Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls franchise, Bethesda does.
Author's Note: Alright readers, I don't really have anything to say this time around, so I guess you guys get to jump right into it. And like always: constructive criticism = all ears, just hating = tell it to someone who cares.
Update: I just went back and changed some things and added some things in some places because I wasn't nearly as happy with this when I read back through it as I was with my other stories when I read back through them.
Guest: Thanks for the compliment. I had a feeling this story would be different from most so far as Elder Scrolls stories go, but it's still great to hear it. Different is good after all. Always better when you're not just reading the same old thing, right?
TigerCat: You have no idea how much I loved reading your review. It's always great to find someone who's just as into the lore as I am. And you also raised some interesting points that I personally hadn't even thought of.
Lord Mortem: Don't worry. No story I write is going to go unfinished. It might take me a good long while to finish them, but I'm not going to stop writing them until they're finished.
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Chapter 1: A Splendid Performance
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"Just because something isn't a lie doesn't mean that it isn't deceptive. A liar knows that he is a liar, but one who speaks mere portions of truth in order to deceive is a craftsman of destruction." - Criss Jami
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A green-scaled dragon, massive in size and generally serpentine in shape, four legs curled underneath it and a pair of enormous wings unfurled from it's back, glided over the molten seas and stony islands of the Deadlands, the largest of the Planes of Oblivion controlled by Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction, Revolution, Energy, Change, and Ambition. Each of the islands was dotted with various stone structures of all shapes and sizes, though there were some similarities; each was decorated with countless spikes, each of which varied in size and general shape, and yet were somehow symmetrical. On some islands, the towers were independent of the other structures, but on others, the tall spires were connected via thin bridges. As the dragon soared through the stormy sky, unmindful of the constant flashes and cracks of lightning and thunder, it looked down upon these waists, watching as countless tiny shapes milled about on the islands, though these shapes were concentrated in greatest numbers atop the tallest spire on each island.
The great beast continued to watch the activities of the islands' inhabitants as it glided over the desolate wastes for a time, flapping its wings on the occasion that it began to lose altitude. After a good long while, it finally lifted it's eyes to gaze in the direction it was flying, as it approached a much different structure. The largest island the dragon had seen since entering the Deadlands came into view. It was of a very peculiar shape: a massive throne, perhaps carved out of a mountain that may once have jutted up from the sea of magma in place of an isle. On the throne's sloping sides were built many towers of varying heights, bridges either slanted or flat connecting each of them to all the other towers, while some of the taller spires, or the ones higher up on the sides of the throne, were connected to the it's back via similar bridges, which the dragon could only assume lead into tunnels built through the back of the enormous chair.
But it was the being seated atop it that truly held the dragon's attention. Similar in size to the great green-scaled beast, Mehrunes Dagon held his preferred form: a massively tall, four-armed man with red skin and glowing red markings adorning his almost-entirely-bare body. His head was bald, with four horns atop the resultant dome, pointed ears pierced with dark gray, metal rings, with the canines on his lower jaw jutting up from within his mouth, too large to be contained by it. His fingers and toes ended in sharp, blood-red claws. Resting at the base of his throne was a massive, double-bladed axe, and fixed to the wrist of his lower left arm was a dark gray bracer with three long, metal blades attached to it, and extending out over his fist.
As the dragon came closer, the massive Dremora took notice of it, signaling with a swipe of one hand for the tiny figures moving atop four of the towers in front of him to stand clear. The serpentine dragon reached forward with each of it's four legs as it drew nearer, and grabbed onto the now-cleared tops of the towers with one set of claws each, folding it's wings against it's back as it came to a rest, looking Mehrunes Dagon in the eye. The two gargantuan beings regarded each other silently for several minutes, each of them waiting for, or rather daring, the other to speak first. After a few further moments of silence, Mehrunes Dagon opened his mouth to do so, the long silence having clearly irritated him, only for the dragon to cut him off, seemingly speaking telepathically.
"I know exactly what it is that you are planning, Dagon, and that is why I am here. As the Prince of Natural Order, I think it fitting that I stop you before you can even begin, no?" the dragon's voice was sleek and silky, but neither deep nor high in pitch. It was a voice so smooth it could have been a stone worn down by the river current over not years, but entire centuries. Perhaps even millennia. Mehrunes Dagon, however, did not appear to take kindly to the dragon's accusation, or even to know what it was speaking of. However, rather than ask the dragon of what it spoke, he instead elected to respond with anger.
