One with Haskill and the new Sheogorath. I love the Isles, the zany, crazy, slightly completely freaking insane Shivering Isles. God bless whoever came up with that, and whatever they were on at the time

Haskill considered his new master. On the surface the man was nothing like his predecessor, he cared too much for starters, but when a person truly examined the man, they realised, he was no longer man. Not quite anyway. Half and half in a sense, but all of him was power. Jyggalag had been correct, the longer he sat on that throne, the better it fit him. He was growing into his station. At times though, his sanity was truly questioned. The new Master had cried, a Daedric Prince, crying, when he had finally defeated Jyggalag, blubbering some ridiculous nonsense about Sheogorath being the father he'd never had, about how he now had to protect the realm, about how he needed to tell her what he felt. The night that followed had been rent by screams as the power had bonded itself to his mortal frame, accelerating his magical growth and placing him on the highest pedestal of Madgod. Hailed by all the denizens of the realm, the new Sheogorath had taken his throne with pride. And it was all so very normal, so very human, so very sane! Madness required the Madgod to be a warped as the rest of his land and this new creature on the throne was in no way unhinged.

Or so Haskill had thought. But then the little things began to show. Such as the day Haskill entered the throne room to find Sheogorath on the ceiling. He'd explained that in reality, everyone else was upside down, he was the only person walking on normal gravity. Haskill believed him. For one thing, this was his realm, everything was as he made it, so therefore everyone else was upside down. Secondly, there had been a maniacal glint in his eyes which suggested that Haskill had better agree. It seemed that the new master was madness incarnate, and all the unstable power and might that went with it. Perhaps that was the reason for it in the first place. Sheogorath had been visited by Madness and the two had struck a deal. Now they were one and the same. Madness needed to have a host, and the boy proved very worthy of it. When the dancer danced for him he laughed and cheered, or alternatively wept and ranted, all over the most petty things like how the light coloured her hair. Other times the dancer couldn't actually stay in his presence for too long, the leers he gave made her skin crawl. Once or twice literally. The court healer, devoted to her job, was often worried about their new master. Mortal or not, more than once he'd come back from a battle on the brink of death, Sheogorath's Protection kicking in just in time to protect him from dying, but he'd immediately demanded to be healed and gone right back into battle. If he died, their entire world would descend back into the endless misty sea of Oblivion, but he was reckless with both his life and his gifts. Perhaps that was another episode of his madness.

A sudden change in the atmosphere alerted Haskill to the presence of his returned Master. It was as if gravity had turned to oil and was running through the world, a trait common to most Daedric Princes, least of all his Master. The doors melted and Sheogorath walked through, his eyes flickering between blue and amber, a remnant of his human heritage. He was still wearing his Madness armour, but it was covered in blood, organs and viscera. Grinning he strode past all his gaping attendants and sat on his throne. Only the Aureal and Mazken who guarded the throne didn't bat their eyelids.

"My Lord, how was your trip to Nirn."

"MAGNIFICENT!" The booming voice was overlaid in raw power and any non daedric in the room had their eardrums burst. "Sorry. I forgot about that."

Sheogorath, his voice returned to normal, snapped his fingers. Everything was as it was. "Nirn does that to me I'm afraid, I become normal again."

Haskill frowned. "I beg your pardon for bringing this to your attention my Lord, but why are you covered in viscera and entrails?"

As if for the first time, Sheogorath looked down at himself. Then he started sniggering. "I ran into some Zealots on the way here. They didn't accept me as Sheogorath so I made them burst!" The laughter grew louder.

"Capital, sir." The ever loyal and dry Chamberlain stated.

Sheogorath began laughing even harder, to the point where he wasn't able to speak. Several others in the room began to join in.

Suddenly he stopped laughing. "Silence!"

There was a sudden vacuum of sound. "Get out, all of you!"

Within a minute, Haskill and Sheogorath were left alone. Sheogorath slumped. "We have a problem Haskill."

"I made sure that we have enough cheese my Lord."

Invisible fingers clenched around his heart as Sheogorath lifted him into the air on his stare. "Much less serious than the lack of cheese Haskill. We do not want a repeat of that situation."

"Indeed." Haskill managed through the pain. Being what he was did not prevent pain for him.

Abruptly Sheogorath released him and returned to his brooding. "Mehrunes is not a happy camper. Neither is Meridia and she still holds a grudge against me over those Aurorans I killed fighting Umaril. Speaking of whom he's there too. Talk about a pain in the backside. They're all scheming against me Haskill, I can tell, trust me on this one." He sat back up. "On the bright side, I found a new man. Or a mer rather. Glarthir's more paranoid than Sil, he'd make a good Duke of Dementia, what do you think."

Haskill was distracted by the sound of a liver plopping onto the floor. Sheogorath sighed, muttered something incomprehensible and snapped his fingers. The entire ensemble vanished, leaving him dressed in his normal regalia. "Better?"

"Yes, my Lord, now what are we going to do about the other Princes?"

"I've got an idea…."

So do I.