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

Well that was odd

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

Then the fighting on the rooftop followed by:

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

Was he deformed, or overformed?

Hee hee....

Deformed? Circumcised or not?


Was Kallila born under a rock or somethin'??

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

Subrosa-
Kalila + Cutter = Perfect match?

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

"Then jump," Wrothken said.

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

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

"Pfft. Whatever."

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



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

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

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

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

"Who is?"

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright, but what exactly should we do?"

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who approached you?"

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

"I will, don't worry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, it did, but..."

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

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

When you are mad, being bad is rad!

So now it's on to Lady Paranoia, huh? I see Wrothken has recovered from the fiasco with Kalila.

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

Looking forward to more!

She didn't know how men are equipped
Because in her previous experiece, they all had been...

... zipped.

Well isn't dementia just a warm fuzzy sort of place. Syl is a great character, you caught her paranoia there (though is it paranoia if people are out to get you?)

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

But which side will he like less?

Can we see pictures!


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

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

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

Caught up, and I must say:

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

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

haute ecole rider- I wouldn't say moved on, exactly, but is easily distracted♥

Foxy- Exactly

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not deformed!" Wrothken snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What? What is it now, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


WHAT???

The Deformity will BLOW OVER???

Does that mean some one did a... .

a...


a...


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

... That isn't a good image.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

keep up the good work

Oh no you didn't! I'm still surprised you had nothing to say about this line:





@ Jacki - I am so in love with your story! I knew you would be great when you were wondering if you should post this over at the BGSF !!!!

*

I've been reading this from the Beth forums, and I enjoy it.

But Cutter doesn't strike me as the girl+girl type.

Remembering all those phallic illustrative dialogue of blades going into the skin and all....




Also I really like your story back in Kvatch, I think you did very well on bringing those 3 elves alive.

Wrothken's gonna need a bigger mace to keep the ladies off.

Hey everyone. I'm really sorry its been so long.

I'm posting to let everyone know that I am still continuing this story. Its just myself and my family have had some medical issues and it's been difficult to give Wrothken the attention he deserves. As soon as things settle down (which they are slowly) I'll be back. Promise. ♥

Come back when you're good and ready.

mALX was gone for a couple of months over the summer for similar reasons. As for her, we'll be here for you when you come back - don't worry!

Family takes precedence over forum, and all of us here know it.

Take care of yourself!

I hope you and yours get better soon.

I'm so sorry to hear you all have been ill. My best wishes for you and your family's speedy recovery. We'll wait till you feel up to it, don't worry!

Hope your family and yourself get well soon. Don't worry, we can wait!

Thank you to everyone for your well wishes

Now, let us continue♥




The next night Wrothken headed to Ma'Zhadda's house. He hoped Ma'Zhadda would be true to his word and the conspiracy would be foiled and he could be done. However, the ever growing cynic inside him told him not to expect any simplicity.

He knocked on the door. Nothing. He knocked harder and when there was still no answer, his insides began to churn. He looked around, wondering if he should get a Mazken to help. After some thought, he decided against it. He didn't want to alert them about the conspiracy, especially since one of their own may be involved.

He tried the back door, but it was locked. He took out a pick and opened it up after his fourth try. After looking around to make sure he wasn't seen, Wrothken slipped in the house.

"Ma'Zhadda?" He called out as he crossed the threshold. As soon as he closed the door, he was overwhelmed by the stench of blood. "Oh no," he whispered.

He ran down the stairs and saw Ma'Zhadda lying in a pool of his own blood. There was a single stab wound in his chest.

Wrothken knelt by the dead Khajiit, tears welling up in his eyes. He promised his life would be spared if he got the names. Guilt washed over him. Even he wasn't the one who had stabbed him, he felt like might as well have. If only he didn't coerce him into naming the head conspirator. If only he hadn't agreed to be Sheogorath's champion. If only he hadn't entered the damn door in the first place!

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. The saying popped in his head as he wiped his eyes. There was nothing he could do now except bring the conspirator to justice. He closed Ma'Zhadda's eyelids and headed to the door.

"Maybe that creep Herdir can figure out where to go from here," he said to himself. He was heading back up the stairs when he noticed a crinkled note half under a bowl on a table by the door.

I haven't got much time. She's coming for me.

Nelrene asked me to hold on to this sword. Said I should give it to Anya and have her do the deed, but Anya wouldn't. Now maybe it can find a better use as evidence. Syl will recognize it.

Muurine is in charge. She's the one telling Nelrene what to do. If I'm not around, I hope this is enough evidence to bring her in.

I hope I'm alive to see it.

"You may not be alive to see it," Wrothken said. "But I'll be damn sure you didn't die for nothing."

He glanced around. It wasn't in plain sight. He'd have to do some searching.

The living room was bare and Wrothken was thankful to leave the room. He followed the stairs to a locked door. Wrothken didn't feel like dealing with a lock pick, so he used his mace to bash the doorknob in. If anything, he could blame it on the killer.

He checked the bed and the chest, but there was nothing. The only thing left was the cabinet, and of course it was locked. He didn't recall seeing a key in the bedroom which meant it was located on Ma'Zhadda. There was no way he was going to fumble around Ma'Zhadda's pockets, especially since it risked himself getting stained with his blood.

He raised his mace high above his head and swung it as hard as he could, cracking the stone doors. He beat it until it smashed. He cleared the chunks and smiled when he saw the sword. It had a curved handle and the edges of the blade were heavily serrated. He hoped a similar one wasn't what killed Ma'Zhadda. Sword and note in hand, Wrothken headed back to the castle to confront Nelrene.

Welcome back to health and (our vitrual) hearty, my girl! You and your talents have been...well and truly missed.

Welcome back Jacki, and I hope your Birthday was AWESOME! (I hope the fact that you're back means that all the health issues have disappeared for good !!!)

Finding Ma'Zhadda dead was a shocker for me too, your writing captured the feel of walking into his house and finding him so perfectly!!

You have been missed, so glad you and Wrothken have come back to us !!!!!

Yay! Jacki and Wroth are back! As mALX said, I hope this means your health issues are under control.

I would like to say this was a fun episode, except of course that it was rather grim. Wrothken has to face his nagging sense of guilt at flipping Ma'Zhadda, and thusly making him a target. On the other hand one might consider that Ma'Zhadda had it coming, being part of a murder conspiracy. On the third hand, if anyone ever deserved it, it is Syl, so hard to blame him.

I like how descriptive you are

Thanks everyone. My health is back to normal now so yes I am finally back ♥




Wrothken was barely able to keep his cool when he saw Nelrene standing by Syl's empty throne. "A word, please," he said through grit teeth.

