Disclaimer: I do not own Sheogorath, Vvardenfell, Balmora, the Daedra, and just about anything else in this chapter, excluding Walter Lavartius and the mysterious place, both of which are my creations, are the Elder Scrolls content, which is owned by Bethesda. No lawsuits, in otherwords, kthnxbai.
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!"
Dante Alighieri, The Inferno
I once thought a man was made by what he was. I foolishly thought it took a completely worthwhile career to define manhood. I was proven very wrong, and I would never forget it. It was a sadistic way of teaching, but I learned a man is defined by his actions.
It had been a regular day for me. I had been religiously reading and absorbing notes from other scholars. Occasionally I would lift the pregnant quill from its ink bottle and write some notes on paper. I was sitting at a table, alone, in Balmora's Mage's Guild. I was dressed in my usual: a pure blue robe, an amulet made of gold, and normal brown leather boots. The incident I had been a part of nearly six weeks ago crossed my mind. I had nearly forgotten about it. It was unfathomable for me, Walter Lavartius, to be involved in such insanity. Being the foolish man I am, I assumed everything was completely normal now. Unbeknownst to myself, I would be a part of something far larger and stranger.
I had lifted my head from the notes. My teal eyes scanned over my surroundings. My table was in front of the others. I realized it was very late at night. Even Ajira had gone to bed. I dimmed my lantern and sighed. Although I was a member of the guild, I didn't want to sleep here. Instead, I'd sleep at the Lucky Lockup. Yes. I gathered my things innocently and headed upstairs. I opened the door and went out into a storm. It was a thunderstorm. I shivered. I loathed them with a passion. I ran the short distance to the Lucky Lockup. My joints complained on the way. I was barely twenty-five, and my bones already despised me. When I got inside, I was greeted by a groggy-looking Dunmer woman. She was younger than I. I paid her ten septims without ado and she gave me the key. I headed to my room, put my things in the chest, locked the door and chest, and fell asleep on the soft bed.
In the morning, I felt humble. I tossed and turned all night. Nightmares about decay, dead bodies, and needles had haunted me. It was a vivid dream, but as time progressed, I forgot most of the details. In my gut, I felt as thought my dreams were screaming that something was horribly, terribly, immensely wrong. But I ignored the primal pleading. I dressed myself in a different blue robe, a slightly paler one at that. I was oblivious, just as everyone else. Being the prudent man I am, I gathered my belongings and headed out. Feeling compelled to see her again, I was headed to the only shrine of Sheogorath I knew existed besides Ald Daedroth. There was no need to name it. I had the choice of walking, or bribing a silt-strider caravaner into taking me there. Walking seemed to be the less desirable of the two. I ambled up the close-by stairs, up to the silt-strider. I paid the caravaner a hefty price of fifty-five septim to take me there. I daydreamed all the way there about my part times with her. Why, I loved the daedroth so, I did not know. But the need to be with her was extremely urgent.
The silt-strider awaited far outside the shrine. I bid him a brief goodbye. I knew what I had to do. The trodden path I walked upon was cracked. The dirt was a graying-blue. The thorny trama shrubs lined it. What a morbid road to Sheogorath, I had thought. I felt my face tighten, stern. I curved around the hill ahead. The shrine was awaiting me. She stared at me with intensity. It felt like she was saying "I was waiting for you, Walter Lavartius, and now you are here for me". The lesser daedra around me seemed to hear her, and watching me. Even the military Dremora stopped, and gazed in honor. I felt several of their eyes on me as I stepped up the odd Daedric steps, made of gray, red, and purple stone, and reached for the door. It groaned as I gently opened it. I winced at the whining of the door. My icy eyes scanned the abyss. Only a few torches were lit inside. Then, I took my first step into the shrine.
