Here I go with my first ever Oblivion fanfiction. Thanks so much to everyone who helped me in my other thread. I really, really appreciate it.

A few things: One, I'm writing this as I play, though I change a few things here and there. Two, I play on the 360, so I won't have any screenshots However, I'm going to try to post original artwork of the main characters Three, I hope you all enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Thanks again!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♥~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fine, and I need a drink."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrothken nodded and walked up the stairs.

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

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

First, let me say this: Yay! A white reply box!

Okay, back to your story.

I noticed that you made the changes that were recommended to you in the other thread. The first part flows smoother as a result.

I liked how Wrothken didn't go through the entire cave - he wanted to go to bed at a decent hour!

And then he got lost? he he he. Typical man, didn't stop to ask for directions.

And we get a little more information about Awour and why they split up. Hmmm . . . now it gets interesting.

A couple of nits:

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

It's spelled curiosity.

He didn't know if he should take it as a warning and be happy it ended before things weretoo serious, or if he should try harder to get her back.

Looks like a space ran off here.
Overall a great start!

I am so glad you are finally posting it! YEAH !!! Welcome to the forums, and with or without the changes from the other post, it is an Awesome Write! More, More !!!

Ahhh, Nords, the other white meat!

So we learn a bit more about the mysterious Awour, and why Wrothken is pining for her. Ouch! Poor guy. I especially loved his having no clue as to why she was sleeping around. That is so very real.


If he could get enough silver, he could show her exactly what she lost.
Yes indeed, the best revenge is living well...


Something to keep in mind is that while Wrothken may not be good at picking locks, he does have a mace. It would likely make very short work of many locks... The game does now allow it, but this is fiction, so you are free to.


He knew his feet hated him. If they could, they'd probably jump off his ankles and run away.
This I liked quite a bit. An excellent bit of writing!


nits:
After all, Wrothken was a big, broad shouldered man; he could easily feed a family of four and then some.
This sounds a bit like Wrothken is thinking of himself in the third person. It might read better if you just say "he" instead.

You have some very large paragraphs in the goblin cave, whose size is only exaggerated by the narrow width of the forum layout. You might want to break them up into multiple paragraphs. For example this:

Wrothken headed the other direction and entered what looked like a primitive kitchen. An empty pot sat over an open flame. Nearby, there was a table with disgustingly dirty utensils. Some sort of meat sat on the table along with a few potions. He was weary of anything created by goblins, but he figured there would be no harm in selling them. There had to be a mage somewhere who would want them. He was in the middle of gathering them up when a pot whizzed by his head. He turned and saw a goblin wielding a ladle with suspicious looking fuzz sprouting from the spoon. The goblin angrily picked up a chair and threw it hard at Wrothken. He fell back, crushing the potions and dropping his mace. The goblin recognized the weapon and dashed, snatching it up before Wrothken could get back up. The goblin hit him while he was still down, creating large dents in the armor. He couldn't tell where it was going to hit next because he was trying to shield his head with his thick forearms, though he could feel the goblin moving down near his legs, still swinging as hard as it could. Wrothken roughly kicked it and it landed right in the fire pit. It squealed loudly in unimaginable pain. Wrothken looked at it and felt sorry for the poor creature. He picked up his mace and used a well-placed hit to put it out of its misery. The room was already filling with the stench of roasting goblin. Wrothken felt ready to leave when a larger goblin strolled in.

Could become this:

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

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

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


he said, walking southeast, instead of west as he believed.
This is not really something you should be telling us. If Wrothken believes he is going west, then we should believe that too, until he learns that he was wrong. We should only know what Wrothken does.


Just an observation. You seem to have an awful lot of combat in just one post. I know in the game Cyrodiil is a gladiator school, where you cannot go two steps without something trying to kill you. But you do not have to reproduce every random encounter you might have in the game. Less is generally better in that regard when it comes to fiction. That way the battles that do occur have more weight to them, and you can really put more into developing them.

Hauteecole Rider- Haha, thanks! Its so funny, my fiance is always willing to ask for directions, but I'm the one that never wants to! Luckily I have a good sense of direction, so we usually don't have to.

MALX1- I'm glad you like it! I played the next section of game today, so I'll be working on it tonight and tomorrow

SubRosa- I was thinking the same thing about the chests, but I wasn't sure how people would react to that. I'll be sure to keep that in mind for my next chapters. The paragraphs were a concern for me. I like your idea, I'm going to edit it right away so its easier to read. I'll also start keeping it in his perspective. As for the combat, I realized that as I was playing through today. It was almost literally every few feet something else was attacking me >.>

Thank you guys for reading. I'll be working on the next chapter and I hope to have it up soon

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrothken heard an excited voice coming from downstairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I swear it did."

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

"Yes! See for yourself!"

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

"Alright, where do I go?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

Wrothken sat down, looking around.

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

"The door leads here?" Wrothken asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But, can't they be cured?"

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

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

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

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

"So, what now?"

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

"And if I go back?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your descriptions are amazing! I love how you slid the beginning of the SI into your story so smoothly - Awesome Write !!!

A rain of cheese? I don't remember that!

Heh heh, this made me chuckle more than once.

