join me and my beta reader maximsk in our fairy circle excursion on the autumn solstice. RSVP soon. please RSVP. please. i don't want to be alone. god, please, please don't let me die alone, i beg of you

enjoy!

11. One Coin Unjoined, Oh Joy

"I was the emperor, not some… dirty half-breed trying to usurp me… I just need her or... him or all that muck out of the empire—I rule the empire, you know. I'll get those incompetent cleaning servants to clean that muck."

"That seems smart," I acknowledge genially, "but then who's gonna clean the floors? Or the corpses? Or the empire?"

The tired-looking skeleton man sighs deeply and rubs his forehead. He appeared after I walked into the dusty fire hazard room and was transported to a fun little party outdoors where he and I are the only attendees. Now we are eating lunch together.

"No one can do it right," he mutters. He sounds rather distressed, so I pat him on the shoulder. He does not seem to notice. "No one can do anything right. Divines, I have to do everything myself."

"That's a shame," I say with my mouth full of sugary sweetroll. "You should get some friends so that you can not do anything at all. That's the best way to live."

"No, I can't trust anyone," the man states confidently. "They're all out to get me, see? What I have to do is just kill them all first. All of them." He finally looks at me rather than the table. "I'm almost done, you know," he says. He has crazy eyes. "The bodies are starting to pile up, but I have servants for that too."

"I thought you killed the servants for that."

"Oh." He scratches his head uncertainly. "I might have."

I yawn and grab another sweetroll. "What's your weapon of choice?"

"A headsman," he says eagerly. "Or two. As many headsmen as the country can spare!" He frowns and taps his chin. "Most of them are dead, though," he muses. "I can't be blamed for that. They brought it upon themselves. Hm… even the headsman leave me..."

"I didn't know you could herd sams," I say curiously. "Are they a kind of edible sugar muffin? I like those." Some icing gets all over my face. I try to lick it off, but my tongue is not long enough. "Could you lick this off my face?" I ask the man.

"Get the… headsman," he is muttering. "Maybe he's the one… get a headsman to kill the headsman."

I find a muffin and try to offer it to him, but he does not take it. "So that's a no?" I inquire. "Oh, I'm Liar by the way," I say as is only polite.

"Yes, yes… they all are… every single one..."

"Well, I'm going to take a nap now," I inform him.

All this sugar has started to make me sleepy. I yawn and rest my head on a soft bed of muffins and fall asleep to the murderous ramblings of this hilarious man at my side. He's a good friend.

xXxXxXx

"Oh dearest me, I wasn't expecting company!" a happy man cries out.

I jolt awake with a snort, unsure how long it has been. The friend beside me has not moved at all, but a new man has appeared for some reason.

"It's so quaint, that I just want to flay you inside out on principle!" he continues jovially. He is wearing a handsome red and purple suit that makes me happy to look at. "Hah! Daedra above and below and horizontally and all, you must be a dear, dear friend to expect your life to stay yours after interrupting my tea party! The scones will go cold! Oh, someone should do something about all this food, maybe toss out some pot roast the corn-ears prepared."

I look around me, and muffin crumbs fall off my face. I press a hand against my cheek, capturing as much morseled muffin as possible before licking it off my hand. I look up to find that the new man is now staring at me thoughtfully as though preoccupied with some philosophical dilemma.

"I had something about entrails and cheese wheels," he says with a frown, and then waves his pondering expression away. "But for the life of me—haha, I've got a long one of those, eh?—I just can't recall! No one will! Pelagius certainly won't!" The man with the nice outfit looks to the person sitting beside me. "Eh, Pelly? You only remember those unimportant things like the name and face and every detail of the people who haven't been plotting to chop off that delightful head your entire life."

"I can hardly trust someone else to," my friend snaps.

"And who could argue that?" the purple man laughs. "No one! They're all dead! Nasty, nasty business, but what a joy for us all. Well, except for the dead ones. The poor nutters aren't blessed with your company anymore, after all! That goes for the live ones too."

"Lord Sheogorath!" I all but squeal, delighted to see my patron Prince standing before me in the flesh. Without hesitation, I throw muffins in the air and wiggle my legs happily from my seat at the table. The muffins fall back to the ground, and one hits the Pelagius fellow on the top of the head. He yells and looks around furiously. "I knew they were edible muffins!" I shout triumphantly.

