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#Post#: 3193--------------------------------------------------
Madgod (NC-17)
By: Colonel Mustard Date: May 26, 2014, 5:03 pm
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This story contains swearing, violence, sexual content, drug
use, cannibalism and other things befitting the Realm of
Sheogorath.
[center]Madgod[/center]
Chapter 1-The Champion
[center]Sing deep, sing low, sing the song
pay the piper to play it on
to his tune you must dance
and slumber in eternal trance
for deep within its secret dreams
madness desperate plots and schemes
the gauntlet breaks the chain of snakes
and its bloody bounty it finally takes
the starving serpent eats the tail
consuming slowly as a snail
but patient, hungry, it awaits
the cyclic feast it anticipates
will we be free or forever slave
hear the siren call of ‘obey’
or will Madgod rise and strike down
mercury tide that would Isles drown?
[/center]
[i]Do not be here when it will come. It is hungry. It is angry.
It has plans. Your nice little world which you’re reading this
in won’t be all that nice if they come to fruition. Oh no. You
lucky, lucky things. You honestly have no idea. Must I explain?
Very well. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin.
Let’s step back. Right now, we are at the end. To begin at the
end is impossible. Not impossible, no, not here, nothing is
impossible here, but to begin at the end here is implausible. Is
that the word I want? No. Unnecessary. It is doing it wrong.
Sometimes it works, but here it does not. So let’s take a step
back from here.
His fished crashed down, crunching bone. A scream rang out.
“Mercy! Please, mercy!”
“Mercy?” he asked, gauntlet raised above his head, his scarred,
battered face contorted with rage. “You want mercy? That’s just
too good.”
No, not far enough, further back we go. We need to get to before
that. No context. That’s too close to the end for what we want.
“I can’t let you get away with what you did. Do you understand
that? This is a just retribution for what you did to me. Without
justice, I have nothing.”
The dark elf opened her palm and magic flickered on it as she
faced the man chained before her.
“And I will always have justice.”
No, further back still. Is this it? Is this the place?
The Angel of Rage slammed down before him in a landing that sent
a cloud of ash blossoming around her. Wings of flame and
lightning pinned themselves to her back, and a mace of fire
materialised in her hand. Her ruined face twisted into a
grimacing snarl as she beheld the intruder.
“Why are you here, mortal?” she demanded. “Why should I not
destroy you?”
Not here, no. No, no, where is it? Where do I start?
He pulled himself up the top of the ladder, through the
trapdoor, into the great glass globe at the tower’s very top. He
stared at the figure sitting cross-legged a few feet from him on
a cushion, and the eyes of the man stared back at him.
In a voice as thick and rich as Felldew, Sentinel said; “Ah,
you’re here. I saw you coming, you know.”
Not yet. He comes partway through. This is all too late, nobody
will understand it, you fool!
They opened with a creak, and he saw it spread before him. A
twisted landscape of gnarled roots, growing upwards into the air
whilst leafy branches clawed at the ground. Rock formations of
shimmering, rainbow stone formed bizarre shapes, ones that
seemed to gain form as you looked at them, moved, grew, reached
towards you. Faces grew from the scenery, hungry mouths and
gasping maws, clawing talons.
He blinked and glanced away, setting off for the city in the
distance.
No, not quite. Nearly there, nearly there. Here we are. Here, we
begin.
He was drinking to the death of his best friend.
He getting slapped on the back, cheered, toasted, hailed as a
hero, bought drinks, and all for the simple reason that he had
just killed his best friend.
The night was a blur of tankards, one swallowed after another.
There were yells of encouragement, the crowd urging him on once
more, their favourite, their hero, their champion. He could only
remember them being quiet from earlier, when they had all fallen
silent right after that moment.
The taste of ale, the smell of smoke, the offensive eye-watering
blur of a burning brazier. He couldn’t focus his gaze properly,
he noticed, and his tongue felt numb. He was getting drunk.
Good.
“’nother drink!” he slurred out, swaying as he did so. Behind
and beside him, the rest of the Blue Team cheered their approval
and assent, ordering another round. He wasn’t paying tonight. He
didn’t know who was paying tonight, and he didn’t care. If it
was him, he could afford it. What he wanted right now was noise.
What he wanted right now was cheering. What he wanted right now
was distraction. Normally he didn’t drink, but if he didn’t
drink now he would cry.
His head was numb, spinning, buoyant. He managed to grin as
complete strangers approached him, shook his hand, and grinning
was good. Grinning meant he was happy, and he knew that it was
important that he felt happy, that everyone expected him to be
happy. He thought he was happy, so he was. He had the ale down
the hatch, and that was good. That was a good way to get happy,
get happy quickly. Not too much though, else he would break
through that and someone would get hurt.
