Kristy a Mythic Dawn cultist!? Now Wrothken REALLY needs to get out of the Shivering Isles and get back to Kvatch.

The dog armor is hilarious! Don’t give BethSoft any ideas, or else there will be the Official Dog Armor DLC.

Good Chapter!

The Grey Fox is back? Capital!

So Fathis is next on the chopping block. I hear he has a taste for red-heads, so Liltu is a shoe-in.

The dog armor is so cute! I just hope it will be enough to protect Dolce in their upcoming adventure.

Kirsty became a cultist? And I thought Wrothken was with all the crazy people! That picture of her is, well, oh my. Someone get her a crane to hold those things up! Hopefully Kirsty is just acting, and has instead gone undercover for the city guard to expose the cult.

SPEW !!! ROFL !!! GAAAAAH !!! The dog armor ... .... .... SPEW !!!! ROFL !!!! GAAAAAH !!! There goes my monitor !!! I LOVED this !!! It is very hard to read when your eyes are streaming and rolling on the floor !!! Great Write !!!

I see why a corset top wouldn’t work for Kirsty. Although maybe a feather enchanted one…

Dog armor, oh my goodness. I love the conversation with Yyaevonnte, his mannerisms seem so real. Wrothken needs to come home soon!!

King Coin~ It would be adorable to have dog armor in Skyrim! Of course first they would need to let us have a dog... -hint, hint, Bethsoft...-

SubRosa~ Ah but crazy people lurk all over Cyrodiil and some people are like magnets to them

mALX~ Couldn't you just imagine a tough dog sulking because it looked too cute?

Grits~ Feather enchanted clothing would be quite helpful for her Maybe then she wouldn't get so messy when baking






Kirsty sighed, looking up from the book. As hard as she tried, she just couldn’t get into it. She would read the words but had no recollection of what she had just read. It simply made no sense. It was like reading the rantings of a crazy man.

“Greetings, novitate,” she said, trying to read it aloud. “And know first… blah, blah, blah.” She shut the book and set it on her night stand. “This is ridiculous.”

When Capaneus spoke of Mehrunes Dagon, he did it with such a passion that it was easy to get wrapped up in it. He was so certain that it made her certain that what he said was true… until she was alone. Looking back on it, it seemed outrageous.

She leaned back in her bed, staring at the ceiling. What mess did she get herself into? And was he worth it?



Lilitu had forgotten what a pain Dolce could be on a long journey. The dog insisted on stopping at every tree and every bush to see what animal had claimed it and then leave her own mark. “You’re not happy being the alpha female are you?” Lilitu asked, attaching a leather leash to Dolce’s collar. “You have to be alpha everything, right?”

Dolce simply panted, appearing to be smiling widely.

Though the constant stopping to smell the bushes tacked on extra time, Lilitu was glad for the company. Talking to herself made her feel unbalanced, while talking to Dolce felt natural. It was something she had been doing since she got the dog so many years ago.

Her heart sank a little with the thought. Dolce was near eight years old and the lifespan for a dog was around twelve. Only four more years… She looked down at Dolce. She was as spry as ever. Her hearing was sharp as was her vision. Her mind was alert and she was strong. She was going to be fine, Lilitu told herself, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the thoughts.

Still, it lingered in the depths of her mind. Not all dogs die of natural causes. There’s all sorts of diseases or infections. People or wild animals… Poisons, of course. Lilitu looked down at Dolce. Nearly all of those potential killers lurked in the wild. She was suddenly afraid to let Dolce continue sniffing the plants. She was no alchemist. She had no idea what was poisonous to dogs and what wasn’t. And who knew what was lurking beyond the path, just waiting for something to kill. Maybe it would have been better to just let Dolce sulk for a few days. At least she would have been safe.

She looked back, even though she knew it was too late. She had already passed Skingrad and the day was almost gone. She would just have to keep going and be thankful for dog armor.

As her jitters wore off, Lilitu started to finally appreciate the beauty of her surroundings. The trees were so green and vivid. They gave off a sweet, woody scent. The flowers bloomed along the path. Deep into the forest, Lilitu could see ruins. A white structure with smaller ones around it erupted from the ground like scattered teeth. It looked like it had once been beautiful, but now it was dirty and broken in many places. Moss and vines grew on some of the walls and the stairs, though Liiltu had to admit it gave it a certain charm. She looked around and then at Dolce. The seclusion gave her an idea.

“Come on,” she said to Dolce. “Just a quick peek.”

Dolce didn’t whimper or resist. That gave Lilitu confidence.

She cut through the forest, away from the path. Instantly she felt the sudden cool from stepping under the blanket of trees. Instead of the quiet of the path, the forest surrounded her with the sounds of squirrels chittering, birds and crickets chirping, and leaves rustling.

As she got closer, she thought of the hideaway at Sheep’s Clothing. If this place could get restored, could it become a safe haven for those who had nowhere to go?

“Of course it could,” she said to herself. She could get Vardas to help and Methredhel and maybe a few others from the guild.

She imagined it cleaned up outside with a little vegetable garden out front, maybe a few fruit trees as well. Possibly a farm. The interior would have a few bedrooms, a community room, a kitchen. If they were lucky maybe a bath house could be put in… It would be perfect!

Footsteps up ahead caused her to stop in her tracks. Of course she wouldn’t be the first person to think about hiding away in a place like that. She knelt down and pulled Dolce in. The dog began to growl softy. “Shhhh…” Lilitu hushed, stroking her back.

A man in an aqua robe passed by. Lilitu bit her lip, hoping he would simply enter the ruin and give her a chance to leave, but Dolce started barking. Sometimes that dog was so much trouble!

The man looked directly at them and just a single look in his eyes told Lilitu what exactly he planned to do with them. “N’chow, Dolce!” She said, getting up to her feet. “Come on!”

She gripped Dolce’s leash tightly pulling her back to the path. Lilitu looked both ways, hoping to see a wandering centurion patrolling the roads. She was disappointed. It would just be her against the robed man.

She took her dagger out and walked Dolce behind a large boulder. She watched as the man burst through the trees, his skin suddenly taking on an unnatural yellow glow. Great. He’s done something to himself. Probably a shield, she thought. Lilitu had always been afraid of having to fight a mage. At least if someone had a physical weapon it was easy to spot an advantage. With mages she had no idea what to expect.

She wished she could tie Dolce to a tree while she figured out what to do, but the boulder was the only available cover and the dog would not listen to a “stay” command if the mage came too close. As much as she hated to use it, she unsheathed her dagger and held it at her side. If he came around she could surprise him with a jab in the throat. If the shield spell was too strong, she’d just repeat until it sunk in.

The suspense was worse than if he had been chasing her down. Part of her just wanted to just wait until he went away, but she knew she couldn’t. If he was patient enough to master magic, he was patient enough for a kill if he was determined to do so. She poked her head out to see if he was still there. He was and he saw her. He grinned at her, his eyes still twinkling. It made her heart race, and not in the good way. He flung his arm out and a ball of flame flew inches away from her face.

“N’chow!” She cried, grabbing Dolce’s leash. She could either fight him off or try to lose him in the forest. She ran across the path back into the forest. She had planned to keep running until he got lost or tired or maybe mauled by a bear but then it dawned on her that either of those things could happen to her or Dolce. Worse, he might have friends waiting.

She stopped in her tracks. There was no escaping it. She had to fight him dead on. She unhooked Dolce’s leash. “Alright, you run ahead and I’ll find you once I’m done.” Dolce sat down. “No, go! Run!”

Dolce did. She ran straight toward the mage.

“What? No!” She screamed. That damn dog!

She bolted after her just in time to see the mage hit Dolce with a blast of lightning. The sheer force of the spell knocked Dolce off her feet and landed with a thud and a whimper. Rage coursed through Lilitu. Her heart pounded so hard that the logical, rational side of her feared that it might explode. Luckily that part was buried so far beneath her primal urge to protect Dolce so she didn’t lose focus with worry. Though her legs trembled, she ran to the mage with her blade drawn, ready to bury it first in his hateful little hands, then his heart, and then right between the eyes for good measure.

The mage wasn’t put off by her sudden readiness to fight him. Instead, he was excited. He bit his lip and flung a fireball at her. Though it hit her in the chest, it did nothing more than cause a stumble and a burn in her armor.

Dolce got up again, this time angry. She barked at the mage, her body all set to attack again. As soon as the mage looked her way, Dolce leapt up at him ready to tear his throat out but she was flung back by a fireball spell. Again, she landed hard.

While he was focused on Dolce, Lilitu came up from behind and attempted to plunge her dagger deep into his shoulder, but the shield caused a sharp recoil and she stumbled hard, almost losing her footing. She gathered herself and went for another stab, but he turned around just in time to grab her wrist.

He snatched the dagger from her and threw it. He grinned at her. “You’re quite the feisty one,” he said. “Your soul will serve me wonderfully.” His free hand glowed brightly with a large fire ball. Lilitu struggled to free herself but not even kicking him loosened his grip. It was only when Dolce sunk her teeth into his thigh that he released her.

He threw Lilitu to the ground and he hit Dolce with his spell. The dog whimpered as it hit, the force enough to send her rolling.

Dolce! She didn’t have the same resistance to burns as Lilitu did. She clenched her teeth and picked up the first thing she could get her hands on: a large rock.

Lilitu didn’t waste any time slamming it into the base of the mage’s neck. He cried out until his head was nearly severed from Lilitu beating him. She sank to her knees next to his body. She shuddered, choking back sobs, though she was overcome with the flooding joy knowing that she was still alive. It was kill or be killed and she knew it. It wasn’t the first time and with a heavy heart and sickened stomach she knew it wouldn’t be the last if she was going to continue traveling through dangerous trails.

She walked over to Dolce, who was licking her back. The spells tore a hole in her armor and she was bleeding a little. “N’chow,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a healing potion and a cloth. She poured a little bit onto the cloth and pressed it to Dolce’s wound. Dolce snarled and snapped at Lilitu’s hand, causing her to jump back. She huffed. Though she loved Dolce with all her heart, she had to remember that in the end she was an animal.

“I am not going to let this get infected,” she said, straddling the dog. She used one hand to hold Dolce’s head away from the wound and the other to press the rag to it. Dolce struggled for a few moments until the wound closed itself. Lilitu got up and sighed as Dolce went back to her old self. That arrow had better be worth it.

What mess did she get herself into? And was he worth it?
NO! bail bail bail !!!
What to do with the dog? Oh just got to the fight. Yeah leaving her home would have been much better lol.

“Greetings, novitate,” she said, trying to read it aloud. “And know first… blah, blah, blah.” She shut the book and set it on her night stand. “This is ridiculous.”

I love it!! Hopefully Capaneus will demonstrate that he is NOT worth it! I’m relieved, but only a little.

She was suddenly afraid to let Dolce continue sniffing the plants.

I enjoyed this whole series of thoughts. Lilitu is such a city girl. But then she does enjoy the woods, at least until she finds out it was a mage who was lurking just waiting for something to kill. That was quite a fight, and then she had to wrestle Dolce to heal her. Yikes!!

It was like reading the rantings of a crazy man.
And for good reason! That was a relief to read. If Kirsty can still see that Manly-car's book is just a bunch of gibberish, there is still hope for her.

I think Liltu may have bitten off more than she can chew with Ceyatatar. And poor Dolce! Her dog armor won't protect her from lightning bolts! That was too close a call. I hope the rest of this expedition goes better than that did.



Nits:
She would read the words but had no recolection
That would be recollection.

King Coin~ As wonderful as dogs are, sometimes they can be a real pain!

Grits~ Like Lilitu, I think the forest is very lovely... from a distance. Too many creepy things and a very vivid and paranoid imagination prevents me from enjoying it up close.

SubRosa~ Manly-car! I included that little part to show that Kirsty isn't in the Mythic Dawn... at least not yet




Once again, the Faregyl Inn looked like paradise once Lilitu entered late at night. She would be in Bravil by morning and hopefully the arrowhead would be easily gotten and she could go home, though maybe by caravan instead of walking it alone.

She plopped in the bed with Dolce at her side and two rolls of potato bread with a side of pulled pork and a bottle of apple juice. Dolce was given her own dish of pork with some rice and carrots mixed in The loaves were the first to be eaten and with each bite, Lilitu felt better about the fight with the mage. She could almost hear her mother screaming at her for seeking comfort from food, especially bread, but just as she did whenever her mother was yelling about something, she ignored it and continued her meal.

However once she woke up, her mouth and stomach felt incredibly sour. “Maybe one roll would have been fine,” she said to herself, her hands rubbing her stomach gently. “And how are you feeling today?” She asked Dolce.

Dolce laid on the floor, still wearing her ruined armor. Lilitu sighed deeply. It would need to be repaired, but of course the only place that had a smith was Bravil and Lilitu didn’t like the idea of her being unprotected during the rest of the trip. “Hmmm…” She bit her lip. “I got it!”

She stripped out of her cuirass and wrapped it around Dolce, covering the hole in the armor. She then dug into her bag and pulled out the jade green, velvet top she had been saving to slip into the castle in. She looked in the mirror sitting by the dresser. It was strange seeing herself in something such a different color than usual, but she didn’t want to make it easy to identify her later on.

She stood up, frowning. It was clear that she loved pastries and breads of all sorts, judging by the stubborn little pooch residing under her belly button. That and her thighs. And the ever faint hints of stretch marks tracing around her hips that, strangely, no one else seemed to be able to see. Still, at least she had never received any complaints. Actually, she reminded herself, she had received many compliments about her “womanly” shape. So if other people like it, why can’t you? She wondered.

She turned away and slipped the blouse on. The matching skirt could wait. She let her hair down and glanced at the large mirror and smiled. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so bad. In fact, she thought with her hands on her hips, I look pretty damn good!





The sign was littered with graffiti, mostly stating that so-and-so was there. On the back of the sign, a chart had begun. Names and dates of entry were posted. The section for returns was empty. In fact, next to the sign Lilitu noticed several unmarked graves. Is that what became of them?

Lilitu stood near the bay, staring out to where it was. Sure, she was curious but she wasn’t stupid. Besides, the mage from yesterday had given her enough adventure for one mission.



Lilitu never thought she would be so happy to see Bravil. It was like the Waterfront of the Imperial City had expanded itself into a city. Nearly all the buildings were run down shacks seemingly pieced together with whatever planks of wood were available. The air was thick and felt sticky. The stench from the Larsius River that ran through the city could be smelled from miles away. Still, after such a long journey, she couldn’t help but be relieved.

Bravil

She noted the location of Silverhome on the Water, but first needed to repair her and Dolce’s armor. Based on her last theft, she figured it would come in handy. She headed straight to The Archer’s Paradox.

“Welcome to The Archer's Paradox. Because a perfect arrow flies forever, and that's impossible. I'm Daenlin, and I have no perfect arrows,” the Bosmer behind the counter said.

Though he may not have had any perfect arrows, the shop was full of bundles of arrows. Wood, ebony, silver, glass, even some so beautiful Lilitu couldn’t imagine ruining them by shooting them into a person. There were also several bows, some plain wood and some that must have cost thousands of septims.

Daenlin himself looked like nothing special. He was completely bald up top with a ring of brown hair around his head. Though Elves in general were difficult to age, Lilitu figured he had to be nearing a hundred with all the wrinkles etched into his face. He must have been hard at work because he was covered in sweat and dirt. The forge behind him blazed.

“Well, aren’t you cute?” He said, looking down at Dolce. He knelt down, offering his hand to her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t—“

Lilitu was surprised when instead of getting defensive, Dolce sniffed him and started licking his hand. Daelin broke into a grin and began petting her and scratching behind her ears. Dolce’s back leg began to thump the floor. “What a beautiful dog,” he said. “What breed is she?”

“Mainly Nibenean Sheepdog, though I was told she’s mixed with pit bull and golden retriever.”

Daenlin cupped her face. “A mutt, huh?” He rubbed the top of her head. “Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. I bet she’s still just as good as any other dog.”

Lilitu bristled instantly, though she wasn’t sure if she was more offended for Dolce or by the mere insinuation that a “mutt” would be considered any less than a purebred.

Eight straight hours of sun in the lake had done its damage. Lilitu’s skin was a pale purple and painful to the touch. Same for Relemus and Vardas, though they would freckle and she would get darker for a few days.

