OH....

MY...

GOD!!!!

You're alive! Alive! :hugs: I been missing one of my fans who was also one of my favorite writers! And has a lovely avatar. I hope you enjoy all the updates in your absence!

Hee. Okay, I finally finished rereading all of it (for the third time, in some cases!)

It's been well over 6 months since my graphics card died a fiery death, effectively locking me out of Shivering Isles, more's the pity. As such, a lot of it had faded from memory. You brought it all back vividly. But then, I've complimented you on your descriptions plenty of times in this thread alone; you should have gotten the picture by now.

I love how you've been handling the whole 'madness' issue. The line between reality and fantasy seems to be slowly blurring; there are an increasing number of times when I wonder whether the narrative is reliable. The Mazken insisting that Siena's an amnesic especially gets me--I mean, how do we know she's not? It is pretty weird that she's the only one of her old ship that remembers it... eh? :twirl:

I'm a svcker for character interaction, so I particularly loved the interaction with Bernice... Siena's growing resignation to what's going on around her might lead to some interesting character development later. :nod:

I have gotten the picture. I've had people who never played the game compliment me on that, so I'm thinking I must bow to the majority and agree to their points.

As for the madness issue, this is actually intensely difficult for me to manage. It's a serious balance, that I always think I might not have done well. The Mazken bit is actually completely unintentional! It was supposed to show how they merely mistakened her as another blessed, and so serve as a hint that she may indeed be going insane. The connect you made is rather intriguing and one I had not noted. But I like it!

I'm glad to see you don't find Siena as a persona slipping away from me; I find that to be my biggest fear. I'll try to get the next chapter up by the end of the month.

I am SO glad you picked this up again, and so sorry it's taken me so long to catch up.

I know I harp on about this in every review I leave, but your realism is so engaging. It really is the little things that matter. The mention of the fact that Siena needs a shirt because her chainmail is irritating her skin, and how she slowly regains her supplies.

One thing I'd really like to note about the Crucible chapter, though, is the humour. I have to say, you've gotten better and better as you've written this story, and it really shows. Siena was so adorably humourous here - darkly cynical, gallows humour. Her conversation with Sickly Bernice was so enjoyable. I have to say I rate Siena as one of my favourite ES fanfiction characters ever - possibly THE favourite! I feel like I know her, that I'd love to sit down over dinner and chat with her. It's so rewarding when you find characters like that, so again, hats off to you!

I hope you're inspired enough to create more of this story soon!

My gosh... my in-a-month deadline for the next chapter has extended to a year... How school and a fiancee can sap away so much of one's time.

Recently inspire to continue this once more, I'm left wondering how many people on the forum remember this relic, have interest in this antique, and don't mind me refurbishing myself and writing the next chapter up?

I know it's thread necromancy, but still... I'm working on the next chapter now.

Well of course I do Delighted the pen's back to paper! Can't wait to see where Siena's going next.

Of course I remember the story I think I have some catching up to do before the next chapter, but from what I remember it was very excellently done :goodjob: Glad to see you're back to writing.

PS If you'd like, you can post this story on Scribe's Corner, and I can give you an extension on the one-critique-minimum My apologies for the advertising, by the way

One critique minimum? Sounds... confusing. I've considered posting this up on Fanfiction.net as well.

Not really. If you've ever been to writing.org they have the same setup. You must post at least one critique of another user's work before you can post your own story. We did it in an attempt to get more critiques; we're still waiting to see if it has been succesful or not. But that's besides the point, I was simply encouraging you to spread your excellent story around. Get a few different opinions on it and whatnot. It's your call, of course, I was just making the offer :shrug:

Author's Note: First off, I apologize for the many, many months before this chapter was released, too many of which featured no work at all on the fanfic, and I apologize for the length. It's a little longer than normal. I am considering lengthening the average chapter sizes anyways, however, to allow greater accommodation of things before the end. But usually the situations themselves pick the cliffy-hangy endings, so maybe not.

But I am pleased to announce that you can also find Manic Dementia gracing the Oblivion Section of Fanfiction.net! http://www.fanfiction.net/game/Oblivion/14/6/0/1/0/0/50601/0/0/1/ I also have no intentions of abandoning this fanfic. School just got in the way, and probably will again. But maybe I can pump out some more before the Holidays end!