The place caused me to feel claustrophobic. It was dark, a little damp, and near-devoid of detail. I spotted a flight of stairs, and I went down them. A golden saint stood, mouth agape, in the foyer, holding a claymore of some sorts. She stood there, motionless, in front of a great stone statue of Sheogorath. Her gaze on me penetrated my soul, and I felt sinful. Nevertheless, I ambled into the room; I tried suggesting no threat. She still did not move after I slid past her to kneel at the altar. In my mind, I was betraying Hermaeus Mora as I knelt to the statue of the Mad God. My mouth moved as I silently myself a prayer, not to Sheogorath, or Hermaeus, or any Daedra in particular. I just wanted luck. After the brief prayer, I stood. I tried remembering how to summon a Daedra. I closed my eyes and chanted. I groped the darkness, going higher and higher, until I saw a figure in the correct Sphere. I grabbed for it, knowing it was her, and pulled. After a few tugs, she came down. I must have under-calculated how much strength it took, because I blacked out.
I opened my eyes. I expected darkness to devour me. Instead, my eyes were in shock. It was ardent, and it wasn't torch light. I blinked a couple of times and sat up. My hands brushed off the top half of my robe. I turned around and peered at my surroundings. I was in a hallway made of stone. It was quite wide, about as wide as an actual room would be. And I was alone. Zarrexaij was no where to be found. The feeling of being completely alone crept over me. That feeling scared me more than the idea of drowning. It wasn't a guess; I knew I was completely alone in this alien place. Standing up, I brushed the lower part of my robe. Tasting bitter mercy, I began looking for a door. There was a door to my right. I opened it. At that moment later, I wished I hasn't.
Weird, sickly insects were crawling up the wall. They were huge, gray, and leech-like. There were a few squelches as a few fell to the ground. I covered my mouth and warred with the urge to vomit. A myriad of them covered a body that laid in the upper east corner. The room smelt horrible of corpses. The room led to nowhere, so I closed the door. I wondered "Where the hell am I? What kind of place is this?". I promenaded to the door across from the leech-filled room. I tried opening it, but it would not budge. After my stomach had settled, I went to the door about five steps on the same side of the hallway as the locked door. It appeared to be unlocked as I twisted the doorknob. This time, I gradually opened it. The environment inside shocked me more than the last. The floor was covered in metallic silvery spikes. There was a door opposite of me. In the center of the room, lie a still writhing body, skewered by a spike. The person was impaled on its belly, face down. Where I was at, I could not tell who or what it was. The room was well-lit; however, the body was immersed in shadows. Avoiding the spikes, I ambled to the body. I squinted and lifted the head.
The head was mine, yet not mine. The doppelganger's eyes were wide and blank. He extended a hand and groped at my robe. "You'd be better off dead if you knew the truth," he, or it, told me. Its lips barely moved, and the voice was guttural. A bubble of blood escaped the mouth of the doppelganger, and the arm fell limp. I let go of the head. It was a strange, ominous message. It haunts me 'til this day. I inferred the doppelganger was blind and deaf because it did not react to sound or movement and its eyes had no spark or focus. I moved on out of the room, and back into the asylum. I heard a noises, and I looked towards the south part of the hallway. Nothing. Then, I saw a blur in the corner of my eyes. I knew destrudo had found me.
It was nothing. My eyes scanned over an open part of the hallway, a room perhaps, on the northern side of the passageway. Cautiously, I proceeded to that area. I could see there was a barren fountain, covered in some kind of moss or mold. The room wasn't very large from what I could tell. Finally I stepped into the room. It was so eerie and quiet in this place. It was hard to believe in the rooms, which were pure chaos; this room, however, was stuck in stasis. A dead room. The air, even in this room, felt and tasted dead, stale, and static. I was beginning to understand the nature of this place. Spotting a stone bench on the west side of the room, I ambled over there and sat on the bench. It wasn't that I needed to rest. I just needed to absorb the information that I was stuck here, in a bizarre place, because I made an error. Or maybe, I thought, this was a dream, but it felt too damn real to be a dream.
A new sound caught my attention. It must have been my imagination, or at least I thought at the time. I didn't see anyone, or anything. I accepted early on I was the only "real" person here. Everything else was a phantom. A monster. Oh, they were real, but at the same time, they were illusions. If this was a dream, it was a nightmare. If this was reality, it was insanity. Insanity indeed. I looked around the room for no apparent reason. Then I heard a voice. The voice was familiar. It was a soft, almost confused voice.