Lilitu’s grandmother picked up Mamisi, barely able to walk at the time. “See?” She said, her nose in the air. “Mamisi doesn’t burn in the sun. He can tolerate it, unlike you half-breeds.”

Daenlin stood up. “So what can I help you with?”

Lilitu snapped back to reality. Without a word she removed her cuirass from Dolce’s back and took Dolce’s armor from her bag. He tsked, inspecting them both. “Looks like a mage got to you,” he said more to himself than to Lilitu. He glanced at Dolce’s side, where a patch of naked skin showed where she had been hit. “Poor thing,” he said. “I can get this fixed up, no problem, though, have you considered having it enchanted against spell damage?”

“I have, but I’d have to rob the emperor to do that.”

Daenlin chuckled. “I understand.” He gave her the price and promised to have it ready in a couple hours.

Lilitu couldn’t wait to get out of the shop. The moment she and Dolce were outside, she knelt in front of the dog.

“Don’t listen to any of that mutt nonsense. You’re the best dog in the world and breed has nothing to do with it.” She paused. “Oh who am I kidding? The emperor could declare you a kagouti-sucking piece of corprus flesh and you wouldn’t care. You don’t even know what any of that means.” She looked around Bravil for anything to occupy her time with, but didn’t see very much. Bravil was no Kvatch, that was for sure.

She passed a statue of an old woman gazing lovingly at three infants reaching up to her. The plaque on the front read “The Lucky Old Lady.”

The Lucky Old Lady

“You’re supposed to kiss her,” someone behind her said.

Lilitu turned to see an old woman, obviously a beggar, staring at the statue. “She gives you good luck,” the old woman said. “I come down here every morning and give her a kiss.”

Lilitu wondered why, if the statue really did give good luck, then why was this old woman still a beggar and not nobility? Then again the statue was called the Lucky Old Lady, not the Lucky Old Miracle Worker. Besides, it could have been a testament to its luck that the woman had lived as long as she had. The streets weren’t known for being places of longevity, especially for women.

“Well, what could it hurt?” Lilitu decided. She walked up the steps and kissed the Old Lady’s outstretched hand.

The beggar smiled. “Now just you wait. Today’s going to be quite lucky for you!”

Lilitu looked toward the castle. “I certainly hope so.”



While Lilitu didn’t feel any different, she did notice many good things happening to her. First, Bogrum gro-Galash, the Orc proprietor of the Lonely Suitor Lodge, didn’t make too much of a fuss about Dolce remaining in the room. In fact the fifty septim animal fee would be refunded if Dolce didn’t soil the floor.

She found a sack containing twenty septims under the pillow and a book so badly torn that no one would notice if Lilitu borrowed a few pages for Dolce. Well, maybe the last part wasn’t something excitingly lucky, but it sure was convenient.

Even with the good things happening, Lilitu wasn’t quite sure if she believed in the statue’s power. The theft of the arrow would be its proving ground.



Dressed in her finery under a pink cloak, Lilitu headed for Castle Bravil. Her armor and weapons were tucked away in her bag. Though she expected to be gawked at, she was surprised to see that no one even glanced at her. She supposed that people may have been used to people coming and going, given the reputation of the count’s son.

The doors opened to reveal an empty throne room. A gold and red carpet led the way to the throne in front of a banner bearing a deer. More banners of the same colors hung from each side. It reminded Lilitu of a warm hearth.

Castle Bravil

Staircases on either side led up to three doors. Sadly the Gray Fox didn’t provide her with a map of the castle. She silently rushed up the stairs. Something told her to go in the center door. She quickly unlocked it and slipped inside.

She found herself in an empty hall. Oil paintings of the Niben Bay were hung on walls where there were no banners. Small tables held expensive looking vases with beautiful flowers in them. The sound of steel footsteps alerted her that she would need to move fast. She entered the first door she saw and was greatly pleased to see alchemical items in a corner of the bedroom.

“This has to be Fathis’ bedroom,” she said to herself.

She shut the door behind her and pulled a chest in front of it. The bedroom was empty.

“Well, this was easy enough.”

She looked around. The bedroom was nearly half the size of her entire house! To the right was his large canopy bed covered in lush velvet blankets and pillows larger than Dolce. Benches sat on either side of the bed. Lilitu could only imagine what they were for. There were paintings of Morrowind’s lush greenlands hanging up all over the place and there a few of nude Dunmeri women.

In front of his bed was a large dining table. A single place was set with beautiful silver dishes. Lilitu couldn’t help noticing a thin layer of dust on the plate. It seemed that he hadn’t been home in awhile. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. A bottle of sujamma tempted Lilitu. While she didn’t like the taste, she didn’t mind the relaxed feeling a few glasses gave her. She placed her hand around its neck but decided to leave it. She needed to remain clear headed until she was back in Kvatch. It wouldn’t serve for her to get robbed on the way back because she wasn’t all there while in possession of the arrow.

The other half of the room was divided by two large wardrobes, both of them large enough to hold every article of clothing Lilitu had owned since infancy. The other side of the room was dedicated to alchemy. A table was full of expensive looking equipment. The entire wall was filled with shelves containing jars of ingredients. Lilitu examined a few of them: daedra skin, basilisk eyes, fairy dragon scales, and ghoul’s tongues were just a few of the incredibly exotic things around. She had half a mind to stuff her bag full of the jars. It would bring in mountains of gold from any alchemist, but it also ran the risk of being too hot. After all, who else but a court mage would have access to such things?

She turned her attention to two chests by the door. It was time to set to work. She picked the first one, but it only had books inside. Lilitu picked each up and flipped through the pages to make sure the arrow wasn’t hidden away. Nothing. She went to the other one but the only things that were inside that one were official looking documents from the Mages Guild.

Lilitu searched his wardrobes and even around and under his bed but the arrow wasn’t there. She sat at the table. Something wasn’t right. Of all the jobs she had done for the Thieves Guild, all of them were right about where the item in question would be. The arrow had to be somewhere in the room. She looked around. Maybe Fathis had it, but not in the room. His bedroom was too easily broken into. It wasn’t even locked! Lilitu stood up. Castles were known for their secret tunnels so why shouldn’t Fathis have a little hideaway of his own?

Lilitu checked under the paintings for a switch. She moved candelabras around but still nothing. She sat on a bench under a little arch. Where could the passage be?

She eyed the pillars on either side of her. She pulled one, but it didn’t budge. However, once she pulled the other, the wall rose up and displayed a tunnel.

She changed out of her clothes and back into her armor before entering the tunnel. “Lucky Old Lady, if you want to prove yourself, now would be the best time,” she said under her breath.

She’s going to forgo her own armor to protect that pooch? What a liability the dog has turned into! A cute liability at least.

I guess Wrothken wasn’t on the sign eh?

Wait… she’s not planning on bringing the dog with her when she steals the arrow does she?

Hey! Mutts are the best!

I’m anticipating the next update. There are daedra down there if I recall correctly.

Wood, ebony, silver, glass, even some so beautiful Lilitu couldn’t imagine ruining them by shooting them into a person.

I like this reminder that although Lilitu will defend herself, she is not a fan of violence. Her bread binge followed by remorse and a tummyache, then her critical assessment of her charms followed by putting on makeup like armor make her come to life. I’m so glad she left Dolce behind for this adventure!

I see Lil is now thinking of traveling by caravan instead of alone. Good choice. Plus she might be able to filch something along the way!

but just as she did whenever her mother was yelling about something, she ignored it
In the time-honored tradition of daughters everywhere!

So if other people like it, why can’t you? She wondered.
Because no woman is ever satisfied with what Mara gives them.

I loved how Daenlin's remark about Dolce being a mutt triggered the flashback of Liltu's. Dark elves get sunburn? At least the half-bred ones. You describe it so well, that I can easily believe it. Not to mention Liltu's quite understandable feelings of self-consciousness about her own mixed heritage.

Then again the statue was called the Lucky Old Lady, not the Lucky Old Miracle Worker.


I loved your descriptions of Fathis' room. It is just like you would expect from him. Clothes, naked women, and flaunted wealth. Now we are off to his tower!


nits:
She looked in the mirror sitteng by the dresser
A typo in sitting.

A gold and red carpet led the way to the throne in front of a banner baring a deer.
In this context, you want bearing. Baring is to strip naked.

King Coin~ If I wouldn't get clawed to death for it, I would gladly give Melaina (my tuxedo cat) my armor ♥ And nope, Wrothken is not listed. The sign was placed after he entered.

Grits~ Could you imagine bringing a vocal dog on a stealth mission? Lilitu would get caught immediately

SubRosa~ I'm glad that scene in particular was believable. It's definitely one of those issues Lilitu has with herself




Lilitu felt her stomach twist as the wall closed behind her, leaving her in a small room. There was no sign of any personal objects. Not even a rug. Just her and a door. Though physically there was a way back out, given by a chain by the wall, she knew she couldn’t leave until she found the arrow. She closed her eyes and opened the door.

She found herself in a stone tunnel, much like the Blind Moth Catacombs. The similarity gave her chills.

It was silent. No sign of life anywhere. Just Lilitu, the walls, and a faint watery smell. She touched her hair, hoping she wouldn’t have to go for a swim.

A flight of stairs brought her at the perfect place to see a man standing in front of three doors.

Dammit! She stopped. What in Oblivion is Fathis doing just standing here? Unless he knew someone was out to steal the arrow! Her stomach knotted at the thought of walking into a trap.

She knelt down and watched Fathis for what felt like hours. She couldn’t bear to keep in one place for so long yet he was like a statue. It was almost inhuman. Eventually she stood back up. A pebble loosened under her foot and trailed down to the bottom. Suddenly, it was as if the air had gotten ten times thicker. The horrific roar that came from the bottom of the stairs quickly told Lilitu that it wasn’t Fathis at the bottom.

Not Fathis

It pulled out a long sword, and started toward Lilitu. As it got closer, Lilitu felt her knees start to tremble. She wanted to scream and run away, locking it back in its chamber. Maybe alert the guards. It couldn’t be legal to leave that thing in there!

She stayed put, drew her dagger, and tossed her bag back down the tunnel, wishing for something longer. How could her dagger match its sword? Especially since it looked like it was heavily armored. She clenched her jaw. She would have no choice but to go for the weaker spots and hope she could bury it deep enough. The man-like creature screamed, its voice like the scraping of metal. Its eyes were literally like fire and its blackened teeth looked like it could easily chew up a sword or two.

It ran up the stairs, its sword out. As it thrust the blade forward, Lilitu quickly pressed herself to the wall on the side, causing it to overstep. Lilitu tried to push it further, hoping to be able to stab it in the back of its neck, but it hit her hard in the side. The force of his arm caused her to fall hard on the stone floor.

She turned over, just in time to see it standing over her. Its sword was raised, ready to be plunged into her. She panicked and kicked him hard in the groin. Any other man would have doubled over in pain. Sadly, this thing was armored and definitely not human. For all Lilitu knew it had nothing there. Luckily, it did stumble back.

She stood up and as it got its sword ready for another attack, Lilitu held her dagger in both hands and tried to ram it into the wall, just hard enough to allow her time to stand straight. Just as it took a couple steps back, it punched her hard in the face. She cried out, but knew she couldn’t leave her back on it for even a moment. As soon as she turned, its sword was in the perfect position to lop her head off with a swing. Without a moment to lose, she jammed the dagger into its armpit.

Blackish-red ooze spurted onto her hands and on her face. She gagged, for a moment forgetting the danger as she tried to spit out the blood. The creature stumbled clumsily before falling back on the wall. A pool of its blood formed around them.

Lilitu wiped her face with the back of her hand, crinkling her nose as it stained her armor. By the gods, it smelled worse than it tasted.

The pit of her stomach threatened repeatedly to spill over until she finally started to feel the damage from its blows. Involuntary tears spilled down her cheeks at the sharp ringing she felt on her face. Every breath drew in throbs at her side. She hadn’t even noticed the coppery taste of her own blood until she felt it trickle from her nose. Lilitu weakly walked to where she had tossed her bag. Luckily it hadn’t gotten stepped on during the fight. She dug for a health potion and forced herself to drink it up, no matter how bitter it was and no matter what the chances were that she was swallowing foreign blood. After a moment her nose stopped bleeding, but the pain stayed. She needed two more bottles before she could comfortably stand.

“Alright,” she said taking out the empty bottles. “That leaves me… two and a half.” She grunted. “There had better not be any more of those things down there.”

She knelt next to the fallen creature and finally got to take a good look at its armor. It was black and jagged all over with large spikes protruding from its pauldrons and gauntlets. The tips were crimson. Daedric! She grinned. Authentic Daedric armor was even more valuable than ebony! She tried removing it but it seemed to be attached to its body. So that meant it could only be one thing.

“A dremora,” she hissed. “What sort of a man keeps a fetching dremora in his tunnel?” She paused. “Someone hiding something he really doesn’t want stolen.”

She turned her attention to its sword. Like the armor, it was Daedric.

[http://i117.photobucket.com/albums/o46/Jacki_Dice/OB-items-Longswords.jpg]Daedric Longsword[/url]

She picked it up. It was much heavier than what she was used to. She stopped using long blades long ago in favor of the small, easily concealable dagger. She wondered if she would even remember how to use it. She decided to take it with her. If she couldn’t use it, she could always sell it later.

She reached the bottom of the stairs where the dremora had stood. There were three doors. One in front, and the others on either side of her. None of them was obviously the right way. She started on the gate in front of her.

It led her to more tunnels, except these were flooded. The water reached all the way up to her thighs. Mudcrabs scuttled about and a few small slaughterfish glided around her legs. Though every so often a slaughterfish would nip at her, she was relieved to see only those things with her. At least a small slaughterfish could be picked up and tossed elsewhere.

The tunnel twisted and turned all over the place. Lilitu feared that she was going in circles until she came to a gaping hole in the middle of the tunnel. There was a slope on the other side, but it didn’t appear to go anywhere.

“Oh no,” she groaned. The distant urge to strangle the Gray Fox with his cowl surged once again. She tightened the buckle on her bag as tight as it would go after making sure her remaining health potions were sealed tightly.

There was no way to ease into it. She stepped off the ground, into the hole. She sputtered at first, grabbing onto the edge. The pressure on her chest made it hard to breathe. It took a couple hesitations before she finally took a deep breath and plunged herself into the water.

It took her a few seconds to be able to open her eyes while under the water. When she finally did, she saw that unlike the rest of the tunnel, this part seemed to be completely natural. She started to wonder just how far underground she was going. Images of the tunnel suddenly caving in refused to go away. She would be trapped forever. She would drown if she wasn’t crushed first. She would die painfully and alone. No one would know where she was. Dolce would eventually be thrown out of the inn where she would be forced on the streets. She wouldn’t survive long. Lilitu felt like crying but that wasn’t an option underwater.

About halfway down to where she could see the ground, Lilitu came across a hole that looked like it led up. Even if it was the wrong way, at least she could get some air and calm herself down. She grabbed on to the edges of the hole and propelled herself forward.

The tunnel was long and her lungs were starting to ache. What she would give to be able to breathe underwater! The thought of breathing made it worse. Her heart started racing even harder than before. Just one breath, her mind pleaded. She pursed her lips together forcing herself to keep going. It felt like hours before she finally saw the top. She kicked harder and pumped her arms until she was able to take in her first glorious breath.

As she greedily inhaled, she was aware of the loud splashing and dropping of water but she couldn’t care. Her lungs ached with each breath, but she enjoyed it. The pain reminded her that she was alive.

The top of her armor, thankfully, didn’t retain any water. It slipped off as soon as she was able to stand. It was her hair that continuously dripped in the thigh-high waters. She sighed heavily. It was no longer sleek and soft. The water had caused it to erupt into vibrant red spirals. She growled. It had taken over an hour and several burns on her fingers and scalp to get it perfectly straight. She squeezed the excess water out. The water splashed loudly on the ground. After it stopped dripping, she tied her hair into a knot on top of her head. It’ll have to do until I can brush it.

She walked down the tunnel, trying not to be too loud. The first thing she saw up ahead was a human skeleton. Remembering the one tucked away in the Blind Moth Catacombs made her hair stand up, but this one seemed to be quite inactive. Its arms were folded over its chest. No hissing or crackling emitted from it. Lilitu noticed a gold band on its finger and a small sack next to its feet. She opened it, smiling at the septims inside. She took the ring as well. It’s not like its got any use for it, she thought.