"Who did that?" Pelagius fellow screeches as he jumps to his feet. "Who? You can't escape! No one can escape! I have the power to decree you dead, and no one else can ever stop—"

Sheogorath snaps his fingers, and Pelagius fellow explodes into a litter of at least a dozen severed fox tails. Thankfully, they are not bloody or else I might have vomited all over Sheogorath's nice dining table.

"Oh, that one has the nasty habit of rambling on and on and on and on incessantly," he sighs. "After all, what kind of host would I be if I didn't stop such madness in my own home! Pelly's home. I own him, though, so it's mine. It's all mine, ahahaha!" He spends many a second cackling madly until he is gasping for breath. "But what would you know, what with your mortal sanity and human… humanity. You all should really be large enough for all the kings to ride so that we wouldn't all have to rely on those ridiculous pointy-headed mutant sharks."

"I killed a mutant shark once!" I realize in a loud voice.

Sheogorath applauds magnanimously and a waterfall of almonds falls into his lap and hands. "You know, I'd offer you some refreshments, but I won't. If you manage to catch them, though, you might get some prizes. Spear them all with the whales with the pointy bits—don't spear them with their pointy bits."

I nod sagely as I munch on some cheese. I think there is a wooden knife in it, though, because it tastes like I am chewing on a wooden knife dipped in cheese.

Sheogorath gasps suddenly and pops an almond into his mouth. "Ah, but where are my manners?" he says cheerfully. "Have some refreshments!" He points at me and I spit out the wooden knife out of politeness. It is a bit chewed up now, so it looks like a fork like that other utensil. Which wasn't a spoon.

"It wasn't a goddamn spoon!" I hiss, suddenly filled with inexplicable fury.

"I say, where are your manners?" he cries. "You, a mortal, show up in this here brain, insult my cutlery, and expect an audience?" He looks closer at me, his eyes holding a strange amount of clarity which one would not expect from the Daedric Prince of Madness. "And a living mortal, no less," he gasps. "Here you are, interrupting my lovely tea of the decades with my favorite Mad King, and you have the infinite gall to be alive? The absolute nerve!"

"Sorry about that," I say sincerely. "We met a nice Dunmer who just seemed so distraught about losing his master that he gave us a hip bone and said to visit the abandoned wing in the Bubble Porous. How could I say no?"

"Oh, Dervenin and his pity act," Sheogorath snorts. "I deserve a vacation from all those terribly mad creatures in the Shivering Isles. I mean, that Haskill fellow? What a boor."

"I'm sure you do deserve a vacation," I assure him. "I'll just leave if you'd like."

"And waste your time?" Sheogorath retorts. "Perish the thought!" He eyes me for a moment, arms crossed, and then grins. A goblet appears in his hand and he lifts it as though to take a sip, and then glares and dumps it all on the ground. "Ugh, water," he mutters at the bloodred liquid soaking into the ground. "If only I could turn it into wine." He glances up at me again, the grin back on his face. "I've got a grand idea for you! If you manage to heal your way through Pelly's mind without being dead, then we'll both go home. How's that for a twist?"

"Needlessly complicated," I admit, "but how else would you become a knot?"

"Oh behave, you naughty girl!" he chortles. "You remind me of myself when I was young and not so much of a brilliant hero. So many rabid foxes and blood money and waving maidens and those rainbows are just deadly to the eyes." He waves his hand imperiously. "Now, be off with you before I change my mind and turn you into an inverted tortoise shell that I'll spin like a top! Twists and turns galore!"

"Galor-ious," I agree, and snatch a sweetroll and a clump of cheese before I go. "I suppose I'll see you later whether I'm dead or alive."

"Now, that's a curious thing to say," he says with a smile.

I begin munching on my food. To my disappointment, however, it disappears right from my mouth and hands the moment I step onto the first path I see. I swallow nothing but air, which I think is considered breathing rather than eating. This path is nothing but a trail of dirt, but any trail is a dirt nonetheless, and I have nowhere else to go even if I am quite tempted to return to Sheogorath and eat more of his food while we chat about inane things. I realize, though, that he has no idea who I am and that is a tad disappointing. On the other hand, I cannot expect much from an immortal who acts almost completely according to whim. Maybe if I do whatever vague task he wants me to do, he'll recognize me.

Sheogorath clears his throat so loudly that it echoes through the air and makes me halt in surprise. I look around, but he is not beside me. I look up, but he is not in the sky either—but he is always in my heart.