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and all that jazz.

Chapter 19: Mysterious Denizens
The room was lackluster, but then again, Siena didn’t expect anything better. One look at the drab dresser of old wood and dirty mattress, and her mind was set. She was sleeping on the cold stone floor instead, with only a dusty, dingy rug for comfort. Her equipment was spread out on the floor around her in a strategic array.

And it was this strategic array that Siena now sat in the middle of, inspecting her arsenal. She had a set of three lockpicks now, and one of them looked ready to break. Only two of the stone, jagged spearhead daggers remained in her arsenal, but Siena actually was glad they were. Inspecting them now, and thinking about how they had served her so far, she found them reliable and multipurpose. Decent for throwing, reliable for damaging stabs, and hard to break; but best of all the stone daggers needed next to no maintenance. Which was good since Siena was terrible with blade upkeep. Siena had no intention of using Belmyne’s dagger for the same reason, but also because of the sentimental value.

As Siena held the iron dagger in her hand, the last possession of her beloved, a familiar masculine voice spoke up from the bed behind her. “I think you might need better weaponry if you plan on forcing your wishes on this Mad God, my dear.”

“Yeah, I guess I will.” Siena instinctually responded to Belmyne’s voice, not turning her head but slowly lowering his dagger to the floor. Her head turned to the poorly conditioned quiver holding the bone arrows of the Grummites. She didn’t even have a bow to use them with, but they were in terrible condition regardless. She was lucky they got her through that cavern.

“But I don’t even know if they have a smith around here.” Siena remarked, looking over her shoulder to her love, brushing aside wild strands of her dark blue hair. She gazed at him through her shaded glasses, relishing his handsomely angular face.

“Siena, darling… No matter how unusual this place is, I’m guaranteeing you they have a smith, somewhere. No city is complete without one. Someone has to forge the window framings.” Belmyne joked, laughing as he sat cross-legged on her bed, hands in his lap. “You’ll just have to ask around, that’s all.” He shrugged.

Siena loved his laugh, and it brought a small, warm smile to her face. She turned away to look back at her assembly. With a steady, professional air she began to place her weaponry where it belonged; Belmyne’s dagger in her boot along with the lockpicks in both boots, and the Grummite daggers along her belt. She rose from the floor, slinging the quiver over her shoulder and just about to head for the door when she stopped.

“Would you believe I almost walked out without-” She turned as she giggled to face the bed -and Belmyne- only to stop. Her smile faltered; Belmyne was gone. “Kissing you goodbye…” Siena whispered, voice fading. Just as tears began to well in her eyes, she whirled around and left the room with a slam of the door.

Why does he have to torment me? Why can’t his spirit stay a little longer, instead of coming and going like the dawn? Siena fumed, distraught by such a short visit from his spirit. While ancestral spirits were reputed to visit and aid from time to time… Belmyne’s visits were far more sentimental, and always brought her back to the harsh reality of his death.

And reminded her of Belmyne’s insanity, the terrible fate he suffered at Sheogorath’s hands. It expanded her anger, resulting in her feet stomping down the steps of Sickly Bernice’s Taphouse. She was going to find that smith and get the weapons she needed, even if it meant talking to more lunatics.

When Bernice looked over to the pounding noise of the Dunmer maiden with a crest-fallen expression, Siena looked only briefly back from the foot of the stairs, unsympathetic to the woman’s ‘plight’. I can’t deal with her right now… she concluded, moving to the door with naught but a nod to the proprietor.

Siena had woken up purely because her body refused to slumber in such a condition much longer, and the interior of the inn had not changed light intensity much from before, so it was with reasonable surprise that Siena greeted the blinding daylight. Squinting despite her shaded lenses, she waited until her eyes adjusted, and then stepped outside, shutting the door behind her.