To the left of her was a set of stairs, thankfully completely out of the water. It led to a path with a door on one end and a curved path on the other. She bit her lip for awhile before choosing the door to her right. “Please don’t be a dremora in here,” she muttered.

It seemed to be a dead end filled only with barrels and cobwebs, but there was a path further down. She walked slowly, freezing inside when she heard a familiar roar.

“I’m going to kill him,” she growled, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking about the dremora, Fathis, the Grey Fox or all three.

This time, she chose the sword rather than the dagger. Since it was made of stronger material, she hoped that it would do more damage to it.

The dremora come from the hall to the right of her. As soon as it saw her, it raised its claymore. Lilitu blocked with her sword, almost caving from the immense strength of the dremora. She was able to push it off for a moment but it came swinging right back.

She blocked again, this time the swords slid and they were close enough to see into each other’s eyes. The dremora grinned, the joy of the fight in its eyes. Lilitu had a feeling that it was enjoying her fear. She pushed a little, but this time the dremora wasn’t budging. By the Nine, it had awful breath. She coughed, knowing they couldn’t stay locked forever. Sooner or later someone would tire first and she knew it would be her.

That’s when she realized it wasn’t wearing a helmet.

Forcing herself to push just enough to be able to let go with one hand, she punched the dremora right it the face. It hurt her wrist, but it got the dremora to stagger a little. She swung at its side, but the sword didn’t even dent its armor. The dremora roared, coming down to swing downward, but she was able to move out of the way quick enough to bury her sword in its neck.

She fell to her knees. “Thank you, Grandpa, for insisting that I learn to fight with a long blade. Thank you, oh dear gods, thank you,” she sighed.

She rubbed her wrist. It was sore, but definitely not broken, so she decided not to waste a healing potion on it just yet.

The dremora left a claymore. She picked it up, wishing she could take it but it was way too heavy to drag it along the whole time and she knew she wouldn’t use it. The long sword was slow enough. A claymore would have been agonizing.

She continued down the path when another sound caught her attention. She couldn’t quite describe it. It was something like a chirp or a squeal, but not from any creature she had ever heard of. Maybe it’s just some mice.

There was a door just around the corner. It would only take a few steps to be out of there, but with every beat of her heart came the sound of scratching and gargling, accompanied by the strange squeal.

“Mice,” she said aloud. “Tiny mice.”

The door was locked. Of course. Worse, the sounds were coming from behind the door. “N’chow!”

She almost turned back and tried the other path, but what would guarantee that she wouldn’t find worse there? Besides, she had already taken down two dremora, what else could possibly be there making sounds like a bird on skooma?

She unlocked it. Lilitu was rewarded by a claw swipe barely missing her face from a large, lizard-like creature. It had a large, flat plated head with a beak. Its long arms ended in three claws, almost like two fingers and a thumb. In addition to its claws, it also had a large, very sharp beak with teeth. A beak and teeth! It’s a damn clannfear!

Clannfear

In her shock, the clannfear slapped the dagger from her hand. It slid across the floor. Lilitu pulled out the Daedric sword and swung downward. The clannfear accepted the hit, using the large plate on its head to block it. It swung once more at Lilitu’s face and she leaned back, still trying to saw into its head. The clannfear’s arm wrapped around the blade, almost taking it away. If it did that, she knew it would be all over. She rammed the clannfear’s side, loosening its arm and knocking it back a few steps. It screeched and charged forward. Lilitu grit her teeth as she stuck the sword into its stomach.

Instead of falling down dead like both dremora had done, the clannfear simply vanished. Lilitu stared at the ground where it should be, dumbstruck, until she realized that it had to have been summoned by someone. But did dremora summon clannfear? She didn’t think so.

“This man is a lunatic!” She said, picking up her dagger. “Who leaves a damn clannfear in a room full of glassware?”

Like Fathis’ bedroom, this room was set up for alchemy. Alembics and retorts were set on the table, some appearing to be made of crystal rather than glass. This time, she stuffed everything she could in her bag. It would sell nicely and easily.

Looking around the empty room, she started feeling the chill of being watched. Her mind went back to the clannfear. It certainly came from somewhere...

Down the hall Lilitu caught a flash of blue robes. A mage. She sighed deeply. The one from yesterday was enough. Before she had time to do anything, another clannfear ran toward her.

“N’chow!” She held her dagger at her side, staring closely at the clannfear’s claws. If it acted anything like the other one, it would be a charger and that would be its undoing.

Sure enough, it raced toward Lilitu and raised its claw to slash at her. She dodged it and plunged her dagger into its belly and dragged it up to its throat. It disappeared right after, revealing the mage behind it: a Bosmer man with a shock of white in his brown hair.

He didn’t bother summoning anything else. Instead, he took out a dagger of his own and came at her,

They crossed blades for a moment. He wound up cutting Lilitu’s gauntlet, but never broke the skin. She punched him, like she did the dremora but instead of being able to stab him, the mage shot a fireball right in Lilitu’s face. She screamed, clutching the burn and she felt him slash her side repeatedly.

She couldn’t die like this. She had just taken down three daedra for heaven’s sake. She could feel the blood trickling down her side. All it would take was one good hit and it was over.

“Help me,” she whispered.

Directly in front of her, a white mist started to take form into an armored man. Lilitu couldn’t see his face, but she knew it was an Imperial. The mage took a step back, obviously surprised. He looked at his dagger, then back at the ghost, then his dagger again. It must not have been silver because he tossed it to the side and began throwing fireballs at it.

The ghost shrugged and walked toward the mage, calmly throwing magic of its own. Lilitu couldn’t tell what kind it was by looking at it but the chill in the air led her to believe it was frost. The mage started becoming more and more frantic, while the ghost remained calm. Why wouldn’t he? Lilitu wondered. It’s not like it can die again.

The mage quickly ran out of magicka, but the ghost didn’t stop. He continued firing at the mage until he stopped moving. The ghost turned and looked at Lilitu. He smiled at her and nodded a little before vanishing.

She placed her hand over her beating heart. Why was it that every time she managed to summon an ancestor, it was always an Imperial? Not that she minded, as long as it got the job done. She just couldn’t help wondering if her Dunmeri ancestors were too disgusted to be helping one whose blood had been “tainted” by Cyrodiils.

Two dremora, two clannfear, and a mage. That arrow had better be made out of solid gold! She looked over at the mage. What if there were more? She couldn’t fight all of them! If only she could sneak by them all… or maybe she could.

She dragged his body to the empty room and removed his robe. She slipped it on. It was a little tight over her armor and way too short, but from a distance she figured she would be passable. She would just need to keep her head down and move quickly.



These mages weren’t at all like Lilitu had imagined. She had been prepared for an evil, sadistic bunch who were likely working on a scroll to make a daedra appear under a child’s bed or something. She hadn’t expected the complete normalcy they showed amongst themselves. They socialized and compared potions. One sat on a bench, reading while she ate a piece of cheese. It was unsettling. Then again, were they truly evil? They were just a bunch of mages studying in secluded caverns, likely not hurting most people. She was the thief and for all they knew, she was there to slit throats and ransack everything in sight.

She continued to keep her head low and her eyes to the ground as she made her way through the maze-like tunnels. Luckily no one seemed to notice the lost red-haired Dunmer in their midst.

Finally, she reached a staircase with a locked door at the top. Hopefully it would lead to the arrow and she could find her way back to Bravil.



The sunlight was blinding. Lilitu hadn’t expected it and until she was able to see the white brick surrounding her she had been worried that she went through the wrong door. The walls were circular and went up several stories. It was decrepit, some walls falling apart along with some of the stairs. If there had ever been a roof, it was long gone. Lilitu almost felt cut off from the rest of the world. There was silence, save for the occasional clinking of glass.

Lilitu ignored the chest on the ground. If Fathis was here, he probably wouldn’t be too happy to catch a thief in the tower with him. She had to get the arrow and go.

She found him on the second floor, focused on mixing potions. He was an older Dunmer, at least fifty years older than Lilitu. His hair remained jet black, though Lilitu suspected he colored it. His face was unwrinkled, but there was something unnatural about the smoothness. Lilitu noticed his hands. Though he seemed to try to attain his youthful appearance in his face, his hands betrayed his many years. They weren’t crooked and spotted like the elderly, but his veins protruded out and they seemed wrinkled.

He held a crystal bottle up in the sunlight. The glass erupted in a rainbow of colors. As he glanced at the array of ingredients scattered about his table, he muttered a little to himself.

Fathis Aren

Close to the archway, she came across a bookshelf with a key-shaped arrowhead sitting on top of a small chest. But that couldn’t be it. The Gray Fox said it was an arrow, not just the head. She took it and turned it over in her hand. It looked just like in the drawing he had given her. She shrugged. If it came down to it, it could always be fixed.

Relief rushed over her as she walked down the stairs. Finally she could go back to Bravil and relax. She smiled, even laughed a little… until the large doors leading out refused to open. Her lock picks did nothing to it either.

Great! She thought. He did this to keep thieves from getting out She looked back to where Fathis was. He had to have a key and that key was most likely on his person. She wanted to scream.

One….two…..three…. She counted in her head. It did little to lessen her fury, but it did clear her head a little. She dropped the arrowhead in the breast pocket of her cuirass and headed back up the stairs.

She crept up behind Fathis. He wore a golden cuirass that looked incredibly heavy but valuable. For a split second Lilitu recalled that there would be no blood price for killing him. How the mountains of gold she could make by selling off everything he had if he were out of the way… but she could barely get past one mage, let alone a court wizard.

She saw a set of keys dangling from a ring on his belt. That gave her two options: be subtle or be bold. She looked down at the ground. It wasn’t that high of a jump.

She sliced his belt from his waist and took off.

“What the?” He cried, startled. He dropped his potion and the moment his eyes laid on Lilitu, she jumped from the ledge onto the ground. She was rewarded with an intense pain in her shin, but she forced herself to keep going.

An all too familiar chirp made her almost drop the keys. She didn’t need to look back at the clannfear to know that it was there. She jammed the first key in. It was wrong. The second wasn’t right either and neither was the third.

The clannfear was barreling down the stairs. Oh dear gods it was fast. Lilitu tried the fourth and fifth key and shrieked in delight when the sixth one opened the large doors. She bolted out.

Bravil was straight ahead. Every step sent a sharp pain up her leg, but she knew she couldn’t stop while the clannfear was after her. She hoped and prayed for a legionnaire to be along the path and intervene, but she had no such luck. She couldn’t run forever. Her leg was close to giving out.

She turned around with her dagger out. The clannfear had been closer than she thought and it clawed her cheek. Blood poured profusely and she couldn’t help grabbing her face. The clannfear bit down on her arm and knocked her to the ground, its beak buried deep in her arm.

Lilitu didn’t bother holding In her screams. The pain from her leg, cheek, and arm had become unbearable, but if she didn’t do something quick the clannfear would bite her arm clean off. She used her free elbow to hit the clannfear repeatedly in the side of its head. It took several times for it to loosen its grip for even a second. It lifted up and shrieked loudly before going for her face. Without even thinking, Lilitu blocked with her injured arm, getting herself a fresh bite.

Oh gods, where was her dagger? She saw it glinting in the sunlight inches away from her foot. She couldn’t reach it while trying to stave off the clannfear. She used her elbow once more, this time jabbing it hard in the ribs. Once it lifted, Lilitu kicked her dagger up to her hands and once the clannfear lunged down, Lilitu stabbed it in the chest. It vanished.

She panted and cried a little.

“I hate clannfear!”

She touched her hair, hoping she wouldn’t have to go for a swim.

Uh oh, now she will. Doesn’t Lilitu know that the best way to make it rain is to flatiron your hair?



“This man is a lunatic!” She said, picking up her dagger. “Who leaves a damn clannfear in a room full of glassware?”

This was a perfect touch of humor in a harrowing trip through the ruin. Good choice for Lilitu to put on a robe and slip past the other conjurers. Wow, that was a tough escape, and very close. You know it’s bad when a thief is hoping to see a legionnaire on the road!

That was a close call with the dremora! I see tauntauns are not the only thing that smell worse on the inside than the outside!

If the swim underwater was not harrowing enough, it ruined poor Liltu's hair! Sometimes life is just not fair.

A clannfear! this is really turning out to be more than just a little theft! Good thing Liltu can summon that ancestor spirit. I love that it is an Imperial. It is one more example of her mixed heritage.

That was one nerve-wracking experience! Daedra and conjurers everywhere, not not to mention the despicable Fathis Aren. The Grey Fox better appreciate all she's been through for him!

Lilitu got so lucky fighting the much better armed and armored dremora.

I totally forgot about the ancestor guardian power. Great use of it. I was surprised it was an Imperial though.

Heh, even hostile wizards are people too.

I think Lilitu’s luck is running out. She’s on her back with a hurt leg, several bites on her arm, and her cheek opened up. And I’m sure Fathis isn’t just sitting up in his tower sweeping up the glass.

Grits~ Oh, that is one of the most irritating truths out there!

Subrosa~ I think the in-game remark he makes when you give it to him made that chapter so much more fun to do!

King Coin~ The Imperial was a last minute thing, actually. At one point I was thinking of having it be a set ancestor but since she has so many issues with her ancestry I though it would be a nice touch.



Lilitu laid on the ground, panting hard. She wanted to walk but her body refused. She stared up at the sky. After all that, the dremora, the clannfear, Fathis, she was left lying in the path alone and unable to fight. She hadn’t reached in her bag, but she knew her remaining potions had been shattered when she fell. She tried using a healing spell, but all it did was partially close the wound in her cheek. That clannfear must have cut deep.

Her eyes drifted to the edge of the forest. How many scavengers were there hiding behind the trees? She didn’t know. She had spent her entire life only knowing the woods from the safe distance of books. Birds chirped merrily from beyond. How long would it be until they came to peck out her eyes?

Her arm throbbed as the adrenaline wore off, leaving room for brilliant flashes of pain. It was just too much. She closed her eyes for a moment. Sleep makes the pain go away. She turned on her side and curled herself up.

What was she thinking? Her eyes shot open. She couldn’t just take a nap in the middle of the road. She may as well post a sign next to her unconscious body saying “Please rob/have your way with/murder/cook and eat me.” Besides, Dolce was waiting for her. She hated being locked up for too long. Still, once her eyes closed again, they didn’t want to open. In a matter of moments all was black.



Lilitu felt a strong sensation of floating on top of crystal blue water. The pink mist that rose up from the water was sweet smelling, like a bed of roses. Between blackouts, she saw glimpses of a woman. Her hair was bright as the sun with a thin golden crown on her head. She held Lilitu’s head on her lap, gently dipping a jeweled chalice in the water and pouring it over Lilitu’s forehead. The woman was sitting on a rock decorated with colorful starfish. Her mouth moved, remaining in a soft smile. Lilitu couldn’t make out any words.

The last thing Lilitu felt was the woman brushing her lips on her cut cheek. Then the vision was gone.

Night had fallen. Lilitu sat up quickly. Her armor, or what was left of it, was intact and her bag was still there so it didn’t seem as if she had been disturbed at all. When she stood back up, she noticed that she was holding a bright pink starfish.



“It doesn’t make any sense!”

Lilitu stood naked in front of the mirror. After all that, not a single mark remained. No cuts, no scars, not even a single bruise. She looked at Dolce, who simply yawned.

“You should have seen the state I was in by time this was all over. For a moment I seriously thought I was going to die out there and look at me now! I’m damn near glowing.”

She sat on the bed and turned the starfish over in her hands. She held it close to her face. It couldn’t be real. Starfish didn’t live in the Niben Bay. It sure looked real enough, though. She stuck it in her bag.

She knelt next to Dolce. “It’s strange but I guess it’s better than having to crawl all the way back.” She stood up. “Now I better get dressed and get going before the carriage leaves without us.”



By early morning the next day, Lilitu was back where it had all started, the basement of Sheep’s Clothing.

The Gray Fox sat across from her. Lilitu wondered if he had hid here the whole time.

“You made it back in one piece! Capital!” He said with a smile. “I trust you’ve got the arrow?”

“What I could find of it.” Lilitu placed the arrowhead on the table.

