I loved Shelden sticking his tongue out at Wrothken! But he did come through. I was not expecting him to be nearly that useful.

The Shivering Isles would crumble, as order rose above it, crushing anyone and everyone below.
This was an excellent observation, that so poetically sums up the Grey March.

I loved Wrothken thinking of Amiable after nearly being crushed.

And Shelden still got out ahead of Wrothken! That was just hilariously perfect.



nits:
With Shelden in tow, Wrothken to Xeddefen.
I am sure you missed something in there after Wrothken

mALX~ Thanks I didn't make the connection either until I was watching a playthrough on Youtube

McBadgere~ Thank you Sheldon was one of my favorite people to write. He doesn't need any exaggerations

King Coin~ That is one of Wrothken's favorite things to say if we're ever in a situation that he thinks we should be running.

SubRosa~ Of course in the actual game he's about as useless and... well, anything really. He just gets knocked unconscious the whole time -_-



The gray clouds seemed to match Lilitu’s mood as she approached the Chapel of Akatosh. She would have felt more at ease sneaking into the emperor’s chambers in a suit of steel armor adorned with bells. She closed her eyes, gripping the starfish in her hand. She knew what it was, she had an idea of where it came from, all she needed was a confirmation and to know why. After hesitating for a moment, she placed her hand on the door and walked in.

It was as beautiful inside as it was out. The deep gray walls rose up to impossible heights, with arched ceilings. Stone columns stood around the entrance, each holding a pair of lit candles. Stained glass windows depicting the Divines lined the walls, with Akatosh up front. His window was by far the largest and most majestic. There were few people inside, mostly reading. Others knelt, with their heads bent in silent prayer. Despite the serene beauty, Lilitu still felt like her skin was crawling.

She forced herself to take a seat in the front pulpit. She took the starfish out of her pocket and turned it over in her hands. She looked around before whispering. “If you’re going to show yourself or give me some sort of clue as to what you want, just tell me now.”

The starfish remained as it was. It didn’t glow or move. Lilitu sighed, tempted to throw it. She knew it wouldn’t matter. Ever since it appeared in her hands by the lake, it always seemed to show up elsewhere.

“Greetings, sister,” a middle-aged Redguard said, taking a seat next to Lilitu. She had kind eyes and several smile lines. Like Lilitu, her hair was long and straightened with a hot comb. Despite her age, it remained dark brown, save for a single streak of silver in the front. “My name is Oleta, I’m a priestess here at the Chapel of Akatosh. You seem troubled.”

Lilitu opened her mouth, but couldn’t find her voice for a moment. She held up the starfish. “This is going to sound crazy,” she said after a moment.

Oleta smiled and nodded.

Lilitu took a deep breath. “I was on my way to Bravil a few weeks ago and I ran into some trouble. I was left on the road bleeding and injured and I just…” She shrugged. “I blacked out. During this, I saw a woman. Well, no I did more than just see her. I was with her. She was holding me and she kept pouring water on me. I think she may have been cleaning my wounds.”

“Ahh, a Good Cyrodillian helped you out?”

Lilitu shook her head. “No, it wasn’t a person.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I think it was Mara,” she blurted.

Oleta raised her eyebrows.

“See, I know it sounds crazy. It took me awhile to even admit it to myself. I’m really not one for the Divines anymore. They know I haven’t said a single word to them since I left home, but she used her Chalice to cleanse my wounds, we were by the fragrant waters that she is said to bathe in, and this damn starfish won’t go away, no matter what I do with it! I find it on my pillows, with my bath salts, in books. I even found in my dog’s food dish once. So obviously she wants something but I’m not sure what!”

Oleta pursed her lips together, taking a moment to take everything in. Lilitu looked at the floor, her cheeks burning. She was worried that perhaps she really did lose her mind.

“May I see it?” Oleta asked.

Lilitu handed over the starfish.

After a moment, Oleta began to smile, as if someone had wrapped her in a warm blanket. “You have been blessed.”

“By Mara,” Lilitu said.

Oleta handed the starfish back. “The Divines can see into every man’s heart. They alone know a person’s innermost desires and for those who the gods find favor in, they bless and often leave a symbol of their blessing. You, my dear, have Mara’s blessing.”

Lilitu stared at the starfish in her hands. She shook her head. “I…” She was at a loss for words. Mara had to know Lilitu’s resentment toward the Divines in general. Why bless her?

Oleta laid her hand on Lilitu’s knee. “Tell me, my child. What is you desire?”

Lilitu laughed. “Me? Just a nice person to settle down with one day. Maybe have a kid or two.”

Oleta shook her head. “Deeper than that.”

Lilitu hesitated. “Well…” She sighed. “I can’t.”

“Oh, come now, you can tell me. I won’t laugh.”

Lilitu bit her lip and started dragging her toe along the floor. “I… I’m part of a…”

“Thieves Guild.”

Lilitu raised her eyebrows.

“Honey, the whole town knows who hangs around the Dancing Minotaur and you stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Alright,” Lilitu said. “The Guild. One of our sworn duties is to protect the beggars of the cities. Ever since I joined up and have been learning the ins and outs, I can’t help feeling like there’s more we can do.” She sighed. “I have asked the doyens in the Imperial City, Anvil, Cheydinhal, even the one here, what we can do and they kinda laugh and give me the run around. Like I’m just a kid asking where babies come from.” She looked around, lowering her voice. “So, I started a little stash. I have a decent chunk of gold piled away to… to maybe open up a place. We can offer training in a few ways, not just how to be good at stealing.” She frowned a little. “Maybe it won’t amount to anything. Maybe it will. Who knows.”

Oleta patted Lilitu’s hands. “If you continue to have it in your heart, it will happen. Mara has given Her blessing. You just need to have faith.”

Lilitu nodded, yet a sourness filled her stomach.

The house lay empty. The only things left to eat were slices of stale bread. Her father had been gone for weeks. Lilitu wasn’t even sure if he was alive. She went upstairs to see her mother for a shred of solace.

There she was, standing over the bed putting septims into a pouch.

Though worried, Lilitu breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re going to get food?”

“No,” her mother said simply. “I’m going to donate this to the Chapel.”

Lilitu felt like someone poured a bucket of ice over her. “But… we have no food.”

Her mother shrugged. “The Divines will take care of us.”

The icy feeling quickly turned to that of lava in her veins. “It’s not like Zenithar is going to pop out of the air with a sack full of gold and feed us!”

Her mother brushed past her, heading down the stairs without so much as a glance back at her. “We’ll be fine. You just need to have faith.”

“Is everything okay?”

Lilitu jumped. It took her a moment to realize that she had been scowling at the floor. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s just a lot to take in is all.”

Oleta smiled warmly. “I understand. It’s not every day you find out that you’ve been so blessed.”

Lilitu managed a smile as she returned the starfish to her bag. “Thank you,” she said as she left.

“Anytime. I hope to see you here more often.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she said to herself.



Lilitu sat in front of The Dancing Minotaur, staring into her coffee. She sighed deeply. Her mother was right.

Akatosh on an apple, she was right.

Lilitu closed her eyes for a moment before glancing up to the sky. “At least don’t let her know. By all things sacred, at the very least grant me that.”

Should her mother find out, she knew she would never hear the end of it. She wouldn’t hear the end of a lot of things.

She placed her head on her hand and stared into the city streets. She eyed a few of the spots that children were known to hide out in. Would Mara’s blessing make it easier? Or would Mara make her work for it? So far it seemed like the latter. No one seemed to want to seriously consider anything she had to say on the matter. We’re thieves, not babysitters. We’re thieves, not a charity. We need to look out for ourselves first and foremost. And those were only the ones that didn’t start laughing until they realized that she was serious.

Just as she took another sip and idea sprang into her mind. The Gray Fox! She choked a little. Of course! She had been so much in awe of finally meeting him that it must have slipped her mind. He had to listen to her. After all she had done for him, he at least owed her that much!

This just hit me as uproarously funny - Probably the name, 'Dancing Minotaur' - new keyboard needed, ROFL !!!

This chapter was great - she'll learn one day, mothers have a way of finding out things - and the harder you wish it was something they never would catch you in, the quicker and more detailed they find it out, ROFL !!! Awesome Write !!

Poor Liltu, forced to go into a temple of the Nine. At least she did not burst into flames! That is one dogged starfish. It even showed up in Dolce's dish! Good thing she did not eat it, or even just gnaw on it like a bone.

I laughed at Oleta's remark about Liltu sticking out like a sore thumb.

The flashback to her mother counting out money for the chapel, all the while that they have no food, was very revealing.

Akatosh on an apple
I love this saying!

I missed much of the earlier chapters...I will add it to the ever growing list though... ...But this chapter worked without knowing the earlier bits...Explained much that I needed to know...Kinda like a jump-on point in itself!!...

That's just brilliantly done that is...*Applauds*...

The Sore Thumb comment is definately a crowd pleaser!... ...

Yeah, the mother counting out the money...Hmmm...Not good... ...

Brilliantly done...

Loves yer writing, of either story...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Going into the chapel and realizing that Mother Was Right both on the same day, yikes! I feel for Lilitu.

I liked the Dancing Minotaur too. Mind if I steal that name should I create an inn for Skyrim?

I can definitely see why Lilitu disliked the chaple so much. Having no food and the last of your money going to it…

Good job!

mALX~ Oh, isn't that the truth? It's like they're psychic! D:> I'm glad you liked the name. I couldn't come up with one on my own so I used a generator. I don't have the link anymore though

SubRosa~ I can't imagine Dolce would find the starfish appetizing And Mara wouldn't be too pleased either!

McBadgere~ I'm glad you like the the little reminder. Even I forget where I left off sometimes

Grits~ That's just too much to deal with without a big cup of coffee first!

King Coin~ Feel free to steal it whenever





Just when Lilitu thought she couldn’t get in more foul of a mood, Capaneus arrived with a young man following him.

“Ah, Lilitu!” He said, taking a seat across from her.

Lilitu groaned louder. “What do you want?” She asked flatly.

Capaneus smiled that smug smile of his and motioned for his friend to sit down. “I just wanted to introduce my brother to everyone who’s anyone in Kvatch.”

Lilitu rolled her eyes.

As if she seemed interested, Capaneus smiled broadly. She was sure that he knew that he was getting under her skin and she hated herself for allowing it. “Milun, this is Lilitu, the Thieves Guild fence. Lilitu, this is Milun.”

Milun was much thinner than Capaneus, with longer brown hair that graced his narrow shoulders. He had cool brown eyes behind a pair of dark rimmed spectacles. His face was very soft and delicate. In fact, save for a slight whiskering at his chin and above his upper lip, he could have been mistaken for a very lovely woman.

“Charmed,” Lilitu said disinterestedly, turning her attention to Milun’s necklace. A small black dagger smaller than Lilitu’s thumb hung from a black chain around his neck. Her stomach felt like it was lined with ice as she remembered what Yyaevonnte had told her about Capaneus.

“The pleasure is mine,” Milun said. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Lilitu had to fight the urge to gag and wipe her hand on his pants.

“Is there anything else you want to pester me with?” She asked Capaneus.

Capaneus tsked, shaking his head. “You’re in quite the mood today,” he said. He paused for a moment. “You know what might cheer you up? Why don’t we go out for a pastry? You like pastries, don’t you? And Kirsty makes the best ones in town… and I’m not just saying that because we’re courting.”

“I’m busy.”

Capaneus stood up. “Doing what?”

As if by Mara’s mercy, even with Lilitu’s reluctance to accept it, Celia, the recruiter for the Guild stepped out. “Lilitu, we need you inside.”

Lilitu felt so relieved that she didn’t even ask why as she got up from the table.

Celia led Lilitu to the basement, where the unofficial guild quarters were located. If Lilitu had not just walked down the steps and into the hidden door, she would have never guessed it was a basement. It was divided into three sections, a storage space for all the things fenced and ready to ship elsewhere, the main office and the doyen’s private quarters.

The main office was well furnished with four cherry wood desks. The one in the center of the room belonged to Andre the doyen. Paperwork was strewn about it in what he called “organized chaos.” Atop the many papers were figurines of boats. The doyen himself was easily recognized as a man who loved the sea, with his sun bleached blond hair and his tanned skin. Sadly, his skin was starting to reflect too much sun and around his eyes took on a leathery appearance.

Caminda was at her desk, hunched over her paperwork. As her neat, orderly desk was the polar opposite of Andre’s, her appearance was a stark contrast to him as well. Where he was a tall, blond, lanky man, Caminda was a short Bosmer with a jet black bob with enviable curves. Andre preferred the nice clean look of the nobles, Caminda proudly displayed floral body art along her temples and down her arms. The shelves above her desk held all sorts of lock boxes and some with a few enchanted traps. Hundreds of lock picks and probes were stashed next to them.

“I got this for you.” Andre said, handing her an envelope with her name on it. Her heart quickened at the handwriting. “It was here this morning when I got up. I’m not sure who could have picked the lock. Caminda made it herself…”

Lilitu didn’t need him to tell her who it was. In fact, opening it was enough.



She pursed her lips together, unsure of how to react. Only the job he had in store for her would tell.

Love it!... ...

For some reason, even my skin was crawling reading Capaneus talk!... ...You seem to have a knack for creepy characters... ...

I'll have to get my daughter to read this, she's the Thieves Guild one in the family...I'm too good for that...*Adjusts halo*... ...

Loving the story...Brilliant writing...

Nice one!...

*Applauds heartily*...

You know, I was just about to comment saying that it was good to see another update for this when I realised that I'd forgotten to post from when I'd originally read through this in just two sittings (it was that good). I'm sorry, I'm a terrible person.

So, in order to make up for that, I feel I must say that this is absolutely excellent stuff. Not only haveyou managed to capture the manic, demented feel of the Isles in your writing, but you've managed to populate both it and the Cyrodiil beyond with some wonderfully realistic, compelling and well fleshed-out characters, as well as giving a good bit of depth to Bethesda's existing ones (Haskill was one of my favourite NPCs from Bethesda's games,and you've managed to make him even better; he's definitely one of my favourite characters of this story, and he's got some tough competition, too!).

And I'm really wondering how poor old Wrothken is going to deal with the mess that's brewing up back in Cyrodiil at the moment, and how you're going to tie all these plot threads with Lilitu and the Thieves Guild and the Mythic Dawn all together. Though with luck, you'll do it just as well as you have the rest of this story...

So Cap has a brother (who seems to be an anime hottie!) and there is trouble in the guild. Not the best homecoming for Liltu.

And look who wants to meet her again! The Grey Fox is certainly getting chummy with her lately!

“You know what might cheer you up? Why don’t we go out for a pastry? You like pastries, don’t you?" He paused and poked her stomach. "Of course you do!"

Oh, he deserves a bloody stump for that.

And the Grey Fox will be stopping by tonight. He never wants anything dangerous or complicated…

McBadgere~ Lol! It's from my rather unfortunate, frequent encounters with creepy people. I had one just this morning on the way to work

Colonel Mustard~ Gasp! How dare you miss a post! Wow I didn't think this was read in two sittings good. I'm glad it's got that kind of hold on you. And yes, it is going to be quite the tangled web once I get done.

SubRosa~ He sure is! Next thing you know, he'll want to sleep off his hangovers on her couch

Grits~ Lol! That was a last minute addition! It just seemed to fit so well and I couldn't help laughing while typing it






Lilitu jumped when she entered her house.

The Gray Fox was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands folded neatly on his lap. Dolce was sitting in her bed staring at him intently. It was clear that she wanted to attack, but she was holding herself back. Lilitu noticed a slab of meat on the floor in front of her. Lilitu raised her eyebrows. That had to be the source of her confliction.

Dolce looked at Lilitu and stamped her front paws on the floor and whimpered. Lilitu couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ahead,” she said.

Immediately Dolce scarfed the meat down and licked her lips happily after.

To the Gray Fox, she said, “I thought you said eight.”

He smiled. “I knew you’d rush back as soon as you heard the news.” He looked around the house. “It’s very red.”

“I know,” she said, taking a seat across from him. “So, another job, I take it?”

"Further use of Savilla's Stone has revealed that I need another special item to move forward with my plans.”

Lilitu sighed quietly.

“I need the boots of Springheel Jak,” he continued. “He was a famous thief that died some three hundred years ago. Legend has it that he was buried with his boots on. Find out where Springheel Jak is buried and bring me back those boots. Will you do this for me?”

Lilitu looked at the floor and then at Dolce. She knew she couldn’t refuse him. He was the Gray Fox, after all. Still, she recalled the danger the other requests put her into. Even if she was protected by Mara for some reason, it didn’t get her out of feeling fear or pain.

“It pays well,” he added, sensing her reluctance.

“Alright,” she said.

“Capital--”

“But!” Lilitu said, raising her finger. “Before I do, you have to hear me out on something.”

His cowl made his expression unreadable, but he didn’t refuse.

“As the Gray Fox, you know that we have a solemn oath to protect the beggars of the city. Where other guilds have warm beds and decent food for their members, the ones we swear to protect upon entry to this guild are left to sleep in the streets with nothing to eat. I have asked the doyens what we can do as a guild to help, but I get nothing substantial. Obviously we can’t open a place up with a banner held high, but there has to be something we can do.”

The Gray Fox put his index fingers to his lips, leaning back in his chair. “You aren’t the first to suggest such a thing,” he finally said. “I have an idea, but it will all come together soon. I promise that after you get the boots for me, we’ll discuss this more.”

She smiled a little. It was a lot farther than she had gotten with anyone else.

“Now, the Earl of Imbel is the only descendant of his line that I have been able to locate. His name is Jakben, and he lives somewhere in the Imperial City. There might be a clue in the Earl's house.”

“The Imperial City?” Lilitu asked, her eyes widening.

The Gray Fox nodded. “I have the utmost confidence in you.”

Lilitu lowered her eyes but when she looked back up, the Gray Fox had already vanished. She looked at Dolce. “Where in Oblivion did he go?”

Dolce simply yawned and laid down in her bed.



The Imperial City. Lilitu looked out her bedroom window at White Gold Tower. It gleamed in the distance, reflecting the glow from the moons. It was so beautiful, but Lilitu couldn’t help being filled with dread.

She went upstairs to her room in The Feed Bag. Tired and weary, she was ready to collapse onto her bed. She opened the door and started to scream.

Dolce was on the floor, laying in a puddle of her own vomit. She was on her side, breathing with great difficulty. Her eyes were cloudy and rolled in the back of her head.

Lilitu rushed to Dolce’s side, placing her hand over her heart. She could feel a faint beat. She sat there sobbing and screaming, unsure of what to do. But she knew who did it.

The image appeared back to her every time she closed her eyes. Dolce come over to her and nudged Lilitu’s hand with her head a few times before licking it. Lilitu knelt down and hugged the dog. “No one will ever take you away from me again.”

She scratched Dolce’s ears while she stared out the window. “I better get this over with.”



Being back in the Imperial City brought back a multitude of emotions.

There was the magic of being on her own for the first time, the joys of the times with Methredhel, the mystery of the Thieves Guild and the fear of being caught again, of being trapped. The terror of retaliation she knew would be coming if he saw her. More than once, Lilitu had to prop herself against a wall in order to keep from being wholly overwhelmed.

The Marketplace was just as she remembered. The crowds were so packed together that it had become common for ladies to stuff their coin purses down their shirts to keep stray hands from snatching them. Vendors stood in front of the shops selling all kinds of things from clothing to food to weapons. It was like Kvatch, only much more congested. It was a claustrophobic’s nightmare.

Lilitu forgot her paranoia soon enough, allowing her eyes to leave the ground and her lips to smile. This was home. This was where she belonged and she kicked herself for allowing some scumbag to run her out.

When her eyes caught a pair of familiar brown ones, she stopped in her tracks.

“Oh my gods!” She jumped up and she clasped her hands in front of her mouth. “Methredhel!”

Methredhel screamed and ran full speed toward Lilitu with her arms stretched out, shoving people out of the way. She jumped up and wrapped her legs tightly around Lilitu’s waist.

Lilitu stumbled for a moment but as soon as she regained her balance, she squeezed Methredhel tightly. After planting kisses on each other’s cheeks, Methredhel climbed down.

“I had no idea you were going to be in town!” Methredhel squeaked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because by time the letter got here, I would have. I just took an overnight carriage.” Lilitu looked around and lowered her voice. “I’m here on official business.”

Methredhel looked at the ground, frowning. “No Dolce?”

Lilitu shook her head. “She’s at home. I brought her on my last trip and that was a disaster. She’s safer there, anyway.”

As they walked, they held hands with their fingers laced together. Lilitu suddenly felt whole again. Well, almost. All she needed was Dolce.

Methredhel raised her eyebrows. “So... business-business or I-have-unfinished-business-business?”

“Gray Fox business.”

Methredhel gasped. “You mean he’s sent you back?”

“Not exactly.” Lilitu leaned into her ear. “I’m supposed to swipe some boots for him from some guy.”

Methredhel nodded. “I thought you were made a fence, though.”

“So did I,” Lilitu said with a sigh. “This isn’t the first time. He had me on two other missions.”

“So where are you staying?”

“I was thinking the Feed Bag, like before.” Lilitu paused. “Stay with me!”

Methredhel laughed. “You know what Armond will say.”

“Armond needs to get his head out of the gutter! Just because we sleep together doesn’t mean we sleep together!” She paused for a moment. “Though we did sort of contribute to that rumor... a lot.”

Methredhel shrugged. “We were told to use anything and everything to our advantage when it came to stealing. It’s not our fault that men get distracted easily!”

That Grey Fox, you never know when he is going to turn up! So now it is off to find some boots. And in return, the GF will look into helping the beggars? I thought that was very thoughtful of Liltu to bring it up. Again, we see that there is more to her than just a thief.

And another glimpse into the mirror of the past I see! So it was in the IC that Dolce was poisoned. I can certainly see why Lil views the city with dread.

Yay, its Methredhel! One of my favorite Oblivion characters. I see she and Lil have been sleeping together. Too bad they have not been sleeping together as well though.

Nah, one pair on this forum's enough for my blood pressure... ...

Aaamywho...Fantastic stuff...Loved the Grey Fox stuff...

Never did all that stuff so I've never met the chap...Damned well written though...

Loved the Imp City stuff...One of these days, should I earn some freebies from the Extra-Time Fairy, then I shall do this from the start and know what I missed... ...