I'm looking forward to Wrothken's adventures in the Shivering Isles!

Raining cheese! Wonderful! Absolut-... Hold that thought. *Munches on a chunk of swiss* Perfect!

As a lover of the Isles, I must agree with Malx's comment. Continue, please.

Writing was a bit cheesy..


:rofl:


sorry, couldn't help that.


Me like! Me like good! Will-a read and read as posted!!


*hint...read plenty, PA-LEN-TEE of Helena and Rachel the Breton...and incorporate some their zany zaftigness into the story! After all, this IS about Sheogorath!!!*

mALX1- Thank you so much!

hauteecole rider, Arcry and D. Foxy- Thanks! I figured the arrival of Sheogorath's door should be marked by something and the cheese sounded like a grate idea ! I'm glad you all thought it was gouda as well

~~~~~~~~~~♥~~~~~~~~~





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait, what?"

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

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

Wrothken panted hard, trembling.

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright then, show me this garden."



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds like a queso twisted humor to me!

Awesome Write! Kirsty has really done a number on Wrothken! I hope some nice Golden Saint takes his mind off it for a while, lol. Just Kidding. I really love some of your little touches - like the part about Jayred - that was so well done! I loved this!

Is goot und izz gezzing badder! Me like, me like!!!

I liked Wrothken's experience in SI better than my own (twice).

SI just isn't my cup of tea, but I can understand the appeal to many. I'm looking forward to how Wrothken deals with the King of Cheese!

Thank you everyone


~~~~~~~~~♥~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

"Uh... Who is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you doing?" Jayred shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ach! I always use the mother's tears, lol. Awesome write, I love this story so far, and the behind the scenes story of lost love ROCKS!

Oh how I love the Isles! Your story has renewed my intrest in them to such a degree I may even schedule a trip!

*pant pant pant pant pant*

MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE!!!!

Well, I am trying to catch up, I at least found time to read your post from the 15th.

Kirsty called him snuggly? And he is not hooked up with her? And people say women are dim!

Wrothken certainly is the curious type! I liked his musing that the statues on the island in the Niben might eat him. That was a neat touch. I also liked how his feet were taking him closer, as if some part of him felt drawn to the Isles.

Adding the rain of cheese to the arrival of the door was a nice touch. The next daedric prince will have to top that with something like a rain of turkeys!

nits:
It made him a little weary
I am thinking you want wary there?


I think he's spent more than enough time with [censored]s."
You ran into the board's swear filter here.

Great job capturing Haskill's enthusiasm for his work.

This made me laugh out loud!





SubRosa caught the nits I saw.

Keep it up!

mAXL1- I usually do too, so for this game, I wanted to try something new, especially since Wrothken isn't so good with speechcraft.

Arcry- Oh, yes do visit the Isles. I've been visiting them nightly in my dreams ever since I've started writing this

Foxy- Heehee, your wish is my command

SubRosa- Its funny how a lot of compliments given to men zoom right over their heads. The nature of his relationship with Kirsty will show itself soon

hauteecole rider- I remember when I first met Haskill, I just knew he'd be so.... enthusiastic about things. Just wait until Wrothken learns to summon him

~~~~~~~♥~~~~~~

It was nearly midnight when Wrothken reached the entrance. A tall, slender woman stood at the gate. Her skin was a creamy blue, like a Dunmer, but she had light blue eyes, like Wrothken's, except her pupils were slit. She wore a very revealing outfit, though as Wrothken got closer, he noticed it was supposed to be armor.

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

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

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

"Crucible?"

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

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

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

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

"Walk with our Lord."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that a store around here?"

She laughed. "Oh, no, dearie. Here, do you have a map?"

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

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

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

"Yes?"

She leaned in slightly. "Be careful."

Wrothken stiffened. "Are there creatures down there?"

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

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

I skipped ahead to this post. Your writing has really smoothed out in comparison to the first, where you often seemed to rush things along. Here I see you taking your time and devoting the attention that each scene demands. The result is an enthralling read that kept me hooked from the start.

This made me laugh:

It is the Shivering Isles, I thought, everyone is strange!

Then I see Wrothken thinking the same thing! Nicely done! :celebration:

Woo Hoo! I love Sickly Bernice and I love Knotty Bramble!!! Really Great Write! But...ARGH! I'm still in the dark about his WOMAN !!!!!!

Another good chapter! I agree with SubRosa, your writing has smoothed out considerably since the first post. The flow is good and compelling, and the character development shows in the dialogue.

I see you have skipped ahead to Crucible. Some might argue that Wrothken's first stroll through Dementia should be better documented, but others may argue otherwise. I say if it doesn't disrupt the flow of the story, it's your prerogative. And it doesn't, so it's yours!

And yes, you are right, i am so looking forward to when Wrothken learns how to summon Haskill!

@mALX: Wrothken doesn't want to think about Awour, so we will have to sit in the dark about her. As for Kirsty, well, with Kalila right there, I think we will have to wait to find out more about the lovely lady Wrothken left behind.

A fantastic tale.

My only complaint thus far is how Wrothken entered the gates of Mania, but wound up at the Dementia door. But beyond that, a fantastic time with this story and looking forward to more.