The Gray Fox frowned. “Hmmm. I had hoped for the whole arrow,” he said disappointedly. Lilitu felt a flush of rage until he quickly added, “But that is not your fault. I will have to have it repaired.” He turned it over in his hand. His smile returned to his face, his eyes gleaming. “This arrowhead advances my plan to...” He shook his head. “Never mind. I may have need of you again in the near future, if my plans hold.”

“Looking forward to it,” Lilitu lied.

“Here is your reward.” He tossed a large sack of gold to her. Suddenly she wasn’t so angry. “I am also promoting you to Master Fence in the Thieves Guild. Anyone outside of Kvatch will need to be a Master Thief in order to use your services.”

Suddenly, she was elated.



Capaneus laid in bed, happily spent from the night before. He reached to the pillow next to him and inhaled deeply. It smelled of strawberries. He could lay in bed all day. In fact, if she wasn’t going to be busy later in the day, he definitely would.

He could hear rustling of pots and pans downstairs. Was she cooking him breakfast? He chuckled. He could get used to this. It wasn’t a bad way to wait out the days until it was Time.

He was so surprised at her boldness. At first he had no intention of seeing her. He had a prior commitment, after all. But after being so passionately pursued, he just couldn’t say no. He was glad for it. This was the way to live.

He heard her footsteps up the stairs. He sat up and ran his hand through his hair.

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

He grinned. “Morning, Atrea.”

Lilitu laid on the ground, panting hard.
You know, there are so many places I would love to take this! Unfortunately, injured and alone is not one of them! I loved her rumination on the birds coming to peck out her eyes!

I loved your description of Liltu's savior. Mara I presume? Her description reminded me of the Star Tarot card.

Have I mentioned how much I love the name Sheep’s Clothing? It is so perfect for a thieves guild front!

“Looking forward to it,” Lilitu lied.
Reminds me of when I talk to my boss!

Cap is two-timing Kirsty with Awour! I love how he is happily descending into hedonism. Usually it is only the leader of cults who get to do that! When the time finally does come to destroy the world, I think he might not be so eager to follow through.



nits:
Starfish didn’t live in the Niben Bay.
"the" seems out of place here. I suggest dropping it.

I loved it.

Who healed her and why? It doesn’t make sense!
I’m happy she was with her reward by the Gray Fox.
Looking forward to more!

Capaneus and Awour!! Now I’m mad at him for two-timing or dumping Kirstie, even though I wanted her to dump him. And as for Awour…. Hah! I wonder if Capaneus has shared his reading material yet.

SubRosa~ I figured you'd catch the Tarot reference, but it was more the Queen of Cups rather than the Star, though I see the similarities in my description. You were spot on with your guess of Mara!

King Coin~ It was the embodiment of Mara, though the why will be hinted at and revealed in later chapters

Grits~ Awour in the Mythic Dawn... That will make Wrothken very grateful to be rid of her!



Speaking of Wrothken, since I tend to split sections of Wrothken/Lilitu by a few chapters, I’m going to start posting reminders when we go back and see them




Reminder: When we last saw Wrothken, he was faced with the choice of murdering either Syl, Duchess of Dementia, or Thadon, Duke of Mania, so he could replace them. Wrothken refused only to invoke the wrath of the Madgod. After Haskill stepped in, Wrothken went to go get some sound(ish) advice from the only source he trusted.


Bernice took Wrothken into her suite in order to give them some privacy. Wrothken had a feeling it would result in some rather unpleasant rumors, but at that point he didn’t care.

Sickly Bernice

The walls were painted a glum grey. Most of the furniture was black with an intricate white floral pattern. The same pattern decorated the rugs and chairs.

Bernice’s suite

She sat him down on a plush sofa in front of a small coffee table. She joined him with a tea kettle and poured him a cup. “It’s aster bloom,” she said as he took a sip. “I’ve got honey and sugar here if you’d like.”

The tea warmed him up and after some gulps he was finally able to share his story. He started at the very beginning when he first left Kvatch all the way through to his most recent demand. By the time he was done explaining, he was out of breath and felt like the world was spinning. He didn’t know if it was the tea or the fact that voicing his current predicament only solidified it.

Bernice had interrupted only a few times to ask questions about parts that confused her, but was silent for the most part. Once he was finished she took a long gulp of tea. “You had quite the adventure, haven’t you?”

Wrothken nodded. “And now I have no choice but to….” He could barely force it out. “To murder someone! And for what? To get the people behind me? I thought lighting the flame would do it!”

“It would do it for the people in whatever city you picked. Besides, it seems you’re always here so how could anyone in Bliss know who you are?”

“So what do you suggest?”

She poured herself another cup. “I think you should replace Thadon.” She paused. “And I’m not just saying that out of loyalty to Lady Syl.”

Wrothken slumped back in the couch. “So you think I should kill him.”

“Well, no, not exactly.”

“That’s my only choice. It’s not like he’d just willingly give up his throne.”

“Very true, but you told me that he’s addicted to drugs, right?”

He nodded.

“Then he’s destroying himself anyway with it. It’s not really murder when you’re doing it to yourself.”

He knew it was true, but it still didn’t make him feel better about it.

“I know it doesn’t really change things, dearie. But consider this. If you don’t go through with it, then it’s your life in danger.” She patted his shoulder. “That and if you don’t stop this Greymarch, you’ll be destroyed as well. We all will.”



“Sheogorath, I’m ready.” Wrothken said sullenly. Though Bernice made a convincing point, he still took absolutely no joy in what he had to do.

“A friendly word of warning before you choose. Once you have decided which Duke to replace, there's no turning back. One choice. No more, no less. Try not to do something stupid.”

A little late for that, he thought bitterly.

“So, which is it?” Sheogorath asked. “What will it be? Mania? Dementia? The suspense is killing me. Or you, if I have to keep waiting.”

“I’m going to replace Thadon.”

Sheogorath raised his eyebrows and nodded a little. “A safer choice, perhaps. Maybe you'll live through this. Thadon's a bit lost these days. Not that it's a bad thing. It suits him.” He paused. “Until now. Besides, won't it be a grand surprise when you make his heart burst from too much Greenmote? Thadon loves surprises!”

Wrothken closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“Thadon may be in a constant state of euphoria, but I wouldn't underestimate his intelligence,” he continued. “Oh, this is so much fun!” He clapped his hands and jumped up in the air.

Wrothken couldn’t help feeling annoyed at Sheogorath’s excitement. This was not fun whatsoever!

“We're making you into a leader the people can trust.” He clapped Wrothken’s shoulder. “Someone to look up to. Someone to blame! Once I'm gone, things usually get bad quickly. Lots of defections. Lots of carnage.” Sheogorath shrugged. “But with you at the helm, things will be different! Yes,” he said, stroking his beard. “This time, I'll beat him. I can't stand losing. And I don't mind cheating! We will speak when your task is complete.”


After a night of restless sleep, he tried on the black finery he received from Arctus. Surprisingly it fit him like a glove. The shoulders and chest felt like smooth leather, while the sleeves were soft as silk. Brass buttons decorated the sleeves and ran down the stomach. The pants weren’t leather or silk, but were still soft and comfortable to wear. Looking in a mirror, he noticed that the pointed shoulders actually made him look a little bigger than he was, though the quality of the outfit gave him a cleaner, more distinguished appearance.

The best part, though, was that when he walked he didn’t make nearly as much noise as he usually did. He felt faster as well. Feeling a little better, if only because he looked good, he headed over to Thadon’s palace.



In the morning, it was a lot different than the wild party he had encountered last time. Instead, the various guests were sprawled wherever there was space, some alone and some in groups of three or four. Most of them were naked. It smelt of lots of sex and alcohol. It was so potent that it made him want to gag.

A Golden Saint spotted him and made the motion for silence before approaching him. “What business do you have in the House of Thadon?” She demanded. She seemed even colder than before, plainly sneering at him rather giving him a cold look. Word must have traveled back about Cylarne.

Well, one good thing about replacing Thadon is that they have to be nicer to me, he thought. “I’m looking for…” Thadon probably would be too hung over to give him any useful information. Besides, Wrothken didn’t think he could stomach looking into the eyes of the man he was going to kill. “Wide Eye.”

The Golden Saint huffed. “She’s out in the garden. Don’t take too long and stay quiet!”

Wide Eye

Wide Eye was the only person around who didn’t seem to be paying the price for last night’s party. She sat in the bright garden absorbed in a book.

“Hello, Wide Eye.”

She looked up at him and used her thumb to keep her place as she closed her book. “Good morning. How can I help you this fine day?”

“I need to talk to you about Thadon.”

She smiled widely and Wrothken couldn’t be sure but he thought her scales tinged red. “Such a kind and noble man,” she gushed. “In times like these, it's good to have a leader who still enjoys all the modern pleasures Mania has to offer.”

Wrothken’s stomach sank. Not only would he be murdering the man she was obviously in love with, but he was a perfect fit for Mania. After all, Wrothken would never indulge in felldew, skooma or any other drug Thadon enjoyed. What sort of Duke would he be? “What sort of modern pleasures?”

“Apart from enjoying his painting, reading a good book, or a rousing night of erotic bedroom games? I'm speaking of Greenmote, of course! There is no greater pleasure. If I didn't have such a busy daily routine, I'd likely indulge myself in its pleasures more often.”

A busy schedule would mean a distracted Wide Eye. That was a good an opportunity as any to poison Thadon. “Well, what do you do all day? Maybe I can help.”

Wide Eye hesitated. “At the risk of being rude, I must confess I don't like talking about the specifics of my routine. Thadon has too many enemies that may turn that knowledge against him. He depends on me quite dearly.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well…” He paused for a quick moment. “Well, Wide Eye, you know you can trust me. I’m Sheogorath’s Champion after all. What good would it do for me to harm one of Lord Sheogorath’s court? He’d have my head!”

She looked at him for awhile. Something about her eyes seemed like it was going through him, detecting his lies. I shouldn’t have said that! He thought in a panic. I’m a terrible liar!

“Alright, I guess there’s no harm in telling you.”

His jaw nearly dropped. He couldn’t believe that actually worked. Either she was gullible or he was getting better at lying. He wasn’t sure he liked either one.

“After a bit of reading here in the garden and running my special errand at noon, I like to shop at Books of Bliss.” Wrothken wondered if she was really shopping for books or getting seductive tips from Sontaire. “Around eight, we are served dinner. Gundlar is quite a chef and prepares Thadon's meals personally, adding just a hint of Greenmote. After that, we dance, we sing, or,” she broke into a smile and fanned herself. “We do whatever else suits my lord's tastes.”

So during dinner is when he has his Greenmote. I’ll just need to get to his plate.

“What was that about a special errand?”

Wide Eye closed her book and stood up. “There isn't anything in the world you could say that would convince me to tell you where the Greenmote is located.”

Wrothken raised his eyebrows. He didn’t ask where it was located. Bingo.

“In fact, I must tend to Thadon at once. Speaking to you has already cost me time. I must go.” She quickly headed out into the throne room.

Wrothken sat down. She said she read and then did her errand, which was getting the Greenmote. As he was no pickpocket, he would have to slip in after her and get a few handfuls.



Wide Eye wasn’t exactly a hard target to track. After going back into the palace and barking at everyone to get up and clean up after themselves, she headed out to the courtyard. Wrothken sat at a distance, pretending to admire the twinkling stars.

Wide Eye nodded to a passing Golden Saint, who merely snorted in return. Nice to know they’re rude to everyone, I suppose, Wrothken thought. Wide Eye walked along the stone edge stopping in front of a bust of Sheogorath. She pressed something and it backed up into the wall, revealing a ladder going down a dark tunnel.

Entrance

So Wrothken is now shacking up with Bernice! Well, at least that is a better rumor than being deformed! I liked your description of Bernice's Victorian chamber. It fits very well with the dresses the women wear in the Isles.

A little late for that, he thought bitterly.
Yep, ever since he stepped through that door in Niben Bay...

The extra contempt the Aureal guard had for Wrothken was a good, thoughtful touch after Cylarne. As was Wroth's thoughts about them having to be nice once he was the new Duke.

Now its off to whack Thadon we go. The one time I did the entire SI main quest I killed him too. I used up a lot of invisibility potions sneaking into his quarters with the greenmote. I wonder how Wrothken will manage that part?

I’m glad to be back to Wrothken. It’s been a while, good thing you reminded us what was happening.

I’m going to enjoy the moment when Wrothken becomes the Duke of Mania. Not only does he not fit the role at all, the Golden Saints are going to have to call him Lord.

I feel so bad for Wrothken. He’s in one of those situations where the only way out is through it. At least he gets to look hot in his new black outfit.

SubRosa~ I'd much rather have people think I was shacking up with a much older woman than there be a deformity worthy of screams lurking away!

King Coin~ I decided to do the reminders because I figured that if I'm forgetting what's going on, then other people might be too! I'm sure Wrothken will enjoy the Golden Saints being forced to be nicer. Maybe they just need a good nap!

Grits~ I was going to take a picture of him in the finery, but not only did the tv glare too much, the shoulders are worse than any 80's style power suit! It was just better to imagine it



Wrothken climbed down quickly. He could hear the rumbling of the bust getting ready to settle back into place.

He stood in the entrance for a moment, so his eyes could adjust. The tunnels themselves were exactly like the others he had been: fragrant, mulchy ground, branches and thorns along the walls, glowing, orange pods sat around the edges. Some green pods were bigger than he was with branches sticking out of the bottom. He could see a bright fire up ahead of him. Every so often a silhouette of a Golden Saint would pass by. He started wringing his hands. Of course the secret drug stash would be heavily guarded. Not even the most careless junkie left their treasure unattended. Somehow he knew there would be more than one.

He took a step forward. There were large fire pits that lit up parts of the tunnel brightly. He was about to swear until he noticed that the focused lights also created deep shadows. Thank the gods he decided to go in his new clothes rather than his shiny, clunky armor. If only he could do something about his pale skin and blond hair.

Keeping his back against the wall, he edged down the hall. The Golden Saint passed by and went down a tunnel to his right. That was just the reason he needed to go left.

The path curved and sure enough another Golden Saint was pacing. After going from left to right, she came toward Wrothken. His insides froze and he backed up behind the curve. Clunk-clunk-clunk! He heard her coming closer. He stood as still as he could. He even held his breath for fear she’d catch it. She was a daedra after all.

Silence.

If he were caught, how could he explain his presence? He closed his eyes exasperatedly. And why was he going through all this trouble to do something he didn’t want to do? Oh yeah, if he didn’t he was dead.

Clunk-clunk-clunk…

He breathed out a slow sigh of relief as he heard her walk away. He peeked out. If he were a stealthier person, he would have simply stalked behind her, but he wasn’t going to press his luck. He waited until she disappeared in the shadows to go further down.

For a quick moment, Wrothken felt as exposed as a baby being born. The fires burned bright enough to nearly blind him. He jumped out, back into the shadows. He couldn’t risk being seen. Something told him Golden Saints didn’t believe in shadowmen.

Once he was able to see again, he noticed a large root leading to a lower level. A stone arch was directly in front of it. That had to be it.

Wrothken tiptoed down the root and was in awe of what he saw.

Greenmote Silo

It was enough Greenmote to satiate all the drug addicts in Cyrodiil. Maybe even all of Tamriel! He looked behind him before entering. The coast was clear.

Though it was staring him right in the face, he just couldn’t comprehend how much of the drug there was. If it were to be sold on the streets, how much would it bring him? Thousands of septims? Millions?

You know, this stuff would catch on back home. The sudden thought rose from the back of his mind. I would be richer than the emperor and all the counts combined!

Wrothken felt a flush of shame after realizing what he had momentarily considered. Dear gods, it was no better than what his father was doing! He felt even sicker than he had all day.

He crept around to the back of the room, avoiding eye contact with the stuff. There had to be somewhere he could put it, other than his pockets.

He came across a table with a few plants and bottles sitting next to a pile of felldew. He grunted in disgust. He never wanted to see that stuff again. He took the bottles and emptied the liquids out of them. Hopefully the Greenmote wouldn’t have some sort of strange reaction with whatever had been in them before.

Wrothken turned back to the pile and grabbed a handful and poured it inside the bottles. The stuff was incredibly fine. It would easily mix into food. His stomach sank. Oh dear gods, he was really doing this. His hands trembled as he filled them each up and stuck them in his pockets.