"You come to my Plane and not only accuse me of some unknown crime, but threaten me as well, Taskmaster?!" Mehrunes Dagon questioned angrily. His voice was, in comparison to that of the dragon, deep and gravelly. The massive, four-armed Dremora began to rise from his throne, but the Taskmaster cut him off once again.
"You sound surprised at my words Dagon. Are you telling me that you are not planning yet another invasion of Mundus?" the dragon asked, his voice quizzical, as though he was truly expecting the Prince of Destruction to have a much different reaction than he had. The oversized humanoid Daedra, his irritation ebbing to make way for his now-piqued curiosity, settled himself back in his throne.
"No Peryite. I have no plans to launch another invasion of the mortal plane, even if such a thing were possible, at the present time. And I am curious to know from where you attained that notion." Dagon questioned. Peryite shrugged, or at least so much as a dragon could.
"I have heard whispers. You know how Mephala and Boethia like to talk." Peryite answered simply. Dagon's eyes narrowed, but the Prince of Pestilence continued before he could begin cursing their fellow Princes. "And I figured that these rumors must be true. After all, Dagon, you were intelligent enough to eliminate all known heirs to the Septim bloodline before you launched your last invasion. I merely thought that you must be intelligent enough to use the current strife in the mortal plane to your advantage. But it seems that Mephala and Boethia were incorrect. As was I." Peryite finished, before letting out a sigh, as though he was disappointed in the Prince sitting before him. Or maybe it was that he had been looking forward to putting Mehrunes Dagon in his place for daring to upset the natural order of things. "I suppose I shall return to The Pits, then. Good day, Dagon." Peryite unfurled his wings and gathered himself as though to take to the skies once again, but he was stopped by a hurried exclamation from his fellow Prince.
"What strife?!"
Peryite froze in his movements, staring at the Prince of Destruction quizzically, before folding his wings back into place once more and settling himself back onto his perches. "I'm quite surprised that you haven't heard, Dagon. Not only is there a civil war on at the moment, but the dragons have returned to Nirn. There is chaos in Mundus. One would think that such chaos could most-certainly be used to the advantage of, say, an ambitious Prince of Destruction hell-bent on conquering the mortal plane for himself?" Peryite explained, Dagon's eyes growing wider and seeming to sparkle with a greedy light the more the Prince of Tasks spoke.
"And I can only assume that, what with you telling me all of this, you know some way for me to send my forces to Mundus, even with the bridge sealed?" Dagon asked, not at all attempting to hide his intentions. Peryite cocked his head in thought for a moment before answering the question.
"Well, there are many bridges between the mortal plane and those of the Daedra. Only the largest of them was sealed upon the destruction of the Amulet of Kings. Of course, the others are more secret, but there are easily enough found for those determined to do so." Peryite explained. Dagon's face morphed into an unpleasant frown for a moment, as though he was dissatisfied with Peryite's answer. However, the dragon merely looked at him, unperturbed. "I could very well have not answered your question at all, Dagon. I hope you will consider that." the dragon said, causing Dagon's frown to deepen momentarily, before he seemed to shrug it off.
"Is there anything else, Peryite?" Dagon asked, barely hiding his infamous impatience as his grin practically threatened to split his face. The green dragon lifted his head and looked off into the distance, as though he was thinking, making Dagon grow more and more impatient the longer Peryite 'gathered his thoughts'. Then, the Prince of Natural Order looked back at Dagon, a seeming look of realization adorning his reptilian features.
"There was one other thing. I have heard tell from some of my worshippers that a Dragonborn has emerged from obscurity, though I am uncertain if they are of the Septim bloodline. Hermaeus might know for certain, though. Perhaps you could ask him. " Peryite suggested, waiting patiently for Dagon's response. When Dagon said nothing, only grinned to himself while looking off into the distance, the cogs clearly turning in his head, Peryite gave his best shrug as he unfurled his wings and gathered himself to take off once more. "Food for thought, if nothing else." he said in parting as he lifted into the air and turned about, heading back in the direction he had come. A gate opened before him, and then the Taskmaster was gone from the Deadlands, and it seemed as though all the lesser Daedra within Mehrunes Dagon's Plane let out a collective breath they hadn't known they were holding.