"Hullo?" the voice had said. My head turned towards the voice. My view was only partial, because they stood in complete darkness. The only thing visible was a pair of black leather boots. I stood up, alarmed. The person, or whatever it was I thought it was, stepped out of the shadows. An electric shock stung through my body. It was him. "Zarrexaij, is that you?" he asked as he stepped forwards towards me. He held out his hand briefly, and snapped it back. It was Sheogorath, a redheaded banker in his autumn years. Or, that was what his avatar resembled. He was festooned in a green waistcoat, with a long-sleeve white dress shirt beneath, and brown pants. His vibrant green eyes lowered, as did his goateed face. He looked haggard and morose. No smile was on his face. Instead, it was a frown. He turned around and headed back where he came from. Wanting some kind of contact, I followed him down the newly discovered hall.
I saw a door shut, so naturally I went to that door and opened it. It was a dark, featureless room. Inside, he lay on the ground, facing the wall opposite of myself. His arms covered his head protectively. I couldn't tell if he knew I was there. A bit concerned for him, I walked closer and knelt. "I'm trying to find her, too. Maybe... we could help each other?" I offered him, trying to sound as amiable as possible. He didn't move, but he did speak, "I've looked for her, and I've yet to find her." His voice was unusually frigid. Then, he sat up and glanced at me. "Maybe you can help me," Sheogorath said, "I don't know why you want to, though. I know you're not particularly fond of me." His eyes gave me an accusing look. Those eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the room made me feel guilty.
"Why do you think that?" I asked him. He glanced at me, and laughed bitterly. He stood up. Sheogorath replied aloofly, "I don't think it, dear Walter; I know it." His face snapped cold. My face was fixed in shock. My mouth was not agape. I looked down and frowned. "Well then, are ye going to sit here helplessly, or are you going to search for her?" he questioned me without the slightest hint of irritation. It sting nonetheless. I stood up and nodded. He went out the door and into the hallway.
He was a bit ahead of me. I would say about seven or eight strides. I caught up to him. He wasn't going that fast. His attention was on the surroundings. The walls had changed. Some parts were turning black. Curiosity peaked, I asked, "What the hell is this place?" He abruptly turned and stopped. His countenance was stern, but I swear I caught a glimpse of excitement, even glee, in his eyes. "This place," he told me, "is neither is or is not. In other words, it is neither potential or existence. It is not even magicka, a blend of the void and Aetherius. I feel this place, and it is not right. This place is a nightmare brought real, a fantasy made true but someone or something. It should not exist. It is all wrong, Walter. Can't you feel it? I can feel this place crawling when I move, writhing while I speak, and grimacing as I think. I sense it breathing and moving. This creation, this abomination, is the result of an unsound, fractured mind, and it is not my own! It reacts to simple thoughts. Your thoughts, and my thoughts, are brought to life. I feel my power means nothing to it. It laughs at me, and I hate it. Walter, this place is the gut of the human mind." He frowned, then sighed. He shook his head, and his beautiful strawberry blond hair moved, too. "Deities have no place here. Here, godhood, power, and life are all dead," he continued. This place obviously disturbed him, but he spoke disquietingly calmly. He was greatly moved, but he was painfully numb. Was he fascinated by this place?
I looked into his eyes. His gaze on me was steady. It was a very strange stare, so I could only look into those orbs for a few moments before my spine crawled. I swear behind those eyes, I saw a hell, maybe not one of fire and brimstone, but it was hell. HE asked me, "Shall we move on?" I nodded without saying a word. He turned around, and started walking again. I followed him closely, without question, as we passed by doors. He did not open a single one of them, until we came across a door that was discolored. The door looked bloated and moldy. He turned the doorknob, and slowly opened the door. It squeaked on its hinges as it spread open. I grimaced. The room was surprisingly empty, except for a flight of stairs leading up. The air was a tad bit musty. When Sheogorath closed it, I heard a click. He turned the knob and frowned. "Locked," he mumbled.