Having ignored the layout of the plaza the night before, Siena took her time to note it now, as she stood on the doorstone of the inn before a puddle of muck. To her immediate right was a staircase of grimy stone, turning to the left to an unseen destination. To her left, across the plaza, was a small arched alleyway, which she had no intention of going through in this city. Directly across from her, and across from a large puddle of sewage dominating the center of the plaza, was a door to someplace. There was another door to another building across from the right stairs, and next to that was a staircase not unlike the three she climbed previously. Figuring that to be the best route, she stepped around the puddle of disgrace and headed forward.

Maybe it was the grim, grisly state of the city that made her feel such a way, or perhaps the desolate atmosphere of last night, but Siena was honestly startled when a Khajiit approached her quickly from the turning staircase, poised like a beggar. She had reflexively put her hand towards her waist, and the feline’s golden eyes fearfully noted such.

“Your lips to His ears.” The Khajiit murmured with ears laid back, as if that was somehow a submissive greeting.

“Um… sure, I guess…” She replied, stepping back with an unwilling, get-away attitude, only to trip over a furry form. She briefly saw the Khajiit run as she fell, landing hard on unyielding stone. The creature she tripped over was a wolf, which was barking and wagging his tail at her. Confused, Siena picked herself up, hesitantly petting the creature.

Strangely, just the simple action of caressing the scruffy fur of the beast brought her comfort. While not well kept and bristly beneath her ungloved hands, the gentle panting of his breathing and delight the creature seemed to gain from her attentions soothed her anger from the morning, clearing her head and calming her heart. She had no idea why, as this was the first time she’d ever encountered a tame canine; her brief visit in Cyrodiil introduced her to the animal, and the meeting had not been friendly.

Siena sighed, getting to her feet now. She even missed Cyrodiil, a land she barely knew. At least Cyrodiil looked better in the daylight. She reasoned with herself, heading for the stairs she had first sought. This place still looks like a Silt Strider’s dung pot. Dwelling on the exact appearance of a Silt Strider’s dung pot as she headed for the stairs, she failed to realize the approach of an Orc until it was too late, and she walked into him.

“Ew.” The Orc snorted as he violently shoved her away. “You smell worse than that cat, Bhisha. Get away from me!” Siena complied, remaining against the wall he’d shoved her into and glaring at him as he passed.

“Rude rot-skinned n’wah.” She muttered, noting with grim sorrow the wolf followed the Orc beyond the plaza. Is there anything purely pleasant about this place?! She lamented, continuing her exploration.

Passing a pillar entangled with thick vines, Siena passed under a root that arched over the street’s berth before plunging into the ground. Just beyond the thigh-thick root was another stone Hunger, holding the side of a sign against its chest.

“Earil’s Mysteries.” Siena read aloud, noting the slightly appealing blue floral pattern on the sign’s edges, conflicting with the Hunger sculpture. It seemed terribly out of place on a sign in Crucible, and therefore held true to the name it bore. However, the title seemed more appropriate for a magical shop than a smithy.

Against a Daedric Prince… yeah, my magical skills will be quite useful. Siena mused sardonically, continuing on up the street. Just after the shop the street split into two stairwells, the right path raised a few feet above the left. The left path consisted of three stairwells and a wooden door framed by stone sculpting she couldn’t discern from here, while the right branched off into more stairs, but otherwise led the same way. So Siena went up the elevated stairwell, hoping to avoid sewage puddles.

Luckily for her, there were none on the slabs of stone, since her eyes were glued on the gateway ahead as she approached. It had to be the cop-de-grace of the city architect’s work; a demented architect, to be sure. It was a face, of sorts, rising from the half-circle dais of steps that led to the doors. But it was a grotesque visage she had no comparison for. There were large eyes on either side of the door archway, staring out into Crucible, and jaw lines along the sides of the face. But the prominent facial feature was the mouth, which was tall and had erratically jutting sets of twisted, fang-like teeth all along its edge.

And a yard deep into those jaws were the wooden doors, sporting similar metal rings to the entrance to the city, and trident crowns of stained wood engraving above and below them. It would have been very beautiful craftsmanship, if it were not housed within the throat of a demonic face. All of this was erupting from a stone wall within an arch, giving it the feel of a demonic face emerging from some sort of portal. Siena approached the steps leading to the doors, only to jolt when they opened.