"Ahem," he says, his voice all around me. "Testing, testing, one, two. Now, let's begin our wonderful story! Most of it is written down already, but who would bother doing such a silly thing when you can run around in the book itself and change the words, eh? Ahem, ahem, ahem. Cough. So! Pelagius was always…"

Sheogorath pauses. As I wait patiently, there is a rather long stretch of silence. I hope Sheogorath has not abandoned me in this nice, verdant mind. There is the sound of fluttering pages, and then a huff of irritation.

"Oh, I will flay Dervenin," Sheogorath mutters. "All the blasted pages are out of order! Where's the doohicky? This is why no one changes words! Word is law, they all say; well I all say fie on that law! Fie, I say!"

"M-master, that's the right order," a nervous and pitiably elderly voice pipes up. I think I recognize it, but who can recall. I certainly can't. Maybe this mind could, but I don't remember who owns it.

"What? How does that make sense?" Sheogorath mutters under his breath, and then an undignified squeak fills the air followed by the large pop of an Oblivion portal opening. With the sound of fluttering pages, a bound booklet flies up to land right at my feet.

I frown, unhappy with this gift of food for worms, but a gift is nonetheless a gift. With a sigh, I pick it up from the floor and open it to a random page. To my absolute joy, it is completely blank. I have fun flicking through the thing, searching for the pictures, yet there is still nothing. I suppose that is alright, because it means that I can draw my own pictures in it or, even better, commission someone to draw those pictures for me so that I don't have to exert effort for them to be drawn.

"Eh, I'll just ad-lib this like all the greats," Sheogorath sighs from somewhere. The sound of crunching almonds fills the air, and I wish I had one. "Hm, le' see," he says around a mouthful of almonds. "Th' 'fink 'ere." Sheogorath swallows his food eventually. "Dervenin!" he suddenly yells. I hear a loud scream that quickly gets cut off, followed by the sound of Sheogorath howling with laughter. "We do have fun here, hm?"

"I'm having fun," I agree.

"Well, good riddance!" Sheogorath yells. "Usually they don't start enjoying themselves until they're dead or being threatened to death by a forceful lusty Argonian maid asking them if they are. Now go, go! Shoo! Let me prepare my speeches as you wear out your shoes."

I nod to myself and continue on. There is a lot of dirt that all looks the same because it is all dirt. I get lost many times even though I have not really gotten anywhere that I could know where I could be to get lost in. That sentence puts me at a loss, so I stop making sentences in my mind.

After some vague amount of time, I come across a clearing with a boy sleeping on a bed, his body twitching intermittently as he whimpers. Sheogorath's voice echoes from somewhere, so I reflexively draw my mace but my hand grasps empty air. It is then that I realize I am wearing nothing but rags and have no weapons. I grow a little panicked since that mace was a gift from my family, one that I have had for years, and I had been wearing my favorite outfit.

"Poor, dear, homicidal Pelly has—er had, heh heh—been terribly nightmarishly terrified since he was just a—"

"Where are my clothes? And my mace?" I call out fearfully, interrupting Sheogorath's monologue about nightm-errors. He grumbles something under his breath, but suddenly a stick with a screaming face at the top appears in my hands.

"Oh, fine, fine, you little impatient baby horror," Sheogorath snaps. "I present thee with the Wabbajack, which is just grand! Now do your job or else your liver is mine to feast upon for eternity. Although, I'll probably share with the vultures," he adds after a moment. "Shoo, you damn vulture!" he shouts.

I stare at the Wabbajack, unsure what I am supposed to do with it. "It's a stick," I mumble observantly. "Am I supposed to eat it?" I nibble on the screaming face end, but it only tastes like wood. Since I do not want splinters on my tongue or in my eyeball, I decide that it is probably not for eating.

I only know one other method of utilizing a stick, so I begin drawing pictures in the dirt. The boy on the bed is still making silly whimper-y noises, but I ignore him so that I can make my masterpiece. First, I squiggle a little dovah and then a few hapless stick humans who are about to get devoured. I add a little fire so that all the people are being burned alive so all that raw meat doesn't hurt my little dovah's sensitive digestive system. I look around for something to use as color. All I can see, however, is some old grass and dirts.

"Lord Sheogorath?" I call out. The sleeping boy whimpers at the sound like a limp wimp.

"Eh? You don't have time, little mortal! You're almost dead! Almost dead! What're you doing still standing there, you dead missus?" Sheogorath asks from the sky. "I told you to shoo!"