He checked the room for a secret door that would lead him directly to Thadon’s room, but there was no such luck. It seemed odd to him, but then again maybe it was a safety precaution in order to keep Thadon from overdosing.

Sneaking back out was easier than sneaking in. This time he knew exactly where to go and when to avoid the Golden Saints. Before long he was back out in the plaza of the Palace. He took a deep breath and almost brushed the hair from his face when he noticed that his hands were dusted with Greenmote. Wrothken panicked and quickly wiped them on his pants.

Now he just had to slip the Greenmote into Thadon’s food. Wrothken frowned. It wasn’t as if he could just do it in front of everyone. He didn’t think the guests were that stoned. But where could he do it? He had never received a grand tour of the palace, likely for this very reason. He let out a sigh of exasperation before summoning Haskill.

[url= http://images.uesp.net/b/b4/SI-npc-Haskill.jpg]Haskill[/url]

“Still alive, I see.” Haskill said as he appeared. “Good thing. I wouldn’t want to have saved your life in vain.”

Wrothken looked toward the ground. “Thanks for that,” he muttered.

“It was nothing, really,” Haskill said, though Wrothken saw a smug glint in his eye. “So what is it you require?”

Wrothken looked around. No one seemed to pay them any attention. “Well, I’ve got the… stuff. I’m just not sure where to go from here.”

“Choices, choices,” Haskill said, glancing at Wrothken’s powdery legs. “Well, now that you’ve liberated some Greenmote from the silo, you need to add it to Thadon’s food and wine. The kitchen would be a good place to start, but they are deep in his quarters guarded by more Saints. So once again you have choices: to sneak or to kill. Be cautious these Saints are some of his most elite. Whatever you decide, be sure you do it before eight o’clock tonight.” He paused. “And do clean up your pants. I would hate for Thadon to try snorting you in the middle of dinner.”

With that, Haskill vanished. Wrothken couldn’t tell what time it was, but he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to lollygag for this job.



Wrothken casually walked back into the Palace. A man played a lute while most of the people inside lounged around snacking on fruit and cheese and drinking wine. It was so relaxing that Wrothken wished he could join in. The clinking of the bottles reminded him of his task and his heart sank. What were all these people going to do without Thadon? What was Bliss going to do?

How would Syl feel?

Wrothken knew about their forbidden tryst, though according to Thadon, Syl didn’t acknowledge it for whatever reason. Still, when Thadon was dead, would she miss him? Would she lose what was left of her mind? Good gods, would she try to avenge his death?

Wrothken shook his head. He would have to think about it later. He had to focus.

He went into the garden. As he looked at the colorful plants, it dawned on him that it would be his garden in just a few hours. His to lounge about in, enjoying its peace and beauty whenever he wanted. In fact, it could be his refuge when things became too much. He paused. Could the constant flow of insanity be what drove poor Thadon to drugs?

There was a single door on the other end of the garden. Like the door that led to the Chalice of Reversal back in Dunroot Burrow, it was carved with a scene of a party, though a man resembling Thadon was in the center holding a goblet in one hand and a skooma pipe in the other. Several women were shown at his feet staring at him adoringly. Wrothken couldn’t help noticing that Wide Eye was not depicted among them. He shook his head. First order of business was to replace the door with something a little less Thadon-y.

Once he checked and saw that he was alone, Wrothken jiggled the handle. It was locked tight. He stamped his foot and cursed under his breath. He couldn’t very well bash this door down. Not only was it too sturdy, but he was sure to get caught.

Now what? He couldn’t just stand there, covered in Greenmote until someone else came in. Letting out a loud growl, he sat down where Wide-Eye had been that morning while reading her book. Not that he wanted to do it, but he needed to get in Thadon’s room before dinner. How was he going to do that? He didn’t think Haskill would be much help. Otherwise he could have done a lot more in the first place.

He buried his face in his hands for a moment when a glint on the ground under the bench caught his eye. He leaned down to investigate and he found it was a key. He picked it up. No… he thought. There was no way.

He got up and went back to the door. He inserted the key and twisted and sure enough the door unlocked. What luck! Then again, it would be really lucky if Thadon just would announce his resignation. Wrothken sighed. He supposed he should be grateful for small miracles and not be too choosy, lest Fate decide to really punish his ingratitude.

The room was filled with dim light. It was musky and it took Wrothken’s nose awhile to adjust to the smells. He stood at the top of a few steps, at the end of a long hallway. Just as he was about to head into the main room, he saw a glint of gold up ahead. He ducked down into the shadows. Sure enough, a Golden Saint patrolled the bedroom as well.

“There she is,” Wrothken said under his breath. Why would Thadon have Golden Saints in his bedroom? It’s not like they would be up for any of his “rousing bedroom games!” Maybe he liked them to watch? Or to keep people from doing what I’m about to do, he thought.

Wrothken hoped the Golden Saints wouldn’t patrol the room, should he be sleeping in there. He wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t wake up to a sword at his throat.

The Golden Saint stopped at the foot of the stairs and then turned back around into the depths of the hall.

Haskill said “Saints” so there have to be a few more hidden around here, Wrothken thought. He sighed. Once again he would have to skulk through shadows like a thief or an assassin. Well, exactly like an assassin, since technically that’s what he was acting like.

He sat down for a moment. He told himself it was to be able to time the Golden Saint, but he knew it was also out of hesitation. He ran his finger along the smooth neck of the bottle waiting in his pocket. In just a few moments he will have killed a man. He closed his eyes. It was almost funny. If he would have just let Ma’Zhadda take care of Syl, he probably wouldn’t be in this situation. Sheogorath could just pass the crown down to Wrothken and he would have been Duke of Dementia with little to no fuss. He pinched the bridge of his nose. What else had he done that will come back to bite him later?

He crawled back up on his knees as the Golden Saint went back into the shadows, this time heading into the living quarters to the left before returning down the hall. Wrothken turned the corner, careful to dodge the other Golden Saint pacing around the room. Wrothken was thankful for the plush red carpet on the floor keeping his feet from making too much noise.

Though Wrothken’s stomach was filled with knots over it, he couldn’t help checking out what his soon-to-be new room looked like. Strangely, there were several busts of Sheogorath tucked into niches in the walls. Some of him smiling, some scowling. All of them faced forward into what appeared to be Thadon’s bedroom. It was an ever present reminder that even if he wasn’t being watched, he was still trapped under the thumb of the Madgod, at least until the Greymarch was over or he died. Whichever was first. Wrothken made a note to get rid of them all… and Thadon’s mattress as well. He’d sleep on the floor sooner than in whatever fluids were absorbed into it.

Columns were erected in front of the statues, giving Wrothken the perfect places to hide behind as he followed a Golden Saint. Around those were huge wine casks, though even through the wood Wrothken could smell that whiskey was inside. He smiled and rubbed the cask. That just might prove useful. He ignored common sense warning him not to try and drink his stress away.

Wrothken ducked behind one of the statues as a pair of Golden Saints crossed paths in front of him. He briefly considered summoning Haskill in the middle of the room to be used as a decoy, but he had a feeling that the Golden Saints wouldn’t attack him at all. He was Sheogorath’s number one guy, after all. Besides, he was actually helpful this time.

Wrothken slipped behind the Golden Saint that was going left down a short flight of stairs. He watched from behind one of the casks. Haskill said that the kitchen was in the depths of Thadon’s quarters. That had to be it downstairs. He waited until the Golden Saint passed by to dash into the kitchen.

For a duke, the kitchen was surprisingly small. In fact, his kitchen back in Kvatch had been bigger! Wrothken was willing to bet that Syl’s closet was bigger. It consisted of a cabinet full of wines and ale, a few sacks and barrels, and a table where a lavish dinner plate was sitting. That was it.

Wrothken took the bottles from his pocket and opened one. He held it over Thadon’s wine and closed his eyes for a moment. I can’t do this! He started biting the nails of his free hand. His mouth and throat dried up.

He tapped the neck of the bottle. A little Greenmote sprinkled in. “Well,” he said softly. “The damage is done. No use going halfway.”

He poured the rest of the Greenmote into the goblet. He stirred it with his finger, then wiped it on his pants.

He looked at Thadon’s dinner plate. It looked like baliwog leg with sides of scrambled eggs and sliced alocasia. Since he had already poisoned the wine, it wasn’t as hard to slip the Greenmote in the food.

Wrothken ducked behind the cabinet as the Golden Saint returned down the stairs for a moment. As soon as he left, he snuck out of the room. His heart continued thudding as he walked back into the main palace. It was done. There was no turning back.



“Ah, if it isn’t Sheogorath’s champion!”

Wrothken felt nauseas as he heard Thadon erupt from his throne. Thadon motioned to an empty chair. Wrothken couldn’t deny him what would likely be his final request. As soon as he sat down, three naked women joined him, running their fingers through his hair, rubbing his chest and giggling in his ear. Any other time, he would have enjoyed the attention. Now he started feeling claustrophobic.

“I haven’t seen hair nor hide from you since you retrieved my chalice! I heard you lit the flame for Dementia.”

Wrothken started chewing his cuticle. “I did. It was a hard choice.”

“Was it?” Thadon asked, with his eyebrows raised. “Yet, here you are in my palace. You must not have really chosen a side.”

Thadon had no idea.

“Still,” he said. “It matters not. The flame will burn but what’s to stop it from dying once more? Will you retrieve it then? Would you have us take turns? Tell me, will you be joining us for dinner?”

Wrothken managed what he hoped was a smile. “I’d love to.”


Wrothken's smile

He could hear the rumbling of the bust getting ready to settle back into place.
For a moment, I was wondering if you meant the bust of Kirsty the Buxom Bosmer Baker... (perhaps you should have named her Bursty?)

Oh yeah, if he didn’t he was dead.
Now that is a motivator!

Lots to like here. Wrothken's heart-stopping moment as the Golden Saint approached. His natural first thought of how much money the greenmote could make him if he somehow sold it, followed closely by his disgust at himself for thinking it in the first place. Then of course another visit from Haskill, and the Thadony door (definitely replace that!).

And now, time for dinner. I am sure it will be a memorable one!


nits:
His insides froze and he back up behind the curve
It looks like that Aureal scared off your "ed" in backed.


Be cautious{,} these Saints are some of his most elite.
I think you wanted a comma where I inserted it above.


Wrothken felt nauseas as he heard Thadon erupt from his throne.
It looks like an extra 's' fell into nausea along with all that greenmote.

I thought of Kirsty with the rumbling bust, too!

Poor Wrothken in stealth mode on a mission he really doesn’t want to complete. Even his victory when he found the Greenmote sickened him. My favorite moment was when he realized that would soon be his garden. I enjoyed the descriptions and tension throughout.

Sorry it has taken me so long to catch up, the last three months were so hellish I couldn't write a chapter on my story or barely find time to read anyone else's !! I finally have a break, and hope it lasts out the year so I'll have time to play Skyrim when it comes out, lol.

Chapter 30:

The scenes with Lilitu, Dolce, and the mage were powerfully tense - suspensefull, especially after Dolce jumped into the fight!

Chapter 31:

SPEW !!! Dolce in a corset ... ROFL !!! ... oh, WHEW! Lilitu is going to wear it, lol. Absolutely loved this whole chapter !!

Chapter 32:

Loved the Dremora fight - punching him in the face was hilarious, even while I was worried she wouldn't make it through the fight !!! Lilitu must be at a really high level, I've never seen Fathis Aren in fancy armor before, lol. What is that, Orcish?

As was said above, Lilitu's inner dialogue throughout kept me rolling !!

Chapter 33:




ROFL !!!

Very interesting encounter with the starfish lady !!! (Charlie Tuna's wife?)

Chapters 34-35 - back in Shivering Isles with Wrothken - GAAAH !! What about Lilitu? Lol. So Wrothken will side with Syl, lol? Oh I hated making that decision !!!

Awesome Write, all of it !!! Lilitu's personality is fantastic, I love reading about her !!!

SubRosa~ So when Kirsty moves do you imagine the sounds of an earthquake?

Grits~ I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was a very tense write. There would actually be times where I would focus so much my heart would race as well!

mALX~ So glad to see you back ♥ The picture of Fathis is from the uesp site. Since I'm playing on the Xbox I can't get good pictures of anyone :/





Dinner was served promptly at eight.

Up until now, Wrothken had only sampled Bernice’s cooking so he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Though he was sure Thadon’s chef was a wonderful cook, he had to be since he cooked for a duke, Wrothken couldn’t taste much of anything. Not only could he not focus on his food, Wrothken couldn’t keep up with the conversation. Then again, it could have been due to the company as much as the circumstances.

Thadon didn’t seem to notice anything. In fact, he ate and drank slowly, seeming to savor each bite. A large lump formed in Wrothken’s throat. With each bite Thadon was dying. Not in a peaceful way either, if the story wasn’t an exaggeration.

He stirred his food around his plate. They say the Dark Brotherhood comes for you after you murder someone. He bit his thumbnail and after tearing it off, he chewed it for awhile. Then again, what assassin would bother coming here?

Thadon looked around the room with a big smile. He took his fork and tapped his goblet until all eyes were on him. He stood up.

“Oh my yes, I feel especially delighted this evening! Perhaps it's time I recited my latest soliloquy.” He cleared his throat. “The lady fair, our love is told. With hair,” he looked at Wrothken and took a lock of his hair in his hand, “as fine as soft-spun gold.”

Wrothken grimaced slightly.

Thadon released Wrothken’s hair and continued. “Lips as red as a sun-drenched dawn, skin as soft as a newborn fawn.” Again, Thadon reached out, this time caressing Wrothken’s cheek and then gliding his finger under his eye.

“Eyes as blue as a cerulean sea...uhh...what...” Thadon placed his hand on his chest and took on a pained expression. “...my heart...” He said, starting to lose his balance. With one hand on the table for support, he reached up to his throat. “Can't breathe...help me...”

He collapsed on the table, blood spurting from his mouth. Some of it splashed right on Wrothken’s face and chest. He quickly spat it out and tried wiping it off his face. It only smeared more.

Thadon’s blood was literally on his hands.

“Oh, Thadon!” Wide Eye screamed, throwing herself on him. She sobbed harshly, while some of the women rushed to her side. They pulled Wide Eye to her feet and held her, each trying to comfort her.

Wide Eye looked at Wrothken. His heart twisted inside him.

“I never suspected it was Thadon's time,” she choked. “But what's done is done. I honor his choice.” She closed her eyes as tears streamed down her face.

As the rest of the palace buzzed with whispers, Wrothken took a goblet and wiped some blood from the table into it.

The ritual was nearly done.



Dervenin was positively beaming when he saw Wrothken enter the Sacellum. He took the blood filled chalice and poured it in a bowl on the altar. It burst into bright flames immediately.

[url= http://i117.photobucket.com/albums/o46/Jac...e/alterburn.jpg]Ritual Blood[/url]

Dervenin raised his arms and smiled brightly. “Once again has the Ritual of Accession come full circle! The Blood of Thadon has been consumed by Arden-Sul's will, and all of Mania welcomes you with open arms.” He hugged Wrothken tightly, not seeming to care about getting Thadon’s blood on his clothes. “I now declare you Duke of Mania of the Shivering Isles! May your light shine upon all our happiest days.”

Wrothken didn’t know whether or not he should have been happy. All he knew was that he wasn’t.

Sheogorath clapped his shoulder firmly. “You've done it! The Ritual is complete, and you've survived! A shame about Thadon,” he said with a shrug. “But it's how he would have wanted to go. Now, on to other—“

The doors flew open. Syl stormed in accompanied by two Mazken.

[url= http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:SI-npc-Syl.jpg]Syl[/url]

“Wait!” She shouted. “I must speak! The Ritual must not be completed!”

“Syl!” Sheogorath said, a hint of confusion in his voice. “You dare interrupt Me? Only I interrupt Me. Like just then.” Wrothken raised his eyebrows. It was strangely comforting to see Sheogorath speaking in circles to everyone else. “I'm speaking with someone. We'll talk later. Or not. When is later, exactly? Not now, I'm sure of that. Guards, I think Syl forgot how to use the door. Kindly show her out. Before I forget myself.”

The Mazken turned to Syl, about to show her out, but she raised her hand to them. They hesitated, conflicted by their loyalty to both parties.

“Thadon’s... dead?” Though it was stated like a question, Wrothken could tell that she knew. She walked up to Sheogorath, looking directly in his eyes. “You've done this. It was you all along.”