“That’s our Carnius. Ain’t that something? Our Carnius, of all
the people.”
That was one of the boasts. One of the favourites.
“Waterfront boy, he is. Knew him since he were a kid.”
And there, another. He could pick the threads of conversation
out as the Waterfront locals boasted about him, their Carnius,
who had grown up around here. A real local hero. Something to
boast about. Something to be proud of. Just went to show.
He stood, the sudden movement sending him swaying. There was a
chorus of questions about what he was doing, where he was going
and he answered them with; “Goin’ out back. For a piss. Be back
in a minute.”
He stumbled outside, moving through the inn, the crowd of blurry
faces parting before him. He caught snippets of detail, a grin
from an admirer, an alluring look from a hopeful woman, a torch
burning in a bracket, a knot in the wooden surface of a table.
The din of the tavern muted as he entered the back alley. It was
a good tavern, that one. Good stories there. That time he and
Agronak had nearly got arrested for brawling, only for the Watch
to recognise who they were and haul everyone else off but leave
them be, shaking their hands as they did so. That was one of the
good ones. One of the favourites. Oh gods, Agronak. Gods and
damnation gods gods gods what had he done?
He urinated down the back wall, in the quiet, concentration
taken up by the task at hand, before he finished relieving
himself. And then, for a moment, in the quiet that followed, he
was drawn back to earlier that day, in the hush that had come.
The hush that had come when the battered, broken corpse had
slumped to the floor of the arena, armour clattering, as Carnius
had stepped back from the body of Agronak Gro-Malog, the Grey
Prince. The hush that had come as he had limped away, down to
the bloodworks. The hush that had come as he had done so without
acknowledging the silent crowd, with the cheering only rumbling
into his range of hearing as he had splashed chilly water from
the Basin of Restoration onto his face.
And for a moment, the clarity and the harsh reality he had been
avoiding since then hit him like the blow from a warhammer.
Agronak was dead. He had killed him.
Carnius Hackelt, new Grand Champion of the arena, leant forwards
against the wall and quietly wept for what he had just done.
#Post#: 3208--------------------------------------------------
Re: Madgod (NC-17)
By: Elisabeth Hollow Date: May 26, 2014, 10:17 pm
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Ohhhhhh, this is in the INTERESTING section!
Poor guy. Never killed anyone, but I know the grief and the hope
that the drink will numb the pain.
#Post#: 3268--------------------------------------------------
Re: Madgod (NC-17)
By: Colonel Mustard Date: May 29, 2014, 10:45 am
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Indeed, the interesting section. For a most interesting story.
*Looks ominous for no real reason*
Chapter 2-Her Ladyship
Carnius walked through the streets of the Imperial City in the
same way he always did; disguised and unseen by its people.
To them, he was just an ordinary man, muscular in build with
battered features, a scar on his left cheek, a nose that had
been broken and clumsily reset. An adventurer, a mercenary, a
hired thug or perhaps a soldier. Perhaps not worth the time of
someone looking to mug an easy victim, but nothing out of the
ordinary.
People only recognised him, Carnius found, when he was wearing
his gauntlets. That was his mark, his uniform, and bystanders
realised who he was only with those on. The rest of the time, he
was nobody.
Today, he liked that. He felt like being nobody. Though he could
do without feeling like his skull was lined with dog hair.
He made his way past the tall, vaulted, white stone buildings of
the market district of the Empire’s capital, along the cobbled
streets. The streets bustled around him, people both rich and
poor brushing past him, while the stink of horse dung and sewage
pervaded the air. He avoided the main road, where carts and
horses rumbled along, and kept a wary eye looking skywards in
case anyone was dumping waste out of a window.
His journey had the final destination of the Arena, and as he
reached the imposing stone building the sound of cheering
reached his ears. A match on, he thought, and judging by the
volume and relatively scant enthusiasm of it, probably a pair of
pit dogs. He smirked at the realisation that he was able to
judge that just from the sound of the crowd, but he supposed
that wasn’t surprising; he knew the crowd, knew its moods and
fickle favours, had performed for it more times than he cared to
remember.
“Carnius,” Hundolin called as he approached, the Arena’s bookie
raising a hand in greeting. “Back here already? I though Ysabel
was letting you have a little time off.”
“Thought I’d work off the hangover on a punchbag,” Carnius said.
“Might not be happening,” Hundolin said. “Her Ladyship is
watching the match at the moment; she’ll want to talk to you.”
“Oh, she is?” Carnius asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll go speak
to her.”