A female Khajiit emerged from the maw of the beast, closing the door quickly behind her and with maybe a hint of disgust. Siena did not get to see what was beyond. The khajiit was dressed in a dark crimson dress with a violet skirt that looked awfully similar to the one worn by Bernice, which had looked like Relmyna’s. Is there any variety besides color in their clothes? She briefly wondered before the Khajiit spoke.

“So much to gather, so little time.” The cat brooded, and then sighed, seeming to be muttering to herself. When she looked up and noticed Siena, there was no flicker of surprise on her face that Siena could read; just more brooding.

“Perhaps you can help?” There seemed a glimmer of hope in her purr, but mentally Siena groaned. Not another Bernice… “You might help against the coming storm.”

“The ‘coming storm’?” Siena repeated, briefly curious. It was certainly more interesting than that hideous doorway. She looked at the sky, which was clear –by Dementia’s standards anyways, since the sky had been gloomy the entire time she’d inhabited it- and turned back to the Khajiit. “Everything looks fine to me.” The moment she uttered those words it dawned on her that weather may work differently in the Shivering Isles.

“It’s coming.” The Khajiit insisted. “I think I’m the only one who sees it, though. And I’m going to be ready.” She sounded proud, and Siena barely held back a snort. “Oh yes, I’ll be ready.”

“Ready?” Siena interjected, already beginning to doubt the whole story since ‘I think I’m the only one…’ but playing along anyways. She’d begun to understand that playing to their fantasies gave her better opportunity to get what she actually wanted from them.

“That’s right.” The Khajiit nodded with pride in her golden eyes. “I’ve been stockpiling supplies. Things I’ll need to ride it out…” The Khajiit paused ominously, her voice quieting. “Or survive when they come for me.”

“Riiight…” Siena nodded her head slowly, doubting the Khajiit even more. But maybe, just maybe, that ridiculous last remark could be utilized to her advantage. “So, concerning these supplies, might you be missing some weapons to survive ‘when they come for you’, perhaps?” Siena repeated the statement with controlled propriety; the feline was clearly paranoid, but Siena didn’t want her realizing the Dunmer’s opinion of her.

“I’ve been gathering things for quite a while, but yes, there are still a few I am missing.” The cat sighed solemnly, and then looked Siena in the eye with a spark of hope once more. “Perhaps you’d bring them to me?”

Oh no… another Bernice. Siena cringed, a tinge of her emotion coming across her face before she could stop it. Why did everyone insist on her aiding and abetting their insanity? But if it got her directions to the blacksmith… “I suppose I could.” Siena shrugged sheepishly. “But, I don’t know what to look for.”

The Khajiit was quick to correct this issue. “I still need the Amulet of Disintegration, Ring of Desiccation, and, of course, the Calming Pants.” Siena raised a skeptical eyebrow. The Khajiit female’s voice took on a guttural growl of emphasis. “Must have the Calming Pants.” Siena nodded her acknowledgement, not trusting her speech at this very moment. Part of her wanted to burst out laughing, and part of her wanted to shove this woman against the wall and demand control of the conversation.

“Bring these to me, and I will reward you well.” The Khajiit continued, oblivious to Siena’s internal struggle. The mention of a reward caught her attention though. A reward could lead to better food and lodging than the Sickly Bernice, if such a thing did exist. “Ahjazda has many, many things.” The Khajiit smiled.

“I will see what I can do.” Siena smiled back, before turning sharply to her left towards a very wide stone stairway and continuing her search unaided with a lengthy sigh. The Khajiit, Ahjazda, had been no help at all. And while she found her paranoia slightly funny, as she turned the corner of a building to find herself looking upon wooden ramps and walkways and ledges of stone and mud she just got annoyed. Where in Oblivion –Now that’s a funnily ironic curse to use around here- is this blacksmith?!

As Siena moved towards the two wooden ramps, a Bosmer in sack clothes –which to Siena now seemed perfectly acceptable, being something reminiscent of Mundus- addressed her with a merchant air, standing next to a chest high wooden railing. At least, chest high by his standards anyways; it came up more to Siena’s hips.

“Wanna buy a stick?” the Bosmer asked, waving a fine specimen of tinder in front of himself. “I gotta fresh one right here.”

