In a large library, filled with empty books, stands a small Bosmer man. At present, he holds in his fist, a crumbled piece of paper. The damned book dared try to tell him his own tale, as if it understood all that happened inside of his head. Or, maybe he wrote it. He couldn't remember. But, yes, it was true. He was the new Sheogorath, the new Madgod, the new Daedric Prince of Madness. The stress from the past months had taken its toll. His once shinny, copper hair hung limp and dirty. Dark circles formed under his eyes and worse still, his eye sight had gotten worse and worse with each passing day.
'I may take those from you when this is done,' A voice whispers in his head.
The man screams, startled by the voice in his head. The door to the library opens and the new Duchess of Mania, Wide-Eye, scampers into the room.
"My Lord," Her gravely voice echos off of the archways. "What is wrong? Or, what is right?"
"Wide-Eye," The Bosmer looks up at the colourful Argonian. "Tell me, who was I before Sheogorath?"
"My Lord, I do not understand."
"Before I passed my title onto myself, who was I? Who was my champion?"
"Oh," The woman finally understood what the Bosmer was talking about. "A small thing he was. Reminded me of one of my children. Where are my little hatchlings?"
"His name! What was his name, Wide-Eye?" The man yells, anger rising inside of him.
The booming of his voice frightens both him and the Argonian. She backs away a few steps, while he places his hands on his head, his eyes wide in fear.
"I'm sorry, Wide-Eye," He speaks in a small voice. "I can't control this for much longer. I'm loosing everything that I used to be. Everything that I am."
"I can send my hatchlings to get Haskill if you would like, My Lord," The Argonian speaks in a clearer voice.
"Can you do it instead, Wide-Eye. I'd prefer it if you would."
"At once."
Wide-Eye leaves the room, stopping only for a second to look back at her new Madgod. She quickly walks back to the throne room, seeing a idle Haskill reading the same book from two months ago. It shouldn't be surprising really, it is the Madgod's old journal. Wide-Eye runs up to him, hitching her dress above her ankles to gain speed. When she stops in front of him, she waits patiently for him to put down the book.
"Yes? What can I help you with, Duchess?" Haskill asks in the low tone of his.
"The Madgod requires your assistance," Wide-Eye states dutifully.
"And he couldn't have summoned me himself?"
"I don't know. I was keeping an eye on my children, and forgot to ask."
"Very well. Please, return to your quarters Duchess."
Haskill watches as she retreats towards the door to the throne room of Mania and crosses the threshold into the colourful rooms beyond. Haskill calmly puts the journal down on his Lord's throne and walks toward the library, a room which the new Sheogorath insisted upon. When he opens the large wooded door, he is met with a most unusual sight. His new Master is tearing apart the library, muttering to himself. Every so often he hears a word. Names, Who, Identity, and Meaning.
"What did you need, my Lord?" Haskill asks, his voice resonating in the quiet.
The Bosmer man lifts his head and gasps, afraid for his life, but only for a moment. Then, the voice registers in his head, and he understands who it is. Haskill, his trusty servant and loyal steward.
"Has-Haskill, is that you?" The Bosmer man crawls on his knees and grips one of Haskill's legs.
"Yes, my Lord," Haskill speaks calmly and lowers himself, so as to be eye-to-eye with his master.
"I need to know everything."
"My Lord, I do not understand."
"Who was I before I was myself? I used to make sense, and now I don't. Who was I, before I was me?"
"You are the Madgod. Sheogorath, Prince of Madness. It is who you are."
The Bosmer man screams at the response given to him. He detaches himself from Haskill, grabs the nearest book, and throws it at the wall with all of his might. He repeats the process, over and over until his voice gives out. He turns back to Haskill, tears in his eyes.
"Haskill, who was I? I was someone else, and with every day, he disappears. I just want to know before he's completely gone," The Bosmer man places his arms around Haskill's neck, and lays his head on the Brenton's right shoulder.
"My Lord, I," Haskill begins.
"The names Haskill."
"Your Champion's name was Theron. He was a Bosmer, around the age of thirty. He was a worshiper of both the elven gods and the Daedric princes Azura, Nocturnal, and Sanguine. He had a son named Aetheron, who followed in his footsteps and became a thief."
"What else?"
The Bosmer man, Theron, rises from Haskill and finds an undamaged book, an unbroken bottle of ink, and a functional quill. He opens the book to the front page, places quill in ink, and then puts quill to paper. He holds up a hand to silence Haskill for one moment, but, when he can barely see what he is writing, he picks up his supplies and takes them to Haskill.
"Write what I tell you," He states calmly, leaning against a wall before lowering himself to the ground.
"What do you want me to write, my Lord?" Haskill asks, sitting in a chair and placing the quill on the first page of the book.
"Every word."