This is my first Elder Scrolls fan fiction - and I am truly excited to share this story with the fanfiction community. This story has lingered in the back of my mind for about four months now, and I'm thrilled to have finally put it together. I'm writing this story in a different format - very different from stories I have written before. I've decided to combine a first person and third person viewpoint. I would like it to be clear to my readers that the Champion of Cyrodil has now taken the throne in place of Lord Sheogorath. This story is based off the Shivering Isles expansion - and set in the time period established after the fall of Lord Dagon. I decided to give a brief introduction of the "author" of the following story to give the reader a general idea of who reigns over the isles and the setting/time period. I will insert into the chapter following this prologue/introduction brief notes from the "author", Elrohir, who finds a fascination among various documents he found during his first three years as Lord of the Isles. These notes will always be in italics. And any notes from me (the real author) will always be in bold (note that I am underlining 'bold' now because this text is already bold). Otherwise, the story will be written without any fancy change to the text and written as it if it were intended to be a book.
Also! A quick disclaimer - I do not, have never, nor intend to own any Elder Scrolls game, character, story line, etc. These all belong to Bethesda. I did create Elrohir, but the idea of Elrohir and anything he did follows the story line/ideas created by Bethesda. Not me. Bethesda. Just so were clear. Now please, do enjoy!

Upon assuming a respected role, one would re-evaluate themselves to fit the criteria of those respecting them. I, for one, would not take a leader seriously if he did not take himself seriously. Those placed in charge of something always depict themselves a certain way to others. While every leader is different, every leader shares a variety of traits that grants them the title, "Leader". I once considered a leader to be charismatic, full of wisdom, and willing to provide and aid his followers. I would follow a man who could bring together a mass of ordinary people through the spoken word. True inspiration can be spoken in simple sentences; as long as the speaker knows how to form them correctly and peak the listener's interest. My idea of a leader shifted from one who simply walked a devout group through life to one who devoted themselves to the group that they intended to lead, granting their followers a system based on working together as a whole to build into whatever it was that the leader intended to lead. A leader, in my mind, works with his followers to create something worth leading. Not precisely equality but a general fairness. Looking back, I can hardly remember a leader I considered "fair". I was born and raised to respect the nine and follow their lead into a divine and healthy existence. I was never on good terms with the nine, though, for I never understood their purpose. Nine Gods intended to guide man through life, setting an example for man to be "good" and "gracious" to one another. Punishment will follow the wicked, but the wicked can be forgiven.

Forgiveness is a difficult concept to grasp. For me, at least. My mother was devout to the nine until her dying breath, believing that even the worst of mankind could be accepted into the heavens to live among our spiritual ancestors. She hardly accepted any idea of superstition. Ghosts, ghouls, or zombies were out of the question as far as my mother was concerned. She never believed in the damned, only in the saved. Her thoughts and feelings regarding thus are ultimately a result of my father's premature death. Or at least, that's the situation I've always related my mother's devout faith to. Being a merchant, my father traveled often. He made good money and always found a way to provide enough for my mother and I to live in a decent house deep within the walls of Bruma. I was never grateful for this house. Not until I lost it, that is. I'm of Bosmer decent. Therefore, I am not keen to cold areas. Though they are not unbearable; for I am of a Nordic background, as well. My mother was a feeble Bosmer female, red haired and tan skinned. Her health was quick to fail though her heart was strong and steady. She would love with all of her being; I often reflect and wonder if that was what took away from her physical health. In fact, this wasn't the only oddity about my mother. The other was her interest in my father, who was a strong Nordic male with horrible manners and no discretion.
I was a direct result of this odd pair. Others viewed me as interesting while some saw me as an annoyance. Either way, growing up I was a tall, pale, slender Bosmer with a potentially embarrassing background and a thirst for knowledge.
My father pushed education with my mother, who only felt it necessary that I learned my basics and built from my talents. It was easy for my mother to raise me her way because of my father's absence. In fact, I often contribute a majority of my naivety to my mother's stubbornness in pushing self interest regarding talents and skills. I also believe that after my father's death, she just stopped caring altogether in worrying herself with raising a child to society's standards and instead busied herself with praying to the nine everyday in hopes that my father's soul was accepted among the heavens. This act of "devout faith" contributed in pushing my education quite a bit far back.

My father died of natural causes, funny enough. One would think that a traveling merchant would have died a rather eventful death. Whether it was being ambushed by bandits or attacked by a wild animal. My father died in the dark back bedroom of the Drunken Dragon Inn in Blackwood. He was selling a strong Mead and was down on sales that week. The Surilie Company had just gained popularity and begun manufacturing wine in the southern areas of Cyrodil. These fine wines had reached as far as Blackwood forest and gained popularity among the Count and Countess of Leyawiin. Being the man my father was, he thought irrationally as far as Mead sales went. In an attempt to bargain a trade with the owner of the Drunken Dragon Inn, my father managed to drink eleven bottles of said Mead and died of alcohol poisoning. The innkeeper disposed of my father in what way he figured best- by tying a good sized rock to my father's ankle and tossing him into a nearby body of water. We were informed by a quick written note of his passing three days afterward.