"Yes, Inquisitor? How may I serve?"

"Don't give me that!" He said. "I know you were involved. Thanks to this stupid plot of yours, someone is dead!"

"Shame," she said indifferently. "However, I'd like to remind you that you have no proof!" She sneered. "You cannot hold me accountable for anything!"

"Oh?" He presented her sword and the note. Her eyes filled with anger as she read it.

"So what are you going to do? I'm not even the one you want." She folded her arms. "Muurine is behind it. You'll need solid proof to pin it on her."

Wrothken dangled the note in front of her face. "I think this and your admission is proof enough."

He could nearly feel the anger emanating from her and seeing as how she had no problem planning the murder of the Duchess, she would likely have no problem gutting a mere temporary inquisitor so he left without another comment.

He hastily walked back to Crucible, hoping he would be done going back and forth and back and forth again. Not to worry, he thought. After this, its time for a little me time. Bother Sheogorath. He can wait...I hope.

The suicidal blond remained at the top of the stairs. He glanced at Wrothken and let out a loud, overly-dramatic, wistful sigh. "Nope!" Wrothken said, passing him by.

"Muurine..." He said, looking around the city. Judging by the name it was likely an elf. He peeked in shops and on the streets when he remembered Bernice and her vast wealth of knowledge. He dashed to the taphouse.

Bernice smiled to him as he took a seat at the bar. "Oh, hello dearie! I've barely seen you all day! Have you had any luck with..." She looked around and leaned in. "Ma'Zhadda?"

Though they were far from friends, the mention of his name stung. "You could say that," he said. "On the subject, do you know a Muurine?"

She chuckled. "Oh boy," she said. "Sure, I know her. Rather kooky Altmer if you ask me. You know, I heard she's got her uncle living with her?" She said as if that were scandalous.

"So?"

"Sure, seems normal enough except the man died five years ago! And she always smells ripe. Anyway, what about her?"

"Oh nothing." When she pouted he added, "I'll fill you in later, I promise. I'm just in a bit of a rush."

"Oh, alright. And when you get back you better come and eat something proper! You're looking a bit thin and I don't trust other people's cooking. Sheogorath only knows how they keep their kitchens!"



After asking around a bit more to find her house, Wrothken stood on her porch, mentally preparing himself. He had the sword in one hand and the note in his pocket. Just in case she tried anything, he wore his full set of armor. He knocked on the door.

An elderly looking Altmer answered the door. She looked down at him with a disgusted look. "What do you want?"

"I'm here about the conspiracy."

She smiled dryly and clapped her hands together. "I see you've done quite a bit of work to track me down. Yes, I orchestrated it," she said proudly. "Syl deserves to die a painful death for turning on all of us, and consorting with our enemies."

"What is so wrong with Syl and Thadon 'consorting,' as you all say?"

"My poor boy," she said, patting his head. "You don't get it. You can't. You're not one of us. Now be a good boy and take me to that despicable woman." She held her hands out in front of herself.

He was surprised. He didn't need to offer his proof or put up a fight. "Fine, off we go then."



Syl was waiting for him in her throne, Anya and Kithlan seated at each side. "What news do you have to report, Inquisitor?" She demanded. "Have you found who is responsible?"

"Yes," he said, stepping aside to make Muurine more visible.

"Is that so?" She said, stroking her chin with a smile. "Bring her to the torture chamber at once."

Wrothken took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn't make him watch a long, drawn out death. That would be too much.

As the three entered, Herdir looked positively giddy. "Well, well! Looks like we have a visitor!" He clapped Wrothken on the shoulder. "Good job, lad! We'll have to do this again sometime!"

Wrothken squirmed inside, but nodded just to get away from him.

Muurine was led into a cage in the center of the room. She didn't make any effort to escape or even resist. Wrothken knew he shouldn't feel sorry for her after what she did to Ma'Zhadda, but he couldn't help it.

Syl approached her smugly. "You've confessed to attempting to kill me, I understand. The penalty for this treachery is death, and is to be carried out immediately. Do you have any final words?"

"Nothing to you," Muurine spat. "But you," she looked at Wrothken. "Know this, little one: You've chosen a side." She closed her eyes. "You'll get what's coming to you eventually."

Her words sent a chill inside Wrothken. What exactly had he gotten himself into?

Syl pressed a button and lightning flew from the walls on either side of the cage and jolted Muurine until she fell dead. Herdir checked her pulse and gave Syl a thumbs up.

Wrothken looked away. All this death for something that could have been put to an end with a simple jail cell... Well it's not called the plane of madness for nothing, Wrothken thought.

Syl didn't notice Wrothken's displeasure. She seemed almost as joyous as Herdir. "You see now what happens when those who oppose me fail, which they always do," she said, poking the tip of his nose. "I am pleased with your work, Inquisitor." She motioned for him to follow her to the throne room. "As a token of my appreciation, I shall spare your life, and make you a Courtier of Dementia. In addition, accept this Bow." She took it down from the wall. It was the same color as Nelrene's sword with an ornate gold decoration on the handle. As she put it in his hands, she said, "May your enemies fear you and never know from where or with what enchantment you shall strike."

"Thank you, Lady Syl," he wasn't sure what to do with it, but he'd figure it out later. First, he had to tell her about Ma'Zhadda. "I didn't do it alone, though."

"Oh, yes I know. Herdir shall be rewarded as well."

"No, no, not him," he said. "His name was Ma'Zhadda. He was the one who pointed me to Muurine. Unfortunately it cost him his life."

"Oh. Well, since he did provide you with her name, I'll see to it that he is buried with honors."

"Thank you, Lady Syl."

It didn't quite make up for his death, but it was the best he could do. He left the palace and without looking back, he set of on his own personal journey, to relax and make sure his head was still on straight.




The sun was setting, giving Kvatch a fiery tint. As the crowds bustled to the arena a Breton dressed in a long red hooded robe, clutching a set of books to his chest, walked through them. No one seemed to notice him. Oh the poor fools. Soon they would all perish and they had no idea.

He walked to a house in the far north side of the city. It was a small little house in the poor side of town. Its shabbiness was magnified by the yellowed, unkempt yard. He knocked on the door.

An Imperial answered, opening the door just a crack. The Imperial was short and somewhat plump, with warm sparkling brown eyes and a spattering of brown freckles across his face. The Imperial looked the Breton over. "Dawn is breaking," the Imperial said.

"Greet the new day," the Breton responded.

The Imperial opened the door all the way. "Welcome, brother. My name is Capaneus Tempestas. I guess you're they guy they sent to help me get started."