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Just as he had with the Deadlands, Peryite looked down on the scenery as he flew through the skies of Coldharbour, which was far more to his tastes than the Plane of Mehrunes Dagon. Firstly, it actually looked somewhat hospitable compared to the Deadlands. The air felt like flying through a blizzard, though there was no snow. The sky was ablaze with fire and the ground was mushy, shifting sludge. But still more hospitable than the Deadlands. But the truth of his preference lie in Molag Bal's domain: dominance. That was a domain that spoke to Peryite's little black heart. The Prince of Tasks found it both ironic and humorous, however, that Coldharbour so closely resembled the mortal plane, only entirely destroyed, as though Molag Bal himself had conquered and enslaved Mundus itself. The irony was in Molag Bal's ambition to have this twisted dream of domination become reality, yet not actually taking any steps to that end. The humor was in Molag Bal's one and only attempt ending in failure.
Peryite gazed passively down at the lesser Daedra that served Molag Bal as they went this way and that throughout the twisted reflection of the true Nirn, doing as their Lord bid them. If he were truthful, he found even this ironic. He was viewed, and actually was, one of the weakest of the Daedric Princes. Yet, without him, the other Princes would not have their lesser servants, save for those mortals that chose to worship them, for it was Peryite's duty to organize the hierarchy of the lesser Daedra. Without him, the Planes of Oblivion would be thrown into absolute chaos. Or rather, a greater degree of absolute chaos than they were already. Without Peryite, the lesser Daedra would fight amongst themselves to decide the hierarchy, and that would leave his fellow Princes devoid of their Daedric servants. The dragon chuckled to himself. "There's a thought." he muttered to himself.
The Prince of Pestilence continued his quiet musings as he crossed the broken borders of this twisted reflection, until finally, the Prince of Domination came into view his tall, twisted, bone-thin visage standing at it's full height. His legs were digitigrade, his feet more like four-directional paws, with a toe and claw sticking out to each side, front, left, right, behind. His fingers, long and thin like talons, his head bearing a large curved horn on either side, his mouth filled with crooked fangs. This, his preferred form, was specifically designed to inspire terror in the minds of mortals and lesser Daedra alike. But Peryite was a different story. The other Princes, Peryite included, were not, and never had been, so easily impressed. And if it were a matter of power, well. Let us merely say that Peryite was not concerned with the difference between his power and that of any of the other Princes. After all, sometimes, raw power was not required, but rather, a lighter touch.
Molag Bal was different from Mehrunes Dagon, however. He had no throne surrounded by a sea of lava, his lesser servants milling and buzzing about around him, like the worker bees of a massive hive, protecting their queen. Rather, he perched himself atop perhaps the tallest, or at least one of the tallest, structures within both the mortal plane and his own. The cracked, nearly-shattered husk of the Imperial City's White-Gold Tower rose above all other artificial structures in sight, and atop it stood the Prince of Rage himself. Unfortunately for Molag Bal, Peryite saw through him rather easily. If the Taskmaster were to venture a guess, he would say that Molag Bal had chosen to wait for Peryite atop the White-Gold Tower for very specific reasons. It was a very simple, yet admittedly subtle, means of telling Peryite that he was inferior to the Lord of Brutallity. There were no perches nearby that could even rival the Tower in height, which meant that if Peryite wished to stand, while they spoke, he would have to look up at his fellow Prince. Or, if he refused to so easily and apparently submit, he would have to hover in the air, constantly flapping his wings. Either way, the message was clear. 'So long as you are in my Plane, at least, you are infinitely inferior to myself.'
And so it was that Peryite decided not to take either option. Rather, as he got closer to the Tower, the Prince of Tasks reached towards the massive spire with the claws on all four feet, and gripped it tightly up near where it ended and where Molag Bal stood. Then, he curled his tail around the lower portion of the tower many times and gripped it just as tightly with his claws, his wings wrapping around the structure and doing the same as his long, serpentine neck snaked and stretched upwards until he was face to face with the God of Schemes. "Good day, Bal." Peryite said by way of greeting.
"Hello, Peryite. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?" Molag Bal asked, smiling welcomingly. Peryite might have actually laughed at that. They had known each other far too long for Peryite to be fooled into believing that Molag Bal was ever welcoming, especially when he was hiding his irritation at the message presented by Peryite's chosen perch; 'You are my equal. No more, no less'. But Molag Bal was clever. Far more clever than Mehrunes Dagon, at the very least. However, he was just as greedy and ambitious as the Prince of Destruction.
"Oh, I was merely wondering if you had heard." Peryite said as casually as though he was speaking of the weather. Which was rather ironic. The Princes never spoke of the weather in casual conversation. Rather, they spoke most casually about each of their most recent meddlings with the mortal plane. For Peryite, that usually boiled down to how many people, or even animals, his most recent plague had killed. For Molag Bal, it usually amounted to speaking of his most recent conquest, whether that conquest be of a nation, of a mortal's mind, or even sometimes of a mortal's body. It wasn't all that difficult for one to imagine what Mehrunes Dagon spoke of in casual conversation.