Excellent stuff...Loved it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

I think it would be easy to convince Lilitu to go get a pair of boots. A big hammer not so much. But, boots! Maybe with platform heels, some buckles… I guess we’ll have to wait and see Springheel Jak’s taste in footwear.

Fun reunion with Methredhel! It's nice to see Lilitu happy in the Imperial City.

An unpleasant job dealing with a troublesome ‘guild member’ and on top of that, the Gray Fox has something for her.

**

And the Gray Fox knows how to make peace with a pooch!

The reunion with Methredhel was hilarious!

-appears two years later-

Ahem.





Lilitu and Methredhel navigated their way through the crowds in the Market District. The two of them held hands and skipped every so often. Lilitu felt as bright as the sun. All of her paranoia, all of her doubts melted away.

They stopped in front of The Feedbag. It was where Lilitu had her first honest job as a waitress. That’s where she met Methredhel and her life as a thief began. If she really thought about it, it was because of the Guild that she was even alive today.

Though Methredhel’s very presence caused shop owners to react rather coldly, they did a bit of window shopping. In fact, they were having so much fun looking around, that they didn’t steal a thing to avoid making the day more complicated than it had to be.

By the time evening had slipped around, they headed to the Merchant’s Inn. A lot of guild members tended to stop in, if only to listen in to shop owners talking about their latest ways to deter thieves. It would be nice to see the familiar faces.

Methredhel stood behind Lilitu, resting her head on her shoulder. “You want to stay here? You know, for old time’s sake?”

“Yeah,” Lilitu said, still smiling over the old memories. “And you’re staying with me?”

“Please, like I’d turn down the chance to have a hot bath.”

That told Lilitu that Methredhel was still living in the Waterfront. Lilitu wanted to ask her why, but she knew Methredhel was still saving up for a life in the Elven Gardens District. A house wasn’t enough. She wanted a cushion to keep her dressed, fed, and living comfortably for a while without having to stress about when the next job would come by.

Once again hand-in-hand, the two of them entered the bar. Lilitu bought a room for a couple nights and the two elves giggled as they dashed up the stairs. The room was simple with a double bed and connecting bath.

As Lilitu was taking off her bag and shoes, Methredhel was running the water and eagerly stripping down for her bath. “I can’t tell you how long its been! I mean, yeah, there’s the lake, but it’s a pain dealing with the sea life and the men staring!” She ran her hand down the faucet. “Hot water….”

The room came with a few bottles of soaps and Methredhel poured some of the liquid in, making it bubble. “I swear, it’s so tempting to just get a little place around here. The Market District has gotten cheaper, but… well, you know me. Go big or go home!” With that, she climbed in and sighed deeply.

Methredhel lounged in the bathtub, relishing every little thing about it. She didn’t even bother covering up. Lilitu noticed that save for the height difference, their bodies were nearly identical in shape. Yet while Lilitu stuffed herself into corsets to force her waist to appear smaller and her bust larger, Methredhel seemed to love hers. She always did. Lilitu sighed a little. Why was it so easy for her? Then again, Lilitu didn’t see any dimpling on her thighs or faint marks along her hips. Maybe Methredhel was slightly thinner. Or maybe she was just imagining everything.

As Methredhel bathed, Lilitu sat by the window. She scanned the crowds for anyone suspicious. She told herself that she was only enjoying the view, she couldn’t fool herself. She couldn’t fool Methredhel either.

“They’ve stopped asking about you.”

“Hmm?”

“I said, they’ve stopped asking. You can relax. Besides, it’s been what, three years? Even if they remember you, they probably can’t remember what you look like, especially with the new look.”

“Yeah, I figured…” Lilitu said, turning away from the window. “It’s just hard to forget, you know? Besides, these guys weren’t Dark Brotherhood material, but they weren’t a group of milk-drinkers either. Besides, you know me. Better to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder than get careless and backstabbed.”

Methredhel shook her head. “That’s no way to live, Lil.” She stuck her leg out of the water to lather it in the suds. “So. Tell me about this job. And the Gray Fox! I can’t believe you’ve met him! I’ve been in the Guild way longer and I never saw him! Most people think he’s just a story these days!”

Lilitu took a seat by the tub to avoid the temptation to go people watching. “He wants me to steal a pair of boots for him.”

Methredhel raised an eyebrow. “Boots. Like….. the kind you put on your feet. What kind of basic job is that? And you’re not even a thief anymore!”

Lilitu shrugged. “They’re enchanted, if that matters.” She laughed a little. “I think I’ve been demoted to grave robber, actually. I’m supposed to get them off some guy who died three hundred years ago.”

“Oh, Lil…”

“Maybe you’ve heard of the guy’s great-great-grandson or whatever. The Earl of Imbel?”

Methredhel thought for a moment. “You know, I think I might’ve.” She took a moment to dunk herself under the water and wash out her hair. Her previously straight brown locks suddenly began to curl, though not as much as Lilitu’s did when wet. They were more like tousled waves. Again, Lilitu felt a twinge of jealousy. “Yeah, I know about him. He lives in the Talos Plaza District. Only goes out at night. Supposedly, he’s got a skin condition and he doesn’t want people to see.”

“Hmm..” Lilitu nodded. “So, if that’s true, he’s probably asleep all day. So night’s the best bet. That works!” She got up to change in her armor. There was a small privacy screen folded by the bed. Though Methredhel was able to waltz about in the nude, Lilitu was just not that comfortable. “In that case, I’ll head out now. If this is anything like the last nightmarish trips the Gray Fox sent me on, I just want to get it done and over with.”

Methredhel stood up quickly, accompanied by the sound of water splashing back into the tub. “Let me come! We haven’t done anything together in ages! And besides, it’ll be more fun!”

Lilitu poked her head out from behind the screen. “I don’t know…. These last few trips have been so dangerous! I almost died during the last nightmare.”

Not easily swayed, Methredhel was already out of the tub, drying off. “All the more reason to let me go with. And you tell the Gray Fox that I said if he endangers your life one more time, I’m gonna pop him right in his little whiskery nose!”

Is it OK if I wait a couple of years before commenting? That was a great write and I want to let it sink in.

So nice to see the two elf chicks hanging out together, and spending the night frolicking in the tub. I love Liltu's envy of Methredhel. The grass is always greener on the other side of the elf.

I think Lilitu and Grit's character Lildreth need to meet. If just to add confusion over their names!

Lil worked at the Feedbag? Neat! Her first and last honest job!

And now it is a two-elf teamup!


nits:
if only to listen in to shop owners talking about their latest ways to defer thieves
Perhaps you were looking for deter thieves?

ghastley~ Take as long as you need

SubRosa~ I'm going to be a little sad when it's time for Lilitu to go home. There's never enough Methredhel!






The Talos Plaza District was the crème de la crème of the Imperial City. The only person wealthier than the people who lived there was the Emperor himself! While many Thieves Guild members dreamed of plundering these houses, the guard was a lot tighter here than anywhere else. Loitering laws were strictly enforced to weed out thieves and, honestly, any undesirables. Not a single beggar slept on the streets in this part of town.

Like the rest of the Imperial City, the streets were curved, though much cleaner. Even the air had a crisper smell than the other districts. The houses were the same style, though instead of being divided by floors, each home was two to three stories high on its own. It was a way to keep space limited, ensuring that only the elite would be able to live there. To Lilitu, the best part of it was the marble dragon in the center of town, gracefully standing in a ring of several marble columns.

Lilitu and Methredhel walked quickly to the Tiber Septim hotel, as agreed to make their stroll look a little more believable. While Lilitu’s armor looked decent enough and Methredhel was all cleaned up and dressed similarly to Lilitu, they weren’t in the fine gowns that women in the area typically wore, causing them to look out of place.

As they scoped out the neighborhoods, Methredhel noticed a gold slot reading Earl Jakben of Imbel on one of the doors. Disguising it as a peck on the cheek, she whispered, “There it is.”

Lilitu responded with feigned giggles, turning away as if shy, but she was checking out the darkened windows. A passing guard smiled at the sight of “young love” and nodded to them.

They entered the hotel, where they received quite a few glances from upturned noses. The looks didn’t last long and that suited them just fine. Better for them to talk privately.

“So,” Lilitu said. “It looks dark inside, but that might not mean much. I bet he’s got at least a couple servants and maybe they’re in the back of the house, or downstairs in the cellar.”

“True, but we don’t know when he’s coming back. Do you think we should just keep tabs on him tonight and try for tomorrow? I mean, the monastery and Fathis Aren’s tower sounded awful, but… I mean this is just a routine break in for information about great-grandpa’s boots. We can just go in, poke around, take what we can because Y’ffre knows when we’d got another opportunity to break in around here, and get out.” She grinned. “Worst case scenario, we visit in the morning and threaten him awake. I bet he’d blab before even realizing what’s going on!”

Lilitu mulled it over for a while before nodding. “So, I guess we’re looking for papers or something that points to where Springheel Jak is buried.” She sighed a little. “In Morrowind, this would probably be a little more straight forward. If the boots were that important, they would be in his tomb… along with undead ancestors to guard the place. Actually, maybe this isn’t too bad.”



After giving themselves another half hour, they left. This time instead of looking like a couple on a night out, they were silent and paying attention to the guards patrolling the area. They were in greater numbers, but they still couldn’t be everywhere at once. They counted the seconds of time when they could pick undisturbed.

Though Lilitu’s dark blue armor blended in better, Methredhel was better at picking locks. She could have them in before blending in became necessary. As soon as they had an opening, Methredhel went to work. Though to Lilitu it felt like ages, Methredhel had it unlocked in a matter of seconds. “Done,” she whispered, opening the door slightly. They slipped inside to be greeted with silence.

“He must be out,” Lilitu whispered with a relieved sigh.

Then she realized that she had spoken too soon.

A man entered the room, carrying a candle in his hands. Lilitu and Methredhel were about to try and hide when he shrieked, cowering so bad he dropped the candle. Lilitu thanked the gods that it went out before hitting the floor.

“An intruder!” He cried. “Please don’t hurt me!”

Lilitu and Methredhel exchanged glances. As they had been caught, Methredhel obviously saw no reason to skulk in the shadows anymore. She picked up the candle and re-lit it, along with a few others. As the room brightened, Lilitu couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment.

While she wasn’t exactly expecting the room to glitter before her eyes, she was somewhat surprised by the plainness revealed in the soft glow. Instead of marble flooring like the walls and columns outside, it was a simple concrete slab, though it was covered with a fine rug. It looked like one of Hammerfell origin. Though there were two sitting areas on either side of a bare desk, the furnishings were simple wood. Neither of the tables had dishes out for company. Curved staircases were on both sides, though the rooms above were pitch black.

“Shut up and do as we say and you won’t be hurt!” She said, taking her Orsimer dagger from the sheath at her thigh. One thing Methredhel didn’t skimp on was the quality of weapon she carried. A woman living in the Waterfront didn’t have that luxury.

“Oh, dear gods, please…” The man quivered, burying his face in his hands. “What do you want? I’ll do anything!”

Following Methredhel’s lead, Lilitu approached him. “Are you the Earl of Jakben?”

He shuddered, just nodding.

“Alright. I need to know where Springheel Jak was buried. I want his boots.”

“Fine, fine! You can have them, just spare me!”

“She wasn’t asking permission!” Methredhel hissed, moving the dagger threateningly around his neck. “Where are they?”

“The family crypts are under the house. They give me the creeps! I have the key.” The Earl fumbled around his neck before pulling out a key. He threw it at Lilitu’s feet. “Take it! Just don’t hurt me!”

Lilitu slowly picked it up, watching in case he was a trap. Of course, with Methredhel poised to cause serious damage, he remained still. “Alright,” Methredhel said. “Is there a safe room in this house?”

“Y…yes…”

“Go. And don’t come out until morning, or we’ll have your head, got it?”

The Earl was near sobbing as he bounded up the stairs, not even looking back.

“Great job,” Lilitu said with a smile.

Methredhel bowed dramatically before looking around the room. “Now, this is just embarrassing, and I’m not just talking about the Earl of Piddle-Pants. If this is standard, then I don’t even know why the guards bother. All this dreck wouldn’t even add up to my stash!”

The basement wasn’t much better. The barrels stacked around didn’t hold fine clothing or even a single septim, though they did have lots of food packed up. Methredhel grabbed an apple as they approached the large stone door leading to the crypt.

“This is creepy,” Lilitu said. “Who sleeps in a house with their dead family buried under them?”

“I think this guy has already shown that he’s not right in the head. How do you live broke in this kind of place? It just begs to be dressed up!”

Lilitu knew she was stalling. “If Springheel Jak is buried here, that means that over three hundred years of dead people are down here.”

“Yeesh.” Methredhel winced. “Good gods, I just realized… if he died and was buried in those boots, his rot is in them! Ugh!”

“And we have to take them off…. Oh, gods, what if he was mummified and kinda fresh?”

“The smell will kill us. Why did you let me come with? This is gross!”

“Better question, why does the Gray Fox love torturing me? What did I do? Why does he hate me?”

“Pop him in the nose. Solves everything.”

Lilitu sighed, unlocking the door. “Ready?”

Methredhel shook her head.

“Yeah, me neither.” Lilitu unlocked the door anyway.

The stone door was rather heavy, making a low rumbling noise as Lilitu pushed it open. Methredhel held out a lit candelabra through the entry. A dirt tunnel was revealed before them. Unlit torches were along the walls, built into the wood frame holding the tunnel up.

“Oh, dirt. Of course,” Methredhel said. “You think Sir Septims would have enough to put in marble flooring after all he didn’t spend on decent taste. We’ll leave tracks all the way back!”

Lilitu shook her head. “No, we can just wipe our feet on the rug upstairs.”

“No, you won’t! I’m taking that! I need some sort of consolation!”

Lilitu couldn’t help laughing a little. “Fine, we’ll work that out later.” She cleared her throat, forcing the most Imperial-sounding accent she could muster. “After you, Lady Methredhel.”

Methredhel raised her eyebrows. “Me? Oh, no thanks. Age before beauty, you know?”

Lilitu laughed sarcastically. “Together, on three.”

Methredhel nodded.

“One….two….three…”

Neither of them took a step.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” Lilitu sighed. “We are grown women just going to get some shoes. This happens every day.”

“Yeah, well… this is infinitely more creepy.”

“I know, I know…” Lilitu took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before crossing the threshold.

After she had taken a few steps, Methredhel followed. When they were a few feet in, the door shut itself behind them. They both turned to look at it, then at each other.

“I still have the key,” Lilitu said, dropping it in one of her pockets. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

Linked arm-in-arm, they quietly walked through the tunnel, lighting the torches along the way. Lilitu tried distracting herself with thoughts of generous pay and the fact that the Gray Fox was a tiny bit more receptive to making the Guild more like an actual guild than anyone else had been. Though she didn’t dare close her eyes, she could imagine a nice, unofficial hall, with warm beds, decent food, organized training…

“Hey.”

Lilitu was suddenly aware that Methredhel stopped moving. She was frowning as she pointed to the ground. “Why are there so many footprints?”

There were several on the ground. Boots,, bare fee, even what looked like a skeletal print. This was disturbing, though she tried to brush it off. “Maybe he likes to come visit his family. Back home, we used to visit ancestral tombs on certain holidays.”

“He’s not a dark elf and this isn’t Morrowind.” Methredhel took out her dagger. “This is something else… can’t you feel it? It’s like we’re being watched.”

She was right. Lilitu was used to feeling like someone was watching her, so she didn’t think about it this time, but there was a certain thickness in the air. “We’re scaring ourselves,” she said after a while. “Let’s just find the boots and get out of here.”

They continued on in silence until Methredhel shrieked. Lilitu turned to see a large man grab Methredhel by the hair and throw her against a wooden coffin. It cracked, sending a decomposed arm on her head.

“S’wit!” Lilitu cried, sending a fireball from her hand. The man hissed as it bloomed against the side of his face, turning toward Lilitu. It was then that she saw the blue veins through almost translucent white skin and the large fangs. This vampire was nothing like the ones in her bodice-rippers. Here she was with an almost immortal predator, higher up on the food chain than her.

Methredhel got up and drove her dagger through the back of its knee. It cried out and turned to her. Lilitu took that moment to plunge her own dagger into its neck. She gagged as she wriggled it deep enough to feel it move along the bones until the neck was severed. The vampire fell to the ground, becoming dust before it even hit the ground.

The two elves stared at the pile between them.

“I’m out!” Methredhel said, heading to the door.

Lilitu agreed. This was too much. She endured clannfear, blind monks, and dremora, but vampires? No. There wasn’t enough gold in the world. Besides, there were still vampire hunters around. She knew they’d be willing to be discreet about how they found the lair if it got them a chance to kill those beasts! In fact, the boots can be part of the deal!

She caught up with Methredhel just in time to see her pounding at the door. “G-get the key!”

Lilitu pulled it out and tried unlocking it, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“He’s locked us down here!” Methredhel gasped. “Mara’s grace, he tricked us! That whole thing was an act! He locked us down here to die!”

Lilitu’s body numbed. That was it? She saw the faces of her dog, her siblings, her friends… Was it all over?

Methredhel was started to take slow, deep breaths. “Okay, okay… We’ll fight our way out.”

“What?” Lilitu asked. “Against vampires? And how does that solve the problem of the door?”

Methredhel bit her lip, pacing in a small circle. “What if we dig? We’ve got gloves, so it won’t tear our fingers apart. And… we can make tools.”

“Out of what?”

“I don’t know, pieces of the coffins? Let’s just deal with the vampire problem now.” Her best bow had been resting on her back, along with a quiver full of steel arrows. She took out the bow and placed an arrow between her fingers. “I sure as fetch won’t die down here!”

With her back to the wall, Lilitu slid to the ground, willing herself not to cry. As admirable as Methredhel’s fighting spirit was, she just couldn’t see any way out. Not two thieves against a horde of vampires.

Her hands dropped to her sides when she felt something odd in the dirt next to her. The starfish. She knew what it was even before she picked it up. The very starfish that she had buried in her dresser drawer before leaving for the Imperial City. Her throat suddenly didn’t feel like it was closing in on itself. In fact, her heart lifted considerably. This had to mean that Mara was watching, right? If Mara was on their side, then that had to mean they were going to survive! Lilitu took a few deep breaths, clutching the starfish to her heart before placing it in her armor. She turned to Methredhel, since she was the one with ideas. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

Methredhel sat for a moment, burying her face in her hands. “Alright, you can call upon one of your ancestors for help, right? Got any long-dead vampire hunters in your family?”

“Maybe…” Lilitu looked around, not wanting to leave it all to Methredhel. “We use the torches to keep them at bay if they get too close.”

“Any chance of you doing that kiss trick of yours?”

Lilitu gagged. “Too risky, with the fangs and all. Besides, I think I’d rather die than go that far.”

Methredhel slapped her arm. “Don’t jinx us. It’s supposed to be you and me running the world, remember? I can’t do that if you… you know.”

“Fine,” Lilitu said. She squeezed Methredhel’s hand. “Ready?”

“Let’s go!”

Yay, I’m so delighted to see this story continuing! Lil and Methredhel’s friendship is great fun to read.

Lilitu shook her head. “No, we can just wipe our feet on the rug upstairs.”

“No, you won’t! I’m taking that! I need some sort of consolation!”

Perfect. I love that they’d both had too much and decided to bail on the weird shoe shopping expedition. After all these are thieves, not warriors. Trapped and going forward as a team. Gulp.

The time in the crypt of the Earl of Jakben was one that Lilitu was sure would haunt her for the rest of her life. While, it was relieving that there weren’t three hundred years of starving vampires waiting for them, the handful that she and Methredhel was more than enough for several lifetimes.

The vampires seemed to have the ability to turn invisible. It was by the time the fourth one snuck up on them that Methredhel started to shoot an arrow in the direction of approaching footprints. She was rewarded each time with what seemed to be a floating arrow jostling about. Working together, the two elves killed off each one.

Each encounter left Lilitu doubting that she would survive the next one and like she had done on the last two jobs, she found herself cursing the Gray Fox, his parents, and his stupid cowl to the deepest, most miserable depths of Oblivion.

Finally, at the end of the tunnel they reached a large stone casket. The name “Springheel Jak” was embossed along the side.

“Those boots had better be gold plated,” Methredhel said as Lilitu pushed it open.

There was silence before Lilitu let out a grunt of fury. “I’m going to kill him!” She growled.

“Why?” Methredhel asked, looking in the coffin. Then she understood Lilitu’s anger.

The coffin was empty except for rumpled clothes and a tattered book.

While Lilitu was hissing obscenities, Methredhel picked up the dog-eared book. “Maybe there’s something in this…” She skimmed through it before gasping. “Lil, listen to this.”

Lilitu stopped, folding her arms. If she had to crawl through another vampire infested dump, she was going straight home to tell the Gray Fox just where he could stick those boots.

“‘I rediscovered this diary today. It has been 13 years since I last wrote in it. With an eternity before, and the blood hunger ever pulsing in my veins, there is little urgency for diaries….’” Methredhel looked up. “He wasn’t a thief, he was a vampire! He might still be alive!”

“You think so? By the Nine, and he still lives down here! What if that’s why the Earl of Piddle-Pants was so worked up?”

“Of course!” Methredhel said, clutching the book. Her finger remained between the pages to keep her place. “That poor man might even be his cattle! And that would explain why the door shut itself like that. To keep Jakben from getting out so easy.”

“Do you think we’ve killed him already?” Lilitu asked, looking down the dark tunnel. “I didn’t notice any boots in the piles.”


“Maybe…” Methredhel lifted the book again to continue reading. “‘Has it really been 89 years since I last wrote? The pages are getting fragile. I have rediscovered purpose, though it took nearly a century. I have finally gained some measure of control over the blood frenzy. I think I will try to establish a life among the living in one of their great cities.’”

Lilitu crinkled her nose. “Now he sounds like he’s been reading too many vampire love stories. What else does it say?”

“‘I had forgotten about this diary. I won't bother to calculate how many decades it has been since I last wrote in it. The cattle of this city know me as….’” Methredhel’s face paled and her eyes widened. “Oh, dear gods…”

For Methredhel to get that scared, it had to be bad. “What?” Lilitu asked, placing her hand over Mara’s starfish. “What does it say?”

“Earl Piddle-Pants…. He’s the vampire! He’s Springheel Jak!”

