What's this? An OBLIVION fanfiction! Not a Naruto or Death Note fanfic? Well, you see I'm getting a bit bored of writing that and Oblivion is far more fun to write.

Anyway...

For those just tuning in this fanfiction will consist of random, seize the moment little ficlits. They are dumb, random, and hopefully hilarious. Most of them will consist of characters from the game but I might include some original characters (Maybe later I'll use some on request) ENJOY

Oh yes, please leave a review.

The Grey Fox was known by his closest associates to be dark, mysterious, and friendly to those closest to him. But there were some things; however, that not even his closest friends knew about him, and that is what made him mysterious. One night one of those secrets was made public at an embarrassing top-secret dinner party; but that has nothing to do with our story. Our story tonight is about a half-mad Dunmer, a Khajiit, a guard of the Imperial Legion, and a member of the dark brotherhood; with guest appearances throughout the night. I hope you enjoy Ode to Madness.

One cold night on a road somewhere between Bravil and Leyawin, a lone Khajiit in a blue mages robe walked slowly down the road. His shoes made a 'clop' 'clop' noise on the ground as he walked, and the only other noise was of the swamp life around him. He carried no torch and was only able to see by the light of the moon shining brightly above. The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of a horse walking slowly towards him from the opposite direction. The Khajiit narrowed his eyes and continued walking, slowly stuffing the Skooma deeper into his inner robe pocket. It was a Legion Guard doing a routine highway patrol on his horse, his armor shining brightly in the moonlight. The Khajiit began to pick up his pace and brought his hood up more, but his efforts were in vain.

"Good Even- hey, do I know you?" The guard asked, stopping his horse. The Khajiit winced, and stopped next to the horse.

"Um…" the Khajiit mumbled "no, I don't believe we've met. Good evening I must be on my way." The Khajiit attempted to move on but was stopped once again by the voice of the stupid guard.

"Hold on, I'm sureI've seen your face somewhere!" The guard rubbed his chin thoughtfully and examined the Khajiit with a determined intensity. The Khajiit looked back so as not to seem suspicious and prayed to the nine divines that he wouldn't recognize him.

"Oh yes! Now I remember!" As the guard turned and rummaged through his pack, the Khajiit considered becoming a Sanguine worshipper. While the Khajiit pondered his worshipping plans the guard pulled out a large piece of rolled up parchment from his pack and unrolled it, revealing a wanted poster with the likeness of the Khajiit drawn on the parchment. It read: Wanted, M'aiq the Liar for illegal Skooma dealings. Reward: 400 septims WARNING extremely fast, pursue on horseback only.

The guard looked down at M'aiq from his horse in an intimidating way and in the usual powerful tone, the guard began his speech.

"M'aiq the Liar, you are under arrest for illegal Skooma dealings, either you pay the fine or go to jail."

The Khajiit now known as M'aiq glared up at the guard and bared his teeth.

"The prey should not threaten M'aiq so harshly," he growled. "I doubt that mangy horse of yours could even keep up with me." And with that he dashed off leaving only a trail of dust in his wake. He heard the guard's surprised shout and the sound of the horse's hooves hitting the ground in pursuit. M'aiq smirked and dashed on with incredible speed, easily outrunning the guard's slow painted horse. Unfortunately, M'aiq was too engrossed in his escape that he failed to notice the Dunmer walking towards him. They collided with a loud 'whoomph' sound and fell back on the ground; and before M'aiq could sit up and shout profanities, the Guard caught up and promptly got off his horse to tie M'aiq up. As he did this, the Dunmer man sat up, his red eyes wide with fright like a scared deer and darting back and forth.

"Oh-oh excuse me, I-I didn't mean to not run into your cat-like bosom, excuse-sorry." And that's when M'aiq noticed; the man had no pants on. In fact he was dressed very peculiarly, adding to the fact that he was in his underwear from the waist down, he wore a fur helmet that was a bit crooked and wore a shirt that had it's sleeves ripped off. The guard heaved the now tied up M'aiq onto his horse and then mounted himself, giving the Dunmer a strange look before saying,

"Well, I must be off citizen, good night."

"NO!" the pants-less man shouted. "I-I'm trying to find The Shivering Isles, can you direct me to them?"

The guard put on another confused look and replied, "The what isles? I'm sorry citizen but I don't think there is such a place."