So his sponsor had turned up to match the day after he’d won his
title as Grand Champion. He’d seen her at the match, of course,
but to have her coming back now was surprising. She was probably
looking for new talent.
Nobody was quite sure who Her Ladyship was. She was nobility,
without a doubt, a duchess or lady or something similar, but
anyone Carnius asked was never certain about what she was
duchess or lady of. But she had money, excellent taste, was a
regular customer to the arena and had, in her time, sponsored
several promising gladiators, Carnius included. That sort of
thing was enough to make sure people didn’t ask too many
questions, even if nobody actually knew her name.
He made his way up through the stands, to the top where the
boxes for the richer customers were reserved. At the busier
matches, the top corridor was usually lined with bodyguards for
each individual box, but this time it was occupied only by the
twins Her Ladyship employed, two women in golden armour. They
nodded a greeting to him as he approached, which Carnius
returned, and one of them pushed the door open for him.
“I wasn’t expecting a visitor,” Her Ladyship said as Carnius
stepped into her private box. “But it’s good to see you,
Carnius.”
Carnius was unsure exactly how she had known it was him, but he
supposed it was just one of the things Her Ladyships was capable
of. A perfectly manicured hand, kept with a near-obsessive
meticulousness by some beautician, patted the vacant seat next
to her, and she said; “Please, take a seat.”
“Thought you might want to see me,” Carnius said, looking down
at the arena. “Seeing as your sponsorship’s over now. Ysabel’s
disappointed.”
“I’m sure she’ll live,” Her Ladyship said. “No doubt she’s
already lining up candidates for me to invest in.”
This got a chuckle from Carnius.
“Either of those two pit dogs down there worth my coin?” Her
Ladyship asked as she noticed the direction of his gaze.
“Blue team one, I reckon,” Carnius said after a thoughtful
minute, watching as the Argonian in question blocked a flurry of
axe blows from the Nord he was fighting with his shield. The
lizard-man made a spirited swing at the yellow team fighter with
his flail, but the Nord simply stepped back out of the attack’s
reach before it could hit home.
“Really?” Her Ladyship asked. “He appears to be losing. You
aren’t just saying that out of a sense of patriotism, are you?”
Carnius shook his head.
“He hasn’t been trained,” he explained. “That Nord’s only
winning because he has been. He’s trying to go for proper
stances there but he’s making a pig’s ear of it, while that
Argonian looks like he’s been self-taught. He’s got talent.”
“I see,” Her Ladyship said. “A potential Grand Champion, do you
think?”
“No,” Carnius said.
“What makes you so sure?” Her Ladyship asked.
“He’s a pit dog,” Carnius replied. “Too early to tell.”
“And when can you tell that someone is a potential Grand
Champion, then?”
“When he’s in the arena facing Agro…facing me,” Carnius replied.
“That’s when.”
Her Ladyship nodded.
“Well said,” she said.
There was a silence between them as they watched the match. The
yellow team’s fighter split the Argonian’s shield, before a kick
sent the blue team gladiator sprawling to the floor, knocking
his flail from his hand. The Nord’s heavy boot stamped down on
his opponent’s chest, pinning him to the ground, axe raised to
split his skull.
“Kill him! Kill him!” some members of the crowd chanted as the
Nord looked around for confirmation as to whether he should
spare the lizard-man before him or not. Beast-folk always seemed
to get more people chanting for their blood, Carnius had noted
in the past.
“Well, shall we let him live?” Her Ladyship asked. The Nord’s
gaze had fallen on her, of course; getting the favour of a noble
was a good way to win future funding for better equipment and
training, and it always did well to do what they demanded.
“Let him go,” Carnius nodded. “Owyn can give him a dressing
down, but he won’t be half bad once he actually figures out how
to use that weapon of his properly.”
“Very well,” Her Ladyship said, sounding somewhat disappointed.
“If he proves himself, perhaps I’ll give him a little funding.
I’m feeling generous, now that my primary investment has paid
off so handsomely.”
She stood, and said in a voice that somehow carried, despite the
fact that it wasn’t raised; “Spare him; he’s proven himself well
enough to earn that.”
The Nord nodded, getting a mixture of cheers and jeers from the
crowd, stepping off the Argonian’s chest and allowing the
beast-man to rise. The two fighters limped away to their
respective exits, each one of them going to their own Fountains
of Restoration to heal up.
“I remember your first match quite well, you know,” Her Ladyship
said after a moment, returning to her seat. “The youth stepping
out of his cage armed with nothing more than a pair of steel
gauntlets and punching the other pit dog into submission. You
were the first unarmed fighter I’d seen in the arena. Do you
remember that, Carnius?”