“What?” Lilitu grabbed the book to read it for herself. She wanted to say she couldn’t believe this, but why not? After everything else that had happened, why should this be surprising? “I think it’s time to re-discuss that plan to get out of here.”

“Alright….um….” Methredhel’s next thoughts were cut off by the loud rumbling of a stone door. “Piddle-Pants….” She whispered.

Lilitu turned to Methredhel, who had her bow and an arrow all ready.. “Last one,” she said, catching Lilitu’s eye.

“Actually…” Lilitu said slowly. “You have to go.”

“What?” Methredhel hissed, angered at the very idea.

“Look, if that door shuts while we’re all in here, who’s to say we’ll get out? And I know you say we’ll dig our way out, but that could take days! If you go now, at least you can open up later on!” Lilitu paused, having a hard time finishing the sentence. “And if I die, at least you’d be in a position to go get help. Cyrodiil is on better terms with thieves than vampires, right? And you can say that you knew I was doing it and never came back, so you have an out.”

There was another reason she wanted Methredhel to go. Mara’s starfish told Lilitu that she was being looked out for by the goddess. There was no guarantee about Methredhel. With people dying daily, despite crying to the gods for mercy, Lilitu knew she couldn’t rely on divine intervention for Methredhel.

Luckily, her argument seemed to make sense. “I don’t like it and if you’re not out in half an hour, I’m getting help.” Methredhel grabbed Lilitu for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I mean it,” she said. “Half hour.”

They ran together to the front of the crypt, where Springheel Jak was coming in. No longer was he looking like a feeble old man. He was suited up in armor and he held a long sword. Clearly, he was trying for overkill.

“You’ve got fifteen,” Methredhel said in a hushed breath.

They both charged the vampire, creating a way for Methredhel to slip through the closing stone door unnoticed. Jak didn’t seem to mind. He focused on Lilitu with a fanged grin. “You fool,” he spat. “I am no effete noble. I am a vampire, lord of blood!”


Though it wasn’t a conscious call, a form soon appeared at Lilitu’s side. Its white mist just floated there before its features were better defined. An Imperial woman stood next to her. She was dressed in a full suit of armor, though beneath her helm, Lilitu saw very familiar wild curls poking out, though Lilitu couldn’t tell if they had once been the same deep brown color. The woman grinned momentarily as she looked Lilitu up and down and the smile intensified as she set her eyes on the approaching Earl.

“Come and get me!” The ghost bellowed in a guttural growl that startled Lilitu. Generally she never got to hear the voice of her ancestors. She pounded her chest plate and drew a sword as she ran to attack. Lilitu sighed in relief. That would keep him busy.




Even as Methredhel pulled the door shut, she was cursing herself. Lilitu’s argument made too much sense to challenge at that moment, but when she heard the thudding of the door locked up inside, she felt a wave of guilt wash over her.

Methredhel ran up the stairs, this time not even bothering to be quiet. She needed to find something quickly that could get Earl Piddle-Pants either knocked-out or dead.

A quickly unlocked door downstairs lead her into the kitchen, where she didn’t bother searching for garlic. She was looking for a large knife. Something that could cut through bone, though the thought of what kind of meat it was probably used for made her knees tremble.

By the time she had finished in the kitchen, it looked like a dozen scamps had run through it, but there was nothing in there that gave Methredhel confidence in getting rid of the vampire. “Dammit!” She hissed, dashing up to the second story.

“Woah…” Her impression of the Earl of Cheapskatey-Piddle-Pants quickly changed when she saw the room before her. Lush tapestries hung from the walls. China cabinets stood at her side, filled with gilded dishes and tableware. Good heavens, to actually eat off gold. She hoped to be rich enough to know what that was like one day. Of course, she noticed the lack of anything silver.

An ornate fireplace was under a trap door leading to the attic. The door still hung open. Something told her that was where the Earl hid away. If that was his go-to hiding spot, there had to be other things hidden away. Hopefully not drained bodies.

The room looked like something out of a story book. Though it was near twice the size of her shack on the Waterfront, it was still rather cozy. The Earl slept on a four-poster canopy bed with silk sheets. An entire wall was filled with bookshelves. Though the books were incredibly old, the leather bindings still shined nicely. A wardrobe was near the window and when Methredhel opened it, she was greeted by all sorts of velvets, furs, and silks. One thing stood out to her. In the back corner were a very old and very worn pair of boots. Could those be the ones Lilitu was looking for?

Methredhel slipped them on, over her own boots. She didn’t feel any different until she took a step. She smiled a little. They made her feel rather springy. A test jump sent her across the room with little effort. This had to be them. One problem down.

The solution to the other and far more pressing matter came to her as she bounced down the stairs, nearly knocking over an oil lamp. That was it!



Lilitu wasn’t sure if she could run anymore. Her lungs felt like they were going to burst if her heart didn’t explode within her before that. The Earl was enjoying it. He seemed to have perverse pleasure from toying with her.

The Imperial woman Lilitu had managed to summon had fought valiantly, but she wasn’t enough to completely wear down Springheel Jak. So far, he had caught her twice. The first time, he simply picked her up and threw her against a casket rested in a crevice. The force broke the wood and she was showered in dirt and the old bones of whoever had been inside. The second time, he tried to bite her, but she came close to cutting out his eye and he had to drop her to save it.

Though the door was way too heavy to push open, she tried to stay close. If Methredhel came back in time with help, she’d get out alive for sure. That was still an “if.” Jak was closing in and just as Lilitu was about to scream, the door flew open. Methredhel appeared and doused the Earl with a bucket of slick liquid. Oil?

“Light him!” Methredhel shouted.

Immediately, Lilitu summoned up one last fireball, as big as she could, and shot it right at him. It had all happened so fast, that Springheel Jak lit up brighter than any candle Lilitu had ever seen. Between his skin crackling and his inhuman screeching, she couldn’t look away. It was only when he made eye contact and started to lunge toward her, that Methredhel grabbed Lilitu and slammed the door shut.

Wow! Close call!

This was a hold-your-breath-bite-your-nails installment including a fight which outcome remained unknown until the very end! I really did enjoy this, especially Lilitu's quick thinking in getting Meth out of there.

Yikes, that was exciting! Great sense of dread as the two read the diary.

I loved Lilitu’s quick decision to get Methredhel out to safety, and then that decision saved Lil’s life. What an awesome turn of events!

I love the description of the Talos District's upscaleness, where undesirables are not allowed.

Nice nod to Morrowind's undead-infested tombs.

Poor Earl of Piddle Pants! Not a pot to piss his pants in or a window to throw it out of.

Lil is going to steal the rug!

Yikes, vampires! And Lord Piddle Pants locked them in with the fangers! I guess he was not as Piddly as we thought.

Thank goodness for Liltu's ancestors. Not to mention Mara. I hope she can keep him busy long enough for Methie to return with the boots and that oil. W00t! Lord Piddle is now a Roman Cyrodillic Candle.


nits: Chapter Forty-five:
She gagged as she wriggled it deep enough to feel it move along the bones until the neck was severed
I am thinking you mean until the head was severed?

To me, sever means both divide and separate, so it works either way. Dividing the neck, or separating the head. Anyway, I don't think removal was intended, maybe a vein or artery was the target?

Sever works best when used for limbs, where that distinction is a bit moot.

haute ecole rider~ Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it, as it was pretty hard to write @_@

Grits~ The diary was one of the things Oblivion kinda messed up on. I remember the little pop-up explaining everything before I had a chance to read it :/

SubRosa~ Oops, I did mean the head to be severed. I lost count of how many times I changed things

ghastley~ No, she meant to behead. Though I will keep in mind the artery splitting for other events





When she still lived in Morrowind, Lilitu recalled her father often complaining that he was roasting alive during the summers. This was very different.

Lilitu and Methredhel stood outside the stone door, where they could still hear the screams of Springheel Jak. Neither of them said anything. It wasn’t until the screams stopped that Lilitu noticed that they had been clutching each other’s hands for dear life.

“Do you think he’s….” Lilitu began after the silence became too much.

“You open up,” Methredhel said, readying her bow. “If he still has a body, I’ll get him between the eyes.”

Lilitu slowly pulled the door open, almost gagging on the stench of the smoke.

“Anything?” Methredhel whispered.

“No,” Lilitu shook her head, looking at a pile of ash in the charred armor on the ground.

Methredhel sighed, putting her weapons away. “Well. That was more adventure than I’ve had in my entire life.”

“Agreed.” Lilitu said.




As a pick-me-up, Methredhel led Lilitu upstairs to ransack what they desired. Of course, they couldn’t take everything in the house. Two elves in armor carrying sacks of gilded dishes and fine furs would be instantly suspected and neither of them were in any mood to deal with the city guard.

In the morning, there would be an anonymous report regarding vampires residing in the area, just in case he was part of a larger clan.

They quickly walked back to the Market District and didn’t rest until they were back in the room at The Merchant’s Inn. Once there, they both let out long sighs of relief. Methredhel stripped again, heading to the tub. Lilitu dumped out her pockets to look through their plunder.

“Can you believe it?” Methredhel said, climbing into the scalding water. “We’re alive! We’re fetching alive!” She cackled. “Divines, I feel such a rush!” She turned over, batting her eyelashes at Lilitu. “Maybe we should join the Fighters Guild?”

In spite of her not feeling an adrenaline rush, Lilitu smiled. “The only reason I would ever join that Guild was for the company.”

“Oh, come on,” Methredhel said. “Can you imagine the two of us, a team going through Cyrodiil and destroying vampire nests?”

“Not really, because I like to imagine myself alive. You should have seen him while you were gone! It’s a miracle I didn’t get bitten!” A miracle probably attributed to Mara, but Lilitu didn’t feel like getting into that. “Why? Are you serious?”

Methredhel sighed, laying on her back and staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know, Lil. I love the Guild. I’ve been in it since forever, but sometimes I just feel stuck. Every time I feel like I’m about to claw my way out, something comes up.” She paused for awhile. “A few months back, it rained a hole in the roof. Then I got sick and had to blow a fortune on medicine. And it’s like every time I make progress for my stash, something happens, so I don’t even know why I bother sometimes.

“The Fighters Guild guys live on roast beef. The mages can whip up pies that make you walk on water and by the looks of some of them, they aren’t exactly going hungry. Meanwhile, I dedicate my existence to the Gray Fox and for what? It’s horrible being asked to break into a place for jewels, but having to raid the pantry on my way out just to make sure I’ve got food for the next week.” Methredhel took a moment to submerge her head under the water, cleaning her hair. “So, yeah, I think about it now and then. But then I remember that they don’t want criminals, so I guess here I stay.”

Lilitu wasn’t sure what she could say. Compared to a thief, a fence lived pretty easy. They got a percent of the money brought in from the goods stolen. Multiplying that by the number of thieves in the area explained why Lilitu lived in a nice house in Kvatch and Methredhel had a shack on the Waterfront. The only thing that came to mind was the hope that things improved. That sounded too much like what her mother would say to her, so she said nothing.

“Anyway,” Methredhel continued. “Those ratty boots are the ones you were looking for.” She said, pointing to the pair she had dropped by the door. “Did the Gray Fox mention the enchantment?”


Lilitu looked up from the pile of necklaces she had been sorting. “No, of course not. That would be helpful.” She went over and picked them up. They certainly looked three hundred years old. The boots were very well worn. In fact, they were nearly falling apart in some places.

“They’re springy,” Methredhel said. “Probably helped him jump from house to house once upon a time.” She laughed. “I still can’t believe we killed a vampire!”

Lilitu tried to put them on but they were too tight on her. She could hardly stuff her entire foot inside. “I think I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said, pulling them off.

Methredhel came out of the tub and wrapped herself in the fuzzy towel waiting by the window before plopping in the bed next to Lilitu. After a night of laughing and celebrating their survival, the two of them fell fast asleep.


Methredhel and Lilitu said a teary goodbye the next morning. As Lilitu rode the carriage to Kvatch, the feeling of home slowly separated, leaving itself firmly in the Imperial City. She sighed, wondering if she should return. A city that big could always use another fence, right?

By the time she reached Kvatch, the pining for the Imperial City had dulled. After all, Dolce was waiting and she missed her dog terribly. As the feeling was not completely gone, she stopped by the Iron Champion Bakery for a treat. She earned it big time.

Kirsty broke into a grin when Lilitu made it to the front of the line. Lilitu returned the smile up until Capaneus approached her. Of all the people in the world, he was the last person she wanted to deal with at the moment.

“Lilitu,” he said, before she could tell Kirsty what she wanted. “You’ve been gone awhile!” That same smug grin was plastered on his face, along with the usual twinkle in his eyes. Divines, it made her want to punch him.

“I have, and I’m busy, so if you’ll excuse me…” Lilitu turned to Kirsty, but the Bosmer had stepped away to deal with another customer.

“With what? Did you go see your family? Man, I would be so bored up in the mountains. How did you ever survive it?”

There he was, dropping those hints again. She tried not to let it show how much it bothered her that he somehow knew personal things about her, but she could tell by the amused look in his eye that he could tell. “Or maybe you went on an errand for someone special?” Because Lilitu said nothing, he continued. “You’ve been in the guild for just a few years, right? Isn’t it funny how you’re getting these special missions over people who have been in it for decades? That’s what your fellow members are saying, anyway.”

“Are they?” She asked before she could stop herself. It was odd how the Gray Fox had picked her out of his hundreds of devotees and she did ask herself “why, why, why?” countless times, especially when nearing death. But she didn’t know that anyone else knew about the meetings.

“Oh, yes,” Capaneus said. “But we’re friends, right? Of course we are! So tell me…” He smirked. “How does the Fox taste? I mean, he’s got to be hundreds of years old, so not very pleasant, I imagine.”

Lilitu’s eyes widened for a moment. “Listen you sload-sucking coxcomb!” She leaned in, gritting her teeth as she spoke. “First, we are not friends! Second, if you ever spread that sort of rumor about me, I will come after you and I will rip your tongue out by the roots and wear it as a belt!” When she saw Kirsty from the corner of her eye, she stood up and forced a smile. “Kirsty, could I have a half-dozen double chocolate muffins?”

In the mood she was in, she was going to eat them all and then come back for more.

“Tsk, tsk,” Capaneus hadn’t even blinked. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Lilitu cursed herself for falling into his game. “Eat like that and you won’t be able to wrap my tongue around your waist!”

With eyes as menacing as Red Mountain, she paid for her muffins and left.


Milun was sitting quietly at a nearby table while Capaneus was watching Lilitu leave. “That dark elf,” he said. “Why are you always harassing her?”

Capaneus shrugged. “Well, maybe I like making her squirm. It’s fun when she gets all worked up like that.”

Milun just stared blankly at him before he sighed and went back to his book. “Very mature,” Milun said. He found himself saying that more often ever since he had come to Kvatch.



Lilitu was surprised to see that she was not alone in the house when she entered. The Gray Fox was seated at her kitchen table. Dolce barked once and ran to greet Lilitu.

“Did you wait here the whole time?” She asked, hugging the dog and scratching behind her ears.

“No,” he smiled. “I could easily see you in the carriage. You stand out.”

Lilitu wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. She set her box of muffins on the table and pulled the boots out of her bag. “Are these the things you sent me after?”

He clapped his hands together. “Capital!” He exclaimed. “This may be the last piece of the puzzle. I need to spend some more time with Savilla's Stone first.” He held them up, looking them over as he muttered to himself. He then looked up and took Lilitu’s hand. “I am truly indebted to you.”

Looking into his warm brown eyes just made it impossible for her to yell at him about the vampires. He couldn’t have known anyway, right? “Don’t mention it. Please.”

“If all goes well, I may call upon you for one last task. The danger will be great, but the reward will be greater.”

Lilitu ripped the top of a muffin off before shoving it into her mouth. Divines, the comfort was almost instant. She turned the box toward the Gray Fox, offering him one. “Speaking of these tasks…. People are apparently talking.”

“As people often do,” he said, taking a muffin. The look on his face made it clear that he knew what was being said.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I am so honored that you chose me. I’m grateful that you’re in my house, eating my muffins, but even I don’t understand why. I’m a fence. I’ve only been in the guild for a few years. There’s so many more with the seniority and the talent, so why me?”

He was silent, fiddling with the muffin paper for a moment. “You’re right. There are many others with the seniority and talent. The reason I have chosen you out of all your guildmates has less to do with the jobs themselves than with the end goal. I haven’t shared it with you yet, but I will when the time is right. You just need to have faith in me, as I have in you.” He smiled, standing up. “As for the rumors… well, there’s nothing you or even I can do about those. However, there’s a saying: Small minds discuss people, average minds discuss events, great minds discuss ideas.” He finally took a bite out of the muffin and just as Lilitu had when first sampling Kirsty’s cooking, the Gray Fox’s eyes widened a little. “Now, I will leave you so that I can go steal a few of these muffins. Until next time,” he said. With a wink, he vanished before her eyes.

I've loved reliving the Thieves Guild questline with Lilitu. She is by far my favorite of all of your characters. You manage to bring her to so much life it's almost as if she's sitting across the table from me, eating those wonderful double chocolate muffins!

haute ecole rider~ Aww, thank you! Lilitu is the one I actually play as, so she's a tad spoiled!





[Reminder: Last time we left Wrothen, he had just fought an invasion of Jyggalag's forces in Passwall with the aid of an army of Golden Saints.While the village had been destroyed, Wrothken was able to shut down the massive obelisk spawning the Knights of Order. He was able to rescue Shelden, the self-proclaimed mayor of Passwall.]

[Reminder: Last time we left Wrothen, he had just fought an invasion of Jyggalag's forces in Passwall with the aid of an army of Golden Saints. While the village had been destroyed, Wrothken was able to shut down the massive obelisk spawning the Knights of Order. He was able to rescue Shelden, the self-proclaimed mayor of Passwall.]


Wrothken trudged down the path into what used to be Passwall. The army of Golden Saints were still there. One group was making a pile the Knights of Order. Another was piling up the bodies of the residents of Passwall. Shelden was staring silently. He must had returned to his town to find no one left. Wrothken felt a little guilty for leaving him to discover it himself. Perhaps it would have been kinder, though harder, to break it to him earlier.

Wrothken hadn’t ever imagined what a shocked Golden Saint would look like, but when Aurig Desha looked up at him, he got to see it. The usual stern look being replaced with surprise actually made her look almost human.

[url=http://images.uesp.net/1/18/SI-npc-Aurig_Desha.jpg]Aurig Desha[url]

“I... I cannot believe it!” She gasped. “You survived! We were certain that your light had been lost!” She then corrected herself, returning to her usual commanding tone. “I apologize for doubting you, Your Grace. You are a most worthy leader, perhaps the greatest warrior to ever hold the Seat of Mania. But I fear that our work is not yet done. The area is still overrun with Knights that were not destroyed in the spire. You should return to the Palace and speak with Lord Sheogorath. Ask Him how He plans to defend this Realm.”

“I will,” he nodded. Then he indicated the bodies of Passwall’s residents. “May I ask,” he said, still used to having to tiptoe around the Golden Saints. “What do you plan to do with them?”

“As soon as we have gotten control over the area, they will be thoroughly disposed of.”

“Disposed?!” Shelden demanded. Wrothken was stunned to see that he had been crying. Then again, though the man was an egotistical jerk, he was still human. “You can’t just- just throw them away like garbage! These were my citizens! I will not allow it!”

The politeness in Aurig Desha’s voice vanished as she addressed Shelden. “Hold your tongue, mortal! Do not dare question our business!”

Shelden did not hold his tongue. In fact, he walked up to Aurig Desha and with his hands on his hips, he shouted back. “I will question whatever I damn well please! I am Mayor of Passwall and these are my people!” He finalized his point by poking her square in the chest. Wrothken was almost certain she was going to cut his hand right off.

Aurig Desha’s lip curled and, sure enough, she reached for her weapon. Wrothken quickly intervened. “With all due respect,” he said to Aurig Desha. “I understand what Shelden is saying. While I understand that your kind simply return to Oblivion upon death, we do not.” He hoped he wouldn’t be asked how he knew that. The events at Cylarne was probably going to be a sore spot with the Golden Saints for a very long time. “When we die, our bodies, well, they stay and we have certain rituals for when that happens. So, I agree with Shelden that we should care for the citizens of Passwall properly. We shouldn’t just dump them like the Knights of Order.”

Aurig Desha narrowed her eyes at Wrothken for just a second before taking a breath. “Then what would you suggest, Your Grace?” She sounded exasperated.

“They should be buried. In individual graves.”

Aurig Desha closed her eyes for a moment. “Your Grace,” she said, as if she were moments from losing her patience. “The time it will take to dig graves for all these people. We must prioritize the little resources we have to defend the Realm.”

She did have a point about that. The group had shrunk somewhat since he went into Xeddefen. If more Knights came, they couldn’t afford to have the army half-way in the ground. Wrothken looked around, folding his arms. “Well, Shelden and I can dig the graves.”

“Me?” Shelden asked, wrinkling his nose. “I am Mayor of Passwall! I don’t dig!”

“Yeah?” Wrothken said. “Well, I’m the Duke of Mania, so if I can dig, so can you! Now, where would I find some shovels?”



Shelden grumbled the entire day, up until a swarm of Knights came up the path. As the Golden Saints took off fighting, Wrothken suggested that either he could dig quietly or help the Golden Saints fight. Shelden shut his mouth and chose the former.

Night had nearly fallen by the time the graves were complete. Upon returning to New Sheoth, Wrothken planned to get some sort of memorial made. His new authority was starting to show its perks. As it had been hours since the final wave of Knights of Order hit, Aurig Desha ordered a few of her troops to remain behind, just in case, but she and the majority of Golden Saints headed back to wherever they had come from.

“Well,” Wrothken said to Shelden. “I’ll be heading back to New Sheoth. If you need anything--”

Shelden scoffed. “Don’t act like you’re ditching me here!”

Wrothken raised his eyebrows. “Oh? I… Wait, are you coming with me?” The long walk back to New Sheoth was going to be bad enough, but with Shelden for company? He’d rather take Haskill!

“Of course, dummy!” Shelden said. “I’m not going to stay here! Look around! Everyone’s dead! Or did you think we were burying dolls?”

