Chapter Three of Through Dangers Untold! Also, I uploaded the first chapter of my conspiracy/plot-packed fanfiction. It's called The Wretched game, hinthinthinthint, and you should totally check it out, hinthinthinthint. And feed me your ideas, hinthinthint.
"Oh, I hardly ever get children in the Isles!" Sheogorath practically vibrated with enthusiasm. "None of the blood-lust! The ardour! The appetite!" he shrugged complacently. "Terribly boring if you ask me." and then he turned his intimidating gaze to a small, hungry-looking boy who Kodlak had never seen before. "And if I get too bored, I might seek some... Violent amusement," he warned them all. "Or I might not! Who knows?"
"If you're bored sir," said the hungry boy. "I could tell you about the time I had an old woman assassinated." He was rather proud of the fact.
"You're going to fit in here!" Sheogorath told him. "Oh, I wasn't expecting that! Delightful! You'll tell us everything over dinner!" He declared.
The Lord of the Shivering Isles, as he called himself, made short work of arranging his kidnapped children into a circle. Kodlak felt awfully special when he was allowed to sit on the God's immediate right. The Prince had a strange, electric aura coming from him in waves and it make Kodlak feel strange: giggly and like he could do anything. From nowhere, Sheogorath seemed to produce a delicate glass ball that glowed with a soft light. He informed the children that they were going to pass it around and introduce themselves. Sheogorath went first, despite having already introduced himself. He seemed to be fond of listening to himself speak. Much like Aunty Dragonborn, Kodlak thought.
"Sheogorath!" the Mad God puffed his chest impressively. "Daedric Prince of Madness! Lord of the Shivering Isles!" There was a smattering of polite applause as he passed the crystal ball to Kodlak who whispered "M'Kodlak," rather anti-climatically before passing it to the pale girl on his right.
"Babette," the girl informed them all. "And," she bowed her head. "My lord. There seems to have been a mistake."
The room went very quiet. Everyone stared with wide eyes. They weren't sure how long they had been in Sheogorath's Palace, only that there had been a long gap between their arrival and the introductions. The place had a sense of timelessness about it. They had been here long enough to know that Sheogorath didn't make mistakes, however.
"Mistake?" the Prince repeated, ominously.
Babette bowed her head again. "You see my lord, technically I haven't been a child for at least two centuries," she shrugged, then. "I forget."
Sheogorath looked ill at ease and examined her over the top of Kodlak's head. Kodlak examined her too, feeling that the advisor would do well to copy his leader. "You're not a midget are you?!" Sheogorath boomed.
"Er, no." the unchild replied awkwardly. "I am... a creature of the night, my lord."
"What's that?" said Lars Battle-Born.
"A vampire," Mila informed them all. Kodlak smiled at Babette reassuringly as fearless children all turned to Babette with morbid interest. She seemed to wilt under their curious expressions, a little wistful-looking and confused at the lack of terrified screaming.
"Well, that's alright then," Sheogorath shrugged. "Continue with the introductions!"
And so the introductions continued, although Kodlak was wondering what a vampire was again: but didn't want to ask if it made him look stupid or unworthy of his advisory position. Braith introduced herself next, then a boy called Frodnar, then the murderous Aventus Aretino. A boy called Joric with dreamy eyes told everyone his name and was about to pass the ball to a dirty, ragged orphan when it disappeared completely.
"Enough!" Sheogorath cried and waved a dismissive hand. "The rest of you shall now be known as "Oi" or "Baby mortal". No ifs or buts: or I'll send you to bed without any supper!"
Jarl Baalgruf's daughter looked extremely put out at this declaration and told him so. Kodlak wanted to recommend Lord Sheogorath to turn her into a creature that matched her personality. A slug, or something.
"I want to introduce myself," she said.
"What's this?!" Sheogorath stalked towards her and positively loomed, but a child isn't afraid of anything they should be and stands their ground. "The Mad God answers to no mortal, little girl!"
