Answer time!

Diamondia: Yes, Simhaud is indeed becoming more Sheogorath-like (and, as you will find out soon enough, it's not limited to his behaviour)...but he's not exactly tiring of his avatar. It's more a matter of showing more of his true nature when he feels comfortable with the people around him (he's relaxed, so he doesn't worry much about his demeanor). And about the signs...well, the Blades were already suspicious, but the truth is simply too unrealistic for them to come up with (I mean, Daedric Princes aren't exactly known for jumping in aid of mankind). And the biggest clues he dropped were only heard by Martin, who doesn't suspect him.

"I hate this place."

His voice had barely been a whisper, but its echo bounced off the old walls anyway. Not even the fact that he was almost at the heart of the ruin could be of some consolation to him…if nothing, it made him even more worried. Until that point Miscarcand had been full of goblins, undead and undead fighting goblins…but nothing too difficult to handle, even for a mortal adventurer. Now, he could choose to ignore the gigantic warning signs, or he could presume that something was ahead of him, something definitely more threatening than a pair of walking skeletons. And no, he was the Prince of Madness, not stupidity, so assuming the worst was his only option.

He stopped abruptly, crouching down: there it was, just ahead of him: a gigantic Welkynd stone, probably the size of his own head. With the Ebony Blade ready in one hand, he advanced carefully. He wasn't seeing anything, right now, but he could bet half of his beard that, the second he had touched the stone, something he really didn't want to see would have popped out from somewhere. Perhaps…

He sheathed the sword, reaching for his bow instead. There was nothing in the hall, right now, other than some pressure plates that he had no intention to step on, so that meant whatever was waiting for him would have used one of the door he could see on the other side. And yes, he was sure. No, he didn't want to use a detect soul spell to make sure. Yes, he was currently having an internal debate about his own paranoia. No, it was not paranoia, it was his adventurer instinct speaking!
He reached for one of the little satchels on his belt, taking out a little bottle. He opened the vial, before putting it in his mouth and holding it there with his lips, without drinking yet. Good, now that he had two hands free…well, one, he had his bow in the left…he reached for the stone, grabbing and immediately dropping it on the ground. As expected, the removal of the stone was the signal for the doors to open…ha! Called it. He immediately reclined his head, making the liquid inside the bottle fall in his mouth. He gulped down, instantaneously seeing his body becoming transparent, just as a lich (damn) and two zombie henchmen walked into the hall. Whoever had invented chameleon potions deserved some kind of medal, really. The bottle still in his mouth (dropping it, thus making a sound, would have been really stupid. Even if he staying there with a potion in his mouth was a ridiculous sight, he valued his hide more. And let's face it, he was currently almost invisible, no one could see him anyway), he swiftly armed and aimed his bow. The lich goes down first, he thought, releasing the bowstring and thanking silently Nocturnal for her gift that granted him some precious seconds of invisibility. He managed to hit the lich three times before the potion wore off, and had even the time to throw away his weapon and unsheathe his sword before the powerful undead could react (oh, and drop the bottle still in his mouth). He jumped to the side, avoiding the frost spell aimed at him, then charged forward, with the intention of engaging the lich in melee combat. A loud clank from his right side informed him that one zombie had stepped on a pressure plate…and had released more zombies, he realized one moment later.

"Sonofabitch." he muttered, pouncing on the lich and plunging his sword into the undead's head. He fell on the ground, as the damned thing dissolved into dust…uh. He must had weakened it before, with his arrows, but still…he was expecting something a little tougher. Oh, well, he wasn't going to complain. He grinned, before rolling away from the clumsy attempt of a zombie to hit him with its claws. He jumped on his feet, before launching himself against his opponents. Zombies were pretty resilient, he had to admit, but they were too slow to even think they could hit him…and, let's be honest, 'resilient' is a pretty misleading term when you are put against the Ebony Blade.