"Milun Cazenove," the Breton said, entering the house. By Dagon, it was a sty. Master Camoran could have at least warned him of the toxic conditions he would be working under. The only couch was covered in stains, some so hideous Milun didn't dare imagine their origins. The kitchen was obviously unused, or else Capaneus would have surely died of food poisoning. All kinds of clutter imaginable carpeted the floor. It was no wonder this man didn't live in the Sanctuary. This filth wouldn't have been tolerated.

Capaneus didn't seem to notice Milun's disgust. That or he didn't care. After all one man's hovel was another man's nirvana.

"Right," Capaneus said. "I set up a room for you. Master Camoran said this would take awhile to get everything set up."

As Milun followed him to the room, he found himself envisioning an explorer fighting his way through a dense thicket of jungle. He felt that way clearing space between bottles, old rotted food, soiled clothes, and other things.

When Capaneus opened the door, he was surprised to see it was actually somewhat livable. It was a small space with only room for a bed and dresser. but it would do. If it came down to it, he could work outside, behind the house.

"Thank you, brother," he said. "If its alright with you, I would rather discuss our mission in the morning. It's been quite a journey."

"Not a problem," Capaneus said. "Sleep well."

Milun nodded and as the door closed he set his books on the dresser. He peered out the window. Master Camoran said the job would likely take several months, if not a year, to complete. He hoped sooner. He was ready to cleanse the world and make way for Lord Dagon.

Now that was an emotionally grueling end to one of the more displeasurable quests in the SI. Poor Wrothken, he really has gotten himself in over his head. He is going to have to learn how to get rid of that pesky conscience if he is going to stay in the Isles. Either that or go insane...

Your description of the man-cave in Anvil was appropriately disgusting! I especially loved the sentence about the Imperial not using the kitchen! For a moment I thought the Imperial was "The Stranger" in Anvil, which would have really been weird!



nits:
"You'll get what coming to you eventually."
I think you meant what's?

This sounds like the first line of the chapter you posted today !!!!


@ Jacki - Oooh, Mythic Dawn !!! Now we're talking !!!!

Syl deserves to die a painful death for turning on all of us, and consorting with our enemies."


Foxy-transaltion: Syl deserves to die a painful death for GETTING US ALL *cough cough* EXCITED .... AND SLEEPING WITH OUR ENEMIES





My goodness ... for a moment I thought Syl deserved to die a painful death for doing one of those "shows" on stage with their enemies...and turning them all on...

SubRosa~ Hee the man cave was quite easy... All I had to do was peek in my brother's room

mALX~ Yep! I was going to wait on them but I couldn't contain it anymore!

Foxy~ Lol yes Syl should have though about that before donning that dress... ♥




The next morning Wrothken set off for Bliss to pick up some supplies for his trip. His only stop was at Common Treasures where he picked up a bedroll, some food, and a few torches. The moment he exited the city gates he felt as if a weight had been lifted from him.

He didn't venture far for fear of getting lost. The spot he selected was just a few miles away from New Sheoth, across the path from some old ruins. Having no desire for fighting anything other than animals, he stayed away from it.

For the first time in ages, he was able to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the Shivering Isles. The caps of the mushroom-like tree he settled under were a vivid turquoise and the flowers around him blossomed every shade the rainbow could offer. The leaves of other trees were all the rich colors of autumn and the sky above was cloudless blue, speckled with gold stars. Perfect.

He stretched out on the ground and stared up to the sky. This place was so beautiful yet so dangerous. Who knew that by entering a door he'd be thrust into a world of sex, drugs, and violence? So much violence... Though he'd gone hunting all throughout his life and on occasion various bandits didn't know when to quit and lethal force was required, this was different. People were so eager to group up and plan your demise for something as trivial as who you share you bed with! No wonder Syl was so paranoid.

He sighed. What he wouldn't do to go back and stop himself from entering the door. Maybe someone else would have come around and helped Sheogorath. Someone with a higher tolerance for this. Meanwhile he would be back in his house....

His house! He jolted up. All this time he hadn't realized that now Awour was the sole owner of his house! Great, he thought. He had no way of finding out if she had sold it or worse turned it into a marital home for her and Bacchus. He huffed. At least he'd still have Kirsty... or had his job been replaced too?

Kirsty was tough, no question, but there were times she needed an extra hand, even if to keep the drunks in order, especially after arena fights where they were angry over losing bets. If she had hired someone else, would he be able to work there again? If he had no house and no job, would he be stuck in the Isles forever? He shuddered just thinking about it. He'd sooner stoop to begging. Besides, the Fighter's Guild was always recruiting. Maybe he'd give that a shot. He sighed, relaxing again.

Thinking of Kvatch, no matter how dismal things seemed, made him feel a little homesick. He missed the culture, the food...the sanity. How easy it was to take it for granted. He looked up at the sky. He wished he could just slip out of the Isles and pretend this was all a bad dream, but he knew better than to try and hide from a Daedric Prince. Especially ones that would wear his organs as jewelry.

Champion of Sheogorath... He recalled how proud he had felt and how he would be sure to revel in it. Now he wasn't too sure he wanted it. Being the champion of a god had to have some sort of perk, but at what cost? His sanity?

A new realization entered his mind. Maybe that was the point. The champion of a lunatic couldn't very well be sane. It wouldn't make sense. Beside, Sheogorath sure seemed to enjoy tormenting him. He wondered if the Khajiit and Dunmer who he had seen outside the door had been attempted champions who just couldn't handle it anymore. Oh what to do, what to do? There had to be a way to come out with his wits still about him.

He tried to think of other times where he needed a way to keep his cool. When family drove him insane, he had his friends or Awour. When Awour began to work his nerves, he had Kirsty. So now that Sheogorath and his band of crazies were driving him he had... "Bernice!"

She may be a gossip and the biggest hypochondriac he'd ever seen, but she seemed somewhat sane...usually. If he took it slow and leaned on her when he was losing it, maybe he could come out alright. After all, Sheogorath never said he had to keep everything a secret!

Why? WHY do you keep doint this to me, Jacki....


...



... I swear you're doing this ON PURPOSE!


If he took it slow and leaned on her when he was losing it, maybe he could come out alright


It took just one dyslexic "doing" replacing "losing" for the Foxy imagination to run riot...


Otherwise, an excellent chapter, as usual.

O.O Oh my....

Its an accident, I swear! It must be my subconscious being rather naughty....

Who knew that by entering a door he'd be thrust into a world of sex, drugs, and violence?
He picked the Punk Rock Star door? Cool!

I like Wrothken's very sane and natural ruminations over what he has gotten himself into. He really does not fit in the Shivering Isles. He is too sane, and too nice. So far. At the same time you also present the very real quandary he is in which the game ignores. Once you commit to a Daedric Prince, they are not going to just let you quit. As Wrothken noted, they tend to wear your organs as jewelry if you try that.