Sheogorath met her stare and clutched his cane hard. “Hold your tongue, little Duchess,” he said. “Or I'll tear it from your mouth.”

Syl was unfazed. In fact, she seemed to only get angrier. “Replacing Thadon with this... outsider?” She nodded to Wrothken with disgust in her voice. “This is how it ends. I should have seen this coming.”

“Calm yourself, Syl.” Sheogorath waved his hand dismissively. “You're making my teeth itch. You still hold your office. I suggest you see to your duties.”

She shook her head. “No… I see what's going on. I should have seen it before. You conspire to destroy us all! You're a fool if you think I'll allow this to happen!”

“Fool?” Sheogorath almost looked offended. “Visionary! Change is in the air, Syl. Breathe it deep! Bathe in its scent! Bottle it up. Save some for later.”

“Order stands at our door. They've taken the Fringe! Did you even know? Do you care? And you speak of "change?”

“Change will preserve us!” He said, clutching his fists. “It is the lifeblood of the Isles. It will move mountains! It will mount movements!”

“No. I can't do this.” Syl shook her head again. “There has to be a way out. A way to escape.”

Good luck with that, Wrothken thought. He remembered his attempt at escape.

“Then go, Syl,” Sheogorath said with a shrug.

Wrothken’s jaw dropped.

“Return to your quarters,” Sheogorath continued. “Before I send you back in pieces.”

There was the threat! Wrothken closed his mouth, somewhat satisfied. It was only fair, after all.

“Yes! That's what I'll do,” Syl said slowly. “I'll go. The enemy of my enemy. Order is the key. I'll keep them close.”

As she turned, the Mazken drew their swords, obviously no longer conflicted. Wrothken buried his face in his palm. How stupid did one have to be to tell the Madgod, in front of his guards, that they were siding with Order? It would be safer to run around the Blades headquarters with the Emperor’s severed head in your hands!

“No!” Sheogorath said. “Let her go!”

The Mazken sheathed their swords. Wrothken looked up at him.

Syl looked back. “This is not over, Madgod. I give myself to Jyggalag. As a Priest of Order, I'll be safe. Your empire will crumble before the armies of Order.”

She left, slamming the door behind her.

Sheogorath exhaled deeply as he turned to Wrothken. “Wondering why I let her go, aren't you? I can see it in your face. Mostly in the eyes. I may take those from you when this is done. They’re just the loveliest blue!” He sighed, his voice taking a more serious tone. “This has never happened before! The ruler of Dementia turning traitor? Unprecedented! I've seen others defect, but never a Duke! Maybe we're on to something here.” He said, with a wagging finger. “We'll see how it plays out. It can't be worse than what's happened before.”

“Whatever you say,” Wrothken said. He knew it wouldn’t end nicely.

“I do. I did. And I won't say it again.” Sheogorath placed his hands on his hips. “But, that's enough about that. You're the ruler of Mania! Just look at you. You're positively beaming! A little bloody, but beaming nonetheless! You now have the power to summon Golden Saints. They've always served the Duke of Mania. I think it's the bright colors. They just love 'em. And here is the Ring of Lordship, a symbol of your new station.” Sheogorath slipped it onto Wrothken’s pinky. Wrothken’s body glowed for a moment. “Symbols are important. They carry weight in this Realm, and others. You would be well served to remember that. This one in particular will protect you from harm and make you more resistant to disease, just in case you decide to take up Thadon’s more risky hobbies,” he said with a wink. “And it’ll make you more charming. Haskill thinks you need a boost with that.”

Wrothken looked at the ring. It had a gold band with a Golden Saint’s head set in onyx. It was nice, but he couldn’t be impressed with it. “What about the Fringe?”

Sheogorath nodded, pressing his lips together. “She was right about that. I can feel it. In My bones. The little ones. The Greymarch has swept the Fringe. Order gathers its forces there as we speak. And I hate when people gather forces in My Fringe! You'll need to put an end to that. But not now. It’s late and you’ll need plenty of rest! Enjoy your new palace! Sit on the Throne! Best part of being a Duke. See me in the morning and we’ll take care of the Fringe.”

Sheogorath was right. It was late. But resting wasn’t something Wrothken thought he could do.



By the time he made it back to his palace, everything was cleaned up. Thadon’s body was gone. Wrothken didn’t ask where it went. The people who usually lounged about stood in a row, their heads bowed. A Golden Saint walked over to him.

“Your Grace,” she said. Her voice had no trace of harshness. “These people are at a loss at the moment. Your predecessor was a man of celebrations but as this is now your palace, we must now follow your orders.”

Wrothken looked at them. “I don’t care,” he said. “Let them stay, I guess.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned back to the people. “Alright, you heard the duke!”

Wrothken paid no attention to them as he went back to his room. This time, it was empty. He kicked his shoes off and sat on the floor in front of the bed. He was serious when he had refused to get in it until the mattress was replaced.

He did it. Thadon was dead and he was the new Duke of Mania. Syl was gone too. Did that make him Duke of Dementia by default? Did it matter? He looked at the ground. It didn’t.

What was to stop Sheogorath from having him killed off when it became convenient? He stared blankly at the large whiskey cask in front of him. Tears started to form as he took a glass from the kitchen and filled it up.

“Here’s to you, Thadon,” he said. He took a large gulp and winced as it scorched its way down his throat. He sniffled and finished off the cup. Then he had another. And another. Soon the room was spinning.

He hoped that it would numb him up but it didn’t. In fact, he felt worse than he did before.

“Thadon, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “Oh, gods, what have I done? I killed him. I’m a damn murderer!”

He looked up at one of the busts of Sheogorath. “Why?” He asked it. “Why are you doing this to me? You could have just done it yourself or commanded it be so!” He stood up, getting in its face. “I hate you!” He threw his glass on the ground. Whiskey and shards covered the floor. “I hate you!”

Wrothken punched it, then screamed out in pain since he did it bare handed. “Son of a…” He grabbed the bust and threw it to the ground. It broke into several pieces. Wrothken picked up the face and threw it at the wall. The he sank to his knees and sobbed.

He sat up and wiped his tears away with his uninjured hand. “Stupid thing,” he said through clenched teeth. He knew it needed some healing, but he had no potions and didn’t feel like going out to find any. “Let’s see,” he said, licking his lips. He tried to focus on a healing spell. The next thing he knew, Haskill was standing over him, shaking his head.

“Now, is this any way for a duke to be behaving?”

“Shut up,” Wrothken said. “What’re you doing here?”

Haskill raised his eyebrows. “You summoned me. I’m not surprised that you didn’t mean to. Drunk-casting could cause quite a disaster, you know.” He looked around the room. “At least Thadon was able to handle his liquor.”

“I didn’t summon you,” Wrothken said. “I’m trying to heal my hand.”

“As if I would just show up at your side at two-thirty in the morning? Please, I have more interesting things to do. Watching the grass grow, for instance.”

Wrothken stood up, his heart pounding. “Well, since you know you’re not needed here, why don’t you just poof away?”

Haskill shook his head. “On the contrary. It seems as if you need me very much at the moment.”

“Like a hole in the head,” Wrothken muttered. He bit his lip and stared hard at his hand. It flickered blue for a moment. “Damn it,” he said. He strained hard and his hand flickered a couple times before the pain was bearable. He left it at that. “I need another drink.”

“You know,” Haskill said following him. “The problem with trying to drown your troubles is that they are excellent swimmers.”

Wrothken ignored him. “Troubles. What in Oblivion do you know about troubles?”

“Oh yes,” Haskill said, waving his hand. “What do I know? I’m only on call to the Daedric Prince of Madness, to stand at his side through all the nonsense and the inevitable pain of the Greymarch. That and having to babysit his little pet projects.”

“No one’s asking you to stay!” Wrothken shouted. He downed the cup and slammed it down.

“Right, I could leave you to your own devices. An obviously splendid decision. Truly, it won’t have consequences of its own.”

“You don’t get it!” Wrothken cried. “All I wanted was a break from life. Just a short time away to get my head on straight and now I’m more screwed up than before.” He snorted. “Forced to battle a giant monster, get hooked on drugs and just now, kill people! What’s next? Will I have to castrate myself? Then eat it?”

Haskill raised his eyebrows. “I fail to see how that would stop the Greymarch.”

“Can you stop being a sarcastic jerk for just one moment?”

“When you stop asking for it, I will.” Haskill folded his arms. “I understand that you wanted a break, but, you’re here now so it’s best to just stop crying and make the best of it.” Haskill scoffed. “And to think you’ve lasted this much longer than the others.”

Wrothken narrowed his eyes. “Others? What others? I thought I was the first.”

Haskill sighed. “Don’t breathe a word of this to Lord Sheogorath. He has either forgotten or pushed them out of his mind entirely as to not remind himself of his failures. You are not the first mortal to try to stop the Greymarch. Of course, things haven’t always been set this way. Our Lord has never attempted to have a Duke replaced nor has he thought of rallying the people to get them on the side of the outside help.

“The others, however, did not possess your…” He sighed heavily. “Your resilience. One actually killed himself in a matter of days. Another one made a home for himself in Bliss. Perhaps you’ve met Uungor? Poor man. The moment he heard about the fates of the others, he became so preoccupied with retaining his sanity that, ironically, it drove him mad. So he was unfit to become successor because no matter what was required of him, he couldn’t focus. He became obsessed with the fact that no one else had made it out intact. The first actually came closest, I believe, but in the end he was unable to stop it. But you’re different somehow.” Haskill paused and let out a deep sigh. “I actually believe in you.”

“You…” Wrothken sniffled, his eyes starting to burn. “You do?”

“Don’t make me say it again. Look, what I’m saying is that if you cave now, you will damn this entire realm. Yourself included… or I’ll just see to it that you survive and then you can deal with Lord Sheogorath’s return and the wrath it will incur.”

Wrothken stared at his feet, unable to summon any words.

“Just think, if you succeed, then that’s all. You’ll never have to do anything like this again, I swear it. You’ll be able to return to your own realm and leave this place behind if you so choose. And from now on, there will be no more unnecessary murders. That I can tell you for sure.”

Wrothken lifted his eyes for a moment. “You promise?”

“Hand to Sheogorath.”

Wrothken felt a large lump in his throat. He felt like bawling, but couldn’t find the strength. He sat on the floor in front of the cask.

“Are you better now?” Haskill didn’t wait for a response. “Good. Now I trust that there shall be no more abusing the casks? In fact you should rest now, as you’ve done enough damage to yourself and will need energy for tomorrow.”

Haskill vanished after that, leaving Wrothken alone. “I can do this,” he whispered shakily. “At least, I hope I can do this.”

And it posted twice -_-

Oops, looks like I got ahead of myself with the chapter number!

The tension of the beginning of this chapter was really ratcheted up by Wrothken's inner thoughts as the meal progressed, stretching out the seconds as they passed by his seeing every movement the Duke was making - and I especially loved how Wrothken suddenly remembered the rumors about the Dark Brotherhood coming at that appropos time!!!

Superbly written, and it took a quest we all know and brought it to life !! Awesome job Jacki !!!

URK !! Very descriptive end to the Duke, glad I had an empty stomach !! Lol.

Toasting Thadon and Wrothken's overwhelming guilt was a great touch !! Awesome Chapter !!

Oh no I missed one
Whoa, it says Chapter 38 at the top of your most recent post. What happened to 36 and 37?

Chapter 35
I know a few of my characters have entertained thoughts of taking that huge pile of drug and selling it. There was always the limitation of how to get that huge pile past the guards though. Lol.

Now that would be bad! Accidentally dosing himself by brushing his face.

Well Wrothken is settling in it seems. The deed isn’t yet done, don’t get comfy.

Well, invited to dinner by the man he just effectively killed. I wonder how Wrothken will pull through this?

Chapter 38(?)
The deed is done, and Wrothken is the Duke.

Heh, summoned the Mad God’s right hand man at an awkward time.

Sheogorath’s relm seems like a terrible place to get one’s head on straight.

I really like Haskill in this chapter. An unusual source of hope.

Though he was sure Thadon’s chef was a wonderful cook, he had to be since he cooked for a duke, Wrothken couldn’t taste much of anything.

Not a good sign for a Nord. Wrothken’s distress really shows.

“Syl!” Sheogorath said, a hint of confusion in his voice. “You dare interrupt Me? Only I interrupt Me. Like just then.” Wrothken raised his eyebrows. It was strangely comforting to see Sheogorath speaking in circles to everyone else.

I love Wrothken’s way of thinking. He makes me smile.

“You don’t get it!” Wrothken cried. “All I wanted was a break from life. Just a short time away to get my head on straight and now I’m more screwed up than before.” He snorted. “Forced to battle a giant monster, get hooked on drugs and just now, kill people! What’s next? Will I have to castrate myself? Then eat it?”

Haskill raised his eyebrows. “I fail to see how that would stop the Greymarch.”

Haskill showed up just in time. What a great chapter!

So Wrothken is the Duke now, and Syl done her defecting act. A very good touch with Wrothken drowning his sorrows afterward. Not to mention Haskill's genuinely helpful pep talk. I especially liked learning about the previous champions. Uungor being one of them was particularly brilliant.

It was strangely comforting to see Sheogorath speaking in circles to everyone else.
Its nice to know Wrothken is not the only one!

It can't be worse than what's happened before.
How comforting, not!

mALX~ I guess its a good thing Wrothken had an empty stomach too! Thanks so much ♥

King Coin~ Oops! Thanks for catching that! Looks like I saw "eight" in the first sentence and got a little mixed up!

Grits~ When Wrothken loses his appetite, you better know its a serious situation!

