Chapter 7

Land of the Madgod


Here's the latest installment of our Hero's adventure! Thank you once again for all of the kind messages and your show of support for the Dragonborn in his quest to maneuver through the Daedric realms. He...and I...couldn't do it without you! And so we go...


When I emerged from the portal, the first thing I noticed was a dark room. All around, there was nothing but stone and the faint smell of plant life bearing into my nostrils. Zeela was with me, though, she was just as disoriented as I had been. Her blade was raised—her eyes still wild with excitement. I waited for my vision to adjust but it was useless. Eventually, I used an illumination spell to light up the room. As soon as I cast it, I came face-to-face with a middle-aged man.

"Hello there," he said plainly, "what brings you to this place?"

Zeela nearly leapt forward and attacked him on the spot, but I managed to step in front of her before she did anything regretful.

"Hold on," I whispered to her, "I don't think he's here to harm us."

"On the contrary, actually," the man replied, "I'm here to welcome you."

He stood up from his seat and slowly approached us. He came within five feet and then bowed slightly, "My name is Haskill. I am at your service."

"Haskill? I've heard that name before."

He grinned before turning away from us, "Many have. But few remember."

Then, he walked off into the darkness. His voice trailed away like a passing wind, lingering for the briefest of moments.

"Enjoy your stay…"

Zeela shot me a confused stare, and then she pointed to the wall ahead.

"Dragonborn, look!"

I couldn't see it at first—the small pocket of light that eventually opened up into a spectrum of colors. But when I did, I knew that we were in for something special. It happened so fast. First, Haskill was there, drifting off into the shadowy beyond. And the next, he was gone. Replacing him was a yellow pinprick the size of a dot. Soon, there were a handful of dots. And then hundreds.

Thousands.

Until the light could no longer be contained. It was like a rapture of fire and lightning and everything in between—the light unstoppable as it poured in from every angle.

How is this happening?

"Are those…?"

"Butterflies…"

"Dragonborn…I don't understand."

I watched as the entire room evaporated before our eyes. Gone was the wall directly ahead of us. I pivoted to see exotic foliage in place of the darkness and a sky unlike any I have ever bore witness to. A flock of reptilian creatures flew high above our heads, and the hordes of mushroom-trees glimmered in the wake of the setting sun. I covered my eyes with an open hand to shield the brightness and then I motioned toward the path below.

"I've heard stories about this place."

"Stories?" Zeela asked, "what do you mean?"

I stared across the valley set before us. "Many say that this plane is divided into two lands. That the people inhabiting its cities represent two halves of a Madgod's personality. That the ruler himself exists between what can be believed and what cannot."

She stirred about for a moment, processing what I had said, and then she marched forward.

"I do not know what that means, Dragonborn. But I intend on finding out."

I noticed a change in Zeela's demeanor. She was no longer afraid. No longer concerned with the disappearance of her ruler in the way a small child would fear for their lost pup. Instead, she was confident. I followed her, trailing just a few feet behind as we traveled down the path towards the Gates of Madness. All the while, I couldn't shake the thought that we were now here

In the Shivering Isles.


This realm was stranger than the tales describing its existence.

I was at a loss for words as we encountered things that had no name. No inherent sense of meaning. It was like staring at Tamriel through the lens of a blind man whilst hanging upside down from a tree. The experience was unparalleled. Still, I attempted to understand—as scaly creatures scurried into the brush and as giants with withered skin moved gracefully in sealed courtyards. An indigenous group of hunter gatherers akin to the Falmer tried to capture our attention as we kept moving on the path. Their arrows made of a bony material were no match for our armor.

But in a way, I think they realized that picking a fight with us would end in their demise—which must have explained why they never shot within twenty feet of us. We kept ourselves moving, eventually passing through a settlement situated near the massive Gates. Zeela picked out a group of people resting at the bottom of a winding set of stairs leading up to a stone plateau. If we hoped to reach the gates and explore this realm—then we needed to get past them.

"Wait," Zeela suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" I asked, drawing my eyes to the group ahead.

"Those men…"

"What about them?"

She nodded in their direction, "They do not look welcoming. Like Haskill."

"What makes you say that?"

"Look at them, Dragonborn. Their clothes are marred in blood."

She was right. The men looked innocent from afar. But now that we were up close and within swinging distance, I could see that there was something very wrong with them. They were perched above the steps like a bunch of cowardly highwaymen. I turned back to examine the town behind us and noticed something odd about it too. Like the fact that no one was around. It was empty.

No men. No women. No children.

Nothing at all. Just these jackals and their uninviting sense of style. They were better fit for the back room of a butcher's slaughterhouse than they were the front entrance of a Daedra's realm.

I saw one of the men shove his comrade with a smug look on his face. Then, he let out a deep laugh.

"I've got em'," he said aloud.

I took a few steps toward the man and passed Zeela.

"Get behind me," I said to her, "and be ready to take action."

"With pleasure," she replied, "be careful Dragonborn. I do not know how this realm works."

That makes two of us.

The man practically skipped toward us, his smile wearing down as soon as he watched me place my hand on the hilt of my blade.

"Who goes there?" he asked, a hint of mockery lining his voice.

He turned back to his comrades, drawing a few laughs from them before facing us once more. I narrowed my eyes and tightened my grip.

"Step aside. We have business with the ruler of this realm."

The man turned back to his friends. They snickered and howled and laughed as expected. But I'd be willing to wager a pound of Septims that they never could have guessed my swift and unforgiving response to their ignorance.

Without wasting any more time, I unsheathed a dagger from my side and stabbed forward violently, cutting through the man's stomach, watching as his eyes grew wide with terror. It was clear and unmistakable, but also temporary, as he soon regained his composure and waited as his wounds healed instantly—a result of our damning circumstances…unending life in the Daedric realms.

Though, little did he know that I had the power to change all of that.

"Looks…like…you want a fight, eh?" he gasped between breaths. "We can figure something out for you…right men?"

He turned to look back at his comrades, and my eyes tracked his gaze to the rest of them—men no older than I when my journey in Skyrim first began. As soon as I finished my assessment and understanding of what we were up against, I heard something to my left. It was the sound of power and death and sheer ferocity wrapped into one.

The sound of a black sword being freed from its restraint.

The footsteps of a guardian tormented by failure.

The demise of a soul as the sword is thrust forward.

The emptiness of a scream with no existing origin.

I tore my sight from the men in front of us and glanced over to my left—where I saw Zeela—breathing heavily, her hands holding the spirit sword forward, her eyes focused on the heap of armor and clothing on the stone ground near her feet. After what felt like an eternity, she looked over to me—and I nodded.

In that moment, we both knew…

She had just killed a soul for the first time.