He closed his eyes. No matter what he said, there was going to be no stopping Shelden from accompanying him. “Fine,” he relented. “In that case we should just leave in the morning.” He paused, deciding to avoid a fight by asking Shelden his opinion. “Do you want to camp out in the wilderness or should we sleep here?”

“I’m sleeping at my house.” Shelden folded his arms. “You can sleep wherever you want.”

Wrothken eyes the empty inn before shaking his head. The bodies were removed, but the blood remained on the walls and likely in the air. “Well,” he started to smile. “Since you said ‘wherever’ I want, I guess I’ll join you in your house. It’s probably the only place that’s clean.”

“Ugh…” Shelden huffed. “Fine. But I get the bed!”



Shelden lived just behind Jayred’s house. Wrothken supposed that he could have stayed there, but all the bones gave him chills.

“I’ll pack up tonight and then you can take me to New Sheoth,” Shelden said, unlocking his door. “It’ll be tough gathering everything I need, but we’ll manage.”

Wrothken had a feeling that by “we” Shelden did not mean himself. He decided to address that in the morning.

“Talos…” Wrothken sighed, upon entering. Nearly every inch of the walls were covered in paintings of Shelden. Him grinning, him speaking to a crowd, him standing triumphantly over a town, him with an armful of kittens. It wasn’t a very large space, so Wrothken instantly felt claustrophobic. Where did he even get them?

“You can sleep on the couch,” Shelden said, pointing at a couple crates with flat cushions on them. “I’ll see you in the morning!” He said, plopping into his bed.

While trying to get somewhat comfortable, Wrothken tried to avert his eyes, but everywhere he looked, there was Shelden. Suddenly the busts of Sheogorath that had been in his room didn’t seem so bad.

I’m grateful that you’re in my house, eating my muffins,

I think that was the rumor.

I’m with haute, it’s been so fun to enjoy the Thieves Guild quests with Lilitu.

Yay, we’re back with Wrothken! Shelden’s artwork made me laugh.

Now I have this wonderful image of two elves in armor running around Talos Plaza, arms loaded with fine china and other swag!

Poor Methredhel, the life of an inner city thief is far from as glamorous as might first appear.

Methinks Capaneus knows too much for his own good. And he is still as loathsome as ever.

The Grey Fox is waiting. Capital!

Small minds discuss people, average minds discuss events, great minds discuss ideas
This was a lovely quote!

Welcome back Wrothken. If the Duke digs, then the Mayor can too! Especially when the alternative is the Mayor fighting...

I love Shelden's house. It's a monument to his own self-importance! A painting of Shelden with an armful of kittens. Now that is madness!




nits:
One group was making a pile {of} the Knights of Order
I think you missed an of where I inserted it above

Grits~ I'm glad you like the pictures! It was inspired by someone I know who has no less than thirty pictures of the same person on the wall. It's...unsettling.

SubRosa~ To add a touch of crazy, kittens are simply a necessity!




Though thankfully it didn’t take longer to get to New Sheoth, it was a lot more of an ordeal due to Shelden’s company. Between his constant complaining about the swampy path and his never ending ego, Wrothken actually found himself looking forward to speaking with Though thankfully it didn’t take longer to get to New Sheoth, it was a lot more of an ordeal due to Shelden’s company. Between his constant complaining about the swampy path and his never ending ego, Wrothken actually found himself looking forward to speaking with Sheogorath again, simply because he would be rid of Shelden.

Finally, reaching the gates, he sighed. “Alright, here we are,” Wrothken said. “It’s been… interesting. Now, I have important business--”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Shelden said. “You can’t just abandon me here! I need to get settled in!” As Shelden entered the gates, he frowned. “You’re Duke of this dump? Yeesh…”

Wrothken flushed with the immediate urge to defend Crucible. Sure it was a bit run down and depressing, but it was still more of a home to him than the Palace of Mania. “This is Dementia’s half,” he said. “I’m Duke of Mania and yes, I’m leaving.”

Shelden grabbed his arm. “You can’t just abandon me here! I let you sleep on my couch!”

Wrothken wrenched free of his grasp. “Divines, Shelden!” Wrothken hissed. “You’re not a baby, are you? Look, if it’s because you need a place to stay, just go see--” He stopped before he mentioned Bernice’s name. He wasn’t going to curse her with Shelden. “I’m sure there’s a place in Bliss. I will find one, I promise, but first I need to see Sheogorath.”

Shelden scowled. “You know what? Don’t bother!” He picked up his sack and swung it over his shoulder. “I made it out of Xeddefen on my own and I’ll get around here on my own too.”



With Shelden out of his hair, Wrothken headed straight for Sheogorath’s palace. The Madgod was seated on his throne attempting to balance his cane on his open palm. Haskill was at his side, not watching, much to Sheogorath’s obvious displeasure. Luckily, Wrothken’s arrival changed Sheogorath’s pouting into a grin.

“News of your success in the Fringe precedes you!” He said, standing up. “To further cement the victory I have an important task for you to perform. You will seek the assistance of Relmyna Verenim in Xaselm to rebuild the Gatekeeper. You remember the creature you killed to get in here?”

The shiver down Wrothken’s spine answered that question. How on Nirn could he possibly forget that thing? What creeped him out the fleshy parts where the facial features should have been.

“With the Gatekeeper restored and Xedilian in operation, we won't have to worry about anything getting in. Things already here are another matter. You'll need to speak with Relmyna Verenim. She'll help you with your task.” A smile crept over Sheogorath’s face. This wasn’t just any grin. This one told Wrothken a little too much. There was something about Relmyna, wasn’t there?

“Strange woman,” Sheogorath chuckled, causing Wrothken’s blood to go cold. If the Madgod himself was calling someone strange, that had to be a sign.. “Has some unusual tastes. With that done, the Fringe should be secure. For now. I can feel things start to get a little hairy. And, not in the good way, like on your head.”

“Just for now?” Wrothken asked. “How long do you think we have?”

Sheogorath sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “It's all moving faster than I'd expect. And I'm good at expecting.” He wagged his finger. “Things are getting a bit thin. Like Haskill’s hair. Get that Gatekeeper in place, and do it quickly. I'm not sure how much time I have left.” He paused for a moment, looking up with an odd weariness. Somehow, that was making Wrothken more uneasy than his usual madness. “He's almost here. I can feel it. You won't like Him as much as Me. He doesn't even carry a cane!” Wrothken almost laughed at how genuinely offended Sheogorath sounded at that. “More the giant, bone-cleaving sword type of Prince. If he's on his way, I'm on My way out. I already feel not quite Myself. Not quite someone else... but not quite Myself.”

Was Sheogorath getting nervous? Scared, even? The self-awareness he was displaying made Wrothken even more uncomfortable. “In that case,” Wrothken said. “A new Gatekeeper would help.” He wondered just how many Gatekeepers he could get. An army of them would wipe out Jyggalag’s forces in a heartbeat!

“It's essential,” Sheogorath nodded. “Simply essential! If only it were essentially simple... but it's not.”

Of course not. Otherwise he wouldn’t need Wrothken to do it.

“I want him there guarding those Gates. If any of Jyggalag's forces show up, he should be ready for them. It wouldn't do to just let them in if more show up. And more always show up.” If Sheogorath was ever right about one thing, that was it. The Knights of Order were nearly unstoppable. “Still and all, I think things are going well, considering! Go talk to Relmyna in Xaselm. Tell her you're working for me. She'd do anything for me, that little minx.”

And there it was.

“You mean you and Relmyna--” Wrothken didn’t even finish the sentence. “I mean… Who is she? I don’t think I’ve run into her around here.”

“A powerful Sorceress. Maybe a genius. And a complete lunatic! All in all, my kind of person.” Sheogorath nudged him with his elbow a few times. That familiar feeling of wishing he’d never entered the Shivering Isles washed over him. A female version of Sheogorath? He shivered. He was well past his limit of crazy women, thank you. “I brought her to my Realm so she could continue to study her 'sixth element.' Honestly, I didn't know there were five already. She's a bit obsessed with it. And with Me. Makes dealing with her difficult. You shouldn't have any problems, though. No one likes you that much.”

Wrothken caught Haskill’s smirk at that remark. “Gee, thanks.”



Wrothken was pleased to see that the door leading to his bedroom had been replaced with a plain wooden one. The busts of Sheogorath had been removed, as had the large casks of alcohol. That alone gave it so much more space! He wondered for a moment if he could set it up like his home in Kvatch… then he realized that as soon as the Greymarch was over, he was leaving. No point in customizing it too much when he wasn’t making the place a permanent home.

The thought brought a smile to his face unlike any he had since walking through the door. Home. First order of business was to stuff himself with everything Kirsty had. Then he would sort out the more complicated issues. He laughed a little. Like anything back in Kvatch could be as complicated as life here! In fact, he wasn’t sure much of anything would phase him anymore.

Then again, that was provided he made it out alive. That thought grounded his high spirits immediately as his eyes settled on his armor, neatly resting on a mannequin. He had taken quite a beating in Xeddefen and it hadn’t escaped him that the Knights were getting stronger and more numerous by the day. He picked up his steel cuirass and winced at the dents and cracks. It needed to be repaired. So did his mace, actually. He picked them up and decided to head over to Cutter to get them fixed. It gave him an excuse to walk the city, keeping an eye out for anywhere Amiable could rest his head. He grabbed the bedroll he had bought for his personal journey, as well as Syl’s bow and the other matrix he had found to bring by Cutter’s.

The streets of Bliss were much less hostile than Crucible had become. Then again, he was Duke here and the people greeted him accordingly. It made him feel awkward. He wasn’t one who wanted the praise and adoration of the general public. Just decency was enough. At least the Golden Saints regarded him better than they had before. That was certainly a perk.

As he walked, he tried to think of a place where Amiable would be comfortable. Ordinarily, the essentials were four walls and a roof, but in his case, he wanted none of that! Wrothken tried to imagine what sort of area he could get while still enjoying the privacy of home. After all, some things were not meant to be done out in plain daylight. Wrothken hoped Amiable had enough sense to understand that.

He passed by some of the homes, noticing the curtains in the windows. Perhaps some rods with sheets hanging from them. That would grant him at least some privacy. It wouldn’t protect him from the weather, but Wrothken supposed Amiable would have to sort that out himself.

“Duke-man!”

Wrothken jumped slightly, turning to see who was calling him. He recognized the Bosmer he had encountered upon first entering Bliss. The one yelling about sweetrolls.

“Yes, hi,” Wrothken said. He remembered how hungry he had said he was before. Hopefully he wasn’t hungry enough to try and make a meal of Wrothken. “What can I do for you?”

“Fimmion knows you help Amiable,” he said, rubbing his hands as he approached. “Fimmion hear things. Fimmion was looking for scraps, but hear you promise.”

“Ah,” Wrothken said, nodding. “Yeah, I promised him that I’d help him find a place to sleep. Why?”

“Have idea for you,” Fimmion said, jumping up and down. “But first,” he held a finger up. “Sweetroll for Fimmion.”

“Alright, so you’re saying that if I bring you a sweetroll, you’ll help me find a place?”

Fimmion nodded vigorously. “Sweetroll for Fimmion, idea for you! Saa-WEET-ROOOOLL!”

Wrothken couldn’t help jumping at Fimmion’s sudden cry for a sweetroll. That sounded like the easiest thing he’d ever have to do in the Shivering Isles. Looking around, he remembered the armory in Bliss. There were sticky buns there. Same thing, right?

Wrothken headed over to The Missing Pauldron. Sure, Dumag was a smith, but Wrothken didn’t think he’d object to selling one of his pastries. Besides, the Orc seemed to like Wrothken.

The bells jingled as Wrothken entered. “Hello?” He called out. Like before, the shop smelled like dessert.

He heard a gasp, and sudden movement. Wrothken expected to be greeted with cheer as he was last time. However, Dumag burst into loud wails upon seeing him.

“Hey, what- what’s wrong?” Wrothken asked.

“You think I'm ugly, don't you?” Dumag sobbed.

Wrothken didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t attracted to men. And, well, Dumag was an Orc. They weren’t exactly known for their beauty. He had yet to meet an Orc who cared about that.

Wrothken’s lack of response furthered Dumag’s despair. He buried his face in his hands. “And that she's a prettier smith? Is that it?"

Oh. Wrothken recalled how upset Cutter had been to hear that he had visited Dumag’s shop. Somehow word had to have traveled that Wrothken visited her shop now and then.

“What can you possibly see in her?” Dumag continued. “She spends more time cutting herself than swinging a hammer!"

Wrothken nodded, remembering all the various scars decorating Cutter’s skin. “I bet you’re right. Listen,” Wrothken sighed. “I’m not interested in Cutter. Not like that.”

Dumag sniffled. “Really?”

“Not one bit.” Wrothken hoped Dumag was convinced. It was definitely the truth. “I just see her because she’s crafting me something from madness ore.”

After wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve, Dumag looked up. “So, you think I’m prettier?”

“Sure,” Wrothken said, shrugging. That, he felt the need to lie about.

“Okay,” Dumag took a breath and started to smile. “So what brings you here to see little old me?”

Wrothken looked toward the cake dish at the counter. “This might sound weird.”

Dumag gave Wrothken a look through half-lidded eyes that made him want to run. “Go on…”

“Can I buy a sweet roll from you?”

“A sweet roll?” Dumag asked, confused. “You… you came here for a sweet roll?”

Wrothken nodded. “You see,” he said, avoiding the truth. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to do so for this part, but he figured there had to be a reason Fimmion didn’t get it himself. “Where I come from, there’s the bakery. They had the best sweetrolls I’ve ever had. But yours! I can’t stop thinking of how good they smelled. I have to try one before I leave.”

Dumag touched his hand to his face. “You’re leaving?”

“Just on a mission for Sheogorath. You know how it is.”

“Yeah…” Dumag nodded, though Wrothken doubted very much Dumag knew anything close to how it was.

“So, would it be okay if you sold me one?” Truth be told, they did smell heavenly. “Maybe two?”

Dumag frowned a little, looking Wrothken up and down. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. Maybe you’ll think of me when you eat them?”

“Of course!” Wrothken nodded, pulling out his coin purse.

“Oh, alright! I can’t stay mad at you!”

Wrothken laughed nervously as Dumag placed a pair of sweetrolls as big as his fists on a paper.

“Enjoy! And don’t be a stranger, you hear?”

“Sure thing!” Wrothken said, though he honestly almost wished he had remained strangers to both smiths.



Upon seeing Wrothken and the giant sweetrolls, Fimmion began to bounce around. “Sweetroll for Fimmion?” he squeaked.

Wrothken nodded, handing him one. He kept the other and pulled a piece from it. He closed his eyes, savoring it as he ate. He would never, ever tell Kirsty, but these were just as good as her sweetrolls. He briefly considered stopping by Dumag’s for breakfast more often, but he didn’t want to use the poor Orc and make him think there was a chance of anything more between them.

Fimmion agreed about their quality. “Yummy in tummy,” he sang. “Answer for you. Problem solved.” He nodded, licking the icing from the top. “Uungor, he say no crazy. But he is.”

Wrothken recognized the name as the one Haskill mentioned as a failed attempt at being Sheogorath’s champion. He realized that that had to mean that somehow there were some survivors of the last Greymarch. That was a shred of hope, just in case he failed.

Fimmion continued. “He say he going. Away. Far.” Wrothken wondered if he planned to go back to Nirn. Maybe he had just enough sanity left to make it. Wrothken hoped he wouldn’t wind up like the first man he saw come out of the Isles.

“Your friend sleep there when Uungor goes. But Fimmion no think Uungor really leave. You make Uungor go away faster. He won't leave without his lucky grapes.” Fimmion reached in his pocket and pulled out a bunch of glass grapes. The grapes weren’t perfectly round. Instead, there were beveled like diamonds, causing a burst of rainbows to spill onto the ground around them. “Can't eat them. Fimmion tried. Give back to him.” Fimmion handed Wrothken the grapes. They were beautiful. He could see why Uungor would consider them lucky.

“If he still no go,” Fimmion said, eating the last of the sweetroll. “Make Uungor crispy with fire spell. Then glaze. Then eat him like a giant sweetroll. Saa-WEET-ROOOOOLL!"

Wrothken shuddered, immediately saying his good-byes. Apparently Fimmion was not above cannibalism. That placed him at the top of the list of people to avoid as much as possible.



Uungor wasn’t too hard to find. As he apparently slept outside, he lacked a kitchen of his own with which to eat. That made him a regular at The Choosy Beggar. After asking around, he was directed to a spot near the steps leading to the palace grounds. Wrothken was surprised that he hadn’t noticed the bedroll tucked away behind some bushes before, but he reasoned that it had been hidden away on purpose. Evidently, Uungor understood the need for some privacy.

Uungor was sitting on a stool, reading a book. Wrothken approached him cautiously. “Uungor?” He asked. “I’m Wrothken.” He took the grapes from his bag. “Fimmion said I should give these to you.”

“Oh,” Uungor said, taking them from his hand. “I've been looking for those. I thought Fimmion stole them thinking he could eat them, but I could never prove it. Thank you for returning them." Uungor was silent for a moment, regarding Wrothken suspiciously. “I'm not like them, you know. Are you? Are you one of them?” He snorted. “Who am I kidding. You’re the Duke. You must be!”

Wrothken found himself bristling at that comment. Perhaps he felt defensive because he was worried about his mental capability slipping away with each passing moment. “No!” He said. “I’m… I’m sane.”

Uungor nodded. “Are you really? Truly?” He looked at the ground. “I don't belong here. I'm not crazy. Not like the rest of them.” He looked back up at Wrothken. “They watch me, you know. Waiting for me to go crazy. But I won't. Nope.”

His paranoia reminded Wrothken of Syl. But Uungor was probably justified. Wrothken himself had those thoughts about Sheogorath intentionally trying to drive him mad.

“I'm leaving,” Uungor continued. “I've got to find a way out of here.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Wrothken said. “You know, it’s funny you mention that. I see you have a little set up here. Outside.”

Uungor nodded. “I thought I’d just set up a little camp. Didn’t want to get a house. It gave the notion of permanence.” He scowled. “But they trapped me here. Can’t escape so easily. They didn’t want me going back and telling what I saw. What I had to do…” He sounded haunted. Wrothken didn’t like just how deeply he related to Uungor. It was scaring him. He felt like he was looking at the end result of him helping with the Greymarch.

“Well, you’re here now,” Wrothken said, snapping out of it. “And until you’re able to leave, I bet it would be nice to have a warm bed to sleep in, yeah?”

Uungor huffed. “It would. Somewhere not out here. You know they’re in my head? My thoughts? It’s because I’m out here, I bet. No walls to block them out.”

Wrothken didn’t tell him that even the most solid walls wouldn’t help with that. “So, you know Amiable, right?”

“Of course,” Uungor said. “That maniac is convinced the walls are going to collapse. He says they’re conspiring against him! The lunacy! Can you believe it?”

Wrothken shrugged. “Makes about as much sense to me as it does to you. Still, I feel bad for the guy. I mean, can you imagine? He’s already crazy as can be right? And he told me he hasn’t slept right in who knows how long.”

Uungor nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard. What can you expect from people like that? I’m not like that. Thank the heavens I’m not! That’s why I need a plan to escape!” He shook his head. “The walls,” he muttered. “The walls aren’t the ones conspiring! The two in the palace…”

Wrothken felt the wave of unease, knowing exactly who Uungor was talking about and he had suspicions as to why. Haskill said Sheogorath was taking a new approach to stopping the Greymarch. Not a better or worse one. Not a cleaner or dirtier one. Not a more or less pleasant one. Just different. What sort of things did Sheogorath ask Uungor to do? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Well,” Wrothken said, trying to steer the conversation back to Amiable’s prediciton before Uungor said something Wrothken would regret. “You know, Amiable isn’t using his house anymore. What would you think of switching spots with him?”

Uungor narrowed his eyes at Wrothken. “Why would he want to sleep in a bedroll and give me his bed? Sounds queer. I bet it's just another trick to get my head all twisted around. Trade places, a bed under a roof for a bedroll under the stars? Mm-hmm. Sure, sure.”

“No trick,” Wrothken said. “I mean, come on. You know as well as I do that he’s… well, he’s not all there, if you catch my drift. Meanwhile, you need a better place than this, don’t you?”

Uungor nodded. “I do. I don’t want them coming after me. Coming into my mind. Reminding me.” The suspicion left his face, replaced by a far off look. “Reminding me of it all. Reminding me that I don’t belong here!” He started breathing harder. “You don’t understand. No one here does! But I’m sane, I am! He called to me!” He started running his hands through his hair. “It’s the stars,” he pointed up at the glittering daylight sky. “Shouldn’t be like this. It’s not like this back home…” He looked back at Wrothken. “He sends the messages through the stars, into my brain. Never ending reminders. But he won’t have my mind! I won’t allow it!” His breathing slowed to normal. “Anyway, it still sounds fishy, but I suppose I can trust you. Us sane men have to stick together, right?”

Wrothken could only nod.

“I'm sure I'll regret this later, but... yeah.” Uungor stood up, gathering his things. “Sure. Fine. I'm tired of sleeping outside. Tell him I'll sleep in his bed and he can sleep in mine.”

Wrothken returned to Amiable to give him the good news. Amiable was elated. For the first time, he stood up straight. He clothes were badly creased from the constant crouch. “You found a place for me to sleep? Outside, under the stars too small to fall and hurt me?” Wrothken couldn’t help noticing that while Uungor was seemingly afraid of the stars, Amiable was excited for them. “Excellent, excellent! Tell me more!”

“I spoke with Uungor. He has a little encampment tucked away from the stairs leading to the palace. He said he’s okay to swap spaces with you.”

Amiable nodded. “Really? And it's a safe place? Not at the bottom of a tall wall? That's a great idea! That sounds perfect. Well, I guess if he's not afraid of the walls falling on him, he won't care when they do. Can't save everyone, can we?” He shrugged.

Wrothken felt a little uneasy at his choice of words. It wasn’t what he meant at all, but Wrothken was indeed trying to save everyone. It was a feat seeming to get harder with every passing day. He decided to push it from his mind. He was not going to wind up like Uungor.

“Well,” Amiable continued. “Here’s the key to my house. Well, Uungor’s now. Let him deal with the walls, I suppose.” He sighed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lordship, the thought of actually getting some sleep is too much to resist.”