Molag Bal raised a single brow, or at least what amounted to brows on his demonic face, though his eyes sparkled with intense curiosity, as he replied. "Heard what, Taskmaster?" he inquired. Peryite raised his own brow in surprise, mock as it was.
"Why, that Dagon is planning another invasion of the mortal plane, of course. I would have thought all the other Princes would have heard by now, what with the way the little ones down there gossip." the Prince of Pestilence said, the surprise on his face carrying over to his tone, as he nodded downwards, indicating the lesser Daedra. Molag Bal laughed.
"And just how does Dagon plan to do that? The bridge between Oblivion and Mundus was permanently sealed after his last invasion failed." Peryite merely rolled his eyes at this.
"You know very well, King of Rape, that there are ways around that particular detail. There are lesser Daedra on Mundus as we speak. And it would not be so difficult for a particularly devout follower to acquire a magical artifact with enough power to create a tear. Especially if said artifact were granted by the Prince who sought to invade. And with everything going on in the mortal plane at the moment, Dagon could easily amass his forces in secret, even if he weren't to lead the charge, which we both know he will. Or try to, at the very least." Peryite said, theorizing on how he thought Dagon's plans would go. But the spark of interest, and of thought, that entered Molag Bal's eyes did not go unnoticed by the Taskmaster.
"And then of course," he continued, "If Dagon were intelligent enough, or at least determined enough, he could even make it easier on himself." Peryite thought out loud. Had he not been holding onto the Tower, he would have tapped his chin in thought.
"How so?" Bal questioned, seeming to Peryite as though he was trying very hard to keep his obviously intense interest out of his voice.
"Well, say Dagon were to take the route he did the last time he invaded, and use his mortal servants before fielding the lesser Daedra. Only this time, he sent them in search of an artifact that could alter the flow the time, or even alter previous events. If he or any of his servants had enough magical knowledge, they could use said artifact to go back in time to Dagon's last invasion, or even further back in time to before it began. They could then acquire the amulet granted to the Septim bloodline by Akatosh, and return back to the present time, with the amulet in tow." Peryite explained further, his tone thoughtful. Molag Bal, however, seemed almost ecstatic.
"I take it that you mean the Amulet of Kings?" he asked, though he knew as well as Peryite of what the Taskmaster spoke. The draconic Prince merely nodded the affirmative, and Molag Bal proceeded to continue his line of thought. "And with the Dragonfires no longer lit, and the mortals thinking nothing of it after all the time that has passed, the bridge between the mortal plane and our own would be unsealed." Bal murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully, before he shrugged. "It's too bad Dagon isn't nearly intelligent enough to think of all that, no?" Peryite nodded.
"Indeed it is." Peryite then proceeded to unwind his tail from the Tower and let go of the structure, flapping his wings as he turned about and set off once again, towards another portal that was currently tearing the air of Coldharbour. "At least now you have some food for thought, no?" the Taskmaster asked as he retreated into the portal, only barely catching Molag Bal's final words before the tear closed.
"Indeed it is, Peryite. Indeed it is."
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Peryite stood on the rim of one of the many, exceptionally deep pits that not only comprised the entirety of his Plane, but also for which it was named. He looked down upon the never-ending proceedings of The Pits, as the lesser Daedra were born, then processed, evaluated and sorted by his own servants. Each newly-born Daedra had their mentality and physical capabilities assessed, and based upon the results, were assigned to the bottom rung of the ladder that was the hierarchy of lesser Daedra serving whichever Prince most suited the newborns' personality and abilities. With some bias in regard to the species of Daedra, of course. For example, Daedroths most often found themselves in the service of Molag Bal, while Dremora were most attuned to Mehrunes Dagon. But the lesser Daedra's compatibility with a specific Prince's domains was still the deciding factor as to which the newborn would serve.
Peryite's head cocked ever-so-slightly to one side as he felt the presence of one of his fellow Prince's enter The Pits. "Hmmm." he hummed to himself. It wasn't often that the other Prince's deigned to grace him with their presence. "Hmph." he snorted at the thought. As though he could actually feel graced by the presence of any of them. He highly doubted they felt that way when he found himself in their presence. Of course, none of that mattered here. For within a Daedric Prince's domain, there was not a single being that could rival him or her. All were inferior to the Prince within whose Plane they found themselves. And so Peryite was just as unconcerned with this unexpected visit as Dagon and Bal had been with his.