"I need some red," I inform him. I use the stick to point at my dovah. "Dovahhe aren't dirty."

"Can't argue with that!" he admits. "Well, I can always find some peasant children and let Pelly slit their throats. His throat-slitters will, actually. What a riot! That's what the peasant children will do someday, haha!"

"No, not blood," I say regretfully. "I don't want to make the dirt all dirty with vomit."

"Ruin this perfect brain, why don't you," Sheogorath snaps, and then a small jar appears next to my dovah. "Just jam that into your picture, and it'll be just barely worthless!"

I open the jar and stick my tongue inside to find that it is strawberry jam. Delighted, I dump the whole thing out onto my dovah, turning the picture into a giant blob of red goop. "Perfect," I whisper.

Now that that is done, the whimpering wimpy child is starting to get on my nerves. Do you know how I solve problems, me? That's right, you do, I.

What me does is brandish the stick in my left hand, stalk up to the annoying child, and bash him hard across the head. As expected, that seems to work, but also a wolf appears out of nowhere. I bash that as well, and it explodes into a shower of peppermint. The smell fills the air, calming me, so I smack the little boy again. This time, an angry goat appears which I again hit hard, and this one turns into a mountain of baby rabbits who all disperse fearfully the moment they see me. Encouraged by the cuteness of a few dozen baby rabbits, I hit the little boy again, this time summoning a sexy woman who is wearing prettier clothes than I am.

Sensing an opportunity, I turn to her. "I want your clothes," I inform her, waving my screaming stick threateningly.

"Mm, do whatever you want to me," the woman purrs. She is starting beyond me with empty eyes.

"I told you what I want," I remind her. "Your clothes."

"I want you so bad…" the woman sighs dreamily.

"I don't care what you want!" I snap. "Let me take your clothes!"

"My body is ready…"

I keep trying to threaten her for her clothes, but she only repeats the same flirtatious lines over and over. I am not some kind of monster that will rip the clothes off a lady's back, so I resign myself to wearing rags forever. I still bash her, though, but she refuses to disappear.

"Like a brain," I comment. "No matter how hard I bash, they don't disappear. Unless I bash until they do. What a mess, though." I smack the jealous feminine across the head again.

"Why don't you get these clothes off me, handsome?" is all she says.

"Yes," I reply, frustrated, "I do want your clothes."

Sheogorath's voice again echoes around me again. "Creativity may kill cats," he laughs, "but this is killing me! Brilliant, mortal thing! You've got quite the head up there!" He snickers. "Pelly's dear mother was rather brilliant too, you know. She found out that the little children do sleep quite nicely when you mix a touch of honey into their mead to mask the taste of nightshade before bed. Pathetic milk-drinkers. Heh."

I preen as I am faced with his approval and instantly forget about the clothed woman. I continue his little trial with even more enthusiasm. While wandering about, I clamber over some kind of hill and make it to another clearing with a person, but this time there are two and one of them is very small.

"Ah, I see you've found Pelly's temper," Sheogorath again says from Somewhere, "and a nasty one it was. His mother's was worse, mind you, but at least hers was external. Pelagius, the dear, spent most of his time beating his own confidence down with those little flights of fury. Scary things, emotions. Now, fix him! Let him love himself!"

Stumped, I stare at the two twins. It bothers me that the twins are not the same size because twins should be the same size. The more I think about it, the angrier I grow until I cannot stand it. I will beat the tall one into the ground, I decide furiously.

I whack the tall person a few times until he is no longer tall. The twins are still fighting each other, however, so I decide to teach them a lesson. I smack one of them with the screaming stick, and his height shoots up. I stare at him, angry that all my hard work has been undone. I heft the screaming stick again, ready to bash him back to the right height, but Sheogorath's laugh makes me pause.

"Ah, brilliant yet again," Sheogorath cheers. "Look at how confident Pelly is now! If only you'd been in his head during his life; maybe he would have massacred fewer people, eh?"

I nod, pretending to understand. I do not know what I am doing, but I am good at it. Sheogorath seems to think I am some sort of mastermind even though I am just hitting things as hard as I can indiscriminately and sometimes they explode or change size.

I wander more until I see an arena where two demons are fighting each other. Who dares force these poor creatures fight each other for entertainment?

I cast my gaze about until I see a cluster of people cheering like there is something to cheer about. I decide that it is my solemn duty to hit those people on the other side of the little amphitheater. Getting to them takes me a while because I have to carefully make my way over the rocky terrain, but I am determined to massacre the bastards.