"Of course there is a place such as!" he yelled back, standing up in a flash. "Lord Sheogorath owns the place and sells beer good that is! Cannot find it I can't no so directions I need!" The Dunmer continued to rant in an undecipherable way while pacing back and forth on the roadside. The guard was so engrossed in trying to understand the man that M'aiq took the opportunity to try and slip off the horse. But his attempt was futile as the guard noticed and grabbed his robe to pull him back up onto the horse. Then suddenly, the Dunmer stopped pacing and went very quiet; the Guard and M'aiq watched on with curious eyes. Then he snapped, and pulled out a shortsword shouting, "FRWAAAAAAAAAGHHH!" He charged and attempted to stab the Guard, but only succeeded in hurting his horse. The Guard now infuriated dismounted and pulled out his sword, ready to defend his horse. M'aiq smirked and quietly slid off the horse while using his sharp claws to cut the rope around his wrists and slunk into the woods as the battle raged on. Once he was past the tree line he made a run for it; he wasn't going to risk being caught again. Once he was far enough away that he felt safe, M'aiq stopped and looked for a place to rest for the night. He was in the middle of the forest, he concluded, and there was no sign of civilization from where he was currently standing. M'aiq shrugged, and with the grace of a drunken Nord he laid down on some comfortable foliage and fell asleep.

Somewhere in the Shivering Isles…

"Aww, fuzzbuckets. I thought that one would surely make it to my realm, but I guess not. The Khajiit was interesting though, but borin' as well." Sheogorath frowned, then smiled. He leaned back into his throne and thought about what to have for dinner while tossing his cane back and forth between his hands. 'Brain Pie is always a good thing, but I have it too much, I need something new,' he thought. "Haskil m'boy! What should I have for dinner?" he shouted lazily from his throne. Haskil looked up from where he was standing and in his usual monotone replied, "I'm not sure my Lord. Although, might I suggest cheese and Sweetrolls?"

"Cheese and Sweetrolls! Of course! You sure are smart Haskil, but not as smart as, say, a woodlouse."

"Of course, sir." And with that they returned to their tasks.

M'aiq woke to the sound of a deep chuckle resonating from someone above him. With a start he sat up and looked into the face of a man in a midnight black robe and hood. It was still dark out, so his features were obscured by the shadows of the trees.

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer," He began in a deep voice. "That's good. You'll need a clear conscience for what I'm about to propose."

M'aiq paled and slunk back away from the hooded man, "M-M'aiq is no murderer, you can't prove anything!"

This just earned another chuckle from the hooded man who had stooped down to his eye-level.

"Mm, I'd beg a differ. You, my dear friend are a cold-blooded murderer, and Sithis wants you," he emphasized this by pointing at him with a gloved finger, "to join a brotherhood of sorts, a family."

M'aiq glared at the man. "And what makes you think M'aiq will join your 'brotherhood'? He sneered. The man smirked and leaned back on the balls of his feet.

"Because we pay you, and with that money you can buy all the Skooma you want."

M'aiq's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates and he began to drool.

"R-really?" he said dreamily.

"Really."

M'aiq thought about what he had just learned (like his mother had taught him to do) and made a decision.

"Sure," he shrugged, "why not? It sounds like fun to M'aiq. Besides, M'aiq can buy more Skooma that way" The mysterious hooded man laughed at that and then proceeded to give him the instructions for his initiation. Kill some old Breton named Rufio and he was in. Once he was done giving him the instructions the hooded man left, disappearing into the night. Needless to say, M'aiq forgot about the hooded man for a while and procrastinated on the assignment for a few weeks. He was too busy buying Skooma, running from guards and telling people interesting facts to murder helpless old men. But eventually he rediscovered the dagger he was given by the hooded man and did the task, successfully joining and becoming a murderer.

NOW FOR SOMETHING TOTALLY DIFFERENT!

Modryn Oreyn enjoyed the simple things. Simple houses, simple weapons, and simple people. Complex things like why the Blackwood Company acted the way they did their feelings he did not like. So when some stupid new recruit came in and began to explain to him that there was a decent motive behind the Blackwood Company, Modryn was in fact, very peeved. It didn't help that he had lost a bet, dropped 100 septims down a drain, and almost screamed at the guildmaster for not letting her son go on a contract; all within the last few hours. It just wasn't his day, he supposed. Then, all at once all of the pent up frustration from the day just snapped at the utterance of one simple phrase.