The great green dragon continued to look down upon this particular pit's activities, occasionally calling out to one of his servants on the rare occasion that something went wrong, or a mistake was made. As you can imagine, such things did not occur often, for only Peryite's highest ranked servants, and thus those whom had been in his service the longest, were allowed the task of processing, evaluating, and sorting the newborn Daedra. They knew their tasks almost by instinct, but on occasion one of the more-recently promoted would make a mistake, or get something wrong. Peryite wasn't particularly concerned with this, however. His appointed Overseers would be certain to... correct, any such mistake. And the Daedra that made it would soon take the lesson to heart: they should not make mistakes while in the Taskmaster's service.
It seemed like an eternity before Peryite's uninvited guest actually arrived to speak with him. Of course, an eternity didn't actually pass. Peryite would have known if it had, what with as long as he'd been around for. But regardless, Peryite didn't even bother to turn around when he felt his fellow Prince come to a stop. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Mephala?" he asked distractedly, watching a particularly bad mistake unfold within the pit. He raised a single wing, signaling to Mephala to wait a moment. He didn't wait for the ever-patient nod that came before he called down into the pit, to one of his Overseers. "Nostinal!"
He waited until the Dremora, a tall, pale-skinned female with a pair of large, curved horns atop her head, turned to look up at him. He said nothing in response to her questioning look. He merely gestured with his head in the direction of the sorter who had just placed a Xivilai of particular intelligence in line with Mehrunes Dagon's newest servants. Suffice to say, Peryite thought it ridiculous he had to tell any of his servants that Daedra with any level of intelligence higher than 'newborn skeever' did not belong in the service of Mehrunes Dagon. Nostinal turned her gaze in the direction that Peryite had indicated before looking back up at her master and nodding that she understood. Still, the Taskmaster waited until Nostinal began moving in the direction of the problem before he turned to face his fellow Prince.
"Now, what is it that you need, Mephala?" Peryite asked as he watched the Webspinner carefully. Mephala, with an upper body that resembled a human woman save for the extra pair of arms, and a lower body that was entirely that of a massive spider, though hidden by the black, web-like dress she wore, looked every bit the weaver of a very tangled web.
"That was a truly masterful performance, Peryite. Worthy of myself, I dare say." the Queen of the Eight Shadows of Murder said casually, her voice as smooth as spider's silk.
'A fitting analogy,' thought Peryite as he answered her, his voice the absolute definition of innocence, "Whatever do you mean, Mephala?"
The Webspinner gave a dark chuckle. "My apologies, Taskmaster. I was rather vague, wasn't I?"
"Indeed."
"Then allow me to elaborate," she began, "Planting the seeds of ambition in the minds of Mehrunes and Molag. That was a truly magnificent performance, greater than perhaps any I have seen delivered by one other than myself." Peryite only laughed at this. "Why do you laugh my compliments away, Peryite? Truly, you wound me."
"Ah, but I do not laugh them away, Mephala. I laugh at the notion that Dagon or Bal need someone else to place their own ambitions at the forefront of their minds. Dagon is the Prince of Ambition, after all." Another chuckle from the Spider.
"It would seem that I have misspoken yet again. Allow me to be as clear as is possible." There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere, in the tone of the conversation. "I do not yet know specifically what it is you are planning-"
"Dear Mephala," Peryite interrupted her, looking her dead in the eye, "You cannot even begin to guess at the true depths of my plans. None of you can."
Mephala's eyes narrowed at this. "So, my assumption was correct. You had every intention of planting the idea of opening the bridge between Mundus and Oblivion in Molag Bal's brain. Just as you had every intention of convincing Mehrunes Dagon to attempt another invasion." she accused. Peryite did not falter, however.
"Oh Mephala. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you, of all our brethren, would see through my little persuasions. But you have miscalculated." Mephala's eyes only narrowed further at this.
"In what way?" she asked.
Peryite didn't answer her, however. Instead, he continued his thought.
"You really shouldn't have come here. Now you've made it far too easy." Peryite said, practically whispering. And as soon as the last word left his mind, he lashed out before Mephala could react, rearing up onto his hind legs and pushing his fellow Prince backwards with his front legs. Mephala, not expecting the move, toppled backwards, all of her limbs scrambling to find purchase somewhere as she fell into one of the pits that dotted Peryite's domain. But unfortunately for her, she had fallen into the pit that had been specifically prepared for her arrival. And thus, it was over. As soon as Mephala hit the bottom, Peryite's servants swarmed her, beginning to bind her before she could even attempt to get back up. Peryite stepped closer to the edge in order to watch as his servants within bound Mephala, and as his servants outside of the pit began their assigned task.