The moment I smash their stupid heads in, they all turn into shrubs. Satisfied, I inform the demons that they are free to leave. They ignore me, but now they are fighting of their own free will. It is not my place to interrupt such a sacred pact.

As I trot away, I must admit that Sheogorath has great style, as none of the enemies whose skulls I crack bleed a single drop of blood. Rather, they just turn into strange and delightful objects that baffle and amuse. I wander about happily for a while until I forget what I am to be doing. I begin drawing some happy pit wolves mauling their cruel captors.

"What are you waiting for?" Sheogorath's cross voice emanates through the air. "A royal summons? Get back to the banquet hall!"

I quickly draw one more headless person and then dutifully make my way back to Sheogorath. He is lounging on his throne when I arrive and eating a large carrot. He grins at me when I take the seat across from him, and a strawberry torte appears in front of me the moment he snaps his fingers.

"That was a joy," he snickers. "You're supposed to magic people with the Wabbajack, not knock off their heads, but that's what makes it fun, eh? Unpredictability. You mortals are too young to get stuck in your ways for long, but most immortals can't separate eternity from life. That's where I come in, little mortal," he says meaningfully. "I make immortality worth it, so maybe I'll even make mortality worth it, hm?"

He giggles, and I take a bite out of the strawberry torte in front of me. There are no utensils, so I use my hands, but I don't mind. It tastes like a cinnamon roll.

"I kid," he says cheerfully. "Mortality's never, ever worth it." He laces his fingers together and leans forward so that his gaze captures my own. "You. I'm making you my Champion," he decides.

"I'm already your Champion," I inform him, and he furrows his brow in confusion.

"I thought I adopted a child?" Sheogorath says slowly.

"That was me," I reply.

"You're not a baby!" he shouts back.

"Thank you!"

"Ah, how confusing," Sheogorath grumbles, "but no matter. I will rip rabbits from your stomach if you deny me."

"I already said yes," I remind him, and he leans his head back against his throne.

"Sigh," he says before actually sighing. "They always reject me..."

"I'm a one Daedra kind of girl," I state seriously, and he frowns in disappointment.

"Oh?" he inquires. "Who is the lucky Prince?"

"You."

"By me!" he shrieks before clapping his hands. Off-key trumpets echo through the air and a blizzard of flower petals sweeps through, contaminating all the food with plant life. Since plant life is generally healthy, I don't pay it any mind and just keep eating my torte. "What a happy day! Have a stabbery turtle, on me." The torte that I am about to take another bite of suddenly turns into a carrot cake while the carrot he was munching on disappears.

I gaze at the carrot cake for a moment, and then take a bite of it. "This is a good strawberry torte," I affirm.

"Isn't it?" he preens. "It's made of the entrails and jam of a watermelon!"

"Ohh..." I nod thoughtfully and continue eating.

"Ha!" Sheogorath cries gleefully as he sits up straight in his throne. He points at me triumphantly. "You've eaten of my banquet, mortal! You are now bound to me forever!"

"Oh," I say, unbearably pleased. "Good."

"Yes! Good!" He snaps his fingers with a toothy grin, and he waves his hand so that a bottle of wine appears in his grasp. "Now, how can I convince you to give me your soul after death?" He gasps and jerks the cork off the bottle with his teeth. "Ee no, ee coo toon oo into 'n elf," he says around the cork. He spits it out straight towards me, but it flies into an Oblivion portal right before it hits my face. "They live for centuries!" he continues. "That's a good deal, isn't it?"

"But I'm already part elf," I say confusedly. "I'm a Breton. And a half-Dunmer."

"Oh, what a conundrum!" Sheogorath says after a drumroll fills the air. Another portal opens up and the cork shoots out to land into Sheogorath's waiting hand. He begins to twirl it on a finger. "I probably knew that…"

I nod. "Mmhm, but Bretons aren't considered Mer, I think, just human with a pinch of elf slop inside."

"Ooh, the plot thickens!" Sheogorath cries. He flicks the cork into the air, and it turns into an egg that breaks the moment it hits the ground below. A tiny cow runs out of the crash site and dashes away. "Perhaps if we add a bit more water and a bit less flour," he muses, "then we could fix it…"

I shrug. "I'm not sure about flowers, but if I were normal—"

"Ha!" Sheogorath sputters.