Four dead (deader?) zombies later, and he was leaning against the structure that had held the Great Stone, busy recharging his bow with a soul gem. He usually didn't require it, using his own energy and the souls of his slain enemies instead, but he still had to it sometimes, if nothing for the sake of appearances. Once he was done he sighed, putting his bow back to its place, while he walked towards the point where he had dropped the Welkynd stone. He looked at it for some seconds, before picking it up and putting it in his bag, until that point almost empty. Uh, maybe he should have dropped it somewhere, while he continued his quest to bring reinforcements from the eastern cities…or maybe he should have returned to Cloud Ruler Temple first, and then go east? Oh, well, that was a problem he would have resolved once he was out of that damned place, he concluded. He shrugged, before starting to walk towards the exit, fidgeting with the key he had find amidst the lich's ashes.

Nothing.

Martin almost wanted to hit the table with his head, but he was conscious of the fact that the only result that move could obtain was creating a bruise on his forehead. He had tried to decipher the last element needed for the ritual for days now, and the only thing he was pretty sure of was that this elusive piece of the puzzle had something to do with Oblivion. But, if he had to be more specific…nothing. He had nothing. He closed the book, sighing: right now he was so tired he could barely distinguish the words, let alone understand their meaning.

Just when he was about to get up and get some hours of sleep, the door to the courtyard suddenly opened and a Blade, which he recognized as Baurus after a few seconds, walked inside.

"Your Highness!"

He resisted the temptation to sigh: no matter how many times he had said it, the concept that he wanted such formalities to be avoided was completely ignored by the Blades.

"Baurus…is something the matter?"

The Redguard nodded, before handing him a bag. A suspiciously heavy bag, he discovered soon enough.

"This arrived today from Simhaud."

Martin took out the content of the bag…and had to refrain from gasping, as the Great Welkynd stone started to shine in his hands. Ah, how much he would have loved to have one in his youth…but he was digressing.

"So…where is he?"

It was almost…strange to not see him barging inside with whatever item he was supposed to retrieve, victory in his expression and somehow the right words for him.

"The messenger said that he had a note for you. Probably explains why he isn't here in person."

The Blade handed him a folded piece of parchment, which he took after putting down the Welkynd stone on the table. The calligraphy was pretty messy and so inclined to the left to give the impression a strong wind was threatening to make the words fly out of the sheet, but he could decipher it anyway.

"Hey, Martin! If you're wondering why I'm not delivering this myself…well, I had to gather reinforcements from the eastern cities, and returning to the base would have been a waste of time, considering that I can afford supplies with my own money, now. Oh, don't worry: I took my precautions with the Stone, there's no danger of it to be stolen. Unless you are not Martin, which means my precautions weren't enough, and I'm a monumental idiot…Damn, I really hope you're Martin.
Anyway, good luck with that goddamn book, I know you can decipher it by the time I will return. Just don't give up, okay? See you soon,
Simhaud"

He almost laughed: even if he wasn't there, Simhaud had managed to make him feel better by saying the right thing at the right time…somehow. He put down the note, before giving a nod to Baurus.

"Thank you." he said, both to him and his strangest, absent friend.

"HASKIE! I missed you so much!"

There was a loud sigh from the Sanctuary…Well, from New Sheoth, really.

"I have no doubt, My Lord. I trust your mission is proceeding smoothly?"

There was something, in the tone of his chamberlain, that he really didn't like. Choosing to ignore it, he proceeded with the conversation with a cheerful attitude.

"Well, it could be worse. Oh, OH! And the Isles? I really hope nothing is going on there! I'd hate to lose something funny!"

"Well…nothing unusual going on, My Lord, even if the term 'unusual' is indeed a strange one when referring to the Isles."

There was a few seconds of silence. Simhaud sighed, scratching his head. There was no avoiding it, was it? He still remembered the discussion he had with the Breton before assuming the guise of a mortal…and so did Haskill.

"Oh, come on, Haskill…are you still mad at me for coming here?"

"The correct term would be 'disappointed', My Lord."

Indeed he was.