And finally his turning to Bernice is simply perfect! Just as his thoughts slowly led him to her, you have shown us since he first arrived in New Sheoth that she is the best friend he has in the Isles. I always did like her too...

Ew, leaning on Bernice the Sickly? ** cough cough ** - we usually just throw a bucket of water when dogs get stuck together... does this have to do with his ... deformity? ROFL !!!

Just kidding Jacki !!!!! Foxy got me started, blame him. A very introspective chapter !!

SubRosa~ I always liked her too. Out of all the people there, she seems the most grandmotherly to me

mALX~ Lol oh my. Poor Wrothken will never live down his deformity rumor, will he?







After a couple well-deserved days of rest and relaxation, Wrothken made his way back to New Sheoth. Well, it wasn't all laying under the trees and staring at the stars. First a hideously emaciated creature came and during the fight it somehow ate away at Wrothken's armor and later on an elytra had shown up. One thing led to another and before he knew it Wrothken had cleared out a cave full of them.

As he made his way to the palace, he crossed a shop called The Missing Pauldron. He looked down at his dented and dingy armor and decided to stop in and see if it could get repaired.

Like everything else regarding Bliss and Crucible, this shop was a stark contrast to Cutter's place. It was clean and well lit. The top floor had stained glass windows. It even smelled like sticky buns.

"Hello?" Wrothken called, walking down the stairs.

"Hello!" A gruff voice called back cheerily. An Orc stood behind the forge wearing a pink frilly apron as he wiped the counters. "I'm Dumag gro-Bonk. Best and prettiest smith in town."

Wrothken couldn't help staring at the ribbons tied into his hair.

"Sticky bun?" Dumag offered, lifting the top to a cake dish.

"No...thank you," Wrothken said. "Actually, I was wondering if you could repair this." He motioned to his armor.

"Oh, my word," Dumag said. "Well, take it off and let's see what we can do!"

Wrothken was put off by Dumag's unfaltering stare and thankful he wore regular clothes under his armor as he stripped it off. He set the damaged goods on the counter. Dumag tsked and shook his head.

"Somebody's been a violent bear! Don't worry, I'll have this fixed right up for you," Dumag said with a wink. "Oh and how's that big, heavy mace?"

Wrothken looked it over. It wasn't in danger of breaking, but it was better to repair it before it got too busted up. "That'll need a repair too, actually."

"Alright, well normally this would cost a little over twenty gold, but since you're so damn cute I'll do it for fifteen!"

He handed over the money, happy to get a discount even if it was because the Orc was being flirty. Dumag took his hand in his and giggled. "What nice hands you've got!" Slowly letting go of them and putting the coins in a box he said, "They'll be about an hour. Why not sit and make yourself comfy?" He nodded to a floral printed love seat between two suits of gold armor.

"You know," Wrothken said, backing towards the door. "I actually have to go see someone. Why don't I come back when they're ready?"

"Oh, I guess," he said pouting. "I'll see you later then."

As much as he didn't want to see Cutter, he didn't think he'd be able to exclusively go to Dumag. Maybe he could switch between them in order to not overload.



When Wrothken approached the throne, Sheogorath lept up with a grin. "Well, well," he said walking toward him. "So you've experienced both shades of madness. Wonderful." He clapped his hands together. "You seemed fulfilled. Full of fill." He patted Wrothken's stomach. "Bursting at the seams. Seamless. Now to the meat of your endeavor. The crux of the situation. The reason for your being here!" He put his finger to his lips and added, "And the likely cause of your death."

Wrothken's eyes widened. "What?!"

Sheogorath proceeded on, as if he didn't hear him. "You'll be stopping the Greymarch. Altering the course of events, breaking the cycle! A fly in the ointment. A new cause for a different effect. We're going to change things." He put his arm around Wrothken and hugged him close. "No... things will be different this time around." He released him and poked his chest. "You'll be my champion. You'll grow powerful. You'll grow to be...me! Prince of Madness, a new Sheogorath. Or you'll die trying. I love that about you." He picked Wrothken's cheek.

Getting a little irritated at the constant poking and prodding, Wrothken took a step back and asked, "Why me?"

"Because you seem a nice enough sort. And you've made it this far. And if you don't, I'll swallow your soul and vomit it into the Everfilling Chamberpot of the Ageless." Sheogorath leaned in. "But mostly because I asked nicely," he said menacingly, squishing the eyeball atop his cane.

"How can I possibly be you? Or a Daedric Prince even?" He couldn't imagine it, though it did fuel his theory that Sheogorath was purposely trying to drive him insane.

"A fair question," Sheogorath said, rubbing his goatee. "You won't, really. At least I don't think so." He shrugged. "But you'll have power. My power. Try not to lose it. It's a pain to replace. But, for all intents and purposes, you'll be Me. A Me to fight the Him. Since I won't be around. It's simple, really. If you don't think about it."

It took every fiber of his being not to bury his face deep in his palm. A glance at Haskill showed that he was enjoying the show. "Wait," Wrothken said. "You won't be here? Then where in Oblivion are you going?!"

"Not here." Oh really? Wrothken's mind screamed. Sheogorath continued. "Didn't I say that? I'm never here when Jyggalag walks. It's one of the Rules!" To Wrothken, Sheogorath seemed like the last person in the world to be concerned about rules. "I've told you too much for now. Listen to me prattle on. I can see your mortal brain straining." Sheogorath tussled Wrothken's hair. "We'll talk more later."

Straining? Wrothken's brain was sobbing, if anything. "Fine, what's next then?"

"Now... you've seen the Great Torch that burns brightly over New Sheoth?"

Wrothken honestly couldn't recall seeing a torch over the city. Maybe he was to busy with everything else to notice, but he shook his head.

"No?" Sheogorath said, raising his eyebrows. "Because it doesn't!"

Trick question. Of course.

"It should. But it doesn't. You'll fix that. You'll go to Cylarne and bring back the Flame of Agnon to relight the torch. Oh... and take care with my minions at Cylarne. In their eternal quest to please me, they're constantly fighting over Cylarne. It can be tiresome. But, really, it's divine. Divinely tiresome. Well. That's your problem now," he said waving his hand. "Oh," he leaned in Wrothken's ear, saying quietly, "Don't forget to make use of dear Haskill. Between you and me, if he's not summoned three or four times a day, I don't think he feels appreciated. Now, off with you. I don't want to see you again until the Great Torch is lit. I wouldn't want to have to hurt you. Much."

