The Game Cafe in Marvel and DC

89 – A Mad God for a Mad Clown

Deep within a foggy and creepy forest, a long table covered in cheese, delicious food, and beautiful treats could be seen, while a middle-aged man in a strangely colorful outfit reminiscing what a jester would wear. Laughing like a madman, the crazy, colorful man shouted, "I haven't had so much fun with a mortal like yourself since dear old Pelagius!" 

The creepy thing about it was that his fingers tapped on a pristine human skull while stating that. 

The woman sitting across from the madman laughed, "Haha! I like you too, old man!" before taking a rather large bite of exotic cheese.

"Since you've been such a wonderful lass, I felt like you deserve a reward! I originally planned on ripping out your eyes and eating them, but since you've been such a good sport, I felt that you deserved a better reward! Feel free to keep the Wabbajack. As a symbol of my... Oh, just take the damn thing. You take care of yourself now. And if you ever find yourself in New Sheoth, look me up. We can share a strawberry torte." The Madman stated with a smile, glossing over the fact that he very well intended to harm her originally.

Clapping his hands, the Madman stood out from his chair, "Well, I suppose it's back to the Shivering Isles. The trouble Haskill can get into while I'm gone simply boggles the mind... Let's make sure I'm not forgetting anything. Clothes? Check. Beard? Check! Luggage? Luggage! Now, where did I leave my luggage?"

That's when a man stepped through a portal to the Madman's side.

"Master! You've taken me back! Does this mean we're going home? Oh, happy times! I can't wait to-" The old man hastily spoke before the  Madman interrupted him.

"Yes, yes, that's quite enough celebration. Let's send you ahead, shall we?" The Madman waved his hand, making the man disappear with a portal.

"Now, before I forget, one final reward for being such a good sport," The Madman waved his hand, causing a strange glow to cover the woman.

"Take my blessing! Now, ta ta!" With his final worlds, the world collapsed in on itself, throwing the woman back into a dusty old room that clearly hadn't seen use in over two decades.

In that woman's hands was the legendary Wabbajak, the Deadric Artifact of the Mad God himself, Sheogorath. Said Artifact was capable of great and terrible things, as it was as chaotic as the God that created it. Using the magic staff on an object can do any number of things: it could turn them into a chicken, it could turn them into a different race, it could give them a deadly disease, it could outright kill them, and yet, while it had its reputation for its negative effects, it was also able to cure incurable diseases, resurrect those no longer living, gift someone with skills and experiences of ancient warriors and mages. 

And the woman who obtained the artifact? One Harley Frances Quinn, otherwise known as the Clown, a title previously held by her ex, Joker, who has not been seen in over a year. 

Harley was loving the experience of Skyrim. While there were plenty of things she didn't understand, there was a lot more she did. She could kill people for money? Fight Dragons? There was so much she could do that Harley became...content after she left. She still caused plenty of trouble as she traveled around Gotham, but there was a notable decrease in crimes related to her and her... 'friends' who also played the games.

Dusting off her armor, that being the trusty heavy steel plate, she walked out from the abandoned wing of Solitude's Blue Palace and was met with her three companions.

Lydia, the thane she received for becoming the Thane of Whiterun.

Feandal of Riverwood, a loverbo-elf, who was competing with an imperial man for the hand of a local woman. Faendal ended up joining her after Helgen when she revealed the woman's behavior and that she was playing them both.

The last companion of hers was a brute of a woman named Uthegard the Unbroken, a woman who decided to follow Harley after she got her ass handed to her by the clown, losing 250 Septims from a bet in the process.

"I hope you are well, my thane," Lydia greeted, as annoyingly stiff as ever.

"Ha, as if anything in there could hope to be a match for her!" Uthgard commented boisterously.

"Does it matter?" Feandal asked, clearly not comfortable with his surroundings.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Harley waved them off.

That's when they noticed the staff in her hands.

"What is that?" Uthgard asked in disgust; not much of a fan of magic in general.

"It's a staff," Harley replied smugly, getting a glare from Uthgard.

Shaking her hand, she handed it  to Lydia, "Hold onto it for me, I got to go talk to the Bitch upstairs."

Not even bothering to see if any of them replied, she headed upstairs to the small throne room where a woman could be seen sitting down in a seat, soldiers, guards, and advisors around her. 

"Hey, got rid of your ghost problem. That'll be 500 Septims," Harley demanded without a care in the world.

"Truly?" One of the advisors asked, baffled.

"You take me for a liar? See for yourself. It's just a regular dusty couple of rooms now," Harley spoke dismissively.

The woman on the throne gestured to one of the advisors, who ordered a few Guards to follow him, disappearing down the stairs moments later.

"If your words are true, you have done us a great service, Dragonborn," The woman started, only to be interrupted by the annoyed Harley, "Keep your fancy sh-stuff, to yourself, your 'highness,' I am only interested in gold or something else of value."

Perhaps noticing but not commenting on Harley's near insult to the current 'High King' of Skyrim, one of the Advisors brought out a rather large pouch twinkling with the sound of Gold upon seeing the previous Advisor return and giving a nod.

Grabbing the pouch of Gold, Harley left before the politicians could say anymore.

Counting the gold she had in her head, Harley realized she should have enough now to fully furnish her home in Winterhold. It was surprisingly cheap, all things considered. It only took a dozen or so bounties, and she could afford to buy a house in Whiterun and a good portion of the furniture.

Meeting her companions, she said, "Alright, let's get a move on. What's next on the agenda?" 

"We need to retrieve the Horn of Jarl Windcaller for the greybeards," Lydia 'helpfully' informed Harley, making Harley groan.

"I can't believe those old froggies need me to grab a dusty old horn to prove myself, fucking stupid," Harley cursed in annoyance.

"It is tradition," Uthegar spoke up, making Harley wave her off, "Tradition? Who cares. You'd think the Old Men would do their damn jobs instead of throwing such useless tests at me; there are already dozens of Dragons flying across Skyrim; why not wait for a dozen more to show up?" Harley sarcastically asked.

"The traditions must be maintained," Uthegard stubbornly answered.

"Fine!" Harley gave up, "Let's go get that stupid horn."

Behind Harley, her exasperated followers couldn't help but shake their heads in exhaustion at their leader and the supposed 'savior' of Skyrim.

While Harley knew that this was a game, sometimes, it felt too real to be fake, and now she couldn't imagine her life without these 'games.'

Little did she know, these games were about to become much more real, but for now, she headed east with her little band of followers to the Nordic tomb that held a dusty old useless horn filled with Mages, Draugr, and worse of all, Skeevers.