Beyond the reach of mortal man, in a strange dimension of madness and twisted creatures, the God of Madness swung His hand down, lightning crackling around it, and blasted a small patch of table to dust. Haskill stood up shakily, ready to duck at the next sign of smiting.
"Surely, Master, you can think of a better use for Your godly and majestic powers than blasting a board game to pieces?" he asked wearily. Sheogorath eyed the smoking hole in the table suspiciously.
"I don't like it," He said. "The hotel on your street is worth more than the house on my street. Why does a hotel cost more than a house?"
"Truly it is a mystery of the universe, Sire."
Sheogorath was not put off that easily. "I didn't really want to stay at your hotel anyway. It was probably stinky and unclean in the first place. It was that stupid dice again. They always force Me to stay where I don't want to stay."
Haskill did not ever lose his temper. You did not get far in the realm of madness by losing your temper. Instead, he asked politely; "Well, Sire, what else is there to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon?"
Sheogorath raised a hand. The rain outside stopped, and the sun suddenly shone. Haskill looked outside approvingly.
"Well done, Sire! But it is still a Sunday afternoon, and-"
"Not anymore," replied Sheogorath. Outside, people begun to go to work as they would on a Tuesday afternoon. Haskill was worried. Sheogorath was getting bored, and bored Gods tended to have one main way of entertaining themselves; smiting unfortunate mortals. But Sheogorath had something else on His mind.
"What are the other Gods up to?" he asked. "Haven't seen Hircine in a while, now," and with that, he lit a small portal in the air, and looked into it thoughfully.