Wrothken looked at Haskill and sighed. "Can you tell me where Cylarne is, exactly?"

Haskill sighed heavily as Wrothken took out his map. "Cylarne was once the capital of the Shivering Isles. Perhaps the first capital." Wrothken didn't really want a history lesson, especially from Haskill, but he figured if it would help him not die trying, he would take what he could get. "In any case, the Flame of Agnon here is always used to light the Great Torch of New Sheoth. It has always been so, and presumably always will be so." He gave Wrothken back the map and continued.

"Now, the Flame of Agnon can only be lit by the immortal servants of Sheogorath: the Golden Saints and Dark Seducers of His creation. In normal times, Sheogorath would simply command it and his servants would leap to sacrifice themselves upon the Altars of Rapture and Despair. But, alas, the times are not normal, and Sheogorath has given you this task, without the authority to command it. I'm afraid you may have to be a little bit clever. I know that will probably be a stretch for you."

First order of business when I become Sheogorath, fire Haskill, Wrothken thought.

"Why is the flame so important?" He asked. "If its out now, then why bother with it?"

"It is a symbol of Sheogorath's power and a source of great comfort for the citizens of New Sheoth. For eternity, the start of the Greymarch has been heralded by the torch going out. Lord Sheogorath, in His wisdom, wishes for you to relight the Torch, to help ease the worries of the populace."

"Or... he could just talk to his people himself and tell them he's going to have it stopped, right?"

"Aren't you the curious one?" Sheogorath piped up from his throne. "You know what they say about curiosity, though, don't you? It killed the intrepid adventurer who really should just be doing exactly what I say at all times!"

Wrothken sighed. He figured that if he needed more information from Haskill he could always summon him later. Armed with little information, he left the castle trying not to think of it as possibly the last trip he would ever go on.

Bring it on, baby, Wrothken! Let the Chump-pee yon of Madness be the Champion of READ BADness!!! Yay!!!

"Well, take it off and let's see what we can do!"
hubba hubba! And from the prettiest girl in town no less! A fun interaction with Dumag. The closest thing ES gets to a transperson (outside of pronoun errors in dialogue)

Everfilling Chamberpot of the Ageless
Ewwwww!

Wrothken's brain was sobbing, if anything.
I loved this line!

First order of business when I become Sheogorath, fire Haskill, Wrothken thought.
This made me laugh out loud!

A fun segment, as those with Sheogorath always are.

nits:
"Somebody's been an violent bear!
Looks like a leftover from a previous edit. That should be an a.


Haskill sighed heavily as Wrothken too out his map
Looks like Sheo absconded with the k in took.

Foxy:

SubRosa: My favorite chapters are the ones with Sheogorath He's so expressive and fun.





Lilitu awoke to the scent of pumpkin bread. At first she thought maybe her neighbors might've made it but it was too strong. There was no doubt it came from her own kitchen. But how? She was paranoid enough to not just lock the door, but add a chain and stick a chair in front of it. Windows were also locked tight and the door leading to the basement did only have one lock, but after hearing Dolce's ferocious barks most people would run. And why on Nirn would they make pumpkin bread in her house?

He's back... The thought came unbidden from her mind. She shook her head, trying to keep paranoia from taking over. First of all, "he" was in prison. Second, she certainly didn't tell him where she had left. And she had moved twice since then. Last, not only could he not bake to save his life, but there was no logical reason to bake pumpkin bread of all things.

Could have bought the bread and poisoned it... "Stop it!" She said, holding her hands in front of her ears, as if trying to block out the words of a ghost.

If he were here, or anywhere nearby, Dolce would go crazy. Sharing the same sixth sense of character judgment that most animals possess, Dolce hated him with a passion. If he were to have somehow gotten past the locks, Dolce would have woken her up with her barking or at least have run in the bedroom and woken her up.

She crawled out of bed, grabbing a silver dagger that was kept behind her headboard at all times. She held it in the sleeve of her robe as she opened the door.

Silence. Not even a peep from Dolce. That was the most unsettling part. If she didn't manage to get in Lilitu's room in the morning, she always ran upstairs the moment the door opened. Her stomach started to flutter.

"Dolce," she called. No answer.

Poison...

Her heart raced and tears began to well up in her eyes. He tried to poison Dolce once before. The monster. Abandoning her stealthy approach, she ran down the stairs, mental images of Dolce's dead body sprawled out on the floor refusing to go away.

"Dolce!" She dropped her dagger.

"Woof!" Dolce looked up at her, halfway through a basket of meat. She sat, staring at Lilitu with her tail wagging and a smiling pant.

Lilitu snatched it away, ignoring Dolce's whine. "You know better than to eat food from..." She saw a basket of bread on the counter. It was still warm and smelling of pumpkin. There was a note attached.

Dear Lilitu,

The Gray Fox is in need of your expert services. Meet him tonight at Durzum gro-Khazor's house, here in Kvatch, at eight-thirty pm.

Signed,
X

She relaxed, giving Dolce back her meat. "X" was the way that man in Anvil signed his name. Not helpful in the least. For some reason his name was always just beyond the tip of her tongue. She could remember the name of her every friend, enemy, lover, or even acquaintance, but his... She shook her head.

She took a slice from her basket when it finally hit her. The Gray Fox himself wanted to meet with her! She grinned. She needed to find something nice to wear.




After a quick overview of their mission, Capaneus gave Milun a tour of Kvatch. The town seemed like the perfect place for the first gate to open. With the Arena being such a hotspot, the destruction of Kvatch was bound to get the attention of the entire empire.

In a hushed voice, Milun asked, "Where do you think the gate should open? Capaneus?"

The Imperial was staring inside a busy bakery at a Bosmer girl behind the counter. The sparkle in Capaneus' eyes dulled, replaced by a dreamy expression. The meat pie in his hand had grown cold. He didn't even notice the flies settling on it.

Milun nudged him. "Did you hear me?"

"I come here everyday, just to see her," Capaneus said, ignoring the question. "Each day I promise I'll go in there and talk to her, but I never do." He looked at Milun. "Can you believe all this time she's never even noticed me?"

Milun rolled his eyes. As far as he knew, all sleeper agents, including Capaneus, were sent out to secure a place for Lord Dagon when he arrived, not fawn over some busty elf!

"Look, I'm a 'sleeper', not dead," Capaneus said, obviously reading Milun's face.

Milun shook his head. He was about to head back to the hovel-- house, when he noticed a Dunmer with a dog entering the bakery. From her long hair, down to her feet, she was dressed in various shades of red. The monochromatic outfit reminded him of their robes. "Capaneus, are there any other sleeper agents around here?"