SubRosa~ Nothing like a little kick from Haskill to get Wrothken's head on straight...er.

~~~♥~~~

With the release of Skyrim, Wrothken may be on vacation for a little bit. Of course we will be back, likely with even better ideas



Wrothken was surprised by how quickly sleep had come. What he wasn’t surprised by was his nightmare.

In his dream he was trapped in an ornate silver box with plush red velvet lining. Syl and Thadon were giants, standing over him as they filled the box with hearts of order. From each heart sprang a Knight. Wrothken was unarmed and could not do more than beat them with his fists. As they were mere husks, his blows did nothing and he was quickly overwhelmed. They were relentless with their swords. He was stabbed, sliced, and bleeding all over in mere seconds.

Then the knights started to sing. They sat in a circle around Wrothken’s mangled body and held hands, swaying with the lyrics.

“Obelisks in the Isles,
Bodies stacked in piles,
Ashes, ashes,
We all fall down!”

As Wrothken awoke, he found himself mumbling the song. He sat up slowly and cradled his face in his hands. By Alduin’s cursed wings, his hand hurt. Even the slightest movement sent it throbbing. It took him a good fifteen minutes of healing to get it to stop hurting.
He reached up to his face, feeling the scruff beginning to grow again. His first instinct was to shave it away, but then he remembered Thadon stroking his face, as he described skin as soft as a newborn fawn. He decided to let the scruff be for the moment.

Feeling somewhat better than he had last night, Wrothken took a calmer look around his room. He took a piece of parchment and a quill and made a list of things he needed removed: the mattress, the busts of Sheogorath, and the casks of alcohol to get rid of temptation just in case he went back to his misery. The last thing he wrote down was the door. Though Haskill’s words were comforting, it still stung to see Thadon. He handed the list to a Golden Saint on his way out.

“Yes, Your Grace?” He took a look at it. “What is this for?”

“Things I need replaced and removed from my room.”

She scanned it. “Are you certain? Most citizens are honored to sleep in your predecessor’s bed and to have Lord Sheogorath watching them as they sleep.”

Wrothken shook his head. “It’s a little too creepy for my taste.”

The Golden Saint nodded once. “As you wish, Sire.”

He knew she thought it was strange or crazy or blasphemous. He didn’t care. As long as he no longer had to scuttle away from harsh golden eyes, he was fine.



Sheogorath didn’t offer much information. Just wipe out Order. Save Passwall. At least the Knights weren’t people.

As he headed down the streets in Crucible, he realized that he no longer needed the room in Bernice’s Taphouse. At least she’d be able to rent it out again, Wrothken thought. He sighed. He had to admit while it was no palace, it was far more comfortable and cozy there.

As he entered, he was taken by surprise by the looks he was getting. Normally, it was just glances followed by hurried whispers. This time, people actually looked somewhat upset.

Someone approached him. “I thought you favored us, your Lordship.”

Wrothken pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have known. “It’s complicated.”

“Why?” He said, balling up his fists. “You lit the torch for us, didn’t you? So then why’d you go and choose them? And now we’re without a duchess! We’ve got nothing, thanks to you!”

“Byron, you hush!” Bernice’s voice sounded from one of the tables. She set down her coffee pot and placed her hands on her hips. “You’ve got no idea what’s been going on, so be quiet! Just let him handle his business and things will get back to normal.”

Byron sneered. “Of course you’d say that.” He glanced at Wrothken before returning to his seat. “Gotta defend your boyfriend after all!”

The room erupted into a loud “Oooooooh!”

“Real mature,” Wrothken mumbled.

“Loud mouth,” Bernice said returning to the counter. “See if I give you anymore to drink! Sheogorath knows you’ve had quite enough!”

Wrothken took a seat in front of her. She poured him a cup of tea. “Since you’re here alive and well, I’ll assume it went well.”

“As well as you can expect,” he said. “Though I guess everyone knows about Syl.”

Bernice nodded. “I can’t say I’m surprised. She and Thadon had been on and off for years now. She loved him deeply,” Bernice placed her hand to her heart, sighing deeply. “It was her paranoia that got in the way. I hear once Thadon got too close for her liking, she assumed he was out to get her so she’d end it. Then once she cooled down, she’d go running back.”

“Hmmm,” Wrothken said. “That had to be hard on Wide Eye.”

“Who?” Bernice asked. “Oh, you mean that Argonian?” Bernice shook her head. “Well, that would never work out.” She leaned in close, whispering, “Could you imagine kissing an Argonian? They’ve got no lips!” She stood back up. “Then again, Thadon probably wouldn’t bother with kissing. He wouldn’t know tenderness if it beat him over the head!” She shook her head for a moment. “So, I take it you’ll be living up in the palace.” She frowned a little. “Just don’t forget about little old me.”

Wrothken patted her hand. “You know I could never do that. I think without you, I would have lost it long ago.”



After he changed into his armor, he remembered the pieces of ore he gathered for that set of madness armor Cutter crafted. The ache he felt over seeing her with Rheyna subsided. He realized that he wouldn’t want to get involved seriously with anyone from the Isles. Atrea drove him crazy enough.

He stopped. Thinking of her didn’t bring him any pain either. He gasped, a smile starting to spread. Relief swept over him like a wave. That meant he could return home…after he stopped the Greymarch, of course.

As soon as he entered Cutter’s store, she stared up at him. Her eyes glistened. “Do you enjoy it?” She demanded. “Cutting my heart?”

Wrothken’s eyes widened and he froze in his tracks. “What in Oblivion do you mean?”

“You know!” She said pointing at him. Her bony, white hand trembled. “Why visit that other smith?”

“What? What other…” Wrothken suddenly remembered Dumag in Bliss. He was only there once to get his armor repaired.

Cutter folded her arms. “His blades are dull and uninspired. Mine are sharp and exquisite.”

Wrothken sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’m sorry.”

Cutter scowled at him. “Good. Otherwise I would have slit your throat! Now what do you want?”

Wrothken dumped the ore on the counter. “Remember the matrix I brought you? I want some of the armor.”

Madness Armor

Cutter held up the ore with a smirk. “This will be a magnificent set. What do you want made? I assume the boots, since you have the matrix for it. What else?”

Wrothken looked at the examples. Since he had the boots, he figured he may as well start from the ground up. “The greaves and gauntlets.”

“Perfect.” She took some measuring tape. “Strip down and hold still. I’ll need to take your measurements.”

Cutter had to stand on a stool to reach past Wrothken’s shoulders. Each time she touched him, he felt like someone placed ice on him. He tried not to shiver, but when her hand brushed along her inner thigh, he couldn’t help jumping a little.

Cutter looked up at him with a questioning glance. “You’re not getting any ideas…. are you?”

Wrothken shook his head. Then again, it was hard not to get some sort of idea given where her head was placed. He willed himself not to poke her in the eye.

“Good.” Cutter said, standing up. “Then again…. I bet it hurts…” She bit the end of her quill as she wrote down the measurements.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but he couldn’t help it. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she eyed him in a way that gave Wrothken goosebumps. And not the good kind. “You’re pretty big, even for a Nord. I’m guessing that’s true all over.” She twirled her short hair. “And just look at your hands.” She shuddered violently. “I bet you can choke someone real good if you put your mind to it.”

Wrothken didn’t quite know how to respond. He had indeed been hoping for something to happen with Reyna, bu Cutter? And all her talk of pain? Not something he was interested in, especially if she wanted to reciprocate. “What about Rheyna?” He managed to ask.

She shrugged. “She and I are,” she linked her fingers together. “Balance. I can give her what she likes and she does the same in return, but we are not exclusive.”

They stood in an uncomfortable silence. Cutter never broke her intense stare. She didn’t even blink.

“So… how much will it cost me?”

Cutter huffed and looked at her list of materials. “For what you’ve requested...” She wrote him up a bill and handed it over.

Wrothken felt like someone had punched him. What good was being a duke when it didn’t get him a single septim? Where could he get that much money? He glanced around the room and noticed the sword he sold her from Xedilian still propped up on the wall. Maybe he could find more weapons to sell. He remembered the bow from Syl. “Alright,” he nodded. “If you hold on to those for me, I’ll get you the septims.”

Cutter looked away with a chilling smile. “Or I can come up with some other arrangements…”

“No, no,” Wrothken said, quickly picking up his armor. “I insist!” He quickly slipped out the door before she could respond.



Wrothken arrived at The Fringe by nightfall. In the dark sky, the stars were a beautiful pink. There were so many that Wrothken found it easy to see without the aid of a torch. Everything was bathed in a soft fuchsia glow.

The sky

Looking around, Wrothken could see that obelisks had risen everywhere, even inside some of the buildings. Passwall was no longer the busy little town he recalled upon first entering. It was as still as a cemetery. The only sounds in the village were the metallic clanking of the Golden Saints’ boots. His heart sank, though he didn’t know the people of the town. He wondered just how many of them had died, or if once he killed the Gatekeeper if everyone snuck further into the Isles and escaped.

A small army of Golden Saints stood in a small cluster. Wrothken noticed that they were all men with the exception of one soldier.

Male armor

It was strange. It was a huge emergency in the Isles, so why weren’t there any Mazken around? Surely they could have set their differences aside just for a moment to ensure the survival of the realm.

Wrothken assumed the female was in charge due to the way she was barking orders at the others. She was taller than all of them. Her armor was badly cut and scratched and her sword was still in her hand. She didn’t wear a helmet, revealing light blond hair tied back in a Breton braid. She stood in the middle of a pile of knights of Order.

"Your Grace,” she said as soon as she saw him. How did he know he was the Duke? He shrugged it off as a Golden Saint thing. There was no use trying to make sense of very much. “I am Aurig Desha, lead officer of this post. A dark time has been thrust upon us. Passwall is under attack. We are outmatched and outnumbered. At first light, the spire at the center of town became active. Immediately, the area around it began to crystallize and change. Soon after that, the sky darkened and the knights came."

“A Spire? Right in the center of town?” He closed his eyes, trying to remember if he had noticed it before. “Why was that allowed to just sit there?”

“It was believed to be a monument from times past but its true purpose appears to be more sinister. It appears to be a source of power for these invaders. A... portal, or some sort of gate. I don't know. If we cannot disable or destroy it somehow, I do not think that we can stop this invasion. This town has stood on the edge of the Shivering Isles since they were borne from the mists of time. For our purposes, it serves as a defensible outpost.” She paused, clenching her teeth. “That is, against typical enemies who can know fear, intimidation, and hopelessness."

“I know how to get rid of them.” Wrothken felt a surge of usefulness. “What you do is place three of their hearts into the obelisk. Only thing is, it spawns more of them every time you do it.”

Desha clenched her jaw. “I've been losing Aureals with each attack, and I'm down to nothing but men.” She paused, looking Wrothken up and down. “No offense, Lord. We are pinned down here. If we lose, the Gates of Madness will fall. If the gates fall, the enemy will flood into the Isles. We will be helpless to stop them. But now that you've arrived, perhaps we can slow them down.”

“Alright, what’s your plan?”

She hesitated. “Even though I have served with these Aureals for centuries, as the Duke of Mania, it is your right to command the troops. Command them if you will, or leave it to me. Either way, make haste. Our time is short.” She pointed to the obelisk, which was starting to spark. “That means there are more coming.”

Wrothken looked from her to the other Saints. He was a decent brawler, but he wasn’t one for complex strategizing. “I’ll trust your judgment.”

Desha smiled. Wrothken had to admit it was a beautiful sight, especially when compared to the ever present scowl he had grown accustomed to. Maybe the Golden Saints weren’t so bad after all.

“I thank you for your trust. In your name and for the sake of the Shivering Isles, I shall not disappoint you.”

Wrothken gave her a nod and walked around what was left of Passwall. He hadn’t been there since he had first entered the Isles. Still, he felt a sort of attachment to it. Seeing the obelisks and a few of the bodies of villagers sent a numbing sensation down his legs.

He paused by the inn and looked in the window. It was in shambles. Dishes and food were everywhere. The bust of Sheogorath lay in pieces scattered across the floor. People who were unable to escape the Knights were strewn all over the place. Blood wasn’t splattered everywhere, like he had expected. Instead it just formed a thick pool on the floor. There was one slice in each person. Each kill was planned in a way that people in the Isles would have no way of fighting against.

This was the fate of the Isles, if the Greymarch wasn’t stopped. Suddenly he realized exactly what he was going to be fighting for.

“Aurig Desha,” he said, approaching the commanding Saint. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get rid of these Knights once and for all.”

She smiled at him. “Good.” She called to the other Saints. “Form up!” They all came to her and stood at attention. “By the Staff, we will not allow this town to fall!” She turned to Wrothken. “Are you prepared for battle, Your Grace?”

He nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Because here they come!”

He stopped. Thinking of her didn’t bring him any pain either. He gasped, a smile starting to spread. Relief swept over him like a wave. That meant he could return home…after he stopped the Greymarch, of course.

Oh, just that. It is great to see Wrothken thinking about returning home! I’m worried about what might be happening there.

…poke her in the eye…

This is a great chapter. I’m sure Wrothken will be ready to fight whenever you return from Skyrim.

Another late night post that slipped through my nets.

What a dream! I especially liked the addition of the children's rhyme at the end of it.

He knew she thought it was strange or crazy or blasphemous.
Well as long as it is the first two, then Wroth fits right in!

“Could you imagine kissing an Argonian? They’ve got no lips!”
I hate to sound racist, but Bernice does have a point...

It was good to visit with Bernice again. Even with the upset Dementeds all around. She is one of my favorite residents of the SI.

Wrothken has been so busy that he forgot about Awour! Congrats for the snowman! Now all he has to do is survive the Greymarch to go back home.

He willed himself not to poke her in the eye.


“I've been losing Aureals with each attack, and I'm down to nothing but men.”
Now that is desperation!

This chapter was a lot of fun. The weird dream, going back to the inn, meeting Cutter. Then forming up for battle at the end.

Like Grits, I was happy about his thoughts of home. He also seems to have assumed his role as duke too. Fighting for "his people" now, not just his skin.

Your humor always interlaces through the most serious scenes of the chapter, I absolutely love that about your story !! Awesome Write !!

Grits~ Honestly, I can't wait for Wrothken to get home either. That I can say will be where things get more eventful (and more fun to write)

SubRosa~ That's the thing about the beast races. Either you get a mouthful or scales or fur! It doesn't seem appealing.

King Coin~ In a way, it probably makes it easier to carry on knowing that its no longer just about him and his sanity, but the lives of people he's grown to care for.

mALX~ It always has a way of leaking out ♥





Wrothken was shocked at just how tough it was fighting the Knights of Order, even with the aid of the Golden Saints. They lost two more in the fierce battle. Aurig Desha was actually panting by the time it was over.

She turned to Wrothken. “Victory is ours...” She looked around Passwall. “For the moment. We must discuss our next move. The spire is obviously their source of power. This battle will not end until we find a way to shut it down.”

“Fine,” Wrothken said. “Which obelisk are they coming from?”

Desha looked to a fortress in the distance. “The ruins of Xeddefen run under Passwall. The entrance to the south of the town has been sealed for centuries. One of my scouts reported that the ruins have been opened recently and a number of these Knights are now guarding the entrance. If we all attempt to assault Xeddefen, Passwall will be overrun and we will lose the Fringe. As you can see, our forces are dangerously thin. We have no idea what opposition may await us inside."

Wrothken knew where it was headed even before she spoke. After all, he was the one who knew how to shut them down. “So, I’ll be heading in and getting it cleared out.”

“Your insight is impressive.” She nodded. “While we draw their attention here, you should be able to slip inside Xeddefen. Once inside, search for the source of the Spire's power. It must be underground somewhere. Once you find it, destroy it. Your sacrifice will be the salvation of The Fringe. We thank you, Your Grace.”

Wrothken turned and took a deep breath. Hopefully it wouldn’t end in his death. If an army of Golden Saints couldn’t beat them, what chance did he have? Risky or not, he couldn’t allow the same thing to happen to New Sheoth.



He trudged through the murky waters over to the fortress. He was reminded of the locked gate he had to enter to collect bones for Jayred. Wrothken wondered for a moment what had become of him. If only he was around, he would make a great ally, especially since the Knights of Order lacked a skeletal structure for him to fawn over.

The obelisks were everywhere. He couldn’t remember if there had always been so many. When he first entered Passwall his mind had been far too distracted by the wonder of the land. He kicked himself for not paying attention, though he knew it wasn’t his fault. How was he supposed to know that they were some sort of portal for the evil forces of Order?

It wasn’t long after he walked back on dry land that he came across his first pair of Knights. They let out a metallic screech when they saw him. In unison, they took out their swords and ran to attack.

“Son of a…” Wrothken took out his mace. Both Knights ran at the same speed. The first one to reach Wrothken slashed at his neck. Wrothken stepped back just in time. As the Knight stepped forward to regain its balance, the other one came crashing into it. They landed on the ground in a pile. Wrothken quickly took advantage of the moment and beat one of them repeatedly until chips started flying from its head. The other Knight tried pushing its dead companion off until Wrothken slammed his mace into its hands, then into its head.

He removed a heart from each, thanking the gods that the second one didn’t have the brains to slow dawn.