With his business in Bliss completed once he passed the new house key to Uungor, Wrothken headed to Crucible to have his armor dealt with and to pass along the latest matrix. Apparently the one he found was for the cuirass. That elated him. The cuirass was by far the piece he was looking forward to the most. Best of all, the boots were all ready for him. He couldn’t wait to test them out. He decided to ask her to start working on whatever pieces he could get. So far, that would be the cuirass, the greaves, and the gauntlets. The pauldrons and the helm would be last.

He sat outside while the Bosmer worked. He just couldn’t take her commentary on how much of a bleeder she thought he was or the penetrating stares. By the Nine, she chilled him more than any Knight of Order! Hopefully she wouldn’t find out about his visit to Dumag.

Wrothken’s thoughts soon drifted to his current task of meeting with the sorceress Relmyna and rebuilding the Gatekeeper. How did one build a gatekeeper, anyway? He frowned. He had just assumed that they were just...there. No different than elytra or grummites, though he found the idea of an infant gatekeeper repulsive. Once that thought blossomed, it branched out to gatekeepers nursing, mating...all the usual things creatures must do to continue the species. He burst up with a dry heave.

So then Relmyna creates them somehow, he reasoned. What sort of person creates...that? Wrothken had enough of jumping in blindly. With a raise of his fist, he summoned Haskill.

The chamberlin materialized with a sigh. “What a surprise. I'm summoned. What is it you require?”

“Do you know anything about Relmyna?”

Haskill made an expression briefly as if her name conjured up the smell of manure. “She is a powerful sorceress. She believes she has found a ‘sixth element,’ the element of Flesh.”

Wrothken raised his eyebrows. “Element of flesh? You mean like fire, frost, and lightning?”

Haskill clapped his hands. “That’s right. She was expelled from the Mages Guild for this belief, and for the…” He paused for a moment, looking for the right words. “..extreme nature of her experiments.

“Wait, so then she’s not… from here?” Relmyna, Uungor… How many people from Nirn were trapped in the Isles?

Haskill smiled a little. “Don’t get your hopes up. She fit in with the Shivering Isles so well that our Lord took interest and brought her here, so Relmyna might continue her work, free of those provincial notions of decency and morality.”

Wrothken couldn’t hold his disappointment. “Great. She’s so warped that Sheogorath brought her here.” He groaned a little.

“You will find her in her Sanctum, hidden away in the dungeon of Xaselm.”

“From the Mages Guild to a dungeon,” Wrothken said. “Would you happen to know where it’s at?” He held up his map.

Haskill took it and marked the spot, just northeast of Passwall. “Our Lord is always acquainted with Sorceress Verenim's current whereabouts. Her affections have caused Him unnecessary annoyance in the past.”

I loved Wrothken’s intuition and wariness throughout this chapter. I also enjoyed his warm thought of home and Kirsty the busty Bosmeri baker.

Back to Wrothken it is, and the mad war. Naturally more of an ordeal than it should be thanks to Sheldon's company! He makes Sheogorath look good in comparision!

There is definitely something about Relmyna. Something not good... But at least Wrothken does not have to worry, since no one likes him that much!

Grits~ When the Madgod smiles, you know something bad will happen!

SubRosa~ And if Relmyna has a crush, that's even worse then the Madgod's smile.




After picking up his repaired armor from Cutter, Wrothken made his way to Xaselm. The path down what the residents called The Madgod’s Boot was becoming as familiar to him as the streets of Kvatch. He wasn’t sure that it was entirely a bad thing. If things ever got bad in New Sheoth, he found plenty of hideaways that he could duck into.

Speaking of hideaways….

He needed to collect some more madness ore. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured himself in that suit of armor. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted something so badly!

Every time he saw the full suit, he imagined himself in it, striking fear into everyone he came across. It filled him with such excitement. So far, the quality of the armor was so good that his feel didn't feel like he was being stabbed with every step after walking for hours and when he accidentally plodded ankle deep in a puddle, his feet didn't get wet! Cutter may be a strange one, but she sure can smith! he thought. He started to wonder if he could go back to the Shivering Isles for repairs once he went back to Kvatch.

Eventually, Wrothken came across some ruins northeast of what used to be Passwall. Thinking of the destroyed town, he thought about seeing that it was rebuilt. Then again, he didn't know anything about building towns. That and Passwall was Shelden's domain anyway. He couldn't blindly stack on new duties. Stopping the Greymarch was more than enough.

Like most of the ruins he had seen, these were made of gray slab, with the occasional column standing along the walls. The only thing that really stood out to him were statues of hungers seeming to lunge out of the walls. He hoped those things wouldn't be around. Their ugliness was distracting.

What were these places before? Wrothen wondered. Why did the Shivering Isles once have several castles all over the place? Did the previous Greymarches see to their destruction?

Walking through them, Wrothken realized that Xasalem was less of a castle and more of a stronghold. The path took him through two ruined buildings that could have been homes or shops. Not a clue was left behind as to what they had been.

He walked up the steps, just then noticing how quiet it was. While that was a nice change, it put him far more on edge than he would be if he could hear a cluster of grummites or Knights of Order. He took out his mace, wondering how soon he could get one made of madness ore.

As he walked, Wrothken kept looking around. His wonder vanished, replaced by the paranoid feeling realization that anything could be lurking behind the collapsed walls and piles of rubble. Fortunately, nothing popped out at him. Maybe, just maybe, this would be a straight-forward deal.

He followed the path, turning the corner to a long flight of stairs leading to what he assumed was
the interior. The only thing standing between him and the double doors was a man. At least, that's what Wrothken thought.

He was very tall, perhaps a head higher than Wrothken. And naked. Well, almost. The only things he wore were shackles on his wrists and ankles, a large collar, and a metal belt with burlap hanging between his legs. His orange skin seemed to be tattooed in red. Wrothken noticed that his knees, elbows, and chest glowed violet.

Wrothken paused for a moment. His features seemed to be obscured, so he couldn't tell if he was going to be hostile or not. While he didn't want to assume, he recalled his mistake with the grummites.

"Hello!" Wrothken called out, gripping his mace.

The man turned to him and immediately leapt in the air. As he landed, he swiped at Wrothken, hitting him hard across the face.

Well that answered his question.

The man was impossibly agile. He managed to dodge a lot of Wrothken's attacks with a nimbleness that could make a Khajiit envious. But how could he do all that with his size and the weight of all that metal?

Eventually, Wrothken was able to land a blow to his shoulder and then his head. Panting, Wrothken looked down at him and a tremor throbbed from his stomach to his limbs. He wasn't attacked by a man at all. It was more like a miniature gatekeeper, though there were slight differences. It had eye sockets instead of fleshy soft spots, but the lids were sewn shut, as were the lips. Its ears hadn't formed fully. There were holes and ridges, but the skin seemed as if it had melted onto its head. The violet parts that had been glowed dimmed. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the skin just didn't grow over those points.

Wrothken shook his head and took a few steps when a specific memory popped in his mind.

Right after the Gatekeeper had been slain, a red-haired dark elf threw herself on the monster's body. "My baby!" She sobbed. "My poor, poor baby!"

He tried to be discreet as he reached in, in order to drag the other key out. "You beast!" The dark elf fumed. "You'll rue this day, I swear it!"

"Um..." Wrothken wasn't sure how to respond when she burst into tears again, cradling the Gatekeeper's head against her chest.

That was Relmyna back there.

Wrothken stood still at the foot of the stairs. Out of all the things he had done and not wanted to do, this had risen to the top. He didn't even realize that he was saying "no, no, no" over and over until he ran out of breath.

What was that saying? Oblivion hath no fury like a woman scorned? Well a woman scorned had nothing on one whose "child" was taken from her. How could he convince her to help? He'd have a better shot asking Jyggalag to simply cancel the Greymarch! He sighed as he summoned Haskill.

Haskill materialized and looked around. "Here, let me help." He held out his palm and used his other hand to make a walking motion with his fingers. "You walk up the stairs and go through the door. One foot in front of the other and then again, and again, and there you are."

As the sass had become routine, Wrothken ignored it. "Relmyna is that woman from Passwall. She called the Gatekeeper her child!"

"I thought you had realized this earlier."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I thought she just made them! Not that she made them... Daedra and Divines..."

Haskill raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't call upon them here. I suppose you want to know how to deal with her without having her turn you into one of these?" He asked, gesturing to the fallen creature.

"Please."

"In your case, seeing as how you so cruelly slew her child before her eyes and coldly left her without a shred of comfort, I would suggest you tread very lightly. She is known for her lack of compassion as it is, so I can't fathom the amount of scorn she has for you."

Wrothken nodded. "Alright... I guess it would be too much to ask to have Sheogorath write her a note asking for a new Gatekeeper, huh?"

"Far too much," he said before vanishing.



As Wrothken entered the narrow corridor of Xasalem, he noticed that it was actually pretty clean. As he passed a pair of hunger statues, Wrothken noticed a lack of dust caked on them. Second, they didn't have that distinct grummitey smell nor did it smell mildewy or moldy. It was also very well-lit for a dungeon. Welkynd stones sat in elaborate sconces, guiding Wrothken down the stairs.

He picked up a glowing stone and turned it over in his hand. The golden light made his armor glitter. He hadn't seen one of these in the Shivering Isles. In fact, he only saw them around the Mages Guild.

Beyond the first metal door was a larger room. Four columns were ahead of him, supporting a bridge from one side to the other. Blue welkynd stones sat in cages on either side of the bridge. Walking across it was an animated skeleton, but it wasn't man or mer.

The creature seemed to be held together with wire. Its bones were put together in a way that made it seem as if someone had designed it. Some bones looked human enough. Others clearly weren't, like the horns attached to the wrists or even the horse-like head with jutting antlers tied on. Perhaps Relmyna made them as well.

Unfortunately, Wrothken had no choice but to kill it as it attacked on sight. The strange thing was that when it died, a plume of frost erupted from its body. Weird. He looked down at the scattered bones for a moment, genuinely wondering what all it was. He didn't know enough about the creatures of the Shivering Isles to make a guess, so he moved on.

Within a few steps, he came across the familiar, beautiful stalks of madness ore. In fact, it was a nice little cluster in the corner. He was almost giddy, dashing over to collect. If there were more, then this trip would be worth it, no matter how it went with Relmyna!

Wrothken knelt down to pull the first thorn when he felt a sudden sharp stinging pain that began in his head and traveled sharply throughout his limbs. It was so intense that he found himself huddling on the ground for a few moments.

"What in Talos' name was that?" He asked, trembling from the pain. After taking a few deep breaths, he looked at the madness ore. It couldn't have been that, could it? He had never had trouble harvesting madness ore.

Cautiously, he placed his hand on the base of the stalk he had been tugging.

Nothing.

He lowered his hand to the ground, feeling around the root.

Still no reaction.

He sighed, standing up and placing his hand on his head. While it was comforting to see that it probably wasn't the madness ore, it was very disconcerting to not know what it was.

Just before he could try and brush it off as a one time event, he felt the pain again, this time concentrating around his left eye. The searing pain bubbled in his eyeball, down his nose and throbbed into each one of his teeth.

He cried out, clutching his face as he fell to his knees. Though the initial pain dissipated, it echoed throughout, trailing down his jaw, followed by involuntary tears. Wrothken stood up and looked around. Nothing else was in the room. Just him and a statue of a hunger that stood as high as the ceiling.

Just as he was about to turn, he caught sight of a reddish orb coming from the hunger's mouth and heading straight toward him.

Without thinking, he raised his hand to block it from hitting his face and when the orb made contact, he felt a piercing in his palm. The muscles in his hand clamped together while the shock of pain seared up to his shoulder and to his heart, adding quickened beats.

So that was it.

At least it wasn't something internal. That was a relief.

Wrothken kept his eyes on the statue as he took a few steps back. So if the ore was right there, he was going to have to keep from getting hit with that trap. As the only way out was a set of stairs in front of it, there was also the matter of getting past.

He walked toward the stalks and grabbed the one he had started on. Like everything else in the Isles, it was stubborn. It only loosened from the ground when Wrothken jumped out of the way as an orb sailed near. The stalk was in his hand and the orb missed. Good start.

There were two more stalks. He looked defiantly at the statue. He was getting his madness ore, damn it.

He grabbed another and started tugging the base while keeping his eyes fixed on the statue. Another orb flew from its mouth before he could loosen the stalk. He released it to move away, but it hit the tip of his foot. Pain zig-zagged through each toe, stopping at the nails. It left a feeling as if he had shredded them down the quick. The empty room echoed with his screams.

Maybe this isn't worth it, he thought as he scooted away. Yes, he needed the madness ore, but what good was it if he died of pain? Well, he could be buried in the suit...

Besides, surely there were others. Though maybe not. And maybe they were all guarded with statues. The placement could have been intentional. Maybe it kept grummites away, since they seemed to have an attraction toward the ore.

Wrothken spent several minutes staring from the ore to the statue before he decided that yes, the armor was worth it.

He scooted back to the ore stalks and grabbed the one he had been working in. Remaining seated, he placed his throbbing feet at the base and pulled as hard as he could. The root flung out of the ground and he landed hard on his back. His ears were ringing but he had the ore in his hand. He grinned.

There was just one left. It wasn't as long as the other two stalks had been, but he needed all he
could get.

Wrothken eyed the statue as he slowly sat up. The moment he inched forward, an orb shot at him. This time, he blocked with his mace. He expected a sharp vibration, but there was nothing. He had lost his shield long ago. Perhaps it was time for a new one. Made of madness ore, of course.

He set the mace down and stood over the stalk, using his legs to help lift it from the ground. He let out a triumphant cry as he held it above his head.

Gathering his spoils, he ran toward the statue, dodging the orbs as they sailed until he was up the stairs, past it. "Only a sadist would have something like that around," he muttered to himself. His stomach sank as he remembered just where he was.

His stomach sank further when he saw that the only way out was across the bridge where the skeletal creature had been. It was level with the hunger statue's mouth. Great.

He walked to the bridge and broke into a run, hoping to avoid the orbs. Unfortunately, he was hit in the face. Instantly, he felt as if his nose and cheekbones were shattering. There was a sharp pain in his tongue that he wasn't sure if it was from him biting it or the magic. He was knocked off his feet, causing him to land hard on the other side of his face. Brilliant lights danced behind his eyes. Wrothken knew he had to keep moving or risk being hit again, but he had a hard time being able to move. It was only when he caught sight of another orb being released that he scurried away.

I like the idea of the Madness ore actually taking some effort to collect. The in-game "click and collect" isn't very realistic - which is one of the things I like about Skyrim, and its ore-mining. Adding a hunger statue trap to justify why it's still there is just wonderful, especially with that description of what it feels like to get hit!

Wrothken is starting to sound a little obsessed about madness ore!

Gastley~ Thank you One thing that has been a benefit about my -ahem- break was rethinking a lot of the mechanics in the game and finally realizing that I can change things up a lot more than I have been.

Grits~ I feel the same whenever I look at the latest Pyramid Collection catalog. -sigh-



Wrothken wasn't sure how long he sat in the empty room other than long enough for his legs to fall completely asleep and then some. He was next to the head of the statue so it couldn't shoot anything else from its mouth at him. His entire body just ached and throbbed with echoes of pain. Not that it wasn't worth it, he thought, stroking the madness ore. But, damn, what a cost.

After he regained feeling in his legs, he got up. The rest of the room was similar to where he had just came from. The main differences were the bright blue welkynd stones lighting up the room and a set of stairs leading down and then immediately back up to a door. Several marble columns were there, glistening in the light. Thankfully he didn’t see anymore statues.

He walked slowly and was soon greeted by the pitter-patter of someone or something running toward him. He readied his mace and was greeted by another of the skeletal creatures. As soon as it saw or sensed Wrothken, it stopped where it was and its rib cage glowed blue. It then sent a ball of frost in his direction. Wrothken swiftly moved through it and brought the mace down hard on its skull. He was rewarded with a satisfying cracking sound. The creature fell to the ground, but grabbed Wrothken’s leg and began to gnaw at his calf. Wrothken reacted with a swift kick and didn’t let up until the skull was in pieces. He wasn’t sure if he was more motivated by keeping his madness ore boots in decent condition or the sheer horror of that creature trying to chew his leg.

He continued down the curved hall, noticing the royal purple banners decorating it. White welkynd stones sat in sconces on the opposite wall. The banners didn’t bear any recognizable symbols. He couldn’t help wondering if they were meant for the stronghold this might have been before Relmyna took residence.

Strongholds made him think of emergency shelters. If he were unable to put a stop on the Greymarch, would it be possible to clear out a place like this and evacuate New Sheoth? He was sure that the capital would be where Jyggalag would hit hardest. As he would be Sheogorath, at least for the day, he would demand the Golden Saints and the Mazken put aside their nonsense and work together. They would have no choice but to listen to him, right?

Even with their help, the evacuation itself would probably be harder than clearing out a few fortresses. Just dealing with Amiable alone would be a monumental task. As if he would cooperate. Would it be wrong to just knock him out and plop him in a locked room temporarily? It would be for his own good, really. He would be safe from the forces of Order. And it wasn’t as if the walls were really a threat. Wrothken frowned. That could probably scare Amiable to death. What good would that do? Besides, he was going to stop the Greymarch. The very idea that all of this could be for nothing made Wrothken close to tears.

Another of the orange-skinned creatures was wandering the base of a short flight of stairs when Wrothken turned the corner. Wrothken noticed a metal door with rather intricate carvings covering it. Something told him Relmyna would be there. Of course, she had a guard outside. Wrothken wanted to take a moment to plan but though it had no eyes or visible ears, it turned instantly and jumped toward Wrothken.

Like the one that had been outside, the creature kicked at Wrothken, hitting him with surprising force. Sure it moved like a creature half its size, but when it landed a kick at Wrothken’s side, not only did he get knocked into a wall, but he felt as if someone had swung a tree trunk at him.

As the creature prepared for another blow, Wrothken batted its fist away with his mace. The creature stumbled and Wrothken took the opportunity to swing at its head. Headshots seemed to work best on everything in the Isles. With that, he made a decision to have the helm made as soon as he got back to New Sheoth.

The creature attempted to cry out, but as its mouth was stitched shut, it just let out a muffled call that brought bubbling tar to mind. A stitch popped, followed by another few and soon, yellowish liquid dribbled from its mouth. Instead of falling to the ground like he had expected, it tackled Wrothken to the ground. With it on top, it began to wail at Wrothken. Though he kept his head covered, it was soon ringing.

He was trying not to panic, but with his hand busy protecting his head, he wasn’t quite sure how to get out of the attack.

The creature stopped pounding for a moment. Wrothken looked up to see it arching its back with both fists in the air. It was going to slam him. Thinking fast, Wrothken grabbed his mace and swung it at its side. An unpleasant cracking sound repeated itself with every strike until the creature slumped to the ground.

Wrothken slowly got up, trying to control the trembling of his legs. He looked down at the stilled creature. What was it? So far he had only encountered two types of creatures: the skeletal ones and these orange men. If the skeletal ones were Relmyna’s creation, then what were these? Or...who? His heart fluttered as he began to wonder if these orange creatures were once people. Perhaps people who had crossed her. How better to cross her than to kill her “child?”

“Oh, Talos….” Wrothken whispered.

He continued up a flight of stairs overlooking a large room lit with blue welkynd stones. A cluster of madness ore sat between two sconces. It failed to lift Wrothken’s spirit. What good was madness ore if he was going to be turned into one of those things?

He wasn’t hopeless enough to pass them up though.

As he set to work pulling the ore out, he thought of ways to ensure that he survived fully intact, not orange, and certainly not with his lips sewn shut.

Of course, he would tell her that he was there on Sheogorath’s business. Maybe he could summon Haskill to vouch if she became difficult. Then again, Haskill would probably be only too happy to assist her sewing Wrothken’s mouth shut.

He was pretty sure he was wearing his Ring of Lordship. That was proof of his position. At least he hoped she would recognize it.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he opened the door.

Headshots seemed to work best on everything in the Isles. With that, he made a decision to have the helm made as soon as he got back to New Sheoth.

A wise decision. It’s always fun to follow Wrothken’s trains of thought.

The door looked like it should have groaned horribly when opened. Wrothken was surprised that it made a gentle sound and shut softly. But there were sounds. A lot of groaning and sobbing. A scream suddenly silenced.

Wrothken’s stomach lurched. What in Oblivion was that? He heard a voice soon after. It was too soft for him to understand, but the tone sounded as if it were a response to an ordinary conversation.

He decided to stop for a moment and assess his surroundings. He didn’t ever want to scream like that.

The stone hall was lit with enough welkynd stones and candles to make it light as day. Along the red carpeted hall were several busts of Sheogorath. Wrothken crinkled his nose, remembering the many hints regarding Relmyna’s feelings for the Madgod. Listening closely, he heard the echo of soft crying and muffled voices.

Given the coziness of this area compared to the rest of Xaselm, Wrothken figured that Relmyna had to be here. He put away his weapon and dusted himself off before running his fingers through his hair to clean up a bit. He then removed his gauntlets to reveal his Ring of Lordship. Looking at the ring, he considered summoning a Golden Saint to appear at his side, but he decided against it. Relmyna could take it as a sign of aggression. After taking a deep breath, he walked forward.

He immediately was greeted by the all-too-familiar wish that he had simply stayed home.

The corner of the hall turned into a larger room, bigger than Sheogorath’s throne room. Six cells were on the walls, three on opposite sides. A pillar with various buttons stood in front of the cell doors. Inside the cells were naked people. All of them wounded. All of them emaciated. One man sat on his knees with his head buried in his face. He was the source of the crying.

Relmyna herself stood before one of the cages. The Argonian inside was slumped in a pool of blood. Her chest was splayed open, revealing her ribcage and still heart. Relmyna had just finished writing something down when Wrothken entered. She then raised her fingers and the Argonian’s chest knitted back up, not even leaving a scar. Her eyes blinked open before she let out a low moan and refreshed sobs.

“Stop that,” Relmyna commanded. “Or I’ll be forced to explore precisely where your tear ducts are located and burn them out. If you pass out from pain, I’ll simply awaken you so you feel every last moment.”

Though her voice was soft, it was as threatening as any warcry. The Argonian must have thought so as well because she choked herself into silence.

Wrothken reached for his mace. The first thing in his mind told him to bash her head in, or somehow immobilize her and let her prisoners decide on justice, but she turned around. Her eyes went molten when she saw him. The fiery shade of red in her hair made her look less elven and more daedric than anyone he had ever seen.