He shrugged. "Not that I know of." He followed his eyes. "Oh, I've seen her around. I'm not sure who she is. I know she hangs around Kirsty a lot."

"Kirsty?"

"The Bosmer."

"Oh," he said flatly. Then a cruel idea crept in his mind. "Are they lovers?"

Capaneus choked on his meat pie. "No! I mean... I don't think..." His face flushed red.

"I'll be back." Milun entered the bakery and tapped the Dunmer on the shoulder. "Dawn is breaking," he said.

She turned with an eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry?"

"Nevermind," he said.

Capaneus ran over to Milun as soon as he walked back outside. "What did you do?"

"Sorry, brother," Milun said. "I asked and it seems they plan to wed next Frost Fall."

Capaneus looked sick. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "So how about we scope out the best place for a gate?"

Capaneus sighed and shrugged. "I guess."

It may have hurt, but Milun figured he was doing him a favor. How much worse would it be when she perished during the Great Summoning if he was still infatuated with her?



"That was weird," Lilitu said, turning back to Kirsty.

Kirsty watched the man walk away. "And he's with that Imperial..." She said softly.

"What Imperial?" Lilitu turned and saw them both. "Do you know him?

Kirsty shook her head. "But he's always there. Every morning he just stares." Glancing at Lilitu's expression, she hastily added, "But I don't think he's trying to be creepy. At least, he doesn't make me feel that way."

"Ohh... I get it now. Oh, Kirsty, he's got a thing for you!"

Kirsty blushed lightly. "Oh, Wrothken would say the same thing, but I don't have time for that. Besides, how could he? He's never said a word to me."

Lilitu sipped a cup of apple spiced tea. "Because men are visual creatures."

"Doesn't explain anything," Kirsty said, unable to help glancing at Lilitu's tiny waist. Hers was not too tiny, as she had a habit of sampling her treats often.

"Really?" Lilitu said, almost exasperatedly, as the envy over Kirsty's bust and hips flared up. Tight-lacing could to wonders for the waist and stomach, but curves like Kirsty's were sheer luck.

"Anyway," Kirsty said, arranging fresh muffins in a glass cake pan. "How weird that he just broke in your house like that! He could have just left the baskets outside your door."

"I thought that too, until I realized that if someone got too curious and peeked, they'd know exactly where and when they could find the Gray Fox."

"Oh, you're right..." She wondered what she would have done with the information. Of course, knowing that Lilitu was a part of the guild, she couldn't very well turn him in.

Lilitu grinned. "I just can't believe I'm going to meet him! I wonder what he'll be like in person." She licked her lips. "Maybe a nice big Nord wearing fox skins..." She put her hand on her heart. "Oh, what a fox that would be..."

"But I heard," Kirsty leaned forward, not wanting anyone else to overhear. "He's over three hundred years old!"

"Oh, good point," Lilitu said. "Well, I guess I'll have to find out for myself tonight."



Eight-thirty came and Lilitu was a bundle of nerves. The Gray Fox, the man who she had emulated since joining the guild years ago, wanted her specifically. She saw an Orc standing outside. "The Gray Fox is inside," he said as she approached his house.

She nodded. "Dolce, stay," she commanded.

Dolce snorted indignantly but sat on the porch anyway.

Lilitu stepped inside the house. She was taken aback when she saw him. The Gray Fox. He was a Colavian man, wearing the famous Gray Cowl. The words, "shadow hide you" were inscribed down the center of the mask.

"Lilitu Serano, I presume," he said. "Have a seat, please."

She sat across from him, her heart racing. "It's an honor to meet you," she said breathlessly.

He smiled. "I am well aware of your devotion to the guild. Though I know you are no longer an active thief, I have need of your special gifts. There is an item, hidden away in a remote monastery. I need you to go get it for me. The monastery is extensive and well guarded, so you should make sure to be well prepared. Should you succeed, I will pay you well for your services."

Her heart sank. She retired over a year ago...but how could she refuse him? "Of course," she said.

"Capital!" He clapped his hands together. "The monastery is called the Temple of the Ancestor Moths. It is where retired, blind Moth priests go to wait out the rest of their days. I will mark the location on your map. Look for it in the far northeast of Cyrodiil, beyond Cheydinhal." He set a map on the table between them. Lilitu tried to mask her shock at just how remote it was. "I need you to acquire Savilla's Stone. It is a large crystal with special properties that I need to gain... advantage." He handed her a drawing of what looked like a large crystal ball. "Remember," he said while she looked it over. "Do not shed innocent blood. However, there is no bloodprice for slaying the stone's guardians, human or inhuman. When I receive word that Savilla's Stone is missing, I will be here waiting for you."

Lilitu folded the drawing and the map and nodded. "I'll leave at dawn," she said. She glanced away for a moment, about to ask him a question but when she looked back he was gone. She left the house, sighing. A quick look at the map showed her that it was on the way to her family home, just north of Cheydinhal. Oh this was going to be a long trip.

Oooh!!! Awesome Chapter !!!! Riveting beginning paragraphs of Lilitu's inner thoughts !!!!

Ooooh, mysterious! I wonder who this "he" might be who Lilitu is so afraid of? Valen Dreth perhaps? Whoever it is, I can only hope they receive an ugly death. Anyone who would try to poison a dog deserves exactly the same themselves.

Mr. X on the other hand, was nicely done! I loved how you described Lilitu's inability to remember his name! So utterly perfect.

"Dawn is breaking," he said.
"Well then fix it!" Sorry, I always think that when I hear that line.

I have to admit, I thought the news of Lilitu's impending nuptials with Kirsty was hilarious. Although I am a little surprised that Capaneus fell for it. Then again, Cap does not seem to be the brightest welkynd stone in the ruin...

Lilitu sipped a cup of apple spiced tea. "Because men are visual creatures."
Quoted for truth.

So Lilitu is retired from thieving? I thought that was how she made a living in Kvatch?

All in all a fun chapter. It is lots of fun to meet up with Red and the Busty Bosmer again.


nits:
Last, not only could he couldn't bake to save his life
I think this is a leftover from previous edits. Perhaps you wanted "could he not bake"?


They Gray Fox
I think the Fox reverse-pickpocketed an extra "y" into your The.

She's a fence and no longer goes out for jobs

The road to Cylarne was long and scattered with walking trees and the emaciated creatures, identified by an annoyed Haskill as gnarls and hungers. Wrothken was thankful that Dumag, uncomfortably flirtatious as he was, was a good smith and his armor was holding up nicely.

He was almost there when he came across a large obelisk, twice the size of the one he had come across when leaving Xedilian. Two Knights of Order were standing guard and a man in a purple robe and Orderly mask knelt between them, as if praying.

