Ahhhhh shut up, I'm getting to the story. Bunch of complainers is what you all are. You'll never be as good as your daddy. Such a talented man, your daddy. Dear old dad. Turns out the apple does fall far from the tree; in your case it does. Bloody failure.

So, hero number two…it could be anyone, really. It could be me! Or you! Probably not you, because, as we've gone over, you're a failure. But no, this little guy was a Breton. And when I say little, I mean little. Like the size of me pinky finger. Well, not really. But he was short. NEXT! And he was angry; what fun guy isn't secretly angry inside? He was angry because Skyrim; land of the drunken crazy horned bastards, had too little of a certain item. I wonder what it could be? Skooma? No, not Skooma. Getting warmer….come on….almost there…..oh dammit, you've walked past it you bleeding idiot. It was right there! Wow, aren't you on a roll today…..

But what our little Breton sought was not Skooma. It was….get this… the freaking weirdo wanted some camels. Don't ask me why; my guess was that he wanted to have some romantic nights out with them. But our hero craved camels! LARGE CAMELS! SHORT CAMELS! HOMOSEXUAL CAMELS! ALL SORTS AND KINDS OF CAMELS! But mainly homosexual ones. Those flamboyant rascals, always playing their sexual games and whatnot. See, even a camel is more interesting than you. They spit on things! Oh, I do love it when they spit on things. Gives me that warm, fuzzy feeling in my toes. So much fun.

So one night, our hero stumbled out of the Winking Skeever in Solitude, and went down to the docks-as he did every night- to try and see if anybody was selling camels. Nobody was: I sure as hell would. Those things are magnificent. Imagine it now; a squadron of camels, flying in through your window, spraying saliva down upon the unholy. That is something I'd pay to see. Not that I care; I can just spawn me own money. Perk of being a Daedric prince. You wouldn't understand, you're not part of the club. It's a secret club, nobody can join. Especially you, being retarded and all. You go.

So Mr. Breton couldn't find camels-again- and so he went back to his house and began tying another part of his noose. Every day he could not buy a camel, the noose got larger, and soon he would just end it all. Quite sad, actually. Sorry if that ruined your day. It made mine better! Suicide is exciting! No blood comes out though. That's always disappointed me at hangings. Which is why there's no hangings in the Shivering Isles, and the only execution is death by group of heavily armed, scantily clad blue and gold women. Aren't I great? I am.

So this was Mr. Breton's everyday schedule; Drink his brains out, look for camels, tie a part of a noose, and go to bed. One day, our dear hero had had enough. He stormed down to the docks, yelling, "I demand camels! Someone bring me a camel!" A man walked up to him, and asked why he wanted a camel so badly. Mr. Breton couldn't give the fellow an answer; even though a perfectly meaningful answer is just a few paragraphs up. Seriously; the unholy atheists covered in camel spit would be awesome. There is no possible way any man of class can deny that.

The fact that our hero couldn't come up with a reason bothered him; he didn't sleep for days. Was his whole life a lie? Why did he want a camel? Why did he NEED a camel? Turns out, he didn't know why. Mr. Breton had wasted his whole life on it. Kind of like how I devote my life to driving elderly women crazy. I don't know why I do it; I just do. Oh they're so much fun. Any woman past 60 needs to go insane, pronto. You don't know what you're missing out on. Being insane is so much fun! Why, look at me! All I have time to do is write some crazy nonsense and eat cheese! And order statues made of cheese! And sell cheese! And cocaine! Would you like some cocaine?

Mr. Breton couldn't handle the agony of not having a purpose and hung himself. The end. But seriously, let's talk about cheese again; it's my favorite. And pigs. Those are interesting. Who invented those? On Nirn, I mean; obviously I invented them here. I invented everything here. Including that rule about not pissing at 6:34 P.M. If you have to piss at 6:34 P.M in the Shivering Isles, you either hold it or die. My subjects love that rule. They love all my rules! They have to! Otherwise I'll HAVE THEM RIPPED LIMB FROM LIMB AND SOLD TO DEMENTIA'S BUTCHERS. Mortals taste delicious. It's sort of like a fine wine, only humanoid remains. Mmmm…..

Dear Viewers…..

This Fic has received more praise then I had anticipated. While I have told some of you this next piece of information, others have not heard the news and I wish to tell it publicly.

Originally, this fic was to be a short, 6 chapter side project to my main piece of work, Star Fox: My Life is Yours (which is phenomenal in my eyes, if you enjoy deep, thought provoking writing I suggest you check it out), but as I have seen that many Elder Scrolls fans are interested in seeing more of this, I've decided to extend this fic by about 5 or 6 more chapters. It's actually quite easy to come up with Sheogorath lines-for me anyways- and I enjoy writing as Sheogorath. Expect to see this fic end at about 12-15 chapters. Thank you all, and don't forget to review, follow, and favorite.

P.S- If the fic receives an even greater amount of love, I may consider extending it further. Thank you again.

-ThatWinchieGuy