He sat on the first step of the stairs. Sheogorath rested his left cheek on his left hand, which was large but elegant. His right hand rested on the stairs. The gold ruby ring glittered in the faint light. He frowned, and swallowed whatever was in his throat. His eyes lowered again. I ambled to the spot in front of him. He did not look at me. "Nothing is wrong," he insisted, "I am just tired." And he did look tired. Not just tired, but jaded. He looked pitiful, and helpless. He was denying anything was wrong. Deep down inside, I thought, he knew he was damned. This place wouldn't let either of us go without a struggle. Sheogorath sighed and he stood. He took a step up, and I followed. Up the stairs we went. They screamed and groaned underneath our boots. When he got to the top of the staircase, he stopped. I couldn't see what he was looking at.
I stood on the tips of my toes to see over one of his shoulders. He was just staring blankly at the door. I could tell that he was trying hard to remember something. Then, he walked to the door in front of him and opened it.
The second floor hallway was identical to its first floor sibling for the most part. The hallway had several doors, leading to who knows where. Sheogorath trotted in quietly. I watched him scan the hallway with his head and eyes as I gathered to his right side. He paid no matter to me. He must have seen something at the south side, because his eyes lit up like lanterns and he beamed widely. He sprinted towards a door about seventy-something steps away. I followed him at the same pace, close to stepping on his heels. Once again, he opened a door, and stepped inside to a new world. The door closed behind him. I opened it, and slid into the room.
He was sitting awkwardly on a platform in the semi-well lit room. This must have been a ritual room. Sheogorath's left leg was perpendicular to his right. In his clutches was a crystal rose. He was holding it very delicately in his slender hands. He held it to his chest, having it touch the first left gold button on his waistcoat. It was over the heart. His face was pallid and lugubrious. He was nostalgic. Then, he looked up at me with sad green eyes. "She was here," he whispered, as though it were heresy, "but now she is gone!" I nodded, not out of understanding but pity. It dawned on me I was in the same situation as him. "Maybe she is close by," I tried reassuring him. A ghost of a shy grin crept on his aged face.
"Mayhap," he replied, still cradling the crystal rose. I smiled at him. It felt maladroit on my taut face. He held the rose out. "Here," he said, grasping one of my hands and placing the rose onto the palm," you can have it. I gave it to her... she would have wanted someone strong to take care of it. But I am too jaded to carry it." His eyes seemed to faintly glow as I held the rose in that hand. I looked up from it and at him. He continued, "That rose can only die if the soul of the holder corrupts. It can be broken easily. Just anger breaks it into shards. Please protect it. I don't think it possesses powers anymore." I stared at the rose, then at him once more. The corners of my mouth drew up slightly and I said, "Thanks."
"This place is so corrupted. What kind of mind could create such a place?" I interrogated rhetorically. He cleared his throat and sat in a normal position. He drew in a long breath before saying, "Only a mind bent on revenge and wrath could create this nightmare, Walter." My flesh tingled as he spoke my name. "I see," I replied with an eyebrow lifted. He knew an uncomfortable amount of information regarding this place. How long had he been here? Days? Weeks? So I interrogated him with that. "How long have you been in this place?" was my interrogation. I sat beside him. Sheogorath thought about that for a brief moment.
"Not quite sure. Time here isn't the same as the time in Oblivion, or the time on Nirn. Darkness and light does not rise or fall here," he told me apathetically. That brought me to think how much time had passed at home. He gazed at me pensively, but said nothing of what he observed. He mumbled in an unusually quiet, low voice, "I miss her. I was always waiting for her, but now she's gone." I turned my head towards him. "But you killed her body," I remarked. I gathered it hurt him, and offended him.