The fortress was just around the corner. Like Xedilian, it looked like an old ruin. The large stone slabs were held up by marbled columns. What once were the exterior walls were now crumbled along the sides, perfect hiding places for an ambush. As Wrothken crossed the entrance, three obelisks rose from the ground, making their horrid scraping sound. Though the things were something to loathe, Wrothken looked upon them in awe. He rapped his knuckles on one of them, hearing an empty clanking sound. It was inorganic, yet it grew like a tree and produced life in a way. He snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering to crack open the Knights and remove their hearts. He eyed the obelisk, but it showed no signs of needing to be shut down. He decided to hold onto them, just in case.

He went up a few steps, through a doorway. He was met with maze-like brick walls. He stood still for a moment, listening for any tell-tale creaking or clanging. He was met with silence. He should have known. The Knights don’t wait around and plot. They mindlessly go about their business. He shook his head and kept walking.

He was directed to a flight of stairs that led him around to the back. A wooden door stood before him. That was it. Where the rest of the Knights were coming from. He took his mace out and opened the door.

He was greeted by a hallway, devoid of any sort of decoration. Blue flames leapt from stone pots along the walls. Jagged obelisks peeked out from the floors and walls. As Wrothken walked down the dank halls, he reminded himself to be on the lookout for more madness ore or some things he could sell. He smiled to himself, imagining the armor set. If there was a reason to stick around in the Isles, that was it!

It wasn’t long before Wrothken heard footsteps in the distance. Not the loud stomps of the Knights, but the soft taps of someone in soft shoes. Either some residents of Passwall were hiding inside or there was a Priest of Order getting ready to summon up more Knights. Wrothken briefly considered removing his boots. After all, if he could hear the other person, there was no way he was walking around undetected. He decided against it. It would take too long and would leave his feet exposed. Besides, the place may have been cleaner than Xedilian, but who knew what he might step in.

He tiptoed to the edge of the hallway and peeked over. He cringed at the sight of long purple robes and a pointy mask. That was no citizen. He didn’t know why he was shocked. It’s not like he was sent on a search and rescue mission. He glanced again at the Priest. It didn’t look like he was aware that Wrothken was in the hallway with him. The Priest was kneeling on the ground, his arms raised up and he was chanting. Wrothken briefly wished he had a bow and arrow. Then he wished he knew how to use one.

Real Nords don’t cower in shadows. A true Nord faces his fights head on!

He looked back at the Priest, reminding himself that this was not the time for hiding. It was the time to go for it.

Wrothken readied his mace, gripping it tightly and rushing at the Priest. The Priest got up in alarm, startled by the sudden assault. He flung out his hand, a large fireball erupted from his fingertips. Wrothken was moving too fast to dodge it. The fireball hit him square in the chest. The painful blast of heat in his face caused him to stumble for a moment. Once he got his bearings back, he was greeted with another fireball, though it missed, grazing his hair. He made a mental note to start tying it back before delving into strange dungeons.

The Priest took out a curved dagger and ran it slowly by his neck. Wrothken couldn’t see his face, but he had a feeling the Priest was leering at him. The Priest hopped from side to side, snickering. Wrothken growled a little. The Knights may have been soulless husks, but the Priests were men. This one exuded arrogance with his every move. Wrothken swung his mace, aiming for his chest, but the Priest jumped out of reach. He crouched, tossing his dagger from hand to hand. He made a nodding motion with his head, daring Wrothken to try again.

Wrothken swung his mace from side to side, overstepping. The Priest hopped behind him. Wrothken lifted his elbow and bashed the Priest in the face. The Priest stumbled, clutching his face. Wrothken could hear muffled cursing under the mask. He took advantage of the moment and raised his mace. He hesitated for a moment, before bashing his head. When the Priest’s lifeless body crumpled on the floor, Wrothken let out a sad sigh. He wondered what he would do, should Jyggalag have a champion of his own. It would be quite a battle, he knew. He just hoped it never came to that.

He looked around and when he saw that he was alone, he knelt down and searched the Priest. He felt guilty doing so, but he knew there might be something of use in his pockets. “Aha!” He said, pulling out a key and a coin purse.
He looked around. No Knights, no priests. No madness ore. He frowned.

Wrothken continued down the bare halls to a pair of doors. He opened the first one and saw a flight of stairs next to a large statue of a hunger. Wrothken crinkled his nose. Who would build a statue to one of those things? He stared at its ribs, forcing their way from its skin, the rounded, thick lips baring a barbed tongue. He shook his head. No matter how he looked at it, it was still repulsive.

As he continued into the next room, it dawned on Wrothken that he hadn’t seen any knights since he got inside. He paused, his hand heading to his mace. It was strange, especially since Xeddefen was where they had all been coming from. He closed his eyes, trying to listen for any tell tale clanking. Only silence greeted him.

Down another flight of stairs, Wrothken caught sight of another Priest. He groaned. He knelt down on his knees, squinting at the Priest. He had been in the same position as the last one, his arms raised up to the sky, his back twitching to his whole body flailed. He was speaking, but either he was speaking too low or another language entirely, because Wrothken couldn’t understand anything. Wrothken tilted his head slightly. What was he doing exactly?

The Priest gave one last gyration and cried out before collapsing to the ground. The Priest’s body glowed for a moment and an obelisk rose up from the ground. Wrothken ran over and looked down at the Priest. Was he dead?

The only way he knew how to tell was to get a good look at him. Wrothken pulled his mask off. He gasped. It was one of the people from Passwall. Wrothken didn’t know his name, but he remembered his face. The dark elf stirred slightly.

“Damn,” Wrothken spat. He knew he had to kill him. Only one could walk away and if Wrothken left him alive, the Dunmer wouldn’t grant him the same courtesy. He remembered the sight of Passwall and what it had become. He reminded himself that it could easily spread to the rest of the Isles. “Damn!”

He closed his eyes and whacked the dark elf across the head with his mace. He flung all the bits of skull and flesh from it disgustedly.




The rest of the fort was the same. No Knights, no madness ore. Not even a sword or set of armor from a previous adventurer that could be sold. It wasn’t until Wrothken reached the bottom floor that he saw what was going on.

With his mace at his side, he walked the barren halls, nearly jumping out of his armor when he was grabbed from behind.

“It's... it's you! I remember you!”

Wrothken stared blankly at him. He recognized the face of the Redguard who fancied himself mayor of Passwall.

“You remember me, right?”

Wrothken nodded.

“Yeah… You’re Mayor….”

The Redguard scoffed. “Sheldon, idiot! What are you doing down here? How did you get past the Knights?”

Wrothken lifted his mace. “The old fashioned way. What are you doing here?”

Sheldon gulped hard. He looked around and led Wrothken to a niche in a wall. Sheldon had set up a bedroll and several torches. “When they attacked, I ran from Passwall. They didn't say a word, they just started killing! The screams! By the staff, you can't imagine the screams!”

Wrothken closed his eyes, remembering the sight in the inn.

“Felas and I slipped down here thinking that we'd be safe. But, no! We landed right in the middle of them! Felas ran off with them and left me to die! Me! That ingrate! Disloyal cur! Imagine, leaving me here all alone!”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about him again.” Wrothken lowered his eyes. He felt horrible for what he did but he knew it was the only thing he could have done. Besides, if Felas was only too happy to betray Sheldon, someone he knew personally, he’d have no problem killing a stranger. “What are you still doing here? You’re going to get killed.”

“Every time I look for a way out, I get twisted around and end up back here. But I'm too smart for them. You seem to have no trouble, though. Look at you, barely a scratch!” Sheldon patted Wrothken’s armor, nodding in approval. “You'll be the perfect person to protect me!”

Wrothken shook his head. “Listen, I’m trying to shut down the source of the Knights. It’s too dangerous for you to tail me, especially since the only protection you have is that chipped sword.”

“This place is a nightmare! Knights everywhere, these priests, and whatever they've done to Felas! Listen. Those people in Passwall need me. Can you imagine how they'd ever get along if I died down here?”

Wrothken didn’t want to tell him about the fate of his town or that of Felas. “Alright, fine. But don’t jump in front of my mace if you see me swinging.”

Sheldon nodded. "I'll do what I can to help. I... I like to hurt things. Maybe I can hurt these damned knights."

*Applauds*...

Just read the last two chapters...Most excellent... ...

Cutter is just soooo hot...I love her...She's so cute...Awwww... ...

I loved the trawl through Xeddefen...

That first section when the two knights crash into each other...That made me laugh that did... ...

I do like a good Nord character do I... ...

Excellent!...New fan alert!!!... ...

Nice one!!!... ...

especially since the Knights of Order lacked a skeletal structure for him to fawn over.
But then again, since they do not have bones, there will be nothing calling to Jayred to rip their bodies apart to get at them...

I loved how Wrothken was keeping an eye out for more madness ore as he went through the ruin. Even now he still wants that madness armor to impress the ladies!

I loved the description of the first Priest of Order. A real pain the rear. Then recognizing the second was a good touch. It reminds us that they were once ordinary people. Well, as ordinary as anyone in the Isles is.

And now good old Mayor Sheldon. Let's see if he's any help or not.


nits:
“Which obelisk are the coming from?”
I am sure Wroth meant they

thanking the gods that the second one didn’t have the brains to slow dawn.
down I am sure.

Doesn't Wrothken understand that Sheldon is essential? I'm sure that's what went to his head in the first place.

ARGH !!! I was hoping you were updating Nemesis !!! URK !!! Lol.

This was a total surprise, loved it !!




I loved this dungeon crawl, and what happens after the player runs into Sheldon !!! Great Write !!! Now get your butt over there and update Nemesis !!!! URK !! ROFL !!!

Yay, more Wrothken! I’ve missed him. So much to love in this update. I hope he finds some more madness ore so he can stroll back to Kvatch looking hot in his new armor.

I like how Wrothken handled the first two knights

Wrothken briefly wished he had a bow and arrow. Then he wished he knew how to use one.


The Mayor! I forgot that he was down there. Awesome chapter!

McBadgere~ Yay for new fans! Cutter is one of my favorites too ♥

SubRosa~ Well if Wrothken needed to fly, I'm sure Shelden could provide some hot air

ghastley~ Lol!! I know Shelden knows he's essential! He's got the biggest head in the Isles!

mALX~ Working on Nemesis as we speak! And another surprise, but that will have to wait

Grits~ Omg I cannot wait until Wrothken strolls back to Kvatch! That's why its so hard to write these parts! I want to get to that point D:

King Coin~ Thanks To be honest, it's hard to work with the Knights. They're always the same :/ At least Lilitu and the daedroth was more creative





With Shelden in tow, Wrothken to Xeddefen. After going down a flight of stairs, he found where all the Knights had been coming from.

“By the Nine…” He said, his eyes widening.

“What?” Shelden asked. He dropped his sword. “By the staff!”

Behind a wrought iron gate, there was a large room at the bottom of the stairs. In the center was the largest Obelisk Wrothken had ever seen. It had to be at least the size of his house in Kvatch! Surrounding it had to be at least a hundred Knights.

Shelden turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Wrothken hissed.

“Out of here! You’re crazy!”

“I’m crazy? Don’t even get me started! Now are you going to run like a coward or stand here and fight?”

Shelden stuck out his tongue and turned on his heel before breaking into a run.

Wrothken ran after him, grabbing him by his collar. “Look, you want to play mayor, fine. But, damn it, I can’t do this alone!”

Shelden slapped Wrothken’s arms away. “Not my problem! You said it yourself! I’ve got no armor and this chipped sword! I’ll get killed in there!”

Wrothken growled. “Did you see what they did to Passwall? You’ll get killed if you don’t trust me!” He paused. “Do you want to relive those screams again?”

Shelden scowled at the ground. “No,” he finally said. “But what can we do? There’s only two of us and all of them! They’ll tear us apart.”

Wrothken reached into his bag, running his fingers over the collection of hearts stashed inside. “They’re only going to know about one of us. I’ll go in and do what I can.” He took his bag off and thrust it in Shelden’s hands. “In that bag I’ve got several stones. They’re called hearts of order. All you have to do is pile them onto the obelisk until it shuts down.”

“And then?”

“Then we run like we stole something. But you have to be fast.”

Shelden nodded. “Alright. It’s crazy but I guess we have no other option.”

“Good,” Wrothken said. He glanced over at the Knights. “Just wait until they’re all distracted.”

Wrothken walked down the steps, purposely making a lot of noise. Almost immediately the Knights turned and faced him. There was a collective shriek as they pulled out their swords.

Wrothken clenched his teeth hard, his wide eyes signaling to Shelden to move. The Knights quickly swarmed him, backing him into a wall. Without focusing on a specific Knight, Wrothken swung his mace around. As they jostled him about, each of them swinging, he started punching and kicking any who got too close.

They got closer to him, leaving only inches between him and the first wave. A few would fall, only to have others stampede in, eager to take their places. Come on, Shelden! He started to feel panicked. All he could see was the blank silver of the cloud of Knights enveloping him. He felt sick.

The electrical hiss of the hearts of order was music to his ears. All at once, the Knights stopped, turning towards Shelden. Shelden froze for a moment before emptying the entire bag in the obelisk.

A shockwave staggered everyone in the room. A sudden rumbling sent Wrothken’s stomach into a pit. Large chunks of the ceiling came raining down upon them as the obelisk shattered. Wrothken took advantage of the collective confusion to swipe his bag from the ground, along with everything else that had fallen from it. He clutched it to his chest as he dashed over to Shelden.

“What have you done?” Shelden bellowed, dodging what he could. “The whole place is coming down on us!”

“No, you think?” Wrothken shouted back. “Come on, we have to get out of here!”

Shelden glared. “What do you think I'm doing? I'm not sticking this close to you because I enjoy your pleasing aroma!”

Wrothken and Shelden dashed up the stairs. As Shelden wasn’t weighed down by any armor, he quickly got ahead of Wrothken. The hall seemed like a safe enough place, until rocks started tumbling down the steps. Wrothken grabbed the back of Shelden’s collar and flung him back, accidentally causing him to fall hard on his back.

“Ow!” Shelden shouted. “What was that…” His eyes widened as he saw the pile he was nearly crushed under. “Oh.”

Wrothken pulled him back to his feet. “No time to lose,” he said.

With every second that he went without getting hit by the falling fortress, Wrothken thanked the gods while cursing Jyggalag. If he had ever panicked before, it was definitely eclipsed by what he felt running through Xeddefen. Any wrong move, the slightest hesitation could cause him to be crushed to death or worse, pinned down beneath the rocks doomed to die alone under the ruins.

Worse, the Knights didn’t even seem to care. Even as they watched their own fall, they kept coming.

“Ignore them!” Wrothken called to Shelden. “We can’t waste time on them, just run!”

Shelden growled. “How can we just run with them chasing after us?”

“If they follow us outside we’ll fight them there. Just not here.”

“Fine! You lead the way -- just try not to get us killed. Well, try not to get me killed.”

Wrothken ran through an open doorway. The moment he slipped in, a metal gate slammed down, trapping Shelden behind him.

“No,” Wrothken hissed. He ran to the gate and tried to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t think it’s going to open. You are the worst escort in history!” Shelden yelled.

“You had a chance to leave earlier, remember? But oh no, you had to stick around! No one listens to the one sane man in the entire realm!” Wrothken fired back.

Shelden grunted. “I’ll find another way out. Get going!”

Wrothken felt the urge to pull his hair out but he knew he didn’t have time to react.

The next floor was slightly more stable than the basement had been. He took a moment to look around and try to retrace his steps. Oddly, obelisks started to rise, though Xeddefen was on its way to rubble. He shook his head. It almost seemed to be a symbol of what Jyggalag was up to. The Shivering Isles would crumble, as Order rose above it, crushing anyone and everyone below.

He cautiously stepped forward, freezing in his tracks as the entire hall was showered in rocks. He clutched his chest. He swore he could feel his heart hammering through his armor.

Even as he walked on, a large boulder fell right next to him. He leaned against the wall for a quick second. Oh gods… He thought of how Amiable, that poor man afraid of the walls in Bliss, must have felt, everyday of his life terrified that precisely this was going to happen to him. No wonder he never slept! Wrothken wasn’t sure he’d be able to either. He definitely needed to make time to help the poor man.

He sped down the crumbling halls, tripping whenever something feel in front of him.

I’m going to die down here, he thought over and over.

The Knights of Order continued to pop up around each corner. Wrothken started shoving past them or purposely ramming them so they’d fall and get caught under rocks.

When he finally reached the surface, he damn near kissed the ground as he fell to his knees. “Oh, thank you Talos! Thank you, Mara! Thank you!”

“Well look at this, I found the easy road.” Wrothken looked up to see Shelden, smiling smugly. “How were things going down there?”

Wrothken’s mood went from so happy he’d kiss a grummite to more sour than week old milk.

“You are something else,” he said, standing up.

Shelden grinned. “I know. That’s why I’m mayor of Passwall. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got rebuilding to do. Those poor fools would be utterly lost without me.” With his nose high in the air, he trotted leisurely down the path to Passwall.

Wrothken growled under his breath. “Is it wrong I wish a Knight would eat him?” He paused. “Why on Nirn am I talking to myself?”

*



Lol, this reminded me of Joan Rivers' catch phrase. ("Don't get me started! ...Can we talk?")




ROFL !!



Amazing insight here, I remember running like a panicked Russian Racehorse through that place and never made that connection - really cool addition there to make us think of the whole picture and not just the scene as it unfolds !!!

Awesome Write - and YEAH !! More Nemesis !!!

*

Most excellent *Applauds*... ...

I loved the portrayal of Shelden in this...Brilliantly done...

That bit of the Shivering Isles quest was always fun...

Bless them knights, they're so sweet!!... ...

Nice one!!....

*Applauds heartily*...

“And then?”

“Then we run like we stole something. But you have to be fast.”

Great line!

Crazy ideas seem oddly appropriate for the SI

Shelden grunted. “I’ll find another way out. Get going!”
As much as I dislike Shelden, I have to admire the little bstard at this.

And then he s back to his old self outside. lol! He is intolerable!