There was no way he could take on all three at once and they were smack in between him and Cylarne. He summoned Haskill to see if he had any advice.

"Yes, what is it you require," he said as he appeared by a tree. He looked and saw the Knights. "Oh dear. I suppose you want to know how to deal with them quickly?"

Wrothken nodded.

"Very well," he said, as if Wrothken had asked him to count the all stars in the sky. "The Knights are mere shells. Use that brutish strength of yours to beat them to a pulp. Now the Priest... A bad lot they are. Traitors. They perform rituals at the obelisks to summon Knights to the Realm. Their link to Jyggalag gives them power. As long as their obelisk is active, they cannot truly be killed."

"So, if I can deactivate the obelisk, then they can be killed?"

"Precisely," he said. "Remind me to give you a cookie when you return to the castle."

Wrothken rolled his eyes. "Then how do I deactivate it?"

"You just lost your cookie." Haskill tsked. "You need to place three hearts of order into the obelisk. It will cause an overload of sorts and shut it down."

"Alright...where can I get a heart of order?"

Haskill pulled what looked like a jagged gray stone from his pocket. "This is a heart of order. It comes from a, believe it or not, Knight of Order. I see how you may have been confused. You will find them in the chest cavity of a Knight."

He nodded, accepting the heart from Haskill, while simultaneously picturing bashing Haskill's head in and leaving him in the bushes. Only in dreams. "That's all I needed."

As he started to vanish, he said, "My work is never done."

Wrothken left the bushes, catching the immediate attention of the priest and his knights. "Kill him," the priest shouted. The two knights rushed over.

Both knights slammed their swords down on Wrothken. They landed in an "x" which Wrothken blocked with his mace. The knights pressed hard on their swords, but Wrothken pushed harder, knocking one of the knights down.

The first merely recoiled for a second and Wrothken took advantage of the moment to bash its head. It let out no cry or scream of agony, which gave Wrothken goosebumps. The other knight came running back and was greeted by a mace to the temple.

Wrothken was about to crack open their armor to collect their hearts when he felt a sharp tingling sensation in his body followed by a brief numbness that knocked him to the ground. Trails of lightning etched themselves all over his body.

The priest was backed against the obelisk. "Fall in the name of Jyggalag!" He cried.

Wrothken got up and ran at him, not wanting to feel another shock. The priest took out a small dagger and swung at him, slashing his cuirass. Wrothken blocked his next swing with one arm and headbutted the priest.

"Ow," he said, rubbing his head with the back of his hand. That priest had one good helmet.

When Wrothken felt another charge of lightning surge through him, he roared and swung his mace upwards, getting the priest just under the chin. He flew back, leaving the obelisk undefended.

Wrothken tossed the first heart of order in and was just about to crack open one of the knights, when he felt a blade nick the back of his neck. In a panic, he turned and saw a Knight of Order behind him. After Wrothken took it down, he reached for the fresh wound. It was just a shallow cut. The knight must have swung before it was close enough to do any real damage. Even after casting a healing spell, he shook. His head could have been lopped clean off.

He tried not to think about it as he cracked open the chest cavity of the fallen knight. Wrothken shuddered. There were no organs, no blood. Just a hollow cavity that held the heart. He was told that they were mere shells, but it still gave him chills.

He loaded the second heart into the obelisk and once again, a knight appeared. It was then that Wrothken made the connection that loading hearts brought more knights. Wonderful.

After that knight was dead, Wrothken looked at the priest, who was starting to stir and he grabbed another heart and tossed it in the obelisk. The priest let out a sharp gasp and stopped moving. Wrothken was left with the final knight. "Last one, last one, last one," he chanted as he fought it. As soon as it fell, he collapsed to his knees, panting hard. He sat leaning on the deactivated obelisk for awhile before continuing on to Cylarne.



Wrothken could tell he had reached Cylarne because of the incredible tension in the air. There was a gate on each side, one with Golden Saints and one with Mazken. Since he hadn't met a Golden Saint that he liked, he approached the Mazken.

"State your business," she said, glancing at the Golden Saint across the way. "Cylarne is holy ground, unfit for mortals."

"Sheogorath sent me to light the flame," Wrothken said.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled warmly to him. "Then you are free to enter the Shrine of the Flame of Agnon. This key will allow you passage through any door in Cylarne." She handed him a large, deep blue key. As Wrothken unlocked the gate, she added, "The Flame is lit from the Shrine's two Altars. Once the Aureals are driven out of Cylarne, it will be our pleasure to light the Flame for Sheogorath. The Grakedrig Ulfri will explain everything. You should speak to her at once."

Wrothken paused. "Drive the Aureals out? You mean the Golden Saints?"

The Mazken huffed. "There is nothing saintly about them. They are arrogant and bring great shame to our lord Sheogorath. One day he will see that we Mazken are his only truly loyal servants."

As much as he really didn't want to take sides, she had a point about their arrogance. "Okay, thank you."

The fortress was dark, much like Xedilian had been, except it was as clean as a fortress could be. There were several busts of Sheogorath around, giving Wrothken the paranoid feeling of being watched through them. He shut his eyes and forced the thought away. No way in Oblivion was he going to wind up like Syl.

When he opened a second gate within Cylarne, he was stopped by another Mazken. "A mortal wandering the halls of holy Cylarne... and a male no less," she sneered. "Explain yourself."

Wrothken was taken aback by her remark. "I..." He cleared his throat. "I need to spreak with Grey.... Um... Grak..?"

"Grakedrig Ulfri?" She asked impatiently. "What do you want with her?"

"Sheogorath sent me to light the flame."

"Then I am at your service." She said, this time without a trace of attitude. "The Grakedrig Ulfri commands here. You will wish to speak to her at once, no doubt."

She led him to a Mazken with closely cropped brown hair. She was checking the weapons and armor of another Mazken. Upon seeing Wrothken, she said, "Begone, mortal, or you will soon find yourself between the Mazken and their prey. A most dangerous place to be." She nodded to the Mazken in front of her, granting her permission to leave. "We are preparing to wipe out the arrogant Aureals once and for all. Once they break themselves on our defenses, Cylarne will be ours, a gift for our Lord Sheogorath."

"That sounds great, and I can see you're busy, but Sheogorath really needs me to light the flame. So how about you light it for me and I'll leave you to your war."

"You wish to light the flame?" Ulfri grinned. "Then you have arrived just in time to help us defend the Altar of Despair. Once the strength of the Aureals is shattered, I will be honored to light the Flame as my Lord Sheogorath commands."

