Chapter One:
They were returning from a hunting trip when they came across the pool. Sigyn was surprised she hadn't seen it before; she'd spent so long exploring the area around Whiterun that it felt like she knew every individual rock by name.
It was the familiar glow of a nirnroot that caught her attention. Hefting the brace of animal pelts that she and Lydia had collected, she made her way up and over to the pond. The plant stood with its roots in the shallow water. Sigyn smiled as she bent to harvest it. Ten, finally. The gods-cursed fetch quest for Ingun Black-Briar had been sitting on her to-do list for ages.
"Lydia, looks like we're headed for Rift–" The words died in her throat.
Protruding from the still surface of the water was a bare, skeletal hand, clutched loosely around the hilt of a silver sword.
"Well, isn't that something," Sigyn breathed, dusting her hands off and getting to her feet.
Lydia stopped beside her. It took the housecarl a second to notice what she was looking at, but when she did her eyes widened. "I've never seen anything quite like that," she said.
"What a horrible way to go." Dropping the pelts on the shore, Sigyn went to step into the pool. Lydia's hand flashed out and caught her arm.
"What if it's quicksand?" she hissed.
"Relax, Lydia, there's no quicksand in these parts." Sigyn waded out into the water and stopped in front of the sword. Bending down she saw it was a simple Elven blade, like the one she had at home. Worth a little bit if she talked to the right people.
She hesitated only momentarily before reaching for the sword.
She knew as soon as her hand closed around the hilt that it had been a mistake.
Blood roared in her ears as Lydia, the pool and the sky disappeared, and a cold purple fog completely obscured her vision. Her stomach twisted in that way it did when Daedra were nearby. She cursed her bad luck. Why was she physically incapable of walking down a road without something disastrous happening?
When the fog thinned, she saw she was now standing on a mound of earth in the centre of a churning yellow sea. As she watched, what looked like a cheese wheel floated past. Oh, no. Please no.
"My word! I thought you'd never arrive! Naughty minion."
Sigyn turned on her heel, ready to scream in frustration. Sheogorath was seated on a throne supported by what appeared to be four undead scamps. He had one leg thrown over the armrest and an unnerving grin plastered across his face.
"What in Oblivion do you want?"
The Madgod cackled. "Oh, my dear, it's not what I want in Oblivion that concerns us today, yesterday, whatever day it is in your little world. If it was I wouldn't be here, or you wouldn't be there. Either way."
Sigyn leant on the Elven sword and glared at the god. Sheogorath wasn't exactly high on her list of favourite people, not after the last time. Plus there was the fact that only a fifth of the sentences that came out of his mouth made sense. Sigyn was all for hiding what you meant behind fancy words (she often made a living from it), but there was a line between profitability and gibberish, and Sheogorath had made it clear which side of the line he was on.
"Just tell me what you want, and I'll go get it," she sighed.
Sheogorath raised his eyebrows. "Well, that was easier than I expected. I find you little mortals usually kick up such a fuss when you're asked to do something. That's just rude, really, don't you think? I should teach you all a lesson one day. Something involving intestines."
"Yes, well, I've gotten used to running errands," Sigyn muttered. She inspected her nails casually. "And there's usually some kind of reward."
The Madgod laughed again, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "My dear, I feel that in this case your life is as suitable a reward as any."
An involuntary shiver ran up Sigyn's spine. So, it was going to be one of those quests. That's the way it tended to be with Daedric Princes. "Fair enough. Alright, what do you need?"
Sheogorath settled deeper into his throne, absently petting one of the scamps. "I seem to have misplaced something of mine. Well, I suppose it could have misplaced itself, in which case it wouldn't be any of my fault. The point is, it's no longer with me, and I don't like that at all."
"What exactly is it?"
"A hand sheathe."
Sigyn frowned. "A glove."
"A magical glove!" the god said indignantly. "It's got more power in its little finger than you do in your whole body! Literally!"
"Where exactly is it?"
"Really, you think I'd be here if I knew where it was?" Sheogorath asked contemptuously. When Sigyn scowled at him, he shrugged and grinned. "Alright, you've got me there. But I don't. I know that it's somewhere in Skyrim–"
"Oh, excellent."
" –probably in the mountains–"
"Fantastic."
"–and I'm almost 100% sure it went South–"
"Wonderful."
"–but apart from that I'm afraid you're on your own, my little mortal minion. Oh, don't look so glum, old chum! Someone's bound to have found it by now, and it's hard to keep my artefacts a secret for long. I'm sure someone will let the cat out of the bag soon. If it's still alive. The cat, that is."
Sigyn straightened, still glowering. She could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. "Is there anything else?" she inquired tersely.
The god's face lit up.
Sigyn held up a hand. "Actually, you know what? I've actually got enough on my plate at the moment."
"Oh," Sheogorath said, sounding disappointed. "I guess there's always next time. You'd like to be on your way now, I suppose?"
He snapped his fingers, and the ground disappeared from under Sigyn's feet.