"You know it was the only way."

"May I suggest you to stop lying, Lord Sheogorath? While it may work on mortals and other Princes, it has no effect on me. And has no effect to you."

Sometimes the fact that Haskill knew him so well backfired horribly.

"Fine. Haskill, I needed to do this, and you know it."

"Are you still clinging to your paranoia that you owe something to those mortals, My Lord? Because you don't."

He really didn't want to have that conversation again, not in that moment. Sure, he could order Haskill to simply shut up…but really, wasn't that a simple admission of guilt? Plus, he really wasn't really keen on forcing his authority on his chamberlain.

"It's not a matter of 'owing' something to someone, okay? I am the best candidate for this role and I don't feel like sitting in my throne while Dagon does his dirty business down here."

Haskill sighed.

"My Lord, I thought we had agreed to not lie. Anyway…do you remember what happened in this zone of the Nibenay five years ago?"

Simhaud was honestly surprised by that question. What was Haskill implying?

"Of course, but I don't…"

"…See the point of that question? You were still a mortal then, a simple adventurer caught into a trap. While you are no more that man, it was not too long ago. I must admit, you adapted extremely quickly to your new role…"

"…But you fear this mission will undo my work. I know, Haskill."

He shook his head.

"But, as I have said before, I can't help it. I need to be here, and the risk is worth it."

He could hear the old Breton sigh on the other side of the mind channel they shared, but he didn't speak. They remained in silence for a minute, before the chamberlain spoke again.

"…As always, My Lord, the decision is yours. I will be here, ready to support you…I just hope you won't end regretting your choice."

Haskill had clearly a lot more to say, but he realized his Prince couldn't afford to be distracted…not when so much was at stake. Simhaud smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, Haskill."

"Oh, here, Lord Sheogorath. To help you."

An amulet, which Simhaud quickly recognized as the Charity of Madness, appeared in his hands. That amulet was given to him by the old Madgod, to celebrate his arrival in New Sheoth. Umpf…'To help you...remember who you are', Haskill probably meant. Old fox he was…But he appreciated the gift, anyway.

"Well, I really couldn't expect you to give me the Talisman of Abetment, right?"

His attempt to joke fell on deaf ears, as usual.

"I will take my leave, My Lord. I truly hope you will be successful."

"You and me both, Haskill. You and me both."

"Hey, look who we have here! Long time no see, Methredhel."

Ongar the World-Weary smiled, which was a rare sight, then patted the space on the bench next to him.

"Want to share a beer with an old Nord?"

Methredhel smiled back, but shook her head.

"I'm afraid I have to reject your offer, for now. I still have to unpack…even if it means renouncing to the rare event of you not being a grumpy, tired asshole."

Ongar laughed, a deep, cavernous sound that covered for a second all the other noises in the tavern.

"Well, someone's claws are sharper than ever!"

After that, his expression definitely…well, not exactly darkened, but sure got more serious.

"How are the roads? I get a lot of news, and nothing good. Even with the soldiers from everywhere gathering here…"

It was Methredhel turn to get more serious, this time.

"Soldiers? I mean, I know there are a lot of Oblivion gates opening, but why are soldiers gathering here?"

Ongar didn't answer immediately. He got up, before signalling the Bosmer woman to follow him while exiting the Inn. Unpacking could wait, Methredhel decided. She followed him in the street of Bruma, in silence. It wasn't until they were in his home and he had closed the door that he spoke further.

"I guess the situation in the Imperial City must not be that bad…and that Armand doesn't know how screwed we are, because there was no way he would have let you travel here if he had known."

Methredhel could feel a cold shiver run down her spine. Armand had indeed tried to stop her, but she had decided to leave anyway without telling him beforehand, instead opting for a note explaining that she hadn't been kidnapped and that she would write again once she had arrived in Bruma. Thinking about her journey, however, she realized she hadn't encountered anything on the road other than a few mountain lions…how could the situation be that bad?

"…Screwed?"

