Reflections on Oblivion
The Third Age has ended. In fact, it ended years ago. At one point, it seemed the Empire would fragment and consume itself in ongoing warfare.
And yet, it remains standing, brought together by the sacrifice of Martin, the Last Septim. Awed by his actions, none dare to blaspheme against the Incarnation of Akatosh by ripping the Empire to pieces. The Champion of Cyrodil now sits on the throne on request by the Elder Council.
But there are whispers that even the Champion is only a puppet of someone of equal power.
So who?
Is it the Archmage of the Mage's Guild? Is it the Gray Fox of the Thieves Guild? The Listener of the Black Hand? The Guildmaster of the Fighter's Guild?
What about the Divine Crusader? The armored hero has been seen in the Imperial City.
And what of the popular Arena Grand Champion?
Fools that they are, that they cannot see what is in plain sight.
I've never tried to hide it.
They all hold the throne, as they are all the same person: me.
How can this be? How can I hold all seven – and somewhat conflicting – titles and still be seated on the throne by the Elder Council?
I can, for two reasons.
I am the most powerful being in the Empire. Only the Nerevarine of Morrowind comes close to me in power, and even then there is a large gap between us that makes me the stronger.
I have ascended to true immortality.
I hold one more title that only a few even bother to care about. Even fewer have the curiosity and insanity to find out.
I am the Prince of Madness.
I am Sheogorath.