When it became known –and the princes, in their cleverness, knew immediately- that Jyggalag walked again, but so did Sheogorath, changed yet unchanged, they convened a meeting to discuss what would be done, what could be done, and what to do with Sheogorath, who was both mortal and immortal, Dunmer and Daedra. Strange origins are not unknown to the Princes –we may speak of Meridia or Malacath- but such a unique arrangement was without proper precedent, and they knew not how to respond.
Mehrunes Dagon, who was no friend to Sheogorath and even less to his mortal aspect, made the first suggestion, proposing that they slay the Madgod, cut out his heart, and put it on display in their secret meeting hall. This was seconded with great enthusiasm by Molag Bal, who, in addition, suggested something so indescribably obscene that even Namira blanched at the prospect. But the other princes declined his suggestion, because the Oblivion Crisis had made a laughingstock out of Mehrunes Dagon.
The mortal Sheogorath did not belong to the Orsimer tribe, yet Malacath, who is not friend to many and is in turn not loved by many, held begrudging affection for the one who had done his bidding. He proposed that they travel to one of their sacred neutral grounds. During this, they would exchange tokens with the Madgod to sway his affections –the king of all orcs knows too well the dangers of Sheogorath as an enemy- and judge for themselves if he stood on the same grounds as they did.
"You are a fool, Malacath," said the others, ever scornful. "Moreover, you were not even invited. Go back to your pit of ash and leave us true Princes in peace."
But Malacath, used to such ill-treatment, could not be roused from his seat of fine elf bone, and so he stayed to glare at the others.
Hircine spoke next.
"A great hunt. Our quarry will be an errant werebear; our weapons spears. Should this…"
And Hircine, who is known for prowess in the hunt but not in speech, was at a loss of words, for he knew not what Sheogorath was.
"…Should this one keep pace with us, we will consider him a Daedric Prince. If not, he will be our game for all eternity. What say you?"
"That's not a fair deal," said Clavicus Vile, who is a stranger to fair deals. "When he loses, you get all the fun. Let's up the ante. If he wins, we'll let him think he's a Daedric King, but when he loses –stop looking at me like that, Barbas, he'll lose- we get to split his realm between us."
"I'mDaedric King," said Molag Bal, who did not like the thought of another stealing his crown or, as the case may be, hypothetical crown. "Don't even let him think he's better than us."
"Oh?" said Boethiah as she polished Goldbrand at the table, either not noticing or caring that in her work, she kept jostling Peryite, already planning a plague to wipe out her followers.
"Can't divide a realm up fifteen ways," grumbled Malacath, unheard by all. "Not enough land to go around."
Vaermina delighted in Clavicus Vile's idea and desired the Gardens of Flesh and Bone, while Meridia called for its destruction. Azura demanded that the palace be hers to do with as she saw fit, while Hircine continued to extol the virtues of a good hunt to everyone, though they paid him little mind as he always did that.
"You mock, little lie-prince, but I could break you as easily as a stick underfoot."
"Really? Oh my."
"Scoff, and I will show you the true nature of humiliation. I am chief amongst you in might, already a king among little princes."
"Is that so?"
"No such thing as a Daedric King."
But Malacath continued to go ignored. Boethiah raised a skeptical eyebrow, and with a mighty roar, Molag Bal raised his mace. The prince of plots darted nimbly out of his way, and so Molag Bal struck Peryite. Though he did not command much respect from the other princes, he did not take such foul abasement kindly, and so he coated the two in rank ichor, as well as most of the rest of the table. Though this pleased Namira greatly, it greatly insulted majestic Azura and Nocturnal, who prided themselves on their beauty. Nimble Boethiah drew blood, though unfortunately, it was that of Hircine, who leapt into the fray with a great gnashing of teeth. In their struggle, they upturned the great table forged in the flames of Red Mountain. Barbas whimpered, and in his haste to flee the din, upturned a fountain that Dagon had brought along as a peace-offering, covering all in red-drink. Mephala sat in the corner, supping on a leg of Argonian, and watched with great mirth.
And as the terrible fighting commenced, Sanguine, nursing a hangover of the gods, entered, entirely unaware of anything going on but much pleased nevertheless.
"Well, hey there, what do we have here? No one told me we were having a blood orgy."
His spirits gladdened, he forsook his throne, crafted entirely from the jewelry of brothel-girls, and draped himself across the lap of Mephala. The spider-queen stroked his horns and whispered secrets into his ears as Boethiah and Molag Bal continued their duel, neither gaining the upper hand and neither backing down. Malacath sighed and downed a flagon of strong mead, wondering why such ancient, noble princes always acted like spirited scamps.
But when the warring Daedra upended a pitcher of ectoplasm upon a stack of books, Hermaeus Mora intervened, wrapping mighty tentacles around the warring Daedra and sitting them back down again with a stern warning to cut it out. With much glee, Sanguine cried out for such treatment as well, but the wise lord of knowledge ignored him. To acknowledge Sanguine is to encourage him. Defeated, the prince nestled his face in Mephala's bosom and could not be moved.