The old Nord nodded, before sitting in a nearby chair.

"The situation in the eastern cities is critical. Here in the west we had more luck, being already visited by that living legend that is the Hero of Kvatch…"

"…The Hero of Kvatch? I heard something, but I thought that anyone capable of killing Daedra and closing Oblivion gates was nothing more an exaggerated legend."

Ongar shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that he's gathering allies from the cities and grouping them here in Bruma."

That could mean only that…

"Something big is going to happen here soon."

Damn. Methredhel cursed her and her idea to come to the northern town, but it was too late for it now. Ongar nodded.

"Yes. Also, there are rumours that someone big is currently residing in Cloud Ruler Temple, judging by all the activity going on there this days."

"Any idea?"

"Not at all, I'm afraid…And, let's be frank, I'm not too interested in knowing. This matter is something you don't want to be involved in as long as you can."

The Bosmer scoffed.

"Like you do with everything else."

"Aye! I'd like to not die with a dagger in my back for sticking my nose where I shouldn't have, thank you."

There were a few moments of silence, before Methredhel spoke again.

"So…did you see this fabled Hero?"

He shook his head.

"Nay. I know for sure he visited the town, but strangely enough no one could get a clear image of him. Even those he talked with, like the Captain of the guards, said that he always wore a cloak with a hood on."

"Sounds like someone doesn't want to be seen."

"And he's pretty damn good in doing that! Some of us could really learn from him."

The Bosmer chuckled, leaning on the wooden wall behind her.

"It's not nice to speak ill of Amusei behind his back."

Ongar responded with another one of his rare laughs at her stealth insult towards the Argonian. Methredhel smiled, before continuing speaking.

"So…what do we know of him…Assuming that he is indeed an he."

Ongar expression turned serious again, which could only sour Methredhel's expression as well.

"Methredhel, promise me you won't freak out."

"Starting with that isn't really a good sign, you know?"

The man sighed, raising his hands in defeat.

"Fine. He's a white-haired Nord man, and if the reports coming from Chorrol, Anvil, Skingrad and what remains of Kvatch are true, he's some sort of god with both bows and swords."

Thanks the Nine she was currently leaning on the wall, because she would have probably fell down otherwise. Her mind started to race, returning to that morning in the Market District…

"…I must also remind you that what are you thinking is impossible."

Yes, she knew, dammit! Simhaud was dead. She had seen his body, with his throat slit…and yet, it had always felt wrong. Simhaud, her Simhaud, probably the best warrior in the whole Guild, killed in a back alley like a common idiot. Plus, there was the strange way he had looked (and acted) when he had returned…She shook her head. No, it was impossible. But still…there was something going on. The man she had seen in the Imperial City was really too similar to Simhaud for her to dismiss everything as a strange coincidence. Probably this Hero was just a random Nord, who happened to be extremely skilled and to share some physical characteristic with Simhaud…but she wanted to make sure anyway. For the moment, she would just smile and going on as if nothing had happened, but inside…

"…You are right, of course. Sorry if…"

"No, don't apologize. Go to your house and rest, okay? And consider the idea of returning to the Imperial City as soon as possible, that's probably the safest place in the whole region."

No, she was definitely not going to do that. If what Ongar had said was true, then this Hero was bound to return to Bruma, sooner or later…and when he had done it, she would be there. Right now, she just had to wait.

"Thank you. I will think about it…but for now goodbye, Ongar. Shadow hide you."

"Peryite?"

The Prince of Pestilence was distracted by his current matter by a voice, ringing directly in his mind.

"Oh, Lord Sheogorath. Nice to see that someone finally remembers that I'm still here."

The mortal avatar of the Madgod shrugged.

"I was going to protest, but you might have a point, here. Not that I agree with that treatment…let's face it, I'd rather have you instead of Malacath in our reunions, but sadly Mephala never forgets to invite her ally. Well, next time I'll invite you myself."