“Course I do,” Carnius replied as the arena began to empty. How
could he forget? That first, bloodthirsty thrill of victory, the
elation of the crowd cheering him, and that beautiful,
golden-skinned woman standing in her box, smiling at him and
raising a goblet of wine in a toast.
That had been nearly fifteen years ago, and somehow Her Ladyship
hadn’t aged a day since, keeping her looks of a woman in her mid
thirties. Probably some enchantment they put into the makeup of
the nobles or another trick like that, he reckoned; it was the
sort of thing the rich folk could afford, after all. There were
dark rumours that her agelessness was because she was a vampire,
but Carnius couldn’t help but feel that that was nonsense. She
simply didn’t seem like a vampire; vampires were, according to
rumour, able to turn men mute with terror with a look, but when
she smiled at Carnius she had a way of somehow making him feel a
little taller and a little better about himself. Probably had
some High Elf blood in her or something like that.
“So what does the future hold for you then, Carnius?” Her
Ladyship asked.
“Now?” Carnius said. “I’m not sure. Training, a few matches here
and there, that sort of thing, I suppose. What Agronak did
before…you know.”
“You sound like you’re at a bit of a loose end, there,” Her
Ladyship said.
“I suppose; I was so focussed on actually become Grand Champion
I never actually thought about what I’d do after it.”
Aside from them, the arena was now empty.
“Well,” Her Ladyship said. “Perhaps you will find something new
to fill your time soon enough. Maybe it is time to move away
from the Arena.”
Carnius snorted at that, and got a raised eyebrow in return.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“It’s a gladiator thing,” Carnius said. “You can’t leave the
Arena, once you sign up. Sure, you can go work as a mercenary or
an adventurer or something like that, but you can’t leave it.”
“Why not? Is it part of your contract? Are you hunted down if
you go?”
“No, it’s just…you can’t leave,” Carnius replied. “It’s a rule,
or an obligation, something like that. It’s not written down,
but you come here and you stay here. You don’t die of old age;
you die down there, in the ring. Every gladiator does.”
“I’ve heard of plenty of who died elsewhere,” Her Ladyship said.
“They aren’t proper gladiators.”
Her Ladyship gave a quiet chuckle at this.
“If you’re sure that you are,” she said. “Then stay.”
Carnius frowned for a minute, trying to figure out what she
meant by that, before she rose.
“I suppose I should leave, seeing as the match is over,” she
said. “Good luck with holding that title of yours, Grand
Champion.”
She swept away towards the door, before Carnius called out;
“Wait a minute.”
Her Ladyship stopped.
“Yes?”
“I never asked,” Carnius said. “Why did you choose to sponsor
me? Of all the contestants down there in the arena, all that
time ago, why me?”
“Because I saw potential for a champion,” Her Ladyship said.
“That’s the only reason why.”
“And why do you want a Grand Champion?”
“Everyone needs a champion, sooner or later,” she said. “I’m
just looking out for the right person for the job.”
She stepped through the door, and was gone.
#Post#: 3316--------------------------------------------------
Re: Madgod (NC-17)
By: McBadgere Date: May 30, 2014, 6:55 am
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Properly awesome stuff...Loved it then, loving it again now...
Looking forward to seeing the changes what you have wrought to
bump it to NC-17... ;D ...
Nice one!!...
*Applauds heartily*...
#Post#: 3691--------------------------------------------------
Re: Madgod (NC-17)
By: Colonel Mustard Date: June 3, 2014, 9:15 am
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Well, considering most of the original content it was at best
questionable for the forum. This version will probably have
less...holding back.
Chapter 3-The Door
There’s scratching. Scratching in the walls. I don’t know what
it is. I don’t know why there is scratching. Nobody told me that
there would be this damn scratching.
I listened. Put down my quill, halted this chronicle, something
dangerous in itself (don’t tell them, please. They’ll be angry
with me. We can’t let that happen) and listened against the
walls. There is a scraping, a gnawing, a scratching, something
eating away at them. It must know I’m in here.
Oh no. Please, if you’re reading this, send help. Send help,
stop it before it gets in!
But the chronicle…the chronicle must continue.
Must write it or they’ll see I’ve stopped…
The crowd roared as the razor-edged claw closed over the heavy
gauntlet, clattering against Daedric ebony and gripping. The
land-dreugh tugged, trying to stumble Carnius with the grip it
held against him, but the gladiator moved with it. He pulled
himself in as he swung a punch with his free hand, slamming the
spiked knuckles of the heavy metal gloves into the thick
carapace that guarded its arm. The bone armour cracked on the
impact and the claw released, and Carnius braced raised his arm
as the other one swung towards him.