Which Kodlak thought didn't make sense. Because Amelie had asked this Lord Sheogorath to take them all away and he had answered. Nobody had pressed their luck by asking Sheogorath to take them home yet. Despite missing his parents, Kodlak wasn't sure he wanted to go back to Whiterun yet. Not when he was living in a palace. All the same Jarl Baalgruf's daughter was banished to her room for the rest of the day. How long was a day in the Shivering Isles? Kodlak wasn't sure.
"I couldn't possibly invite Sithis," Sheogorath was shaking his head at Babette, the unchild. "He isn't very good with children: and I've got loads here! Wouldn't go down well. Besides, he never replies to my letters! I understand it's hard to write a letter when one is a black formless Void, but at the very least he could try!"
"Could I visit him?" Kodlak heard her ask, wondering who Sithis was. "May I visit him then Lord, my Dread Father? Let me go on pilgrimage."
"There's only one way to get to the Void," Sheogorath cast her a sly look of amusement. "Only one way and it's one-way!" he threw his head back in laughter which drew the attention of the slowly dissipating circle. The crystal ball in the Lord's hands suddenly turned into ghostly, ethereal dagger. "But if that's your wish I'll oblige!"
Babette was suddenly very interested in the throne. "My lord," she was saying. "Did I tell you how much I love the decor of your palace? So striking! So symbolic! I think I might stay a while longer... if you'll have me."
"Suit yourself," Sheogorath didn't even bother to keep the disappointment out of his voice. The dagger disappeared in a puff of smoke. "Right!" he bellowed over the heads of his latest minions. "Children play games, and you're children! Except for you!" he flung a hand at Babette. "So we're going to play the Oblivion Crisis! Who wants to be Mehrunes Dagon?!"
Kodlak tried to spare a thought for his Ma and Pa, and wonder if Amelie was going to fix her mess. But then Sheogorath told him that he was to play the role of Martin Septim, and Kodlak was so overjoyed that he got an important role in a game for once that he completely forgot everything of Whiterun, of parents, and careless Dragonborns.
A number of important figures of Whiterun were circled around a table. It was situated in what had been the "war-room" of sorts in Dragonsreach. It took Amelie far, far back to the fateful day she had been unwilling deployed to the Western Watchtower to take on a bloody dragon, and seal her fate. Jarl Baalgruf took centre-place, leaning over the table grim-faced and stoic. He was a vengeful man, Amelie reminded herself, feeling a surge of panic rise up inside her. And if she thought that Bjorn, the Harbinger, would tear through Oblivion to get his children back, she knew that Baalgruf would go further. His children were his last link to his late wife, and the future of Whiterun.
Amelie felt like a massive prick. Here was Lydia, Irileth, Bjorn, the Jarl, Vilkas, Farkas, the Captain of the Guard, the Gray-Manes and the Battle-Born men and a handful of other prominent Whiterun citizens, all intent on getting these children back, out of their mind with worry for them, and out of ideas. And there she was, Great and Wonderful Dragonborn, who vowed to get back the children at any cost. Who knew where they had gone, and had an inkling of how to get them back. But was doing nothing.
It had been three days. Three days of heavy, oppressive silence. Three days that she should have been doing something about the whole mess. If only to remove Carlotta's red-ringed eyes and hourly sobbing from her home. It was becoming downright depressing, and she would positively choke on her guilt soon. Not to mention she felt bad for inadvertently casting a gloomy pall over Farkas and Lydia's announcement of marriage.
But there was hope. Thick, heavy clouds of dark grey were slowly making their way over Whiterun; and anyone could summon Sheogorath during a storm. It was almost as if the Prince was daring her to summon him, and try and bargain the children back. And although, truly really deeply, Amelie didn't want to do it... at all... And though she didn't really miss any of the children, she was going to do it. Summon the Lord of the Shivering Isles, Prince of Madness and tell him it was all one big misunderstanding. Hopefully, the Mad God would see fit to answer her call.
"We have received word from Riverwood, from Falkreath and from Windhelm," Proventus Avenicci was droning, and clutched several urgent-looking scrolls in his arms. "All of them detailing reports of children going missing in the late hours of the night, or found missing in the morning."