"You!” She hissed. Wrothken was sure she was going to attack. He flinched, then cursed himself for it. “I remember you. You're the adventurer who slew my Gatekeeper, are you not?"

The blunt accusation instantly put Wrothken on the defense. “Well, it was going to kill me! It was the only way to pass. Besides, who’s the genius who sewed the keys into its skin?” He turned back to the Argonian. “What in Alduin’s name are you doing to these people?”

Relmyna’s eyes narrowed, sending shivers down Wrothken’s spine. She almost whispered. “Pathetic. On what authority have you weaseled into my sanctum and disturbed my work, hmm?"

“Your--” Wrothken almost demanded to know what work she could possibly be doing. Then he remembered why he was there in the first place. He couldn’t very well birth to Sheogorath’s new Gatekeeper, could he? “I mean,” he said, polite as he could muster. “On the authority of Sheogorath Himself.”

Wrothken detected no change in her demeanor when he mentioned Sheogorath. He was disappointed, but not entirely surprised. “I see.” She simply raised her eyebrows and clasped her hands together. “Sheogorath is too important to come on his own account? He sends his mortal lackey? Well, then.” She smoothed the ruffled black silk of her dress as she looked him over. “I trust my servants didn't give you too hard a time getting in here.” An icy smile lingered at her lips. Her sarcasm was even worse than Haskill’s. Wrothken was surprised that anyone could be that horrible. “What is it Sheogorath's lackey requires of me?"

“He would like you to build a….” Wrothken tried to steel himself against the wrath brought on by dousing the fresh wound with salty lemon juice. “A new Gatekeeper.”

"Oh?” Sure enough, her eyes darkened and her voice took on a new edge. “Does he now?"

“Yes, that is why he sent me here.”

Relmyna stared hard at him long enough that Wrothken’s toes began to squirm in his boots. Luckily, she wouldn’t be able to see... right? He wondered if she could see right through his armor. This woman made him feel more vulnerable than a baby bird hatching in front of a starving snake “Fine. If it be my Lord's will, then it is also my own. But, I am too distraught over the death of my child to return to his womb. This, you must do.”

“I-I’m sorry?” Wrothken almost choked. “You want me to go where?”

“You will travel to the Gardens of Flesh and Bone. There, you will gather mystical components needed for the ceremony. Go fetch me…” She pulled out her book and wrote a list for him. “Blood Liqueur, Osseous Marrow, Dermis Membrane, and Essence of Breath.” She strode to the other side of the room, where she had two dark bottles and two pouches. “Take these to collect the components in.”

So she didn’t literally birth that Gatekeeper. Somehow he was relieved that he wouldn’t be forced to deliver one of those things directly from her actual womb. Things were looking up! He groaned. How bad was it when not helping a Dunmer bear a giant orange monster was a plus?

“Now, if that is all you require…” She turned, waving him off dismissively.

“It’s not,” Wrothken said, glaring at her. It was much easier to do when she wasn’t looking at him. “I asked you a question earlier. What are you doing to these people?”

She chuckled softly. “Oh, you mean my research subjects? Don't trouble yourself with their fates. They are volunteers, of one sort or another. Besides, they are furthering important research into the nature of pain and suffering, of life and death.” She turned to Wrothken and smiled condescendingly. “Don't be concerned. I always return the worthy ones to life. Besides, Lord Sheogorath has sanctioned my studies and my methods. Any loyal servant of the Madgod would respect His decision in this matter.”

Wrothken wanted to ask if Sheogorath knew the intimate details of the studies, but he was afraid of the answer. The fact that Sheogorath approved these “studies” was both unsurprising and sickening.

“At the risk of sounding ‘disloyal,’” he said slowly through clenched teeth. “This is disgusting.” Relmyna looked almost amused. That, or she was imagining making Wrothken one of her subjects. That thought gave him chills.

Still, he looked at the Argonian and the others in similar cages, looking just as tortured and terrified. If left them here to this fate, he would never be able to look at himself in the eye again. No matter if he saved the Shivering Isles, hell, not even if he saved all of Tamriel, nothing would make up for leaving innocent people to be experimented on like this.

He cleared his throat and tried to still the growing tremor in his voice. “And since Sheogorath has given me free reign to act on his authority, I’m going to demand you release these people. Now.”

Wrothken was prepared to face her wrath. He steeled himself, expecting a barrage of curses, magic, verbal, or both. Instead, she only sneered. “I know your type. You believe yourself better than everyone else. You persecute genius when you find it, because we are able to see around the sharp corners of your simplified ‘morality.’” She took a few steps towards him, lifting her chin slightly so she was looking down her nose at him. “I see the vast horizons of thought, while you cannot see past the tip of your own nose,” she snapped, pointing at his face. “I can grant the guilty the cleansing fire of retribution, so they may die purified of soul. And, I can grant the worthy everlasting life! And what can you offer the world, except the hot air escaping through that hole in your head?”

Wrothken was unaccustomed to receiving such a tongue lashing. He had to pause in order to come up with a response. “As it stands, I am the only thing standing between Jyggalag and the Shivering Isles. You want to talk about granting life, but right now, if I choose to leave this cursed realm, it will leave you to die. So much for your knowledge then, right?” Relmyna said nothing, but Wrothken could see her temple throb as she clenched her jaw. Hopefully, she had no idea that if he were to leave, he would likely incur the wrath of a Daedric Prince and probably be given to Relmyna as a subject for his disobedience. “What good will you and your so-called work be if it’s wiped from history? I will ask you one more time. Let. Them. Go.”

The staredown she gave him seemed to last for hours. He felt as if slugs made of lava were crawling under his skin. “Out of deference to my Lord Sheogorath, I will allow this outburst. In fact, I will acquiesce to your request.” He tried to keep from looking surprised, but he could tell by her smug smile that he failed. “But only if you can prove to me the sincerity of your position, and the depth of your conviction. Are you willing to trade places with these souls momentarily, to bear the full weight of their pain and afflictions? Weigh this question carefully.”

“You want me to what?” He finally asked what he had been longing to ask nearly everyone he had met since his journey. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“You come into my sanctuary after you murdered my child and make demands of me? I should ask you the same thing. Make your choice or be off with you! I’ve wasted enough of my time as it is.”

Now what choice did he have? If he refused, not only did he look like a fool and a hypocrite, he would be letting all her victims down, right in front of them. If he agreed, the gods only knew what she was going to do to him. Would he even survive it? She could simply rebuild the Gatekeeper herself after all and it wasn’t as if Sheogorath didn’t know that Wrothken’s life was endangered every time he was sent out of the city walls. It almost seemed like the best thing to do was to kill her and assign a force of Golden Saints to patrol the border to Passwall. This time, he didn’t even feel bad for wishing her dead.

“Fine,” he said softly, looking at the ground. He clenched his fists, wishing to all the gods that he knew a shielding spell. Or one that would reflect her spell. Oh, that would teach her.

She turned back, raising her eyebrows. “Are you sure? You will not easily heal the damage done to you. This is a permanent sacrifice you are making. In fact, it is likely you will die. Perhaps you had better reconsider.”

She had to know that she was making this much harder by saying that. Given what he had survived thus far, if the pain was going to be that bad, he couldn’t even begin to imagine it. His heart already started racing. “Just do it.”

“Truly? Very well,” she sighed a little. “I wasn't quite finished with them, but as long as you remain in Sheogorath's favor, I will not conduct experiments on these people.” She rolled up her sleeves and grinned. “This may hurt a little.”

Wrothken tensed himself when he saw the rust-colored glow form around Relmyna’s hands. It didn’t help.

He had expected to be flung from his feet, knocked back in agony, writhing and screaming. Instead, as soon as the spell hit him, it was as if every horrible memory came back to him at once: his mother telling him he was destined to end up like his addict father, the night he caught Atrea in bed with another man, the guilt he felt when he was ordered to assassinate Thadon, the disappointment when he thought he had a chance with Rheyna only to be rejected immediately. Every ounce of sorrow stored in his memory bubbled up, followed by moments of sheer hopelessness.

Then came the physical aspect.

He didn’t remember falling to the ground. Nor did he remember crying out, yet as he shakily stood back up, his throat was sore. He blinked several times until his sight cleared up. He felt worse than when he had been hit by the hunger statue.

Relmyna was glowing with pride. “Did you like that? Pain can be pleasure, you know.”

Wrothken said nothing. He got the feeling that any hateful thing he could muster would simply amuse her. Never had he wanted to strangle someone so badly.

“Anyway,” she said, pulling a key from her cleavage and tossing it to the ground, as if flinging an insect from her fingers. “These people are your headache now.”

“What?” He asked. “What are you…” He looked at the caged people, each of them unarmed, starving, and naked. “You mean, you’re just going to toss them out? Just like that?”

Relmyna shrugged. “Here, they had shelter and nourishment. You insisted on taking that away. You wanted them, so go on! Take them all the way to the Capital if you’d like.” She smiled smugly. “Besides, are you not the exalted Duke? Slayer of the great Gatekeeper? Champion of our mighty Lord Sheogorath? I'm sure you'll be able to something as simple as escorting these people. If not, perhaps Sheogorath's faith in you is misplaced.” As Wrothken clenched his fists, her smile grew. “And you still need to visit my womb and help me birth another Gatekeeper, so it looks like you’ve got your hands full, don’t you?”

Muttering strings of curses, Wrothken bent down and picked up the key. He hated having to kneel before her in order to pick it up. He just knew Relmyna was relishing it. Then, one by one, he unlocked the cages. At first, no one moved. He sighed. “Come on, it’s fine. You’re free now.”

Still, they remained frozen in place.

“Really, it’s safe.”

Relmyna chuckled.

Wrothken turned to her, growling. “Will you do something about this?”

“Your headache,” she smirked.

He closed his eyes, eventually convincing the Argonian to come out first. After much coaxing, one by one, each of them followed Wrothken out of their cages. He was already worn out.

They lined up, some clinging to each other. What in Oblivion was he going to do with them? Whatever it was, he would figure it out away from Relmyna. The last thing he wanted to do was appear any weaker than he already did in front of her.

“Nanette!” Relmyna shouted. “Escort our Lord’s lackey and the experiments out of here. I would hate for him to take the long way out and get himself killed before he can visit The Garden.”

A young woman quickly shuffled out of one of the rooms. Wrothken was taken aback by her innocent appearance. Her heart-shaped face was framed by little gold ringlets. The rest of her hair was tied back in a Breton braid. Her eyes were big and brown, and seemed almost like a doe. Even her salmon colored dress contrasted strongly with a place like this. “Yes, ma’am,” she chirped as she bowed slightly. “Come, come,” she said to Wrothken.

He couldn’t mask the confusion on her face as he followed her down a hallway. “You live here with her?” He asked, as soon as he felt they were out of earshot of Relmyna.

“Oh, yes,” she gushed. “So, you are here to help rebuild the Gatekeeper? That’s very good of you, considering what you did to him.”

Wrothken grunted. No matter what, he was not going to be made to feel guilty for killing the last Gatekeeper. The only shred of regret he had was that if he had left it alone, he wouldn’t be there. He would have made his way to the Imperial City and never had to deal with any of this nonsense.

“So many strange noises here,” Nanette continued. “People screaming, animals dying. But I've learned so much... so much.”

“Like what?” Wrothken spat. “Oh, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

They continued along until the hall became a tunnel, sealed off with a large door. “Here you are!” Nanette handed him a key. “Just come back through here when you’re done gathering the ingredients. And be careful of Relmyna's temper. She…” She lowered her eyes. “She has ways of extracting obedience…”

Wrothken shook his head. “Come with me,” he blurted.

“What?” Nanette gasped, taking a step back.

“I-I said,” He stumbled over his words. He hadn’t meant to come off too strong. “The way you spoke... it’s as if you have experience with her... tactics. Why stay? By the Nine, she tortures people!”

Nanette stubbornly folded her arms. “Relmyna is a genius. Just because you can’t even begin to understand…” Her cheeks were flushed with anger. “Besides, do you know what she’d do to you if she heard you say such a thing? To me?” She shook her head. “I’m just fine, thank you.” With that, she turned and walked back into the main room.

Wrothken shook his head. He hoped to bring her along, not just to get her away from Relmyna, but to have some assistance getting the group to New Sheoth. As usual, he would have to go it alone.



Once they were all outside, Wrothken was mentally preparing himself for the worst. Would they all take off in different directions? Would they collapse the moment they felt sunlight on their skin again? Would a pack of hungers be lingering around? Luckily, none of that happened. They remained huddled in a cluster. Wrothken supposed Relmyna must have broken them long ago. Would it have been kinder to just allow them to die?

Wrothken’s heart twisted. How could he even think of such a thing? These people, innocent people, had the right to live. Everyone did.

“Alright,” Wrothken said, looking up at the sky. “If I’m going to get you all safely away, I need help. New Sheoth is a long way away from…” He turned around, putting his hands on his hips for a moment.

They had just exited from what appeared to be a large stone from the outside. The only identifier was a red crack in the rock, as if it was bleeding. Given the strange scenery, it was easy to overlook. The exit was a couple miles northwest from where he had entered. Coincidentally, it was also just northeast of what remained of Passwall.

He looked from Passwall to the group and then back to Passwall.

“Are all of you from here?”

“Here?” An Orc echoed after a while. He shook his head. “Deepwallow.”

“Fellmoor,” an Altmer said.

“Highcross.”

“Same here.”

Wrothken hadn’t heard of any of these places, but he assumed they were all towns around the Isles. “Alright,” he said. “I don’t know where any of those places are, but we’re near Passwall. There’s houses and clothes. I’m going to take you there tonight and we’ll decide what to do from there. Sound good?”

There were some nods and murmurs of agreement to Wrothken’s relief. He thought he was going to have to run a naked courier.


By the time he had reached Passwall, Wrothken had gotten their names. For people who had just left a torture chamber, Wrothken noticed that they were relatively well-adjusted. The only explanation he could think of was the fact that they’re all from the Shivering Isles. Could a mind already arguably broken in some ways, be completely broken? Or did a life in the Isles make some minds more resilient, due to already being accustomed to everything?

Upon reaching Passwall, Wrothken was surprised that he still felt a sinking in his stomach. The bodies were gone, but the ghost town reminded him that everyone he had met his first day in the Isles had been killed. Well, except Shelden, Jayred, and Relmyna. He couldn’t help wishing he could trade Relmyna for just about anyone else.

The six former victims looked around. “Do we just pick somewhere?” Estrid, the Altmer asked.

Wrothken shrugged. “I suppose so. They houses might need cleaning, and any food you find has definitely gone bad, so don’t trust anything. Just... see if you can find something growing. On a tree or a bush I mean! Don’t eat any mold or…” He felt like he was talking to children for a moment. “Just be careful.”

Each of them walked off, looking at the various houses. Food is going to be a problem, he thought. There were fruit trees here and there, but they couldn’t survive on that alone. Not for too long, anyway. He sat on the steps to The Wastrel’s Purse. Other than spend a week helping them hunt and figuring out how to grow crops, what could he do?

“Hmmm…”

He decided to summon Haskill.

The chamberlain appeared in his usual violet mist. “Hmph. I never thought I’d actually be happy to see you. That man, Shelden, is going to make the rest of my hair fall out.” He looked around. “So, I will truly take pleasure in what little reprieve you have granted me.”

“Shelden…” Wrothken said, folding his arms. That gave him an idea.

“Did you take a page from Relmyna’s book of tortures when you decided to invite him to New Sheoth? He has been pestering me non-stop about his home not being ‘mayoral’ enough. In fact, I would be cautious if I were you. He may attempt to replace you in order to secure some form of prestige. I highly doubt he would be fit to stop the Greymarch.”

“Send him back,” Wrothken said. “And, while you’re at it, I need food. Food and seeds and... whatever it takes to get a town going. Send a Golden Saint to escort him so he arrives safely. In fact, I’d like a handful of them to guard this place until it’s stable. And tell them I said to leave their attitudes behind.” When he noticed Haskill’s questioning look, he explained his encounter with Relmyna.

“The thing about you that I believe Lord Sheogorath appreciates is your complete lack of common sense paired with your passion. I do hope that in the near future you’ll act with a lot more thought as the fate of our realm rests on your shoulders.”

Wrothken sighed. Though as far as he was concerned he did the right, and only, thing, Haskill had a point. If Relmyna had killed him earlier, then everyone else would have suffered the consequences.

“Okay, you’re right, fine,” he said. “But now Passwall can be rebuilt and you can get Shelden out of your hair.”

Haskill narrowed his eyes. “I hope that wasn’t an attempt to be funny.”

Wrothken shook his head quickly, though he had to admit to himself that it was a little.

“Fine,” Haskill sighed. “But only because I fear that should I spend one more moment in that man’s presence, I fear I may lose myself. I’m sure he’ll leap at the opportunity to rule over something again.”

With that, he vanished.

Wrothken stood up. One problem down, a hundred to go. He headed into Shelden’s house. No one had claimed it. Wrothken supposed that they had enough torture with Relmyna so they didn’t need any more visual assault from Shelden’s portraits. He felt bad that they would be subject to the real thing, but at the same time, Shelden did know how to take charge and get things done.

Oh my gosh, two new chapters!! Yay!

Yikes, poor Wrothken when Relmyna told him to go to her child’s womb, lol. I am delighted to read more of this story!

Grits: Honestly, I would have thought the same thing! I mean, who would assume that a "womb" is a building a few miles away?




The next morning, Wrothken slipped out of Shelden’s house to head to the Garden of Flesh and Bone. He had no idea when Shelden would arrive and the last thing he wanted was to get caught in his house. He had no doubt that Shelden would follow him all the way to the Garden just to give him a piece of his mind.

If anyone else was up, he couldn’t tell. Passwall was about as silent as it had been before their arrival. If anyone deserves a good long sleep, Wrothken thought. It’s them.

It wasn’t until he began walking the path to the Garden that he remembered that he had been there before. It was his first day, going with Jayred to find bones to make arrows from. It was the Gatekeeper’s brother, he had said. Just how many Gatekeepers did Relmyna make?

The gate was still open from when he had picked the locks. Parts of the Gatekeeper not suitable for arrows, or whatever other unholy purpose Jayred used them for, remained on the ground. What a trip this became, Wrothken thought. Funny how he could think of Atrea without much of a twinge these days, yet his mind was far from clearer.

He slipped through the gates using the hole he made before and placed it back so it looked sturdy and shut. Should anyone with ill intentions try to follow him in, it would at least slow them down. Unless of course an obelisk sprouted up within the Gardens. Then he would be slowing down his own escape. He hesitated before continuing forward. Hopefully he wouldn’t have that problem. He wondered if he should look into things he could carry for good luck, but then decided against it. He had a feeling it would consume him and he’d wind up losing his mind over it. Look what happened to Uungor.

Across the courtyard was what looked like a mausoleum. It was a small, rectangular building built from white stone. The almond-shaped double doors were smooth, like marble with golden handles. Because it looked so small on the outside, Wrothken had no doubt that he would have to travel down into an underground chamber. Wrothken just wished he knew how much of it there was. And what was lurking down in the womb of Relmyna... He shuddered.

Taking a deep breath, he headed straight in. Two vials, two sacks. He needed breath and blood, which he understood, and then dermis and marrow, whatever those were. Skin and bone? It made enough sense, he supposed. He wished he had asked for specifics, but he had had other things on his mind at the moment. He would just have to figure it out and pray to the Divines that he wouldn’t mess up.

As soon as he was inside, the doors slid shut behind him. Just like Xaselm, the area was lit with welkynd stones, with a few banners hanging from the ceiling. Beyond the small room he just entered, a flight of stairs descended to another door. The only difference was that the area was caked in dust. It seemed Relmyna was indeed too distraught to come down. Wrothken scoffed a little at the thought. That wretched woman distraught, or feeling any genuine emotion, was just too much to imagine. Haskill seemed more capable of that than she did.

Just get the stuff, then you never have to see her again, he thought to himself. Then, after becoming Sheogorath, whatever that meant exactly, instead of firing Haskill as the first order of business, he was going to banish Relmyna. Where and how, he didn’t care. Hell, maybe some other realm would have her or give her a taste of her own medicine. He shook his head. He didn’t want to keep thinking of her. She just angered him so much!

Another door was before him. When he opened it, he took a few steps before hearing a loud rumbling. He turned around, expecting to see an obelisk rising from the ground. Instead, it was a trap. Several large boulders rained from the ceiling. Had he taken a few more steps, he would have been crushed. He scrambled back up the stairs as visions of Xeddefen filled his mind. He stood there, gripping the wall for several minutes after the last rock had fallen.

Relmyna, that hateful monster, sent him down there with no warning of that trap! How would he get the materials for her if he had gotten squished? He would become the materials! He briefly imagined her using his own body parts to supplement what was needed to rebuild the Gatekeeper. He shuddered. There he would be, mouth sewn, eyes gone, wandering until some other unfortunate soul entered the Isles to try and stop the Greymarch. He wasn’t sure if he would be more likely to urge them to get away or to accept death and be put out of his misery. Then he wondered if that could have been the fate of the last Gatekeeper. Was he some poor adventurer who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, turned into some hideous monster by Relmyna? He felt a bitter warmth threatening to bubble up his throat.

“Get a hold of yourself!” He said to himself, wishing he could splash himself with some cold water. He wasn’t sure what it was that kept him thinking about Relmyna and her activities. Maybe it was because she, too, came from Mundus. If madness like that already existed in Mundus, how many others like her were there? What did it say about his own potential? He shook his head. At least Uungor was rather harmless. But Relmyna… He took a breath. He needed to stop. He had a task at hand and then he could get back to New Sheoth and pretend he never met that foul woman until it was time to imprison her or banish her or whatever he decided. Maybe feed her to Jyggalag. Had Sheogorath already tried human sacrifice?

Wrothken couldn’t bring himself to move for a while longer. Again, he was reminded of Amiable and his fear of the walls coming down on him. From there, his thoughts brought him to the fragileness of some of the residents. He had to save them. If he didn’t, no one would. One, two... on three, he took cautious steps down to where the pile of boulders rested. He looked up at the ceiling. There didn’t seem to be any other traps. Still, he felt on his guard.