It hit the vambrace protecting his wrist and he turned his
forearm as it impacted. The claws slid away before they could
get a grip and Carnius’ hand twisted around, gripping onto it as
the land-dreugh lost balance, the crablike creature shrieking in
anger and dismay before his free fist slammed home on the joint.
Its cries turned to those of pain as the armour around it
cracked into jagged shards that sliced into muscles and severed
nerves, the claw lolling uselessly as the crablike being
stumbled away from his grip.
Across the arena sands, man and beast faced one another. Carnius
panted, blood pounding in his ears as he sized up his opponent
in an instant. One of its claws was now useless, nothing more
than a barely-controllable club with a sharp, bony edge, the
other still working but injured. The razor-tipped forelegs it
had were still very much in use and sharp enough to gut him if
he wasn’t careful, and he needed to get around those if he
wanted a chance to kill it. The head was what he needed to deal
with; pulp its tiny brain and it would die.
A moment later, he had formulated a plan for that. One that
would look nice and dramatic for the crowds, too.
He moved, shifting over to the left, the dreugh following his
movements as he did so. He pressed along the wall of the arena,
yelling at the beast as it watched him. It dithered for a moment
as the crowd yelled and bellowed for it to do something, before
the noise and pain pushed it too far and it charged forwards
with a shriek of anger.
Carnius crouched, grabbed a handful of grit and hurled it at his
enemy as it skittered towards him. It gave a hissing wail as it
was blinded, stumbling and staggering away. It drew to a halt,
its remaining good claw scraping over its beady eyes as it tried
to clear the stinging sand, and Carnius moved. It may not have
hit the wall like he had hoped it would, but it was good enough.
He darted behind it while it was distracted, vaulting onto its
back. The dreugh shrieked as it realised where he was, jolting
as it tried to throw him and slicing a claw towards him. Carnius
grabbed onto one of the lesser arms that protruded from its back
with one hand, blocked with the other, the thick chitin claws
glancing off the Daedric ebony and throwing it away.
He took his opening, pulled forwards and punched.
The blow crashed into the back of its skull, snapping the shell
that protected it and pulping the soft meat beneath it. The
Dreugh shrieked and toppled forwards, staggering before Carnius
drew his fist back again, the spikes on his gauntlet’s knuckles
dripping with transparent pink blood and chunks of bone and
gore. He smashed it home again, and the Dreugh pitched forwards,
toppling onto the sands.
As he rose the crowd roared, clambering to their feet as they
bellowed their approval. He looked around at them and raised an
arm in acknowledgement. He could pick out coin being passed
between customers and bookies along with a few angry words here
and there.
He gave a final wave as he headed back down towards the
Bloodworks, making his way through the tunnel built from
viscera-stained stone. He pushed open the door at the bottom,
smiling as he looked at the gore-stained basin in the circular
room at the bottom.
He splashed water from it onto his face, the cool and salty
liquid running over his skin and bringing the dirt with it. The
enchantment on the basin took effect immediately, the fatigue in
his muscles seeping away and the nicks and bruises from the
fight fading and closing.
Owyn was waiting for him in the Bloodworks, and the Redguard
nodded the new Grand Champion his approval as he saw him.
“Good work,” he said, stepping from the wall which he was
leaning on. “Crowd loved that one if the noise they were making
out there was anything to judge by. Here, your pay.”
He handed Carnius a small purse that gave a quiet clink as it
dropped into the gladiator’s palm. Carnius pulled its neck open
to check it, the red glint of light within showing its contents
to be rubies.
“Should be a thousand Septims’ worth of them in there,” Owyn
said. “Easier to carry than that many coins.”
“Thanks,” Carnius said as he pocketed it.
“Of course,” Owyn said, the Redguard stepping through into the
rest of the damp innards of the Bloodworks. There were a few
gladiators lounging about, practicing against dummies or sparing
against each other with wooden weapons. “Hey, pit dog!”
The Argonian he addressed looked up from where he was expecting
a shield, and a clawed hand picked up a flail.
“You’re on in two minutes,” Owyn said. “Get ready and head up.”
“Of course,” the Argonian said, standing up and sliding on a
helmet, heading past them. He paused as he saw Carnius. “Hey,
are you…?”
“Not now, pit dog,” Owyn barked. “Head up; crowd’s waiting.”
“Good luck, kid,” Carnius added, to which the lizard-man nodded
his thanks. He hurried away up the stairs, scaly tail brushing
against the floor with a dry hiss. “Saw him before; was doing
alright. He any good?”
“He’s a quick learner, I’ll give him that much,” Owyn replied.
“And he’s survived this long. Refuses to hear that his flail’s
not the best weapon for the sort of brawling you get in an
arena.”