"Amelie thinks that the captors might have used Illusion magic to cover their tracks," Vilkas told them all, ignoring the warning look that Amelie was trying to give him. Farengar, who was also at the table, frowned and seemed to be shaking his head from side to side. "It's a possibility that we can't ignore," Vilkas growled at the mage.
"Illusion magic is the most under-developed school of magic," Farengar was saying, even as Amelie cursed her flimsy lying skills. "It's pure theory to suggest that such magic could be used on such a large scale as the entirety of Skyrim. And a wild theory at that," he finished with a condescending look in Amelie's direction. Okay, who was the Arch-Mage here?
"What's your theory then, wizard?" asked Bjorn Half-Moon, the vengeful Harbinger. No don't ask him that, Amelie grimaced guiltily.
"Think about this simply," Farengar told them all. He was used to the jeers and distrust of simple mercenaries such as the Companions, but look how they needed him in times of crisis! Farengar was fond of puzzles and this one would be rewarding. Certainly, all he needed to do was apply logic to the situation and the solution would be revealed. "There is no possible way an organisation, let alone an individual, could succeed in- presumably- physically kidnapping all the children of Skyrim. Such a notion is preposterous. So we know at once, that magic was used."
Rain was starting to patter lightly against the roof of the Dragonsreach Palace. Servants sloped in corners and skulked in shadows, unwilling to risk the Jarl's bad temper. They were already in trouble for letting the young Whiterun heirs out of their sights, and the nanny had been fire that morning without a reference. Amelie listened to the rain and Farengar's conjecture and felt a queer mixture of guilt, fear and impatience.
"Of course it was magic," a Gray-Mane was nodding. "No good comes of magic."
"Anyway," Farengar cut off the imbecile and continued his theory. "We know it was magic used across an almost impossible amount of land. If it is to be believed that all children were abducted at the same time, then it is to be believed that they were all taken with the same spell. Such an amount of magicka would be- truly remarkable."
"Cut to the chase," Bjorn was growling again. Amelie really suspected he could be a werewolf, and told herself rather flippantly. Was that... fur? Growing out of his ears?
"The only beings that could harness such an amount of magic," Farengar glared at the Harbinger: a mindless mercenary with little brain, in his own, informed opinions. "Are the Divines, who would not interfere in such a way. And... Daedra."
A flurry of activity broke loose after the summation of the theory. The Dragonborn seemed to sort of squawk, and Bjorn seemed to roar with triumph at being able to point his rage in a direction. The Gray-Manes were referring to the Oblivion Crisis and bad-mouthing mages in general, and somewhere in the middle Jarl Baalgruf had sunk into deep speculation.
"Which Prince?" Farengar continued over the rabble trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. He truly thought that he was correct in his theory. "And for what purpose? I couldn't say. I don't know. This has never happened before."
"I think I might have an inkling," the Dragonborn told them in all in a strangled voice. Farengar felt dismay rise up in him as all those who had chattered throughout his theory and grumbled, turned to the Dragonborn for a plan, despite the fact that she was also a mage. Some people get all the credit, he grumbled to himself. "J-Just an idea!" she finished, quietly.
"Any ideas are welcome at this point, Dragonborn," said Jarl Baalgruf. She nodded. Took a deep breath.
The storm had broken outside. Sheogorath can be summoned any time there is a storm, a snooty voice in her head told her. How many storms does one get in Whiterun.
"I need to return to Breezehome," she told the group. "To collect some research materials and references."
"Let me go with you," said Bjorn. Vilkas, Farkas and Lydia had stepped forwards as if the three of them already expected to go with her. Amelie grappled wildly in her mind for an excuse.
"I will only be a few minutes," she shook her head. "And time is of the essence. Wait here. But Lydia, take Carlotta to Jorravskr away from our home. She needs warmer fires and stronger drink, than we have."
"Yes, my Thane." Lydia went away at once.
"We can always rely on the help of the Dragonborn," Jarl Baalgruf was not smiling, but he looked at Amelie gratefully. Amelie managed a determined half-smile and to block out the colourful array of language that blazed through her mind a mile a minute. Suddenly everyone was looking at the Dragonborn as if Amelie Knew What She Was Doing. A frightening prospect. Amelie turned on her heel and began to follow Lydia's path to Breezehome.