Ahead of him was another, shorter, flight of stairs. He could see sconces holding welkynd stones in an entryway. As Wrothken approached, he noticed a pair of statues on either side. Both of them were women... well, mostly. Both of them had the face and upper body of a nude elven woman. They had snakes for hair, which all seemed to writhe in every direction. Their lower halves were also like a snake. Wrothken noticed that down their arms were carved feathers. They craftsmanship was so detailed that when Wrothken touched one of the feathers, he almost expected it to bend. He wondered if people like these ever existed in the Isles. Were they guarding this place? He hoped not. Though they only statues, he felt strangely intimidated.

The entry led to yet another downstairs area, though it was in worse condition. It seemed like a rock trap had gone off before his arrival, though he couldn’t tell how long ago it had been. Unfortunately, it blocked the only path ahead.

He sighed. “Now what?”

Beyond the rocks, a downstairs area was visible. Wrothken tried pushing them out of the way, but they wouldn’t budge. Nor could he pull them through the arch. “Damn!” He hissed. Maybe there was another way. He crossed the serpentine women again and looked where he had almost gotten crushed. Sure enough, to the right there was another way through. He must have been so eager that he tried to just plow through. He had a feeling that in a place like this, he would have to take his time and explore, both to avoid traps and to make sure he didn’t get stuck at a dead end.

The doors opened and he immediately saw more decay. However, the debris led to a tunnel with glowing pods along the dirt. While he had seen those in many of the tunnels he had explored, he wondered if they would lead him to where he needed to be. He climbed up and it was almost like being in Dunroot Burrow, only without the elytra. He felt relieved. He never wanted to see or hear those things again for reasons having to do more with himself than the creatures themselves.

The tunnels wove and wound, but there was no hint of anything Relmyna claimed to need. In fact, he was starting to wonder if there was any ingredients to be found at all. Maybe this place was an endless labyrinth and he was cursed to walk the tunnels forever. Or maybe there was some unavoidable trap at the end.

He stopped. “Cut it out!” He said to himself. She was making him paranoid! If he kept it up, he was going to wind up like Syl. The memory of the former Duchess brought the idea of sending Herdir after Relmyna. Then again, that might wind up being a match made in the House of Dibella. He didn’t even want to imagine the sort of things they would do together.

Eventually, he came across a bridge made from tree roots. From the bridge, he saw what looked like large plants made of bone. Large white roots sprouted from the ground with giant fleshy orange flowers in the middle of them. He wasn’t too high up off the ground, so he carefully climbed down.

He took out one of the sacks, figuring that whatever he was harvesting wouldn’t be bottled. Was he gathering the stem or the flower though? Or both? He nodded. Both. He would rather bring more than what was needed than not enough and have to come back.

First, he lifted the bony root from the ground. It took a while, but after a sickening crack, it gave. It was like a giant’s finger bones, too large for his bag. He set it aside for later. He then pulled the petals from the flower. Unfortunately, it didn’t just look fleshy. It had the same texture as well. Peeling the petals off felt the same as pulling skin from a sunburn. He winced. Then he retched as the petal started folding in on itself. It just looked too real. He couldn’t help frowning disgustedly as he stuffed the petals into the sack. Wrothken got the feeling that this would be a recurring feeling. Scooping up the giant bones, he followed the path from where he was.

He was led through the earthy tunnels until he came across another area of bone, though this one lacked the flowers. Instead, it was as if a spiked spine were jutting from the ceiling. The root-like bone had several parts that looked easy enough to break. Setting the larger piece down, he approached and carefully broke off a few pieces. Each one that broke dribbled out a pinkish-yellow ooze onto his gauntlets. “Oh, by the Nine,” he muttered. Though he was thankful that it didn’t touch his skin, he still felt repulsed. What exactly was all this stuff anyway? Surely, it couldn’t be actual body parts. It had to be some sort of very convincing plant-life... right? He shook his head. He learned that around the Isles, some things were better left unanswered.

The tunnels wound even deeper underground to an area filled with green clouds that flew along the tunnels. With every gust, they sighed forlornly. That had to be the breath she needed. What was he supposed to do? Stand there and catch it in a bottle? Or was there a source? Perhaps a giant set of lungs. He sure hoped not.

He decided to follow them, just to see if there was a source. Thankfully, when he came across it, it was not a set of organs at all. In the center of roots coming from the floor and ceiling was swirling green smoke. The clouds seemed to rush to the point in the middle before going outward. He still wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to do. Out of the two bottles, one was clear. He supposed that one was supposed to hold the breath, so he could see if it collected. Carefully, he held the bottle in front of a gust. It glowed green with the breath. Simple and pleasant enough. He thought he was done with the gross part until he remembered the final ingredient. Blood.

Why did he have to come all this way for that? He bet that Relmyna had plenty of blood stashed away. Her hands were certainly stained with it, both figuratively and literally. He growled.

He followed the path until the tunnels brought him back to the stone rooms again. The area seemed new, but judging by the uphill climb, he had to be level with the surface, or at least close to it. The only odd thing was the sound of running water.

As he got closer to the source of the sound, a metallic smell grew stronger. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. Oh, please be water, he thought, taking out the bottle anyway. He kept going until he saw exactly what was flowing through the room.

While he wasn’t that surprised by the blood being there, he was shocked at how much there was. It seemed to be coming from a smooth, fleshy tube at the other end of the room. It was enough to fill the entire area, which was almost as large as his bedroom in the House of Mania, a few inches deep. For once, he was speechless. He filled the vial and then double checked that he had everything.

The entire way out, Wrothken felt disgusted. The womb of Relmyna was just like the rest of her: repulsive. Though he was glad when he was back outside, it was hard for him to walk the path to Xaselm knowing that each step was bringing him closer to her.

Wrothken had stood in front of the door for who knew how long before convincing himself to enter her sanctum. When he finally found Relmyna, his stomach twisted as he saw that he was hesitant for good reason. The room she had been waiting in was scattered with body parts for the Gatekeeper. Upon closer inspection, he saw that they weren’t scattered. In fact, they were neatly organized by type. He wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

“You have returned with all the components?” She asked, looking up from a book she had been writing in. Wrothken handed over the two bottles, sacks, and the large finger bone. “Excellent,” she said, inspecting everything. “All that remains is to choose the body parts.”

Wrothken looked around. “Why are there parts?” He managed to ask.

“Fearing one day someone might manage to kill my child, I have been preparing a new body. I've created versions of each appendage, with various enhancements. You must choose one of each. I am too attached to them all. Artist's prerogative,” she said with a prideful grin.

The entire thing seemed so surreal. Heads, arms, legs, just laying out as if he were getting ready to buy fruit from the market. Yet, this was tame compared to what he had seen earlier.

He started with the heads. It seemed a good a place as any. Two of them sat on the table, bigger than any watermelons he had ever seen. One was just like the one he had encountered before: fleshy spots where eyes, nose, and mouth should have been. Seeing it severed and up close just made it creepier. The head next to it had a helmet covering most of its face, save for a few slits around the eye area. “That head,” he said, pointing.

Relmyna took it and kissed its forehead. She hesitated, but gave a kiss to the other head as well. Wrothken quickly turned away.

Next was the torso. He noticed that no keys were sewn into its skin. Each were the same, except for the gaping hole where its heart should have been. He looked at Relmyna for a moment, wondering if the joke he wanted to make to himself about that was just too easy. One glowed soft green and the other glowed a deep violet. Whatever the difference was, Wrothken assumed it had to do with magic. As he didn’t care to ask, since that would require him to speak with her more than necessary, he picked the green one because he liked the color better.

Then there were a set of arms, both left and right. The right arms all had a selection of weapons attached to them and the left had glowing glass-like gems along the forearm. The right arm options were a sword, an axe, or a mace. He felt a little biased toward the mace, so he almost picked that one. However, he reconsidered. Did he really want something reminiscent of himself on the Gatekeeper? It would feel too much like he and Relmyna truly made one together. “Ugh…” He muttered at the very idea. “The axe,” he said.

He took a closer look at the left arms. The three selections differed in that the gems along the arms shone different colors: one red, one light blue, and the last, gold. He figured they symbolized the typical destruction schools, fire, frost, and shock. It seemed that everyone knew a fire spell, so he selected that one.

Two pairs of legs hung from hooks on the walls. Like the previous Gatekeeper, there was no armor. Just some steel around its hips. The legs themselves differed in that one set was leaner than the other. It was like comparing a wood elf’s legs to an Orc’s. Wrothken had a feeling she had taken the time to learn the precise muscle patterns of each. He did rescue both and Orc and a wood elf from her torture chamber, after all. Shaking his head, he selected the stronger looking legs.

The final piece was the heart. They both glistened slightly, but Wrothken couldn’t tell what made the hearts unique. He simply picked the one on the right.

“All finished?” Relmyna asked. “Now, travel to the statue of our Lord, in the Fringe. There we will perform the ceremony. I will meet you there at dusk.”

Wrothken sighed slightly. As he was glad to leave her, he was disappointed that this wasn’t the end of it. What else could she possibly need from him?



When he reached the Fringe, the sun was still high up in the sky. There were a few hours to kill, so he decided to take a look at Passwall or New Passwall or whatever it was going to be called. It would also give him time to warn the new residents to stay away from the Gatekeeper.

He headed down the steps into the village and heard Shelden’s voice. He sighed. Though he hoped to avoid him, he was glad to see him around. It meant he would stay out of New Sheoth and hopefully he could get things running. Sure enough, Shelden was outside the Wastrel’s Purse loosening some dirt. Naked.

“What the--?” Wrothken said in surprise.

“Well, look who’s here!” Shelden said, turning around and placing his hands on his hips. “You needed my help, yet again! It’s about time someone appreciated how essential I am, but I’m starting to think that maybe I should be given a higher station. Maybe higher than you, since I’m actually doing something.”

“Shelden... where are your clothes?”

“Why? You want them?”

“No!” Wrothken pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to five. “I mean, why aren’t you wearing them?”

Shelden shrugged. “No one else is. I can’t be looking silly, being the only one wearing clothes! Besides, I have a splendor all my own.”

“What do you mean, no one else is?” Wrothken buried his face in his hands. “You can’t all be going around skyclad!”

“Says who? You’re not the mayor around here!”

“I mean…” Wrothken looked around. “What if you get attacked? Knights of Order might still show up! Remember them?”

“Oh please. Even if they do, you think a few layers of cloth are gonna help? Know what I think? You’re just jealous!”

Wrothken wanted to ask what he was supposedly jealous of, but he had an idea of where that conversation would go. “Fine. You know what, you’re right. This is your town and if you all want to be as naked as jaybirds, I don’t care.”

“Thank you,” Shelden said, turning his nose up to try and look down upon Wrothken. As Wrothken was much taller, Shelden wound up having to arch his back to do so.

“So, since you’re mayor and all that, I wanted to tell you that there’s going to be a new Gatekeeper. You might want to make sure everyone stays clear.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Shelden said, getting back to the patch of land.



Dusk came before Wrothken knew it. He stood at the entrance to the Gates of Mania and Dementia. It was right where the old Gatekeeper had been slain. It seemed at once like ages ago but as fresh as yesterday. The gates opened slowly and Relmyna appeared. An ornate black box floated behind her. Wrothken supposed that was the pieces of the Gatekeeper. Instead of her black dress, she was wearing a bright red gown. With every step, the skirt swished, showing pink fabric inside.

When she approached the statue of Sheogorath, she knelt before it momentarily before rising to tenderly kiss its lips. She then turned to Wrothken and with a wave of her hand, the box glided in front of him and landed with a loud thud. The lid creaked open, revealing the gatekeeper parts, as well as candles and the ingredients he had gotten for her. There were six candles, all different colors: red, blue, green, yellow, and white. The final one was a strange brown color, marbled with pink and red. Relmyna took the candles, arranging them around a large circle on the ground.

“Are you prepared to birth my child?” She asked Wrothken.

He just nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what he would be doing.

“Stand here next to me and follow my instructions,” she said. She then raised her arms to the sky. Her hands began to glow light blue, as did the entire circle in front of them. “First, place the Gatekeeper's body into the Cistern of Substantiation.”

Wrothken lifted each piece from the box. Though it was in pieces, it still took a lot of effort to lift everything. He felt irritated knowing that Relmyna could probably do it herself with just a flick of her wrist. Each piece was placed into the circle and Wrothken was surprised to see that they fell inside, as if the circle was no longer solid, but a container of its own.

Relmyna then spoke. “At the beginning of the worlds were five. Fire, water, earth, air, and light.” As she spoke their names, the red, blue, green, and yellow candles each seemed to light itself. “Darkness turned into day,” she continued. “The void took form. Hidden away, by virtue of its own self-awareness, was the sixth, containing within it the five which birthed it. Flesh!” The final candle lit itself. “Meat with the desire to consume like fire.” She turned to Wrothken. “Place the Dermis Membrane into the cistern.”

The fleshy petals no longer felt soft and pliable, like skin. They now felt stiff and dry. He quickly flung them into the glowing cistern.

“Blood, liquid nutrient, that ocean which casts pearls of life upon the shores of existence. Place the Blood Liqueur into the Cistern of Substantiation.”

Wrothken poured the contents of the vial into the cistern. It flashed red for a moment before returning to its blue color.

“Bone, branch and stone of the body, giving shape and structure. Place the Osseous Marrow into the cistern.”

He noticed that the giant finger bone was not in the box. It had to be the smaller pieces that he gathered. The ones that had oozed all over him. His gauntlets were still crusty. He held the sack as one would hold soiled clothing, away from him and shook the bone pieces into the cistern.

“Breath, child of air, bestowing movement, the stirring of spirit. Place the Essence of Breath into the Cistern of Substantiation.”

He wasn’t sure quite how to do that. Wouldn’t the breath just dissipate in the air? He took the bottle and knelt on the ground, opening it up with the top facing down. He was careful not to touch it. The image of Relmyna kicking him into the cistern popped up in his mind and he quickly got up, not wanting to give her any ideas. He glanced at her, noticing that she hadn’t moved from her spot.

“And last, the light of Flesh, the illumination of Soul -- perception, thought, memory, imagination.... I summon thee, walker in Flesh! Flesh of true Flesh! From those waters of Oblivion which sire thy kind. Come to this altar. Join with this body.”

The cistern turned dark, like a stormy night. Clouds swirled around, moving faster as she spoke.

“Quintessence of Flesh joined with the Essence of Flesh. Absolute in mortal. Immortal bound to contingent! Stand clear of the cistern,” she said to Wrothken. “Over here by me.”

He didn’t want to, but he figured it would be best to do as she said during the ritual. When he stood at her side, she suddenly grabbed his hand. Wrothken could feel a power surging through him, from her. His heart pounded. “What are you doing?”

“Lend me your power, royal lackey,” she said. “Together, we shall bring forth new life! Do this, and know the power of the flesh!”

She didn’t wait for him to respond.

“Honored Daedra, fear not thy abasement! Thou shalt be the Holy in this Temple. I bind thee Atronach to this body, henceforth Gatekeeper of the Shivering Isles.”

She released his grip on him when something began to rise from the cistern. Slimy and red, like a newborn baby, a Gatekeeper rose. It stumbled from the dimming cistern and knelt before Relmyna. She looked overjoyed as she held its head to her chest. “My child,” she said in a voice so tender, he didn’t think it was possible. “It is time to fulfill your destiny. Stand guard in this land against all those who seek entry not bearing the mark of Sheogorath's favor. You shall know them by the coldness in their minds. A darkness of spirit.”

A familiar shrieking came from behind them. They turned to see an obelisk rise, right at the stairs leading up to the Gatekeeper’s territory. “What's this?” Relmyna hissed. A wicked grin spread across her face. “My child, they are coming. Destroy them! Show them your true power!”

With an eerie silence, the Gatekeeper stomped toward the Knights. It picked up the first one and slammed it to the ground repeatedly until it was nothing but shards and splinters. Wrothken couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if the previous Gatekeeper had managed to get its hands on him like that.

As the new Gatekeeper worked, he thought back to what she had said during the ritual. Know the power of flesh? What did that even mean? He looked down at his hands. Even without direct skin-to-skin contact, he could tell that something was done to him. Yet, he didn’t feel like she hurt him. In fact, he felt stronger. It was like she gave him something.

“You’ll find that you can summon an atronach of flesh to aid you in your time of need,” Relmyna said softly. “You’ll see the fruits of my labor and perhaps eventually you’ll come to appreciate my methods.” She placed her hands on her hips and turned to the Gatekeeper. “Now, watch my child destroy the interlopers or run to Sheogorath. Either way, tell Him of our doings here. Send Him my tribute... and my affections.”

Thankful that Relmyna didn’t give Wrothken a kiss to pass along to Sheogorath, which he certainly would not have done, he took a last look at the Gatekeeper and headed through the Gates of Dementia. As disgusted as he felt having a piece of her knowledge embedded within him, especially without him asking or consenting, he had to admit, summoning one of those things could prove useful. In fact, he almost considered suggesting to Sheogorath that there be more of them built and stationed around the Isles.

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Cats and Bags

Wrothken made back to New Sheoth around midday. Though he knew time was of the essence, he stopped by Bernice’s Taphouse before heading to the palace. He hadn’t seen her lately and he felt badly. Yes, saving the realm was definitely a priority, but he knew he wouldn’t have gotten that far without her support. He would have lost his mind long ago without having someone other than Haskill to talk to. Besides, he missed her. Though she looked nothing like his grandmother, she reminded him a lot of her. He sighed. He hadn’t seen her in a while either.

First thing after removing Relmyna from the realm or arresting her, or whatever he was going to do, he was going to catch up with everyone he had drifted away from. His grandma, Kirsty... Oh, Kirsty was going to be so mad at him. He cringed a little. Though he was much taller and probably weighed twice as much, he still felt a twinge of fear thinking of her fury.

He shook his head. He would make it up to her, but first he had to make sure he lived through the Greymarch. That reminded him of something else he wanted to ask Bernice about.

He entered the taphouse. As usual, he got a few looks from people, but he ignored them, going straight up to the bar.

“Well, well,” Bernice said smiling. “I was starting to worry you’d forgotten about little old me.”

“Never,” Wrothken said. “I’ve been, well, you know.”

“Still working on saving the realm. Don’t worry, I figured as much. So what brings you in today?”

“Well, it’s about the realm. But I was thinking, can we maybe talk over lunch? We can go to the palace.” When she raised her eyebrows in surprise, he added, “I mean, I may as well use it. Besides, the gardens are actually pretty nice.”

Bernice frowned for a moment. “Thadon’s palace was known for an awful lot of diseases. Do you think I’ll catch anything?”

Wrothken shook his head. “Even if you did, I’d go back and get you that water from Knotty Bramble. It worked last time, right?”

Bernice smiled. “Well, alright.” She turned to the people at the tables. “Hey, everyone out! I’m closing up early!”



The garden was easily Wrothken’s favorite part of the Palace of Mania. Though Wide-Eye still painted there on occasion, she wasn’t bad company as long as the subject of Thadon was avoided.

When Wrothken arrived, the garden was empty, save for a couple of Golden Saints pacing around. They took a seat among the brightly colored flowers and Wrothken requested that lunch be brought out to them.

“So this is where you’ve been staying,” Bernice said, looking around. “A bit flashy for my taste, but I suppose I could see the appeal for someone like you. So,” She sat up a little, scooting in. “What’s it you wanted to ask about?”

“Well, I told you about the…” He looked at the nearest Golden Saint, who seemed uninterested in the conversation. “The Greymarch. Do you remember anything like that happening before?”

“Oh, goodness no!” She shook her head. “Based on what you’ve told me, it doesn’t seem like anything one could survive, does it? If the whole realm is destroyed, there’s not a lot of options are there?”

“Apparently, there’s been at least one survivor. I think Jyggalag is supposed to attack and based on what Sheogorath says, I think he’ll send his forces through the Fringe, up here to New Sheoth. Do you know the construction of the buildings real well?” When Bernice gave him a strange look, he clarified. “I mean, are there any safe-houses in the city? Maybe some basements people can hole up in until its safe?”

“Well, I know I’ve got a storage room downstairs. I don’t know about anywhere else, dearie. My illnesses kept me from really going out much, you see. Besides, I don’t know if hiding out will do any good. These Knights sound like they’d easily wipe out any stragglers they’d find.”

Wrothken thought of Passwall. “You’re right about that.” He sighed. “Then…” He thought for a moment. “Unless I can shift everyone in the Shivering Isles into Mundus…” He shook his head. “I’d have an easier time finding the Count of Anvil.” To Bernice’s confused expression, Wrothken waved. “Never mind. Besides, I saw what happened when someone from here entered Mundus.”

“What happened?”

“He just lost it. I mean, worse than most people here. He tried to attack someone. Besides, it seems like New Sheoth isn’t the only town here.” He briefly filled her in on Relmyna and her experiments. “All of them named off these places they’re from, so I would need an army to collect everyone. But the army is going to be busy holding off the Knights.” He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “It really seems like the only way to keep everyone safe is to take down Jyggalag.”

Bernice patted his arm. “No pressure, love.”



After lunch, Wrothken headed to report to Sheogorath. As he crossed the courtyard, he kept feeling as if any second, obelisks would sprout up in the center, letting out horde upon horde of Knights of Order. He was relieved when he entered the throne room without incident.

Sheogorath was seated on his throne, with his legs hanging off one of the arms. Haskill was standing near a pedestal displaying a Heart of Order. When Wrothken entered, Sheogorath hopped up. Haskill seemed not to notice his arrival.

“A new Gatekeeper!”Sheogorath cried, clapping his hands. “Excellent. We might be onto something with you after all,” he said with a wink. “That should keep out the stragglers. And I see you've got all your limbs about you! Relmyna must like you, little Duke... but probably not in that way."

“And thank Dibella for that,” Wrothken said under his breath. “But, about the Gatekeeper. I had an idea--”

Wrothken was cut off by a male Mazken bursting through the doors. “Lord Sheogorath!” He said, panting slightly. Wrothken was surprised. Though apparently the men were considered much weaker, Wrothken had never thought that a Daedra could be out of breath. They always seemed near invulnerable. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said, kneeling. “But you must help us! Order has attacked Pinnacle Rock and routed us!"

