Tributes to the Madgod, an elder scroll series fanfic

Tributes to the Madgod.

"Look, they're My worshippers! I can ask of them anything I please and they'll bend over backwards to provide it, you know that!" Sheogorath exclaimed.

"But some of these ingredients are rather… hard to obtain, my Lord." Haskill intoned. "And besides, Your predecessor was always happy enough with Lesser Soul Gems, Lettuces, and reels of Yarn as tributes. Why do You now wish for potions, the ingredients of which will require Your celebrants to face off against such things as Daedroths?"

"They don't have to face off against anything, that's what My Fighters Guild is for! And I don't just want potions. There must be art materials of some form, too!"

"Yes, my Lord, about those -"

"Look, just take that list to My shrine and get Ferul Ravel or one of the others to make copies for future supplicants. Quickly!"

"Yes, my Lord," Haskill said gravely as he faded from view.

A few minutes later, Haskill stood in the Throne Room once more. "I have done as You ordered, my Lord."

"Who did you give the list to?" asked Sheogorath.

"Ferul Ravel himself was there as always, my Lord. I gave the list and Your… request to him."

"Good! I always liked him. Not racist as so many Dunmer are, he and Falanu Hlaalu."

Haskill could understand this attitude. Even he'd had a hard time in disguising his surprise when he had first beheld the Argonian now seated on the throne before him, and he wasn't racist. Almost completely black with a red band across His eyes, except for His dark eyelids, as well as a red sheen all over His body, tail, and limbs wherever the light caught them, Sheogorath, formerly Walks-in-Shadows, had never been an archetypal dweller of the Black Marsh, and His appearance had been the subject of many whispered remarks and conversations even in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood, especially after Vicente Valtieri had kept his promise to pass on his 'Dark Gift' the night the umbric Argonian had started receiving His contracts from Ocheeva.

"My Lord, there are still some things of which I am unclear."

"Always with the questions, Haskill! Well, ask them quickly. Before I swallow your soul and vomit it into the Everfilling Chamberpot of the Ageless!"

Haskill almost reminded his sanguivorous ruler that that had been one of His predecessor's favourite sayings, but decided to simply get on with asking his questions in case his Lord was not just having one of His 'mad moments.'

"I have a number of questions, my Lord, the first being: exactly what type of potions require a majority of Daedric ingredients like Dremora Hearts, and some supernatural ingredients such as Glow Dust?"

"Potion of Chlorpromazine and Potion of Fluoxetine of course! And your next question?"

"My Lord, what are the art materials for?"

"They will be used in therapy that will help the potions work! It's no good just giving people potions, you know. You have to have something to complement them. Even I learned that much on My way to becoming Arch-Mage!"

"But what exactly is the purpose of these offerings, my Lord?"

"Once enough of them have been delivered to My realm, I intend to place all of the citizens of the Shivering Isles in asylums and cure them!"

"Cure them, my Lord?" For only the second time in his life, Haskill was surprised.

"Yes, cure them!"

"But why, my Lord, if I may ask? Are Your subjects not pleasing as they are?"

"Yes, yes, but so boring! Boring, boring, boring! I want some fun out of them before I'm dead of tedium!"

"But curing them will make them even more boring," Haskill pointed out.

Sheogorath snorted at his chamberlain's apparent stupidity. "Only if they stay sane!" he exclaimed. "I said I wanted them to be fun, and what will make them more fun than curing them, only to lead them back down the Golden Road!"

And for the first time since he had been created to serve the Daedric Prince of Madness, Haskill smiled.