He sighed. Haskill said he'd need to be clever, but this was not what he expected. "Look, like you and the other Mazken have noticed, I'm just a mortal, and a male at that. I wouldn't be that helpful to you fighting the Golden Saints...so why don't you just light the flame and I'll be on my way. Please?"

"The two altars, blessed Despair and holy Rapture, feed the great Flame of Agnon above us. Only Sheogorath's immortal servants can kindle the Altars, and I am at my Lord's command. But I only hold Despair... for the moment. The Aureals hold Rapture, and are massing to attack us." Wrothken's eyes widened. Ulfri smiled reassuringly. "But never fear, they are no match for us. They'll come down the main passage from the Altar of Rapture." She pointed at a path on a lower floor. "They always do. They are overconfident, as usual. We have prepared many traps and ambushes. It will be a glorious slaughter. Once the Aureals are destroyed, I will light the Flame of Agnon for you. Will you help us defend the Altar of Despair?"

Wrothken stared at her with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. He wanted to ask if she was serious. He really wanted them to just put their fight to the side for fifteen minutes and light the damn flame, but that would be too easy. And he had a feeling Sheogorath knew it. Sometimes, Jyggalag and his ways of Order didn't seem so bad.

He sighed, looking at his battered armor. It was already banged up from dealing with the Knights of Order. But what choice did he have? If the Golden Saints were about to attack, then going to them for help would be at the price of attacking the Mazken.

"Alright, fine. Just promise to light the flame."

"This will be a glorious day! Cylarne will finally be free of the Aureals. Follow me. We're expecting the attack at any moment."

She led him to a group of Mazken and to his surprise, there were a few men in the group. "The Aureal plan to attack through the their usual passage. We are prepared for them and our Lord Sheogorath has sent us his emissary to aid us, proving that we are His chosen!" Ulfri clapped him on the back and the Mazken cheered loudly. Of course, that was not the reason he was there, but there was no point in lowering their morale.

Metallic footsteps rang through the halls. "The Aureals are beginning their attack! Show them no mercy! Today, Cylarne shall finally belong to us!"

The following ordeal was among the most terrifying things Wrothken had ever experienced. Everywhere he turned, maces and axes were swung. Arrows whizzed uncomfortably close to him, one grazing him just under his eye. Everything was a blur of blue and gold bodies with splashes of red blood. "Et tah, Mazken" and "Et tah, Aureal," rang through his ears until finally and to his relief, the Golden Saints were defeated.

"Victory is ours!" Ulfri cried. "I have already instructed my subordinates to kindle the Altar of Rapture. It is my honor to sacrifice myself on the Altar of Despair at Lord Sheogorath's command. I have hoped for this moment since I took command of the Mazken at Cylarne."

"Sacrifice yourself? But...then... why not just have a Golden Saint do it? I mean...you wanted them...dead after all."

"The Altars which feed the Flame of Agnon can be kindled only by the willing death of an immortal. Every Mazken under my command would gladly accept this honor, if it was not my own to claim." She smiled gently, patting his shoulder. "You fought well. I would almost grant you the honor of kindling the Altar, if you were an immortal. Farewell. The waters of Oblivion await me."

As the remaining Mazken knelt before the altar, Ulfri stepped onto the altar and took out a dagger that rested at her side. With a smile, she plunged the dagger into her stomach. She fell over and burst into blue-green flame.

In a way, it was beautiful, though a little sad. When the rest of the Mazken stood up, Wrothken headed outside. He was greeted by a roaring blue-green flame in the center of Cylarne. "Okay..." He said. How could he get the flame to New Sheoth? He snapped his fingers. "A torch!"

He ran to the nearest Mazken. "Are there any torches around here?"

She paused. "There may be. We have no need for them ourselves, but there are plenty of other things around here we have no use for. Look at all the Aureal we dispatched," she said with a wink.

A Mazken with a sense of humor. He'd consider marrying her if she weren't a daedra.

Minutes later, she returned with a torch in hand. He hoped a sudden gust of wind wouldn't blow it out on the way back to New Sheoth. That would be so Sheogorath.

Hoping for the best, he stuck the torch in but to his disappointment the flame wouldn't catch. He put his hand on the end and it was cold to the touch. He held it in once again sticking it in as far as he could, but nothing.

The Mazken had all retreated back to the halls of Cylarne so he only had one option left. He summoned Haskill again.

Haskill appeared with a loud sigh. "I wondered how long it would be until you needed my help...yet again. Though shockingly, you did accomplish your task. There's no denying the Golden Saints are defeated. Spearing fish in a barrel might have proved to be too challenging. So, what was it that you require?"

Wrothken ignored his backsass. "How exactly do I get the flame to New Sheoth? I thought about lighting it with a torch, but it won't ignite."

"Did you try stepping into the flame?"

Wrothken's jaw dropped.

"Careful, you may catch flies that way."

Wrothken shut his mouth and stared at the roaring green flames. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Haskill smiled. "Do you want an honest answer?"

Wrothken glared at him. "Go into the flame? Why so I can burn to death?"

Haskill shook his head. "You don't trust me? How disappointing. Think, if it's not too much of an effort for you. What good would you be burned to a crisp? Keep in mind that if this doesn't work, I suffer as well. Can you even begin to imagine what it is to endure Lord Sheogorath after finding his realm demolished? You would soil yourself. Now be a good boy and jump in the fire. My Lord will be waiting for you." With that, Haskill disappeared.

"Not very helpful," Wrothken said, glancing back at the flames. He reached toward it nervously. It was warm, but not scalding. Cringing his thrust his hand in and to his amazement, it didn't burn. In fact, it was rather comfortable. He slowly moved the rest of his body in until he was engulfed in the bright flames.

he said, as if Wrothken had asked him to count the all stars in the sky.
I love the way you capture Haskill.

while simultaneously picturing bashing Haskill's head in and leaving him in the bushes.
You also capture the way Haskill makes everyone feel extremely well!

Phew! Those Obelisks of Order are tough! I remember my first time running into one that was active. I had no idea how to shut it down. In the end I had to just run away, after killing a ton of knights.

Since he hadn't met a Golden Saint that he liked, he approached the Mazken.
My feelings exactly!

"Et tah, Mazken"
Et tu Brute?

A Mazken with a sense of humor. He'd consider marrying her if she weren't a daedra.
Uh oh, Kristy might have some competition after all!

As always, a wonderful read. I am so glad to see you back and giving us more Wrothken and company again!

Nits:
"Then how to I deactivate it?"
Looks like a typo in do?


Thee was a gate on each side, one with Golden Saints and one with Mazken.
I think Haskill absconded with the "r" in There.


The Mazken had all retreated back to the halls of Cylarne so he onl had one option left.
He swiped the "y" in only as well.