Sheogorath frowned for a moment. His frown was more chilling than his colorful threats. “Well, well,” he said, stroking his beard. “What a turn of events this is. It's new, and I like new, even if it's bad. And this is bad, isn't it? My, my…”

He turned to Wrothken. “This is a particularly exciting turn of events, is it not? A perfect job for you, my newest and only noble in the realm! If Order has entered my army's stronghold, things have taken a disturbing turn.”

“Really?” Wrothken asked. “What makes this any more disturbing than what’s been happening already?”

“It means Order has tried subterfuge... not its strong suit. Amazing!” He said with a clap. “Perhaps things aren't going as poorly as I'd imagined. You'll want to get all the details from the messenger.”

“Right... though I don’t understand. If Jyggalag is doing all this, why hasn’t he tried to attack here yet? Why waste time going after strongholds if he really wants you?”

Sheogorath and Haskill exchanged glances. Then Sheogorath made a face that made Wrothken’s blood feel like slush. It was a look of amusement, pity, and surprise all at once. “Aren't you precious?” Sheogorath patted Wrothken’s cheek gently. “Do you really not know? Haven't you noodled it all through yet?”

Wrothken’s eyes widened as he shook his head. What was it that he was supposed to have noodled?

“Because…” Sheogorath grinned. “He is me!”

Wrothken’s jaw dropped.

“I'm him! We're a bit of each other, really. I won't be here when he arrives, because I'll be him. Happens every time. The Greymarch starts, Order appears, and I become Jyggalag and wipe out my whole realm.”

Wrothken wanted to yell, cry, fall to his knees, and run away all at once. It wasn’t until Haskill lifted his jaw shut that he found his words. “What in Oblivion do you mean you’re Jyggalag?! How could you... you of all people be Jyggalag?”

Sheogorath laughed. “Cat's out of the bag on that one, innit? Who puts cats in bags, anyway? Cats hate bags.”

Wrothken shook his head. “Why can’t you just.. just not be Jyggalag? Just don’t do it! You can stop this... can’t you?”

“Stop it?” Sheogorath chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, no. Can't do it. Believe me, I've tried. It never ends well. But you're still going to stop the Greymarch. Stop Jyggalag-- Me-- from destroying my Realm. You've already forced Order's hand. No stopping now. Some things can't be stopped.”

Wrothken buried his face in his hands and just screamed for a while. Why not? He earned a nice, relaxing scream, especially after that news. When he finished, he looked back at Sheogorath. He didn’t seem to notice. “How long do we have? A few days? Weeks?”

“Soon,” he said, shrugging a little. “Too soon. I can already feel the change beginning. I feel like I'm not quite here. I'm not over there yet, but I'm not quite here. And I've been having moments of clarity that are quite unlike me. Like now.”

Wrothken took a deep breath. He could fall apart later. Probably just before bed. “Alright. Alright,” he exhaled and shook his hands. “So now what?”

“Now? Nothing has changed! You deal with this messenger. Make sure my army is secure. You'll need them.”

Wrothken turned to the Mazken, who had risen, watching everything quietly. “Okay, let’s get to Pinnacle Rock.”

Here I am, a decade later.

So I was working at a place over the summer and I had two weeks of downtime at a computer, so I wound up updating the story, going through and making edits/rewrites and all that. I changed a couple names and so on.

And now, it is Coronavirus time and school is closed and my state is under lockdown, so why not continue?





Wrothken accompanied the Mazken messenger back to Pinnacle Rock. His name was Zryacius. That was all Wrothken could remember. Though he swore that Zryacius informed him, repeatedly, of what had happened, Wrothken just couldn’t retain the information. The only thing that played in his head, over and over again was the fact that Sheogorath was Jyggalag.

Sheogorath.

Was.

Jyggalag.

The Prince of Madness was also the Prince of Order. This was insane, even for the Isles. It was absolutely maddening! He was supposed to go up against Sheogorath himself? What happened if, if, he defeated him? Would that truly break the cycle? For how long? How could he be sure that Sheogorath wouldn’t just turn back to Jyggalag as soon as Wrothken left? Divines, would he have to stick around the Isles to be Sheogorath’s babysitter until he died of old age? What if he was “gifted� with immortality in order to do that? Was that what happened to Haskill? No wonder he was the way he was!

He felt his lunch churning unpleasantly in his stomach. How was this possible?

Wrothken didn’t even notice that the path was taking him down the road towards Xedilian until they had already passed the fortress. Did Kiliban know? Haskill sure knew. Who else was aware of Sheogorath’s other personality? Relmyna probably knew. Wrothken clenched his fists. Oh, she had to have known. Wrothken easily imagined her hiding in the palace, just waiting for him to figure it out. How that would amuse her…

Wrothken grunted, punching a nearby tree. Zryacius jumped. “My Lord?� He asked, approaching quietly. “I understand your dismay. While I know you may not hold us Mazken in the highest regard, due to your station--�

Wrothken turned. “What? No, why would you...?� He trailed off, too exasperated to complete his thought.

Zryacius continued. “We wouldn’t call upon you unless it was truly dire.�

Wrothken shook his head. “It’s not that. I like the...uh… the Mazken.� He wondered if it sounded as strange to Zryacius as it did to himself. “I mean, sure, I’m Duke of Mania, but truly I’ve, uh, I’ve always felt better with Mazken than with Golden Saints. It’s nothing to do with you. I’ve just had a really, really rough day.�

A rough day. A rough time ever since he set foot in the Isles. He couldn’t believe this was his life.

Zryacius just nodded.

“Tell me again, what’s happened?�

“Forces of Order have invaded. Pinnacle Rock is our most sacred space, given to us by Lord Sheogorath Himself. It contains our Wellspring of Mazken, where fallen Mazken are summoned forth from the waters of Oblivion. We must speak to Adeo as soon as we arrive. Time is of the essence!�

“Right, right,� Wrothken said. He closed his eyes, determined to not make Zryacius repeat himself again.



Wrothken could tell that he was in the right place by all the Mazken standing outside of a stone fortress. Most of them were surrounding one in particular. Wrothken assumed she was Adeo.

She approached him as soon as she saw Zryacius. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for summoning you. The blame is mine. We've lost control of Pinnacle Rock.�

“No, don’t worry about it,� Wrothken said. “Zryacius told me what happened. How did Order manage to break in?�

Adeo’s eyes darkened. “Syl let them in…� She said through clenched teeth.

Syl. Of course. Sheogorath said that Order hadn’t yet tried subterfuge and who better to suggest that?

“We had no idea she would turn on us,� Adeo said. “They captured our commander, Dylora, and have her imprisoned somewhere inside. Our first priority must be rescuing her.�

Wrothken nodded. “Alright, sounds like a plan. Do you know where she is?�

"I do not,� Adeo said. “Syl had called her aside, separating her from the group. She meant to divide our numbers when Order entered, making us easier targets. They imprisoned Dylora somewhere within Pinnacle Rock. If they killed her, she could return to us, so they keep her hostage. If we follow the waters of the Wellspring, we will surely find her."

Wrothken looked around. There was a decent amount of Mazken around. Far more than there were Golden Saints at Passwall. If they had been overwhelmed, then there had to be a small army invading. “How many are there? Order, I mean?�

“More than I could count. It was all we could do to fall back and regroup out here. We must free Dylora as soon as possible. She will know what to do.�

“Alright. Let’s go find her.�

Adeo hesitated for a moment. “Forgive me for saying so, Your Grace,� she said. “But I find taking orders from the Duke of Mania to be... unsettling.�

“That’s fine,� Wrothken said, waving his hand. He didn’t feel like he was capable of leading anyway. His head was too muddled up. “Just tell me how to help.�

Adeo nodded. “You are the only remaining Duke, which is a situation quite unprecedented. Normally, you would never be permitted to pass within Pinnacle Rock. Given the need for swift action, the normal customs shall need to be overlooked for now. We shall welcome you within our ranks, Your Grace."

Wrothken shrugged. “Sounds fine. Let’s go.�



The interior of Pinnacle Rock reminded Wrothken of Cylarne. It was made from the same gray stones and lit with bright blue flames. Immediately upon entry, Wrothken was greeted by the sight of a dead Mazken. It was face down with slash wounds along its back. Its head was nearly cut off. A statue of a Mazken stood nearby, its head bent down as if lamenting the fallen soldier at its feet.

Around the corner, a metal door opened with a smooth sound of chains as Wrothken approached with Adeo and her army. The room featured another Mazken statue standing between two columns and flights of stairs. One side was almost completely blocked with a burst of Obelisks. Adeo looked to the others and pointed to the clear steps, nodding. Wrothken pulled his mace out and followed her lead.

As soon as the Mazken reached the stairs, Wrothken heard the clanging of Order’s Knights as they unsheathed their swords. A row of Mazken ran to face the Knights head on and another stood back, drawing bows and arrows. Wrothken ran up with the first row. A large cluster of Knights rushed to attack. Wrothken was careful to avoid the swing of Mazken swords. They had all trained together for who knew how long. Their movements were in perfect harmony with each other, as if they could read one another’s movements. Wrothken however, felt clumsy in comparison and didn’t want to risk hitting the wrong target. He separated himself slightly, drawing a few Knights away.

Once he was far away enough, he swung at them as hard as he could. The anger he felt at the latest revelation of the Greymarch finally had a helpful target. Stupid creatures! If Sheogorath was Jyggalag, couldn’t he control these things? Couldn’t he do anything besides sit on his throne and fiddle with his cane? Couldn’t he do anything helpful? Ever?

Every time a knight fell, another sprang up in its place. “Grab the hearts!� Wrothken shouted. “Three of them will shut down the Obelisk!�

As soon as he finished speaking, Wrothken felt the too-familiar jolting pain of a shock spell. They seemed to be favored among Jygglag’s followers. He glanced back and saw a Priest of Order standing in a doorway beyond.

He turned to face them. A few of the Mazken began throwing hearts to the Obelisk. The third one struck, and three Knights formed between the Priest and Wrothken.

“Wipe them out!� The Priest shouted. As he issued the command, a shower of arrows fell upon him, knocking him to the floor. The remaining Mazken swarmed the three Knights, making quick work of them.

By the time the Knights fell, Wrothken was panting hard through gritted teeth. He felt like a madman. The Mazken didn’t seem to notice. He stood up straight, pulling his hair from his face. He had to get a hold of himself. This was not going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Yes, he was angry. No, he was not going to let it consume him.

The sound of water caught his attention and he looked down and saw green water flowing along a stone path on the ground. Adea did say to follow the Wellspring. This must have been it.

The water flowed under a wall. Off to the side was another door. As they approached, the door opened, revealing Knights already running their way. The Mazken formed up again, preparing for the fight. Wrothen held back, this time cracking open any fallen Knights and gathering their hearts. If none of the Obelisks had been shut down, no wonder they were overrun. If he could cut off the supply, then he could even the odds a little.

Wrothken chose to focus on that strategy in the fight for Pinnacle Rock. It kept him out of the way of the Mazken army and allowed them to focus on bringing down the Knights. It seemed to work for everyone involved. They lost some, but fewer than they would have with infinitely spawning Knights.

When they stopped for a moment to allow for healing, Wrothken briefly considered summoning a Golden Saint. After all, they needed all the spare swords they could get. He decided against it however. Zryacius said Pinnacle Rock was a sacred place and Adeo bristled at letting Wrothken in. He could imagine the fury if he brought in what seemed to be their mortal enemy.

The next room contained a section that seemed to be sealed off with a wall made of Order crystals. Loud clanging was coming from inside. Wrothken approached it cautiously. Since Syl was the one who led the attack, it very well could have been a trap.

One of the walls had a crevice in the center. Keeping his mace ready, Wrothken peeked inside.
“Who’s there?� A voice called out. “Free me at once!�

“It’s Dylora!� Adeo cried, rushing to the wall.

Wrothken, lowered his weapon and got closer. “I’m here to help,� he said. He took out a few hearts from his bag and tried placing them along the wall, but nothing happened.

“The barrier can’t be broken,� Dylora said, approaching the crevice on her end. “Use the chime! The chime may shatter it!�

“Chime…� Wrothken looked around the room. He didn’t remember seeing a chime, though of course it wasn’t something he had thought to keep an eye out for.

“The chime, of course!� Adeo said, rushing down the stairs. Before Wrothken could do anything, she was already across the room, where a large brass chime as high as the ceiling stood. She took her shield and slammed it against the chime repeatedly until the walls started cracking. As soon as they did, Wrothken and Dylora began bashing the chunks down until Dylora was able to climb out.

“You have my thanks for freeing me,� she said. “But just who are you?�

“Oh, I’m Wrothken. The Duke of Mania.�

Her tone suddenly changed. “Your Grace!� She gasped. “I am sorry, I did not realize--�

“It’s fine,� he said. “Glad to help.� He was also glad to be away from the palace for fear he would do something the entire realm would regret.

“Where is Syl?� She growled. “Have you seen her? That traitorous coward!�

Wrothken shook his head. “No, there’s been plenty of Knights and a couple Priests, but as far as I can tell, Syl wasn’t here. She must have gone.�

Dylora clenched her teeth. Wrothken could tell she was seeing red. “Syl, the snake! She showed up, asked for a contingent of guards. Said there was trouble at the palace and that we were needed. We were so focused on organizing quickly that by time we realized she’d let Order in herself, it was too late! We were split up and picked off.� She sighed, shaking her head. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters now is the Wellspring. We must reach it at once!�

Wrothken looked to Adeo, but she was with the other Mazken. They seemed to be preparing for more fighting. “What Wellspring? What do we need to do?�

“The Wellspring of the Mazken,� Dylora explained. “It’s what links us to this realm, where we return to the world from the Waters of Oblivion.�

“Oh! I heard about something like this at Cylarne.� Did that mean Grakedrig Ulfri could come back through here? Would she return? Wrothken hoped so. He knew she would work with him to gather forces to save the realm.

“If Syl helps Order sever that link, my kind will be annihilated. The realm will be lost to us. We must get to the Wellspring and stop them!�

Wrothken nodded. “I’ll follow your lead.�

“Appreciated.� She turned to the remaining Mazken, who were lined up before her. “Onward, to the Wellspring!�

Wordlessly, the Mazken followed Dylora up the stairs and down another hall. To Wrothken’s shock, the Mazken began to slow down, eventually falling to the ground, silently as statues. Their blue skin turned a soft gray as they hit the ground.

“No!� Dylora cried, clutching the wall next to her. Her legs began to gray. “The Wellspring! They’ve stopped it up!� She turned to Wrothken. “You… you must make it to the Wellspring and let the waters flow.� She gulped hard. Wrothken could see what effort it was taking for her to speak as her body slid down to the floor. “Follow the waters....�

Wrothken trembled as Dylora finally fell, pale and stiff as a child’s doll. He was alone in the tomblike silence. “Follow the waters,� he said to himself. “But I have no idea how to actually activate it! Damn!� He kicked the air.

He shook his head. First thing, he had to find the place. He’d figure it out from there.

If anything, maybe he could cry enough to make the waters flow again. He certainly felt up to that.

So the Wrothster helped Lady Frankenstein create a new monster for the gate. I liked how you went through using the various elements to create it, and that it was the spirit of a daedra that animated it.

So now Shiggy is Jiggy? That's just crazy! Well... of course it is, Realm of Madness and all that.

I liked how the fact that if they kill the Mazken, they are just reborn, so it makes more sense to hold them prisoner.

Couldn’t he do anything helpful? Ever?

I don't think doing anything helpful is in the job description of the Daedra Lord of Madness. Nor in that of most Daedra.

Dylora saved, but uh oh, the Mazken are dropping like flies. It is a good thing Wrothken is there, as a non-Mazken he can actually continue on and fight the good fight.

Subrosa~ As much as Relmyna is completely hateful, I think I had the most fun writing this process




Pinnacle Rock was as silent as a tomb, with Wrothken the only mourner. He stood with his back against the wall, unable to pry his eyes away from Dylora’s stone form, hoping with all his heart that she might slowly rejuvenate, as if she were simply a cicada in peaceful hibernation.

If Syl’s forces had managed to shut down the wellspring, it wouldn’t be farfetched to assume that they remained buried deep within the crevices of the fortress. They could be tucked away, possibly aided by Syl’s knack for strategy. Wrothken was without an army or a guide. He doubted Haskill had ever made the journey through Pinnacle Rock. It was at this moment that Wrothken realized the downside to only having Daedra as guards. Then again, in a place like the Shivering Isles, would it really be wise to entrust a madperson with weaponry and royal authority? Perhaps there was a shred of reason behind a few things. Probably Haskill’s idea. Wrothken wasn’t sure how he felt about appreciating him, especially given how Haskill hid Jyggorath’s identity from him.

Despite all his wishing, Dylora stayed as stone and Wrothken knew he didn’t have time to become as a statue himself. Time was not on his side. He grumbled as he got off the wall. Nothing was on his side.

He continued down the hall, moving as quietly as he could. Even though he took slow, careful steps, he felt like he was squeaking and clanging with every motion. It was bad enough that he was by nature something of a minotaur in a bell shop. Though Cutter’s craftsmanship was impeccable, the armor made its own noises. Wrothken briefly considered taking it off and going the rest of the way in his black raiment, but he decided against it. He was no thief, able to slip through the shadows with ease. He signed, wishing for a moment that he was. Or at least that he knew an invisibility spell.

Soon he approached the end of the hall, which was blocked off by more of the crystal wall. Wrothken looked around and used his mace to loudly ring a nearby chime. He wondered if these new walls were also a part of Syl’s plan. Being forced to ring these chimes made a sneak attack impossible. He was literally sounding the alarm on himself. As the crystals shattered, he saw two Knights of Order on the floor below him, already prepared for attack. Frustrated, Wrothken leapt from the higher position, his arms outstretched, so as he landed, he brought both Knights on their back.

The jump wasn’t as well-planned as he had hoped, so he stumbled momentarily as he tried to regain his balance. The Knights didn’t get up as quickly and Wrothken immediately started bashing the chest of one of them until it cracked. The other took a swipe at him before he was able to fish a heart out of it. Wrothken backed off, holding his mace in both hands. The first Knight remained down, so at least he wasn’t outnumbered at the moment.

The second Knight raised its sword and lunged toward him. Wrothken growled as he hit the sword with enough strength that it would have caused a hand injury if the wielder had been human. As the Knight attempted to regain its grip, Wrothken slammed his mace hard in the crevice between the Knight’s head and shoulder and followed up with a swing to the head. The Knight stumbled sideways and Wrothken kicked it to the ground. He stood over it, yelling and bashing it until its crystalline body was broken into shards. By time he finished, he was huffing and sweating. The red hot anger he felt coursed through him like lava while he was beating the Knight. Afterwards, it cooled into smoky volcanic rock. The past several hours had done a number on him. In fact, he realized that he had probably been up for at least a full day dealing with everything. He couldn’t sleep there, though. Not yet. Maybe once this was finished. Wrothken realized he hadn’t seen a bunker or guards quarters along the way. Did Mazken even sleep?

Wrothken continued through the again silenced halls. He had hoped to come across a few pieces of madness ore, but so far there had been nothing. Made sense. Mazken wore a different type of armor. He wondered if it was a part of them. That didn’t sound comfortable… Wrothken couldn’t imagine being plated, like some sort of turtle daedra.

Before long, his thoughts drifted to his current predicament. If Sheogorath was Jyggalag, there had to be some sort of way to stop him from turning. Vampires and werebeasts had cures, right? And Wrothken thought that werebeasts were linked to the Daedric Lord Hircine. Would he be of any help? He breifly wondered. Wrothken shook his head. He had learned his lesson about consorting with Daedra.

Perhaps there was something, some potion or an herb, that could prevent the transformation. Wrothken wished he could simply knock him out, either with strong drink or a well-deserved blow to the head, and tie him to his throne until his urge to become Jyggalag had passed.

There had to be some way to stop him. Hell, that should have been what his focus was, not running ridiculous errands that could have been delegated to someone else.

The hall curved into a larger room, mostly empty except for a few statues of Mazken bearing maces. As Wrothken approached, the heads of the maces began to glow red. Wrothken instantly remembered the hunger statues in Relmyna’s place. He stepped back into the shadows of the hall and the glowing stopped. He sighed. He then wondered how the Mazken got anything done with those around. Maybe they’re just meant to ward off intruders, he suggested. And of course, without the army of Mazken to shield him, they had no way to know he was welcomed.

Wrothken crouched in the hall, waiting for a moment to dash through, hopefully dodging the attack. If there were more Knights, surely they would send alarm spells right? What if he was able to lure them in, right in the range of the attack? He tapped his chin. What if he used their bodies to shield him? How heavy was a Knight? Of course, there was the shred of hope that there were no more Knights. He didn’t count on it.

He got up, eyes on the maces as they began to glow. He moved slowly first, and as the color brightened, Wrothken began to run across the room, trying to move unpredictably. Rust red bursts zoomed past him and he pulled his arms closer to his body, wishing he could be more like a speeding turtle. The moment he saw a tall enough wall, he ducked behind it, clutching his chest as his heart pounded.

Just beyond the wall, a cluster of Knights were waiting by a large obelisk. There were enough of them that Wrothken genuinely felt concerned about his chances of making it out alive. He didn’t have Shelden as a distraction like he did in the ruins of Xeddefen. But he did have a couple of options.

Loathe to employ anything given to him by Relmyna, he summoned a Golden Saint. The Saint appeared out of a shimmer of gold and she stood at attention before him. “Lord?� She asked, looking around. “What would you ask of me?�

“Alright, look,� Wrothken said in a hushed tone. “Full disclosure, you’re in Pinnacle Rock--�

“Pinnacle…?� The Golden Saint made a face as if she had been summoned in a pile of fresh manure. Her struggle to keep her composure was plainly displayed on her face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Trust me, Dylora won’t be happy about this either. Look,� Wrothken said, pointing at the Knights beyond. “Right now, that is our threat. Whatever the issue is with the Golden Saints and the Mazken, this is bigger than that! The entire realm is at risk.�

The Golden Saint sneered at the Knights and her nose was still wrinkled when she looked back at Wrothken. “So you wish for me to clear them out?�

“That’s what I was thinking. Between the two of us, we have a better chance at this than if I were to go it alone. Once we get all the Knights cleared up, you’re free to poof back to where it was that you were before and that’ll be the end of it. Deal?�

“Yes, Lord.�

“Alright,� Wrothken drew his weapon and the Golden Saint followed suit. “Let’s go.