He did not sense deception in Sheogorath's words…not that it was surprising. A lot of people (sadly even some Daedric Princes) thought him and Sheogorath to be at odds…but that was simply not true. Despite him being the Prince of Order, his idea of 'order' was not the one of Jyggalag, Sheogorath's sworn enemy. He presided over natural order, which one might argue it's a pretty chaotic concept itself. Oh, better stop, he was rambling again, really. In the meantime, Sheogorath had ceased to speak, starting to looking around instead.

"…But anyway, what are those people doing here, on the ground? Are they dead?"

Peryite couldn't help but sigh. His stupid followers…they really had to reach for him, had they? Now they were trapped in some Oblivion plane out of his control.

"Just mortals being mortals, as usual." he eluded the question, with a shrug.

"Oh."

"Anyway, I received a visit from Hermaeus Mora some time ago."

This seemed to pick the Madgod's interest, judging by his expression.

"What did he said?"

The Prince stood silent for a few seconds, examining closely Sheogorath.

"…He was right, after all."

His phrase seemed to irritate his interlocutor, who visibly frowned.

"Right about what?"

"About you. Tell me, has your…say, prowess in battle got better lately?"

Sheogorath's face was the only thing he needed to understand the situation, so continued before the other Prince could ask for more explanations.

"You see, avatars are not really supposed to stay in Nirn for long. We use them for a few hours and then we destroy them, like the empty husks they are."

"I hope you are not going to say that my current body is going to disintegrate soon."

Peryite had to repress the temptation to shake his head…it was useless, since the other Prince couldn't see him.

"Not exactly. Your body will look like nothing has changed, on the outside. However, it will wear down at the seams, and what is underneath it will start to show."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"Normally, the barrier between Nirn and Oblivion would prevent the Prince inside the avatar from emerging that much, but…"

"…Right now there's nothing that stops my nature from becoming increasingly evident. The fact that I feel stronger is just my true power leaking out."

Sometimes he found himself surprised of how intelligent (and sometimes even cunning) the usually loud and foolish Prince of Madness could reveal himself to be.

"Do you remember your last contact with Lord Mora?"

He nodded.

"Well, he knew my Sanctuary would be one of the first you were going to visit in the east, so he came and we had a little talk, so I could warn you in turn. He told me he had tried to stop the process, but he couldn't neither undone the damage your avatar already had or stop the progress of it completely…not with having to be discreet."

"So that's what he was doing in Sancre Tor…tell me, how bad the situation is?"

Peryite studied him again for a few seconds before answering.

"Right now your aura is barely noticeable…and consider the fact that I knew for certain that there was something and I was actively looking for it. However, the more you will stay in Nirn, the more the effect will be evident. Mora told me he expects your nature to fully manifest in one, maybe two months."

Sheogorath nodded, a serious expression on his face.

"Well, I think I can complete my task in time, then. Thank you for warning me."

"You are welcome…oh, and before I forget. Here."

In front of the Shrine materialized a pair of Glass boots, which Sheogorath promptly examined.

"My Spellbreaker would be useless, considering your fighting style, so I enchanted these for you. They really should help in the Deadlands."

The Madgod's jaw almost dropped, once he recognized the enchantments on the two pieces of armour.

"Wow. Wow. Peryite, you're officially my new favourite Daedric Prince after me. Next time someone says you are useless, I'll smack them with the Wabbajack. Hard."

He really didn't know whether feeling flattened, amused or irritated.

"Thank you." was his dry answer.

"And I think I want to test these little jewels…do you know in which plane your followers were sent?"

Peryite frowned, surprised by that phrase. How had the Madgod understood the situation?

"I didn't say…"

"No, but I understood what had happened anyway."

The Taskmaster found himself smiling, almost absent-mindendly. He should have started to frequent the Madgod more, really. He wasn't a bad fellow, after all.

Thanks for reading! As always, comments are always welcome.
Oh, and I've finally managed to finish a draw of Simhaud, so if anyone wants to have a look at it it's on my Tumblr page.