Siena walked up to him silently, obvious annoyance fighting with calmness for control of her visage. Once he was within a forearm’s length, she swiftly planted her palm in his smiling face, and shoved him head-first over the wall. He tumbled over and landed with a splash, Siena following with a much more graceful leap to the ledge beneath her, on the shoreline of the sewage stream.

The Bosmer had landed in front of the sewer pipe grating Siena had seen when first entering Crucible, back submerged in sludge and legs over his head. Slowly those little legs descended, to be replaced by Siena’s own boot on his chest, pinning him to the pool of muck. A flash of fear cowered behind his smile.

“No?” Siena’s head shook in response. “Then what can I do for ya?” The question came out somewhat pleadingly, and Siena shook her head again. By the time I find that blacksmith, I may be the one needing Calming Pants.

Author's Note: Somehow, despite the other chapter not seeming to be met with much notice, a muse hit me once more, and I got this chapter out today. It has been peer reviewed. This may be the most untrue chapter to the game yet, as I felt I had to tweak meeting and conversing with Cutter in order to truly bring her to life: Standing before the forge just wouldn't do. I also had to create dialog, but I rather like how the more fleshed out Cutter turned out. You tell me; have I made her creepier?

Chapter 20: Cutter of Madness
The Bosmer was remarkably helpful, ironically, giving her directions so precise he might as well be a tour guide. They were also so short it made her feel like an imbecile. Apparently, she wasn’t far from her destination when her patience ran out.

So, feeling guilty for having assaulted the diminutive elf, Siena bought one of his sticks, handing over a piece of the gold she’d confiscated from the Grummites. The look of pure delight on the Bosmer’s face looked out of place in Crucible, but cheered Siena nonetheless. That’s one good thing in Crucible. If only one.

She was merely a jump down from the next ledge, first stair on the left, down the small colonnade, with the door on the left, away from her destination. She was careful to wait until she was out of the Woodelf’s sight to discard the stick. She didn’t want to sadden the one person in Crucible with a genuine, untainted smile. Her own small grin at this discovery collapsed when she realized the door was right next to the very street she had walked along, when she had been so enraptured by that hideous door. Typical.

‘Cutter’s Weapons’ read the Hunger-held sign that ran parallel with a wall. Of course, it would have been far too sensible for it to have stuck out in the street like all the others. Breathing deeply and collecting herself, Siena finally entered the blacksmith shop.

There was a stone ledger table to her right, complete with a scroll box and quills, and bookcase behind it. To her left were two windows of clear cleaned glass holding something, with a table and chair between them. The forge, and its master, were on the other side of the room. All of it was lit with a ring of those snake-head torches from outside, only these burned with proper colored flames. Even though two arched windows were present on the wall to her right, their dingy yellowed glass kept the sunlight at bay and left only the flickering fires for lighting.

As Siena closed the door behind her and approached the steps leading to the forge landing, a sharp tang reached her nose, a scent she had not yet dealt with in Crucible. She looked down and grimaced. Pools of blood stained the cobblestone floor, some fresher –or larger- than others. More blood was on the wooden workbench next to one of the windows.

“I have the sharpest blades.” A female voice whispered into Siena’s left ear. It was soft, sensuous, drawing the syllables of each word out with a slow deliberateness that made her think of a torturer holding onto the wicked suspense as he prepares his equipment. It made a chill creep up her spine that momentarily froze her.

Siena felt a soft pressure along her lower back, ringing gently against the chainmail. She whirled, bringing one of the stone daggers up to hold against the attacker’s throat.

But it wasn’t to be, as the woman in question stepped back with a sinister grin, holding an iron dagger at Siena and her other arm bent before her as if to protect herself. She moved like her voice as they circled each other, stopping when the woman’s feet were in the puddle of blood. She was clothed very plainly, in a ragged skirt and a patchwork leather shirt that covered up to her elbows, revealing many scars and fresh cuts on her pale forearms. She was a thin Bosmeri woman with jet black hair and angular face, with sunken cheeks. Her thin red lips and black eye shadow gave her visage a creepy, murderous look.