“If I remember right, you said the same thing about me fighting
with my fists,” Carnius replied. “Look how that turned out.”
“You just got lucky,” Owyn said.
Carnius snorted.
“What?” Owyn asked.
“Every one of us here is just a wet-behind-the-ears pit dog to
you, aren’t we?” Carnius asked, gesturing to the gladiators.
“Well, what can I say?” Owyn said. “That’s what I all saw you
as, and first impressions stick.” He glowered as something
caught his notice.
“Arran!” he called out to a Redguard gladiator who was
practising a series of combat manoeuvres with a pair of
scimitars. She stopped what she was doing as the Blademaster
approached. “What in the Nine’s name do you call that?”
“I’ll leave you to your berating,” Carnius said as he stepped
over to the small locker and mannequin that held most of his
arena possessions. He slid off the studded leather tunic and
kilt that formed the large part of his armour as the Imperial
Arena’s champion, and removed his gauntlets. A shirt and
trousers of loose, cool and clean cotton, top dyed blue and the
bottom simple black, were pulled on, and he inspected the
gauntlets. They were still flecked with a few stray chunks of
Dreugh-matter, and he wiped them off with a cloth, setting about
oiling and cleaning them the best he could. The Daedric metal
that bladed his knuckles was undamaged, the hardened ebony
resilient enough to withstand anything a Dreugh could throw at
it and was already clean of blood; he had noticed that was
always a strange trait of those bands that ran along them, as if
it were somehow drinking it in.
The work did not take long, and soon enough he left, heading
into the bustling streets of the Imperial City with his
gauntlets safely stored away in the Bloodworks. The crowds
flowed around him as he made his way along the pavements, his
journey uninterrupted aside from when he was nearly sprayed by a
sheet of water from a passing carriage. He halted by a street
corner where a boy was standing with a bundle of scrolls under
his arm, brandishing one of them like the sceptre of some king,
and bellowing at the top of his lungs; “Black Horse Courier!
Black Horse Courier! Get all the news you could possibly want
here!”
His gaze glanced towards Carnius as he saw him draw to a halt.
“Want a copy of the Courier, mister?” he asked. “Only a Septim.”
“What’s it reporting on today, then?” Carnius asked.
“What everyone’s talking about,” the boy said. “The island
that’s appeared in the middle of the Niben Bay.”
“Island?” Carnius asked.
“Yeah,” the boy replied. “It just appeared out of nowhere in the
middle of the night, with this door on it, and nobody knows why.
People are worried that it’s another gate from when the Hero of
Kvatch stopped them last time, but nothing has come out yet.”
“Let’s see a copy,” Carnius said, interest piqued.
“Course, mister,” the boy said. “One Septim, please.”
Carnius reached for the purse at his belt, and realized that the
only one he had was the pouch of rubies that Owyn had given him.
He took one of the precious stones out of it and handed it to
the boy, who frowned.
“I don’t think I can change this, mister,” he said.
“Just keep it,” Carnius said. “I don’t need it, anyway.”
“Really? Thanks, mister,” the boy said with a grin, handing over
a rolled up copy of the Courier. “Wow. Have a good day. Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” Carnius replied.
He left, heading towards the Elven Gardens district, deciding to
read the scroll over some lunch at the King and Queen. The
bouncer at the doorway, a grizzled Orc who had once been an
adventurer if his scars were anything to go by, nodded at
Carnius as he passed through the door; his clothes may have been
far simpler than that of most of the upper-class tavern’s
clientele, lacking as it was in jewellery and ornamentation, but
it was clean and there was a sack of coin at his belt, and that
was enough for the hulking Orsimer.
Eating here was somewhat of a guilty pleasure for Carnius, but
as he ordered a platter of bread, cheese and a few slices of
cured pork, he felt he needed a good lunch, and the inn served
the best in the city. He waited at the table for his order and
unfurled his copy of the Courier. His lips moved as he went,
tracing a calloused finger under each word.
#Post#: 3692--------------------------------------------------
Re: Madgod (NC-17)
By: Colonel Mustard Date: June 3, 2014, 9:16 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Niben Bay Mystery Door!
In a bizarre and alarming turn of events for the citizens of
Bravil, the city finds itself to be the neighbour of a new
landmass within the Niben Bay. The small island, no larger than
fifty feet in size, is reported to have simply appeared in the
middle of the bay at midnight with a flash of light, much to the
surprise of the local residents. On the island itself, it is
reported that a gateway, shaped like three faces, is the
dominant feature, along with a number of plants that local
experts from the Bravil Mages Guild have been unable to identify
as anything belonging to Mundus. Fearing that it may be another
incident similar to the attack that Bravil suffered during the
Oblivion Crisis, Count Terentius dispatched a contingent of city
guards and mercenaries to seal the area; while nothing Daedric
has come out of the gate, the mercenaries who entered returned
from their experience after having suffered some kind of severe
shock, and reports say that their recollection of events beyond
it remains somewhat incoherent.
