That was a tough one, too. I always wondered what would happen if I didn't eat the Felldew, lol. But the second time I played it I brought scrolls so I could explore at my leisure since parts of that tunnel system get closed off on later explorations, lol. (erg, did I just admit to using a cheat on this forum? ARGH! Lol. )

I love your writing style, very nice read !!!!!!

That was good...I was sidetracked by the mention of wimmuns boosoms on display, but firmly dragging my imagination up from its usual gutter level, I managed to appreciate your writing... Excuse me a sec -

DOWN BOY


- OK. By the way, a tip. DO NOT mention doughnuts to Foxy. Especially pink ones, smelling faintly of fish...


... MalX will explain, if needed.

And the way you drew Lilitu, I'm glad you drew cuffs at the ends of her legs to show she was wearing trousers..otherwise...well, YOU know the Foxy imagination....

It all started with SubRosa's fish story and Foxy's fishy sense of humor...

mAXL1- Oh my... that's actually a great idea! I'll have to try that sometime

D. Foxy- :lmao: Don't worry I understand the pink doughnut... though I have visions of a berry sundae too. -oh goodness me...- And the Foxy imagination was one of the reasons I added the cuffs to Lilitu's pants. I could just imagine what would have happened otherwise (me laughing so hard I fall from the chair)

~~~~~?~~~~~


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

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

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

"Sa-weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet rollllllllllll!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

He reached over, grabbing the mace with his left hand. It felt wobbly, but he gripped it the best he could, hitting it weakly. The insect gripped tighter, trying to pull him in closer to its mouth. It wasn't fazed by Wrothken's shaky blows. He pulled back as best he could, trying to figure a way to beat it. He wasn't good left handed, but what else was there?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrothken better watch out the felldew might make him fell good just wait what happens when meets the addicts later on

And so the addiction begins, lol - I love how you detailed the initial felldew taste (I already told you that, lol) - the detail you put into that made that whole scene real, imagery was instantaneous - Great Write !!!!!!!!!

your story is so great i,ve read it 5 times keep it up :goodjob:

Captain Rex- Glad to hear you're enjoying it so much?

mAXL1- Thanks? I'm looking forward to reading what's new with Maxical as well

~~~~~~?~~~~~~



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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



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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that was great keep it up :goodjob:

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


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


:blink:
:drool:

:laugh:

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

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

WOO ! Glad I chose to read this an engaging read to be sure. Thank you for it, loved the SI and this adds more depth to them.

Ive finally caught up!!!!
This is the best story ive read so far your great!
Oh and thank you so much for making the main character a Nord. Nobody else uses Nords its always Dunmers.
A Nord is a nice change of pase and im a Nord in the game so im a little more attached to this character.
Again this is a great story keep it up and I cant wait for the next part!

great story when is your next post

keep the good work up :goodjob:

Real soon. Either later tonight, or tomorrow. Tuesday at the latest

*taps foot*

*glances at watch*

*raises one eyebrow*


Don't make me raise the second one...


:stare:

Everyone- I'm so so sorry I'm late with this. I've had a busy week. Here's the promised chapter?



~~~?~~~

http://i117.photobucket.com/albums/o46/Jacki_Dice/Awour.jpg

~~~~~~~?~~~~~~~



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

So Awour still has feelings for Wrothken, this could get interesting.

The truth of the matter, guys?

*looks left and right. drops voice to a whisper*

You really, like, really wanna know what a woman wants???

A woman doesn't want a good boy.

And...get ready to be astounded....she doesn't completely want a bad boy, either!!!

What she wants is a bad boy who is bad to EVERYBODY except HER.

What she wants is a bad boy whom she can control with one snap of her fingers. That's the same thing bad and good women want. The only difference between bad and good women is that the bad woman wants control of the bad boy so that she can make him into her Pit Bull, and the good woman wants control of the bad boy so that she can reform him and make him fit for heaven.

Oh, yes. And while bad boys are good in bed in the beginning, reformed bad boys are good in the beginning, middle, and end. Especially the end.

THAT'S the sort of bad boy that she wants.

ROFL!!! And we all know who the bad boy is!

Who? Who?

Can't be ME, of course. I am an innocent virgin.

:angel: = me.


I blush at the slightest mention of something naughty.

:blush:



Why, somebody the other day asked me if I knew Master Bates, and I replied that I have not had the aquaintance of that gentleman....

:angel:

... Who IS this Master Bates, anyway? Has anyone seen him?

:whistling:

And it's weird. A girl came up to me and asked me if I knew Hau Tu Fuk, and I told her honestly that I don't have any Chinese friends...


....


.....


:whistling:





:rofl:

it's not me.



_{I'm just readin'..}

*sings Shaggy's "It wasn't me"*

:whistling:

I don't know how I missed this, but it is perfect. I love it.

Captain Rex- Oh, it will?

Foxy- You hit the nail right on the head with that one!

mALX- Yes we do... -glances at Foxy-

old Andy- Lol ?

Lycia- Thank you so much?

~~~~~~~~?~~~~~~~~


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just some beer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not get out of the city then?"

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

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

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

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

"Please?"

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

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

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



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

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

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