To this day I will never know which body of water holds my father's skeleton; though I'd most likely be better off not knowing. Instead, I remember him as the man he was before his passing; drunk yet intelligible. His death destroyed my mother. Day after day she gazed out the front window of our tiny house in Bruma, awaiting his return, but knowing that he was never coming back. After two months of no support from my father's travels; we lost our home and were forced to relocate to the Great Chapel of Talos. In this chapel, my mother discovered her newfound faith and forced it upon me until her unexpected death. Yes, I was orphaned. I was orphaned as a teenager. I never quite expected for my mother's strong light to burn out... but now it is quite understandable. We were poor, miserable, cold, and lacked the company of our sole provider and protector. We lived in poverty. And while my mother prayed to the nine every day to save our souls; she was slowly withering away. Potions were out of the question. Even the small errands I ran for townsfolk couldn't provide a cure to her sickness. She died in her sleep. A peaceful, yet bone chilling death. She was buried in an unmarked grave outside the chapel. I visit this site often now, placing forget-me-nots on the small patch of Nirn that belongs to my mother. And though I do not believe in the nine, nor believe that they are the ideal leaders that should influence the residents of Cyrodil- I do believe that my mother and father are much happier now that they are reunited among the heavens. This thought carries me through my life with some shred of contempt. It does indeed provide a better understanding as to why the nine are worshipped so passionately. I, however, took another path of worship. One practiced by few and frowned upon by many. Daedra worship.

To this day I recall a life of crime following the death of my parents. My first thievery. My first murder in the name of "sacrifice". The lies I've told and the friends I've betrayed. All, now, completely irrelevant. I have seen many things over the course of twenty four years. I've seen the inside of a prison cell as well as a hidden passageway that granted me prison break. I've watched the great Emperor Uriel Septim fall before my very eyes, as well as hold the Amulet of Kings and obtain responsibility of restoring the empire. I have climbed the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood and reached a high ranking position among the Black Hand, as well as unmask the Grey Fox and obscure his identity as my own. I have done and seen many things. Though they are all now memories. Figments of the past that guided me to be the man I am today. Through this chain of events I've never considered myself a "leader", though I've never considered myself a "follower" either. Daedra worship is a fascination of mine though I never took to worshipping a Daedric Prince. Instead, I sought to become one. Through an uncanny circumstance, granted. I still sought the idea of becoming a Daedric prince. One capable of obscuring a realm reflecting my personal intentions. I achieved this goal- and now sit upon the throne of the Shivering Isles, where Jyggalag once sat masked as the Lord Sheogorath. I now assume that title. I am the Madgod, decorated by my realm of nonsense. I was once called by another name... but that name is irrelevant. As is my past.

I pen this story now, not to tell you of who I am or the places I've been or the things I've seen. I target the people I've encountered as a "leader". My studies of those who "lead" still continue as I assume the role of a "leader" presently. And as the Madgod I've encountered many who devote their lives to the teachings of Sheogorath and enjoy the company of this whimsical realm. I enjoy my followers and intend to outstretch my hand in joining them to create a more stabilized nonsense. One built from cooperation. I now have an obsession with function. I wish to reach those who cannot be reached. I have very few who value my teachings. In fact, I value those who value my leadership more than they would ever understand. This story is about a follower. A courtship, actually. The former Lord Sheogorath picked up a stray among the living in Cyrodil and brought her into his world. Here he taught her acceptance and assigned her a role to fit the reasons behind her rejection in the sensible world and through her freedom to practice her beliefs; she discovered a love for the Madgod that burned as passionately as a million torches. I've discovered diaries written by this former lord, some dedicated only to this courtship. Among these diaries I've unleashed a passionate tragedy involving five residents of the isles; all bearing a similar passion toward one another. Whether it be requited or unrequited. I've come across many documents spread across the isles upon taking the former lord's place. None of which were quite as interesting as these. I have counted at least twelve; combined they tell the tale of a love story shared among five people of some notable status. I found these journal entries quite entertaining... and decided that I would combine the twelve documents into a singular story of passion, tragedy, drama, and death. After many rough copies and drafts, I finally perfected a tragic love story. The content of this tale may be lengthy. It contains mature content, fit to engage one who is absolutely sure that they can handle such a tale. So please, by all means, flip the page and begin reading. While your eyes scan my glorious text shedding light on the dark past of the Shivering Isles, I will conduct a search. This search's sole intent and purpose is to track down the authors of said documents and possibly interview, and or extract further documentation to write a sequal. While I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I will have little luck in finding these people; I will now thank them for writing such fascinating journal entries that sparked my sudden interest in their lives. I hope that my readers are just as engaged with the story as I was with the primary sources; and takes a lesson away from my writing.

A quick disclaimer- I do not own, nor any knowledge of the whereabouts of any further documents associated with the following authors: Relmyna Verenim, Nanette Don, Syl, Thadon, and Lord Sheogorath (formerly/now known as Jyggalag). I did not write or own any work associated with this stories; I only organized the documents into a story based on the content of the documents.
Now, please, proceed to the next page and dive deep into the recesses of the new Lord Sheogorath's vivid imagination.

Signed,
Elrohir Telrúnya II (The Lord Sheogorath)

Thank you for reading! If you'd like, go ahead and review the story. I always welcome constructive criticism. The first chapter should be done by the 19th of February. If not, a reason will be posted in my bio.