"If we are quite done with that," said Nocturnal, beauteous as nighttime auroras despite the fetid pestilence dribbling down her fine robes. "I will raise a few points. Firstly, all true princes are equal. It is in your nature to dominate, Molag Bal, but may I remind you what happened to the last of us who overstepped his boundaries? Listen not to Boethiah, for our brother relishes your anger by his words.
Secondly, I see the merit of all your proposals, but the risks are too high and the rewards lacking. What example would it set for him -if he is indeed Sheogorath reborn- if any of us true princes fell behind in the hunt? We cannot expect dear Vaermina to keep pace with Hircine and sweet Sanguine stumbles in his drunkenness. If he is truly Sheogorath, to show weakness would be courting disaster.
Moreover, all of us have caught glimpses at his Isles, and as tempting as it would be to have slivers of his realm to do with as we see fit, it would only lead to unnecessary fighting. Not counting pretenders to the title of Daedric Prince and Jyggalag, there are fourteen of us. How could we possibly split up the realm fourteen times in a way that would leave all content? It is no secret that our politics are complicated, our tension great. What would you do if Molag Bal invaded Clavicus Vile's portion to get to Boethiah? What if Vaermina and Meridia went to war? No, the only one who would benefit from such an arrangement is Mehrunes Dagon, and I do not see it fit to reward him so after that dreadful mess in Cyrodiil.
I suggest we approach this from a different perspective. He is a wily one, and if we are to do anything about him, we cannot be forthright in our dealings. We seek to judge for ourselves if this Sheogorath stands on equal footing, but we cannot approach it as a hunt. For if he might win, he willwin, and we cannot have that. Can we not simply meet with him without pretense of competition?"
"If it must be so, then let it be so," said the other princes, save for Sanguine, insensible to anything but the crowning glories of Mephala.
Azura spoke next.
"Dear sister, if we must meet with the one who calls himself Sheogorath, we must do so in a suitable location. If he is indeed Sheogorath, which I doubt, then to travel to his realm is madness itself. I do not think it would be wise to let him into our realms, for who invites a madman with an axe into their home and expects it to end well? I would suggest traveling to Tamriel in mortal guise, but to do so at the moment would be most unwise, Dagon. Our hall is in shambles yet again. A gentle lot you are."
"If I may interject," said Meridia, tossing her mane of golden hair. Azura rebuffed her, saying that she may not, in fact, interject, but she went unheeded. "I think we must consider the Forest of Wayward Souls as a meeting place. Its neutrality remains uncontested."
"Yes, but the souls inside do. If you will let me continue, the Hall of the Beginning has remained unused for eons, yet it is well-furnished. It gives no advantage or disadvantage to any of us, and therefore I propose we meet there. What say you?"
The Daedric Princes considered Azura's suggestion and all but Meridia and Sanguine agreed to the idea. The former was most insulted by the rejection of her proposition. The latter was too busy listening to Mephala's scandalous gossip and enjoying her bounty to care about whatever the others (and oh, if only they'd quiet up, for his head pained him) discussed.
"We're in agreement for a change," spoke Mephala, patting the lord of the debauchery on the head like one would a beloved cat. "Mostly. Stranger things have happened, but I know not what. If we're to have Sheogorath here, we must make it worthwhile. We'll exchange gifts. Isn't that lovely?"
"You plot," spoke Molag Bal.
"But of course. And aren't we all the more amused for it? There, there, Sanguine, watch the horns."
"I fear Mephala's mischief, but the idea has merit," said Azura. "If he is indeed Sheogorath, if a changed one, then it is in all of our best interests to sway him to our side. He is troublesome to his friends but more so to his enemies. As he is not Sheogorath and nota Daedric Prince, then we will use the opportunity to humiliate him and show him what we think of false gods. Are we in agreement on this?"
"Wait, wait, who's not Sheogorath?" Sanguine asked, though his words were somewhat muffled by Mephala's bountiful bosom.
"Sheogorath is not Sheogorath. He is dead. Jyggalag walks once more."
"Oh, fuck that. I mean, don't. I wouldn't even. So if he's…wait, what, Sheogorath's dead? I'm not the smartest or the most, oh, these are divine, Mephala! Should build a shrine to your breasts. Uh, anyway, I'm not the smartest or most clever or most sober, but even I know that's not possible.
To her priestesses, Azura is often called Mother of the Rose. Many assume it is because roses bear all the beauty of dusk and dawn, and true as it is, it is also because she is the only one of the Daedric Princes with enough patience to deal with the drunkard Sanguine, who loves that flower above all others. In turn, he leaves her alone from his wandering hands and other wandering appendages. She pried him with much protest from Mephala's lap and breasts, and took him aside to explain the situation to him.
"But I don't understand how that works."
"Oh, sweet Sanguine, we do not either."
And with that said, so was concluded the matter of Sheogorath, though Jyggalag still loomed over all. As Sanguine surveyed the wreckage of the great hall, he moved that they deal with that sordid business another day. He wasn't drunk enough yet.