Commenting on the situation, Captain-
“Interesting read?” a voice asked from behind Carnius. The
gladiator glanced up as the chair opposite him was pulled away
and Her Ladyship sat.
“Interesting enough, I suppose,” Carnius said, raising an
eyebrow. “Can’t say I expected to see you here, milady.”
“I was here on some business of mine and thought I would stop
off for something to eat,” Her Ladyship replied. Behind her,
Carnius could see her two bodyguards waiting nearby, the twins’
hands resting on the pommels of their weapons “And who should I
happen to see other than my favourite gladiator enjoying some
lunch of his own?”
“What sort of business?” Carnius asked.
“Oh, there have been one or two trade opportunities that have
recently opened up here in Cyrodiil that my own estates and
people could benefit from,” Her Ladyship replied. “I’m merely
helping the process along the way.”
“That the sort of thing nobles usually do?” Carnius asked.
“Not typically, but the territory I rule over is rather
unusual,” Her Ladyship said. “I need to take a more active
interest in its affairs in order to ensure that things run
smoothly.”
She snapped a finger at a servant girl, and glanced at Carnius
as she hurried towards them. “But in all honesty, I’d rather
give business a rest for the moment and simply enjoy some lunch
with a good friend of mine.”
“What can I get you and your friend, ma’am?” the serving girl
asked, bobbing a curtsey as she reached them.
“Just a luncheon platter, if you may, with sliced chicken
instead of the usual pork,” Her Ladyship replied. “And some
wine; do you have any good vintages in your cellar?”
“We have a few bottles of Surilie Brothers three ninety-nine,
ma’am,” the serving girl said. “Would that be acceptable?”
“Perfect,” Her Ladyship said. “One bottle, chilled, and two
goblets for Carnius and I. That will be all.”
The serving girl curtseyed and hurried away to fetch her order,
and Her Ladyship turned back to Carnius.
“Now, how has your time as Grand Champion been treating you so
far?” Her Ladyship asked.
“Can’t complain,” Carnius replied, setting his copy of the
Courier down on the tabletop.
“Can’t complain?” Her Ladyship asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re the Grand Champion of the Imperial City Arena, with
fame, gold, inns treating you to free drinks and hordes of women
who are completely overwhelmed with admiration for you and you
merely can’t complain? You’ll forgive me if I’m a little
incredulous about that.”
Carnius shrugged.
“Well, I suppose it’s good,” he said. “I’m pretty lucky to be
where I am, after all.”
“And yet now you’re here, it isn’t enough,” Her Ladyship said.
“Tell me, Carnius, what lies in store for you now that you’re
actually Grand Champion?”
“Training, the occasional match, that sort of thing,” Carnius
said. “What I did before, really.”
Her Ladyship nodded.
“You were perfectly happy being a gladiator before you become
Grand Champion,” she said. “So why the sudden change in heart?”
Carnius was quiet for a moment, leaning back in his chair before
he said; “I liked doing all this gladiator stuff back when I was
working towards something. I had…I had purpose, a goal.
Something to achieve.”
Their conversation was interrupted for a moment as the serving
girl Her Ladyship had talked to earlier set down a few trays
with food, along with the bottle of wine in ice and a pair of
goblets.
“Enjoy your meal,” she said with a curtsey, disappearing a
moment later to deal with a customer.”
“Go on,” Her Ladyship said, pouring a goblet of wine and passing
it to Carnius.
“Well, now I’m here I don’t really have anything to work
towards. I’ve won,” Carnius said. “I kind of feel like…what’s
that term sailors use? When there’s no wind?”
“Doldrums, I believe,” Her Ladyship said.
“That’s the one,” Carnius said. “Doldrums. It’s like that.
Before, there was a breeze, wanting to make it to Grand
Champion, but now I’m actually the Grand Champion, it’s gone.
I’m just drifting. I don’t have any direction now.”
“There must be something for you to do, I’m sure,” Her Ladyship
said.
“Well, there’s talk of getting the Arena over in Kvatch going
again now that the city’s beginning to get back on its feet,”
Carnius said. “I figured that I could probably help there; got
experience in this, after all.”
“I’ve heard much that same, but in all honesty, how long will
that take?” Her Ladyship asked. “After all, they still have to
worry about how well stocked their granaries are and if people
are going to bother trading with them; the good people of Kvatch
will have a few more pressing matters to deal with before they
can make time for gladiators and circuses, I believe.”