“What have you done with the blacksmith?” Siena demanded, keeping the dagger pointed at the elf.

“I am the blacksmith.” The Bosmer replied softer than before, barely a whisper, still grinning. “I test them out on myself before I put them on sale.” She explained with a hint of delight. Siena held her ground, not even balking. That did explain the scars, and the blood.

“They call me Cutter.” Cutter emphasized her name, seeming to take great delight in it. “I can sharpen any blade you give me, until it can cut through flesh like warm, soft butter.” An eerie glaze came over her eyes that sent another chill down Siena’s spine. The smith recovered from her fighting stance, holding up her dagger like one might a finger when making a point.

“But for a truly inspired blade, I can forge Madness Ore!” Even as her voice rose the highest yet, it still sounded soft. She walked over to the ledger table, opening the scroll box to remove a parchment. “Here. Hold onto this parchment. It lists what I need.”

This… could be useful. Siena thought as she cautiously took the parchment, looking it over while Cutter began to absently spin her dagger. “Ok… What is Madness Ore?”

“Spirits of ancient souls are trapped in the ore.” Cutter stated with an almost lustful tone. “Find it in old ruins. Also, Grummites are especially attracted to it.”

“Oh!” Recognition dawned on Siena, and she pulled the two conical, ebony spikes of mineral out of her belt pouch. “Is this it?”

“Yes,” Cutter hissed the words with desire plain upon her face, taking the heavy ore from Siena and holding it like one would a child. There was a flash of hunger in her eyes. “It’s a supple and flexible ore. Yet it holds a good edge. I can shape the sharpest of blades from it.” She looked to Siena now with a less sinister, giddier smirk. But she still had the look of a viper to her. “I can also create magical items.”

Magical items? That could be useful against Sheogorath. “How?” Siena asked curtly.

“Tradition dictates that before each master smith dies, she hides these magical molds in the world.” Cutter told her, bringing the iron dagger to her left hand. She sliced deftly across her palm, leaving a thin line of crimson. “Like pouring salt into a wound.” She purred. Siena failed to see the similarities, but watched with derision, transfixed on the blood dripping from the open palm.

“Over time they soak in magical energies from the world around them.” Cutter looked at the Dunmer, a wicked smirk crossing her face once more, delighting in Siena’s fright. “Like you svck blood from a cut.” She put more emphasis than Siena thought necessary on ‘svck’, raising her palm to her face and giving it a slow, lecherous lick.

“Bring me a matrix and enough Ore, and I will forge you a new item and bleed-” Cutter closed her fist, letting the swelling blood drip onto the floor, “-the magic of the matrix into it.” Cutter glanced at Siena, relishing in her reaction.

Siena watched the blood drip, her own blood red eyes catching the reflection in the firelight through her glasses. This woman suddenly reminded her of Relmyna, causing her to shudder. She shook the thought harshly from her mind. Cutter had one redeeming quality; she hadn’t threatened Siena yet.

“What shall I forge for you?” Cutter asked, snapping Siena from her broodings. She looked quickly at the parchment, and noted with some satisfaction that bows could be made from Madness Ore as well, and with two pieces no less!

“I need a bow. And some decent arrows.” Siena added, remembering the crap hanging off her back.

“I can make a bow from these two. But arrows would require a third. I do have some steel arrows available.” Cutter answered. “They are very sharp.”

“I bet they are… How long will it take to make the bow?” Siena changed the subject quickly. She had about enough masochistic talk for one day.

“Oh, only a half a day or so. I can get to work right now, and have it ready to string by nightfall.” Cutter picked up the Madness Ore pieces again, staring at them lovingly. “I do delicate things with Madness Ore.” She purred. “It tingles across the flesh when it cuts.”

“Okay… Well then, I will be back to pick it up when you are finished.” Siena began to step back slowly, eager to escape now that the business was complete.

“Do leave your quiver of arrows when you go. I will replace them with steel. In exchange for the chance to test their sharpness.” Cutter remarked listlessly, sauntering over to the forge with the Madness Ore cradled in her arms. “I long to feel the bite of a Grummite edge.” She cooed.

Siena was all too happy to oblige.