Delirium - A Skyrim Story

Act I Chapter IV - Daedric Web

"Sometimes, I no longer know if the words I write belong to me... or to the madness creeping in." - Battle Mage Alistair 4E 181

"You're already part of the game boy....Wouldn't it be a shame if your father's waiting, and you left him to wander the Isles forever?" Sheogorath's voice echoed in Thorian's mind, striking him like a cold wind. The thought of leaving his father adrift in the Shivering Isles clawed at his resolve, and his stomach churned. He recalled glimpsing a man and woman in revealing black and gold armor, watching his every move. Their silent, knowing stares lingered in his memory, leaving a queasy sensation behind.

The journey to Solitude stretched in thick silence. Though Thorian spent his Septims on a carriage to quicken the pace, the ride felt endlessly tense. His mind returned to Sheogorath's chilling words, each repetition only deepening his worry: What if his father was already lost in the mind? He knew the tales-that time spent in the Shivering Isles gnawed at one's sanity. But if there was any chance his father was still waiting, perhaps in Sheogorath's own court in New Sheoth, then he had to push forward.

Near Solitude, the carriage driver attempted to break the quiet. "Any latest gossip, boy?" Thorian shook his head, murmuring, "No, not really." The driver chuckled, glancing up at the road ahead. "Since we're heading to Solitude, I'll share mine. Word from General Tullius is, he's got Ulfric Stormcloak captured. The Jarl of Windhelm himself!" Thorian raised an eyebrow. "Really? The Jarl?" The driver nodded, satisfied. "Aye. They say he killed the High King with some... magic of his voice. I'd like to see that firsthand!"

The boy listened, intrigued but detached; he'd never cared for political games. Still, a flicker of curiosity burned. To kill with only your voice... Perhaps one day, Thorian thought, he'd witness such a power.

"Are we close to Solitude?" he asked. "Thirty minutes, give or take," the driver replied, leaning back with a yawn. "Sit back, lad. Relax, and you'll be there in no time." But Thorian couldn't relax. His mind kept darting to shadows, his heart beating in sync with each clinking of his father's pendant against his chest, a reminder of all Alistair had left behind.

Finally, the carriage halted, and Thorian handed the driver a few extra coins for the journey. "I'll be here a few days before returning to Markarth," the driver said, pocketing the coins. "Just don't waste your life on wars and dark paths, lad," he added with a nod. Thorian returned the gesture with a smile. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

Inside Solitude, the air was alive with sounds of city life. Children played tag in the streets, laughing and calling after each other. "I miss Uncle Roggvir," one girl sighed to his friend. "It's okay, Svari, you have us!" came the cheerful reply as they chased each other across the square. Thorian felt a pang of longing for the simplicity of Rorikstead, where life moved with the quiet rhythm of familiar faces and familiar tasks.

Pulling out his father's notes, he scanned for directions. His father had written about a passage beneath the city, and after some searching, Thorian discovered a manhole cover leading down to the Solitude Sewers. He hesitated only briefly before gripping the cover and easing it open. He felt a sudden pang of regret as he looked down into the darkness, but a purpose much larger than himself pushed him forward.

Climbing down, he found himself in a maze of narrow passages and faintly dripping water echoing off the stone walls. Each step reverberated around him as he ventured deeper. His lantern cast a soft glow, revealing strange flora creeping up the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters.



Rounding a corner, Thorian froze as small, shadowed creatures leapt at him. Reflexively, he raised his hand, and a surge of chaotic lightning shot from his palm, lighting the corridor in bright, blinding flashes. When his eyes cleared, the creatures lay still, and the silence returned. He took a shuddering breath, marveling at the unpredictable nature of his power, a weapon that seemed almost too wild to control.

As he continued forward, his path led

him through narrow corridors and damp archways until he stumbled upon a scene that took his breath away. The corridor opened into a vast chamber, bathed in a dim, otherworldly light, where mossy grass grew in thick patches alongside strange, vibrant flowers. His father's notes had mentioned nothing like this-it felt like stepping into a hidden world, a place out of myths and legends.

Before him lay the bodies of strange figures clad in golden and dark armor, a sight that both relieved and alarmed him. These must be the Saints and Seducers, he realized, wondering if his father had passed this way. Their fallen forms gave him some hope; perhaps he was closer to finding Alistair than he had dared to believe.

Moving forward, Thorian picked up a golden sword from one of the fallen Saints and slid it into his sheath, deciding he'd need to conserve his magic. Then he pressed on, each step feeling more weighty with the knowledge of what lay ahead.

Finally, as he neared what looked to be the portal to the Shivering Isles, a towering Golden Saint appeared, barring his path with a large, gleaming sword drawn. Thorian's hand instinctively went to his newly acquired blade. He steeled himself, knowing this was his first real test. The time had come to prove that he had the strength to confront whatever waited for him beyond the veil.

Thorian tightened his grip on the golden sword as the towering Golden Saint advanced, her armor catching the eerie glow of the moss-covered surroundings. She moved with surprising speed, her sword raised high, ready to strike. Thorian sidestepped as her blade came crashing down, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground.

He pivoted, aiming a quick slash at her flank, but she deflected it effortlessly. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, and Thorian found himself struggling to match her relentless strikes. Realizing he needed to tip the balance, he raised his free hand and summoned a bolt of lightning. It struck her chest, momentarily stunning her and denting her armor.

Seeing his chance, Thorian closed the distance and swung his sword at an exposed gap in her armor. The blade connected, and dark ichor seeped out, sizzling on the metal. She growled, retaliating with a powerful backhand that sent him stumbling back. Shaking off the daze, Thorian steadied himself, feeling the drain of each spell but refusing to back down.

As she charged forward, he summoned a final surge of lightning, pouring his remaining strength into the attack. The electricity coursed through her armor, forcing her to her knees. Thorian didn't hesitate-he moved in and drove his sword down with precision, ending the battle.



Breathless, he took a moment to gather himself. The way ahead lay open, and with a final glance at the fallen guardian, Thorian stepped fo
rward, feeling the weight of his journey deepen. The Shivering Isles awaited him, and he sensed the web of Sheogorath's influence tightening with every step.

As Thorian stepped through the portal, he felt his senses blur and warp, as though time and space folded around him. Shadows danced across his vision, flickering between colors and shapes that barely resembled reality. With a sudden jolt, he stumbled forward, and the world around him solidified.

He was in The Asylum, an eerie courtyard at the heart of the Shivering Isles. The landscape stretched out in unpredictable twists and turns, lined with crooked, twisted structures that defied logic. Strange plants glowed faintly under an otherworldly sky, while whispers and distant laughter echoed from unseen corners. Thorian's stomach churned at the unsettling beauty and madness woven into every detail of the place.

He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes scanning his new surroundings, feeling the weight of Sheogorath's realm pressing on him from every direction. The air was thick with magic and mystery, but also with something darker, as if the very land could sense his presence and intentions.

A strange figure emerged in the distance-a looming silhouette with an odd gait, watching him with unblinking eyes. Thorian knew there would be no turning back now. His path forward was deeper into this Daedric web of chaos, each step bringing him closer to unraveling his father's fate and the truth behind Sheogorath's plans.