"Dragonborn, was it? Or is Ysmir more appropriate?" Sheogorath picked at a raw slab of meat in front of him. Grigori sat across from him, a fair distance from the table and its 'meal.'

"Neither is my name," Grigori said.

"It's what you are," Sheogorath said. Even in the addled, insane mind of Pelagius the Mad, the Daedric Prince still stood out as something was wrong with the world, dwarfing Pelagius's madness by comparison. "There's a funny thing about history. It doesn't care who you are. Why, it hardly cares what you are either. What've you done, now there's the gleam in the pearl, if you know what I mean."

"My name is Grigori, in case you're wondering."

"Ah, fine, I'll take it," the Daedric Prince said, smiling a manic smile. "Along with your teeth, perhaps. My last necklace is getting a tad rotten. But maybe it adds to the aroma." He scratched at his white goatee, giving his mad thoughts serious consideration.

"So you obviously want something from me," Grigori said, turn away. The realm around him was changing constantly, but he could never remember what it looked like before. "What is it?"

Sheogorath frowned. "All business," he said. His tone turned accusatory in an instant. "And who said I wanted anything from you, huh? You think I'm so desperate for neckwear that you can tempt me with those pearly-whites? Consequently, I wouldn't say no, if you're offering."

"Every Daedra wants something from me."

"Eh, true." Sheogorath chuckled. "Though all I want from you is some, uhh, information. About you. Your aspirations, you know?"

Grigori sat back. He had to admit he was glad to learn that Sheogorath didn't know everything about him. One could never learn how much these beings truly knew or just how far their reach extended. "Meaning?"

"This little quest you're on. The World-Eater's coming, the return of Aka's children. I have to tell you, these Events are all strange," the Mad God said with a knowing smile. "Well I'm curious to see where this one goes. What I want to you about is…Do you really think you can come out of this unscathed?"

Grigori laughed. That was all? he thought. "I've already had my fair share of injuries," he said. "I'll get banged up, maybe worse by the end, but I'll live."

"Even scars fade, my dear, deluded dragon. No, my question is just a tad deeper, you see? Where do you see yourself after this is over? Sitting at home, chatting up your lovely dark-haired bride over soup?" Sheogorath grew serious. "People like us don't get those endings. When our Event is over, we are doomed to remain. Powerful, perhaps, but powerless all at once. I stood where you once stood, mortal. Now I stand here, greater and more powerful than I ever was, but I can do nothing to change what transpires now."

The hairs on the back of Grigori's neck stood on ends. This was more than a Prince having fun with mortal affairs. This was personal. "Who are you?"

"In life, they named me the Champion of Cyrodiil," Sheogorath said. "I stood against the Prince of Destruction and his servants as you now stand against the World-Eater and his draconic brethren. I was the Hero, just like you. And now I am more…and less. I predict a similar course awaits you, Dragonborn."

"This isn't a questioning, is it?" Grigori said. "This is a warning."

The crazed smile returned to the Mad God's face. "Why would I warn you? That hardly seems fair now, does it? Did I get a warning? What about that bloke in Morrowind, the Never-something? Nope, just got booted from history and turned into a god without so much as a peck on the check."

"Then why tell me all this?"

"Because," the Champion said, "whatever awaits you, be it godhood, an immortal life, or something incomprehensible even to me, know that you're not alone. No Hero is ever truly alone."