"Hey Modryn, can I get a raise?"

With a loud cry Modryn pulled out his mace from it's holster and started to swing it at the nearest thing that moved. Everyone in the room scrambled for cover, knocking over tables and each other in an attempt to escape the enraged Master Swordsman's wrath. The porter and guildmaster both ran downstairs to see what as with the commotion and then promptly ran to restrain Modryn from harming anyone. After much scuffling and dragging they finally managed to calm Modryn down to a decent level. His usually trim Mohawk was messy and fell all over his face and head. He held a towel to his newly acquired head wound and breathed heavily as he sat across from the guildmaster in her office. The guildmaster dismissed the porter and then faced Modryn, a look of anger on her face with hints of concern showing.

"Modryn," she said sternly. He looked up from the floor and met her gaze with a weak glare. "I'm concerned about your stress levels, you've always been a little hot-headed but this shows that I've been taking your aggression problem lightly."

"WHAT AGRESSION PROBLEM?" Modryn shouted, slamming his free palm on her desk; she didn't even flinch.

"Exactly my point. Now, to preserve the safety of your fellow guildmates I am hereby suspending you from the guild and putting you on a mandatory vacation until you can calm down."

His eyes grew wide and he slumped back into his chair, the anger dominating his features before was replaced entirely by utter shock.

"I won a vacation to an island called Bliss," she explained, "but I've been saving the ticket for an emergency, and it's a good thing I did. From this point forward you are hereby suspended from doing any contracts, I'll have all the letters out to the other guildhalls by tomorrow, so don't try anything." Finished, the guildmaster sat back in her chair and waited for his reaction. He was still staring at the floor and still held the towel to his head, but his expression had gone blank. He stood up and walked away, not saying a word.

As Modryn woke up the next morning in his simple shack, the reaction from yesterday's news was different than before. He sat up abruptly, and with his eyes glowing redder than usual, yelled things that this humble author cannot repeat. After his yelling was done he found his mace and stormed out of his house to smash something. He found just that thing outside of Chorrol; an Ogre had a very bad run of luck that morning when Modryn found him. 10 minutes later the Ogre's mangled corpse littered the ground with its brains scattered about and skull crushed in. A bit calmer, Modryn returned to his house to pack for his mandatory vacation with a cloud of frustration floating over his head.

'So,' Modryn thought as he stepped out of the boat, 'this is Bliss…it's really bright.' And indeed it was. The sky was a beautiful baby blue, the sand beaches were white, and there were flowers of every shape and color dotting the landscape. The trees were tall and had large leaves at the top that were almost as big as the dog he used to have. Modryn picked up his bags and walked off of the dock and onto the white beach of Bliss in the sandals someone suggest he wear. Clad in some too-short pants and a weird shirt covered in large flowers an Altmer with an odd thing across his eyes spotted Modryn and walked toward him with a smile that made clowns look depressed.

"Why hello there! You must be the winner of our vacation contest! Welcome to Bliss, where everything is fabulous! I'm Almaron, and I shall be your assigned guide for your trip." The High Elf exclaimed in glee. As the Altmer rambled, Modryn noticed that he talked in a high, prepubescent tone and giggled every now and then between his words. He also had swished his hips in an odd way when he walked toward him; he was very disturbing, Modryn concluded. He tuned back in just as Almaron was finishing his speech

"So, I'll just show you to you're room and I'll see you at the boar roast!" the High Elf paused- still smiling- and then asked with a tilt of his head, "By the way, I never caught your name sweetie, mind telling me what it is?" Modryn shuddered at the new nickname and stared up at the Altmer with a slight twitch.

"M-Modryn Oreyn. Can you not call me sweetie anymore, it's very…" disturbing, horrendous, f'ed up! "Uncomfortable."

Almaron's smile faltered for a minute but came back up in all its shininess within a millisecond. "All right then pumpkin, I won't call you that anymore, now, lets go see your totally fab room!" he said in the same upbeat tone. Modryn's shoulders slumped at the new nickname, and with a grunt he picked up his bags and followed the crazy High Elf to who-knows-where.

I'm going to continue the Modryn story in the next chapter. REVIEW