suck in blood from a cut." She ran her finger slowly down his arm, causing him to shudder. "Bring me some ore, and I will forge you a new item and bleed the magic of the matrix into it."

"Alright," he said, excited by the thought of new armor. "How much will you need?"

She took a paper from her pocket. It was covered in soot and dried blood smears. "Here is a list of everything I would need for whatever piece you would like. Now, I will get to work on your armor. It may take awhile, so you may leave if you'd like and come back later."

"Alright, I'll be back soon," he said. He didn't want to keep Sheogorath waiting.

As he was heading to the palace, he felt a strong grip on his arm. He almost expected to see a Golden Saint scowling down at him, but was surprised to see Kalila. She pulled him back, making him face her. His heart raced so hard, he was sure she could hear it.

"You shaved." She said. Her voice was almost like the Mazken, only not soft and warm. "I like it. It makes you look..." She leaned in. "Younger....fresher. Much more innocent." She smiled, her eyes shining with mischief. "I like that. A lot."

His entire lower body tingled with her every word simply because she was talking to him. He tried to speak, but his voice cracked as if he were fifteen again. He then nodded.

"Anyway, I have to go see Cutter now. Maybe we can get together later..." She released his arm and turned on her heel, leaving Wrothken to gaze after her.



"Well now," Sheogorath said. "What news do you have to report?"

"First of all, I was attacked by Knights of Order."

"So soon? Not a surprise, I suppose. We'll get to that later. No need to burden your little brain with it now," he said, waving his hand. "And Xedilian? Since you're standing here, I assume you've succeeded. Or you're terribly confused. Or really lacking in good judgment."

"It's been fixed."

"Wonderful!" He said, standing up and clapping. "Time for a celebration... Cheese for everyone!" Wrothken smiled widely. He loved cheese. "Wait, scratch that. Cheese for no one. That can be just as much of a celebration, if you don't like cheese. True?" Wrothken sighed, looking down. He was looking forward to a rain of cheddar. "You've run a maze like a good little rat, but no cheese for you yet. Well, maybe a little," he winked, patting Wrothken's head. "I've granted you a new spell - the ability to summon Haskill, my Chamberlain, to aid you in your travels. He knows a lot. More than he knows. In fact, give it a try. Summon our friend to you now. I'll wait."

Wrothken looked over at Haskill and chuckled. Summoning, or any magic, was never his strong point. Lucky for him, growing up, he had a friend who was very into summoning spells. He knew he had to focus, as if he was healing himself, instead of focusing on a cooling sensation, he had to focus on something becoming one with him. When he did that, Haskill appeared at his side.

"Ah... our Lord has granted you the power to summon me. How wonderful. When summoned, I can offer advice on your current endeavor. I imagine it's up to you what to do with my wisdom. Do try to use your power sparingly. I have duties to which I must attend. Rather more important than shepherding you around, I'm sure." With his lecture over, Haskill vanished and appeared back at the base of Sheogorath's throne.

Sheogorath cackled loudly. "Isn't that a hoot? I love it, myself. Best part of being a Daedric Prince, really. Go ahead, try it again. He loves it!"

Wrothken smiled and repeated the spell.

Haskill sighed. "Ah, summoned again. My Lord does so enjoy that, as is His prerogative. I'll assume you're done for now."

Wrothken flexed his hand. He was going to have a lot of fun.

"Just don't expect to summon dear Haskill anywhere but in the Realm. He dislikes leaving My presence. I get that sometimes."

Wrothken snickered, imagining what would happen if Haskill gave Kirsty his sass. He actually began to laugh as he envisioned her beating him with a rolling pin.

"Good thing you've mastered that. You'll need all the help you can get if you're going to defeat Jyggalag and stop the Greymarch."

"Who is Jyggalag?"

"The Daedric Prince of Order. Or biscuits..." He paused, tapping his lip with his finger. "No. Order. And not in a good way. Bleak. Colorless. Dead. Boring, boring, boring!" he cried, grabbing a fistful of his hair. "And not a fan of My work, I can tell you. Hates it. Hates Me. A bit single minded, if you take My meaning. You've seen his Knights. Not the warm and cuddly sort. Not a bit of original thought in their lifeless husks. So, you're going to help Me stop him."

"Alright, how do I do that?"

"Again with the niggling little details! Hold your tongue. Or I will," he added in a menacing tone. "We'll get to that, all in due time. For now, you've got other work to do."

Wrothken exhaled deeply. Just how was he supposed to stop it if he didn't know what it was? "Alright, what would you ask me to do?"

"Ask? ASK? I don't ask. I tell. This is My Realm, remember? My creation, My place, My rules. Look at you," he said, lifting a lock of Wrothken's hair. "No concept of what you've stumbled into. No sense of place. You don't even really know where you are, do you?" He grabbed a hold of Wrothken's dark blue shirt. "I suppose few really do, but that's beside the point. We're going to give you a taste of where you have found yourself. You're going to learn."

Wrothken's blood felt like ice. Was he going to be driven insane like the men in Xedlilian?

Sheogorath continued, holding up two fingers. "Two halves, two rulers, two places. Meet and greet. Do what they will, so you know what they're about. Thadon, the Duke of Mania and Syl, the Duchess of Dementia. Seek them out, and let them show you what New Sheoth is. You might be surprised. Once you understand what My Realm is, you might understand why it's important to keep it intact. And maybe you'll make some friends along the way. That's always nice!"

"So you want me to speak to each of them, and they'll help me understand things here?"

"Isn't that what I said? Don't tell me your ears have been clogged with cheese. You'll attract rats that way!"

Wrothken raised his eyebrows, taking his answer as a yes. "As you wish," he said. First things first, he needed his armor.

"Ta!" Sheogorath said, waving. "Come visit again, or I'll pluck out your eyes!"

The image of Sheogorath adorning himself with Wrothken's eyes planted itself firmly in his mind and refused to go away. "I promise to visit again, real, real soon."