"I had to in order to undo a horrendous crime," he replied to me matter-of-factly. Then his eyes grew very sad. He added onto it with, "I'm sorry. I guess you are right. What I did was an atrocity. I am an iniquity." I stared at him with large, icy teal eyes. I opened my mouth, but he pressed a finger against my lips. "What is this? Fake concern for an old, mad, depraved 'man'? Tell me, Walter, can you take that anguish away? Can you heal an eternity's worth of wounds that transcend flesh? Will you love something that can never return such comfort, such warmth, because who you love is piteously weak?" he retorted with narrowed eyes. I had never seen him agitated. He looked the part of mad. In fact, he was bordering on psychotic. His mouth was pulled back into a white snarl. He sat straight up, and he looked much his grand height. I shrunk back, and his anger subsided as quickly as it arose. Sheogorath sighed, and apologized, "Sorry. I did not intend to frighten you." His expression morphed back to subtle melancholy. It was difficult for my mind to accept Sheogorath was far from cheery as he was frequently portrayed. I had heard he had a bi-polar personality, but I hadn't expected any angst to fill the gaps of being an eccentric uncle-like figure and a cunning homicidal maniac.
The silence following was awkward. I broke it with: "No need to apologize. What I said was rather stupid." I flashed a grin at him. His eyes stared at me jadedly. His countenance remained gloomy. He shook his head, but he said nothing towards my insistence. Instead, Sheogorath exhaled. I felt remorse for ever mentioning her corporeal demise. I touched his left arm and looked directly into his eyes. He tensed up to a small degree. Was he uncomfortable or nervous? I found myself entranced in his eyes, which were unbelievably eerie and beautiful. His eyebrows lifted as if to question what I had on my mind. I turned my head and felt sheepish. "What now?" I asked him, facing him but refusing to look into his lovely eyes. He replied tranquilly, "Let us continue, Walter, and please douse that heat from your face." He stood up, and grinned at me. I was blushing, and that obviously amused him. Did he find fondness in my discomfort? I thought.
I followed him out the door again. Sheogorath was still smiling. I felt that the red in my face was augmenting. To him, I was probably a muse. Obviously, I was intriguing him. My legs groaned in pain as I followed him to the next door. My Daedric companion opened the door. "You're quite the ruse," he said to me, beaming as he held the door open. I gazed at him bemusedly, and stepped inside. Sheogorath followed, of course. A hand clasped my shoulder. Squeezing it, he said, "I've frequented this room before, I believe. To leap at the opportunity is not judicious. Astutely it would be to let me lead. Look, do you see that discolored patch on the floor?" Keen eyes would have seen it long before it was pointed out. Either that part was designed that way, or the patch was growing mold. Really, it didn't seem malevolent to me, but it would be imbecilic to ignore his warning. I let him lead me to the spot on the floor. He peered at me and instructed me to move. He tipped it with a boot. That part of the floor descended. A sound of grinding rock filled my ears.
"There were traps here before," he informed me, puzzled himself, "so I suppose it altered itself again." He stroked his goatee. I sniffed. "Is it possible that the rooms changed position, too?" He replied tersely, "Aye." He swallowed, and cleared his throat. I scratched my forehead and frowned. "I guess this is a wild game," I muttered. He looked at me. He responded with passionate words, but a frigid voice, "Yes, Walter, I am leading you in circles. Now, is there an is in that question?" I stared at him. He wasn't mad at me. His left eyebrow was raised, though. I turned three-hundred and sixty degrees and opened the door. Sheogorath sighed, "Walter, I implore you: let me assist you." Of course, it was a monotonous voice, which did nothing but irritate me. Outside the room, I folded my arms and waited for him. Then, he closed the door behind him. "Why do you say things in such a depressingly disinterested, disinterested voice?" I challenged him. He shifted.
"If I told you the very reason why, my dearest sirrah Walter, I wouldn't be 'unknowable', would I?" he riposted. His face nor voice showed any sign of annoyance. Still, I took the words as biting. His eyes were defiantly glaring into mine. His face was so relaxed, and his body even more so. Really, I couldn't fathom his doldrums. No one is ever that cold if they have been hurt, or I thought at the time. While I was pondering this problem, he opened another door. "Bloody crazed old bastard," I mumbled to myself as I cruised to that door and slipped inside.