Peryite looked down upon his fellow Prince as she struggled to get free, the lesser Daedra in turn having a particularly difficult time holding her down. The Prince of Pestilence took in how quickly his servants outside the pit were building the top of Mephala's new cage, decided that she would be free before they were even half finished, and elected to intervene. The draconic Prince lashed downwards with his tail, unperturbed by his fellow Prince's screams of pain when the bladed end of the appendage pierced Mephala's stomach and held her to the ground. With a simple gesture of his head, Peryite ordered the lesser Daedra within the pit to aid their brethren in finishing the cage's construction, before turning his attention back to Mephala.
"I thought you were smarter, Mephala. You are supposed to be one of the more clever out of all of us, save perhaps for Boethia. If you had your suspicions, you should have been more cautious. Especially so, once you entered my realm." Peryite said to the Webspinner as she struggled in vain against him.
"You should not boast, Peryite!" Mephala spat, hatred now evident in her tone. "I will free myself in due time." Peryite remained unimpressed and unmoved by her apparent hatred. All of the Prince's hated each other. It was part of the job description.
"But that is where you are wrong, my dear Mephala. Ordinarily, you, and in fact most if not all of the other Princes are far more powerful than I. But within The Pits, I am untouchable. You should know this. Or have you never tested it?" Peryite continued unperturbed, his tone mocking.
"Tested what?!" Peryite chuckled at that.
"The difference in your power when you are outside of your Plane, and when you reside within it." her expression slackened at this, perhaps because she finally realized how dire a situation she had just placed herself in. "That's right. So long as a Daedric Prince - remember, that includes myself - resides within his own Plane, he cannot be defeated. He will always defeat any and all who oppose him, even if only barely." Peryite paused for a second, as though something had just occurred to him, before continuing. "Granted, there are certainly loopholes to be found, as there are with anything," he looked back down at the Spider, a thing smile on his draconic face, "But I'm afraid you don't have the time to find them, dear Mephala. To sum it up..." Peryite stopped for a moment, as though adding onto the suspense, though that only seemed to infuriate Mephala even further, "You shouldn't have come here." Peryite finished, but then added, almost as an afterthought, "But I do thank you for delivering yourself straight into my hands. Or claws, as it were." the dragon chuckled lightly to himself at this, ignoring Mephala's long string of curses.
They would go on in this fashion for the next long while as the lesser Daedra finished their work on Mephala's new abode. Peryite remained silent while he held Mephala down, though the smile never left his reptilian face, and Mephala would continue to curse him until she grew tired of her wasted efforts, at which point she decided to attempt coercion. "Peryite, dear." came her silky smooth voice, serene and almost lilting in her attempt at persuading him.
"Come now. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement. I could help you with-"
"You assume that I need your help. It's that supreme arrogance, shared by all, or at least most, of you, that is going to make my goal so much easier to achieve." Peryite interrupted her, before returning to his silence as she continued to attempt various means of persuasion. Suffice to say, not a single one worked, and it wasn't long after that that the lesser Daedra had almost finished Mephala's prison, the stone construction, covered in glowing Daedric runes, now beginning to encroach upon Peryite's tail. As such, the Taskmaster withdrew it's bladed end from Mephala's stomach, and then from her prison entirely. Of course, Mephala seized upon the opportunity presented to her, one of her arms shooting up through the hole in the unfinished cell after Peryite's tail.
Her attempt did not succeed. With one swift swipe of his tail, Peryite severed Mephala's arm below the elbow, and she bellowed in pain and anger as she drew her significantly shorter appendage back into her prison.
It was only a few moments later when the lesser Daedra finished their task, and Mephala was truly at Peryite's mercy.
"Don't worry, little Spider. The others will join you shortly." Peryite muttered to himself in response to Mephala's screams of protest and rage, as he turned away, only to cock his head to one side. Then his draconic smile widened. "Well now. What wonderful timing." he said, seemingly to no one. A second later, as though he had been waiting for something, he continued, his voice sterner, "Nothing you need concern yourself with. I have a task for you."
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"Never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception." - Niccolo Machiavelli
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Author's Note: I'm gonna try not to leave such long author's notes from now on. Hope you guys enjoy.