Flour, water and snowberries could make the paint to draw a circle. She had soul gems. The rain was coming down thick and fast, drenching her, but Amelie was wrapped up in her mission. She had scrolls, cheese, enough to build a make-shift shrine. She could move the bed to make space for the summoning circle. She would have to lock the doors. No one could come to the house, no one could know. Not with Farengar so succintly laying the blame in a Daedric Prince's direction. It would make it look like it was her fault!
"It is your fault, mey tafiir!" she snapped at herself in draconic- mey tafiir, fool thief- and hurried home.
Haskill found his Lordship in the Palace Atrium. Someone was trying to summon Sheogorath. Someone powerful. They wouldn't stop and it was beginning to annoy Haskill somewhat. He knew that Sheogorath was fare more adept at ignoring a summons than he. Inside the Atrium there was a glowing, rather dangerous-looking portal, a shade of violent purple. It was situated in the middle of the room leading to only the Mad-God-Knew-Where and was surrounded by mortal children. Half of them were garbed in red robes and black gloves and the other half clunked about in what could only be child-sized replicas of the Blades Armour. The robed children were reminiscent of the Mythic Dawn and were in a hyper, screaming frenzy shouting things like "Down with the Empire!" and "Paradise!". One rather pale-looking girl sat in the corner, reading a book.
Haskill suppressed a sigh upon realising that Sheogorath was in his Champion of Cyrodiil guise- a form he had barely used since receiving it some two hundred years ago. It was probably the most vivid game of dress-up any of the mortal children had ever played, he reflected. He felt something of a migraine coming on. As soon as one thinks they are used to the Shivering Isles...
"Bow to your emperor!" A tiny mortal was demanding, dressed in a blue robe. Other children were screaming at each other and throwing insults.
Sheogorath noticed his steward and stopped the game. "Remember this form, Haskie?" He demanded, giving a twirl which looked out-of-place on his dour, Dunmer appearance. None on the children seemed to notice that Sheogorath had changed his appearance. Perhaps he was casting an illusion. The Daedric Prince of Madness was good with illusion.
"How could I forget, my lord," said Haskill.
"Moody bugger, wasn't he?" Sheogorath quickly reverted back to his usual form. The mortal children seemed to blink their eyes in confusion and all of them stared at him in wonder and confusion. "I think we changed him for the better!"
"Someone is trying to summon you sir," Haskill didn't answer the question. If he agreed that the Champion of Cyrodiil had been a "moody bugger", Sheogorath would probably take offense. "The Dragonborn, in fact. The mortal whose wish you granted."
Kodlak's head whipped up at the mention of Dragonborn. As advisor he decided he deserved a part of the conversation as much as Sheogorath and his moody, emotionless steward. Sheogorath was frowning long and hard at Haskill. "She should have been careful what she wished for," he was saying.
Before Kodlak could reach the Mad God he was engulfed by a crowd of mini-Blades and screaming Mythic Dawn cultists. He wished Aventus Aretino wouldn't try to assassinate him so enthusiastically. He rather wished he had sat out with Babette and read books and found out what a vampire was. Being the Emperor was hard work.
"For the Blades!" Mila howled.
"We don't fear death!" Braith yelled back, throwing her red hood back over her head. The game continued. Kodlak narrowly avoided assassination from Francois Beaufort, who was still bitter that he hadn't been able to introduce himself. The Mad God had disappeared inside the portal: swallowed up and somewhere else.
Is it just me who would freaking love to be a kid in the Shivering Isles? Provided Sheo was in a good mood, it would just be one over-the-top game of dress up after the next. In the next chapter Amelie and Sheogorath meet and Amelie travels to the Shivering LABYRINTH to rescue the children. There are also some talking Everscamps. And a mudcrab. Yeah, things get weird... Hey, Dervenin will be there too.
Love to all of you! And cheese! And even more Love and Cheese to loyal fans of Love You Madly: which I will hopefully update soon.