She took a sip of her wine.
“So,” she said. “You want something better to do with your life,
then. A new goal, perhaps. Why not simply leave the Arena and do
something else?”
“Look, I’ve said before, it isn’t like that,” Carnius said. “You
can’t just up and go.”
“I’m well aware of what you said, Carnius, but it simply makes
no sense to me,” Her Ladyship said. “It seems to me that it’s
for the best if you have yourself a fresh start, but you seem to
be quite insistent on staying there.”
Carnius shrugged, ripping a hunk of bread from the platter
before him and taking a bite.
“Tell me, Carnius,” Her Ladyship said. “Would you call yourself
a free man?”
“What sort of question is that?” Carnius asked with a frown. “Of
course I would.”
“I see,” Her Ladyship said. “Then it seems to me, Carnius, that
for a self-proclaimed ‘free man’ you wear an awful lot of
chains. You don’t wish to leave the Waterfront despite the fact
that it’s a gods-forsaken pool of filth-”
“Hey!” Carnius managed.
“And you will defend said gods-forsaken pool of filth despite
the evidence that piles up to paint it as such,” Her Ladyship
continued. “And you choose to linger at the Arena for no
discernable reason even though it’s clear that you are simply
wasting your time there.”
She shook her head.
“What in the name of all the gods that have ever been are you
doing, Carnius?”
“And why do you care?” Carnius asked.
“I suppose it’s because I invested a great deal of time and
effort in you,” she said. “And I’ve come to care about you as
more than just a mere investment as well. But if you want to sit
here in your doldrums and spend the rest of your life doing
nothing of worth simply because you feel obliged to then I
suppose there isn’t much I can do about it.”
Carnius shrugged as he chewed on a mouthful of salted pork and
bread.
“Look,” he said. “I need to stay here, alright? It’s what’s
expected of me.”
Her Ladyship was quiet for a moment, before she said; “Perhaps
you are right, Carnius. All I’m saying is that you should keep
your options open.”
Her gaze fell on the open copy of the Courier that was resting
by Carnius’ plate.
“Speaking of openings, I see you’ve heard about that doorway and
mystery island,” she remarked.
“It’s an interesting read, I’ll give it that,” Carnius said.
“You think it might be another Oblivion gate like the ones that
we got in the Crisis?”
“Call it a hunch, but I’m not certain,” Her Ladyship replied.
“There are no hordes of ravening Daedra spilling forth, for a
start.”
“Maybe,” Carnius said. “Still, the people who did go through got
a shock from something in there. Not sure if anybody else is
going to be following through.”
“I would beg to differ,” Her Ladyship replied. “I have a feeling
that there are going to be a great number of people doing quite
the same thing.”
“Really?” Carnius asked. “Who would that be?”
“Adventurers, I would guess,” Her Ladyship said. “People seeking
fame, riches and glory. But others too; those who want a fresh
start, or run where people aren’t going to follow, where they
can leave their old lives behind. You always get souls like
that.”
Conversation turned as they ate and drank, meandering through
various subjects, and Carnius found he was enjoying himself.
Considering the vast gaps between their backgrounds, he had
somehow felt that he and Her Ladyship would have no common
ground. But despite this, the conversation was enjoyable, flowed
on its own accord and Her Ladyship seemed to be having an
equally good time. If anyone from his local home on the
Waterfront could see him now they would either be amazed or
outraged.
“I’m afraid I really must be leaving,” Her Ladyship said some
time later, just as she was finishing the last of her wine. “As
much as I’ve enjoyed talking to you there is still a good deal
of business that needs attending to.”
She smiled at him as she stood.
“We should meet up again, sometime,” she said. “I’ll send a
courier to find if you if I’m in the Imperial City again.”
“Of course,” Carnius said, heading towards the door. Her
Ladyship fell into step behind him, her two bodyguards following
behind. “I’d like that, I reckon.”
He pushed open the door, and allowed Her Ladyship through into
the street. She waited for him on the pavement for a moment as
he stepped through.
“Well, I suppose this is where we part ways,” she said. “I hope
you find some kind of calling, Carnius. I really do.”
“Thanks,” the gladiator said. Her Ladyship curtseyed him with a
smile that seemed to mock what she was doing, and swept away up
the street. Carnius watched her go for a few moments. Then he
returned back to the inside of the King and Queen, found their
table and picked up his copy of the Black Horse Courier so he
could do some more reading on this doorway.
Note: Sorry for the split, but the chapter length exceeded the
maximum wordcount, so it had to be put into two posts.
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