"If I were a non-Breton," I correct myself, "I'd be half-Dunmer Mer and half…" I pause, unsure at what a Breton would be without elven blood. "…Whatever, but instead I'm half Mer plus the Breton Mer bit which is…" I gaze up at the sky as I try to think, but I am not particularly successful.

"Time for a little mental mathematics, eh?" Sheogorath says cheerfully. He takes a long draught straight from the wine bottle and then grins with purple-stained teeth. "And they said it would never come in handy!" he cries. "Numbers are from zero to one to two to three to four to…" He pauses to take another drink. "How old were you again? When you were a baby?"

"Less than that," I guess.

"Delighted. Now." He slams the wine bottle onto the table, and three nearby plates turn into potted lavender plants. I immediately reach out and pick some sprigs to replenish my supply. "It's time we get to the bottom of your botty."

"Body," I correct him gently.

"Botty," he retorts.

"Body."

"Botty."

"Body."

"Body."

"Botty."

He narrows his eyes at me. "What does that mean?"

I open my mouth, but no words come out. "I forgot," I realize.

"Maybe it's because you're two thirds elf and only one third human," he muses, one finger tapping his chin.

"Hmm…" I tap my chin musingly and try to make thoughts run through my brain properly. "No…" I decide slowly. "Not enough."

"Tricky!" Sheogorath cries with gusto. "Tricky indeed. This calls for refreshments!"

A few kittens fall from the sky, mewling pitifully as they tumble to the ground. They all look unharmed, thankfully, and one of them lands in my lap. I stroke its soft velvet fur musingly, and it helps clear my chin somewhat.

"Three of five, then?" I supply.

"Too banal," he says airily. "Six-and-a-third tenths?"

"Too convoluted," I decide. "Seventy-one of one hundred fifteen?"

"Much too much. Two hundred fifty-five two hundred fifty-seconds?"

"That sounds about right…" I agree, and then gasp. "Oh! nineteen of twenty-nine, obviously!"

"Ah, of course!" Sheogorath slams one fist on the table, which shakes threateningly but does not splinter. "How could I have not realized? Tsk tsk, my dearest Valirerlillie Milvlsea Lledvasie Lyssyssryss S'tharon of House Hlaalu."

I am so surprised that I cannot even remember why those words sound so familiar. "Who?" I ask hesitantly.

He points at me. "There."

"Me?"

"You."

"You… remember my name?" I inquire, dumbfounded.

"Well of course I do!" he yells. "That's the whole reason I chose you! That name of yours is so purely mad, that I claimed you as soon as I heard!"

"Oh yeah…" I recall slowly. "Fenri mentioned that."

"And now look at you," he says happily. I do so, and delightedly realize I am now wearing fine clothes rather than rags. "All grown up and my second Champion! I'll have to get Valirerlillie Milvlsea Lledvasie Lyssyssryss S'tharon of House Hlaalu and Liar to duel for first place, eh?"

"I'll win!"

"Brilliant, my darling!" he laughs, clapping his hands. "Eighteen twenty-sevenths human, hm?"

I shake my head. "No, nineteen of twenty-seven Mer."

"Nineteen twenty-ninths elves, really?" he asks, baffled. "Are there more elves now? Where'd they come from?"

"I think we lost a few, actually," I say. "The underground ones."

"Which, the blind or the stupidly smart?" he asks, and I frown.

"I'm not sure," I admit.

"Well I do, and you're right," he retorts confidently.

I feel my face color with pride, and I bob my head to him. "Thank you!"

"Shame, though, that you sliced up your name like a crowd of peasants," he grumbles, "because it's just so absolutely delightful!"

"I'd love to be named after me," I admit.

"You might be right for once!" Sheogorath cries. "Ohh, I really should replace that old Pelagius Wing with the Valirerlillie Milvlsea Lledvasie Lyssyssryss S'tharon of House Hlaalu Wing. Got a nice ring to it, eh?" He cackles for many long seconds, and then suddenly halts, his next words thoughtful. "Hm, first you've gotta get on the throne, though… I could call in a few favors with Sithis and..."

"Didn't someone get to yell a king away?" I ask when he trails off into silence. "I could do that."

"Politics, politics, politics," he scoffs, snapping his gaze right back to me. "It's all phooey, so just go and slice people to death. It worked well enough for the Septims, eh? They got their own dragons and coins and even a dynasty." Sheogorath stands up with a chuckle and then wipes his hands against each other. "Well, I bid you farewell for now. Enjoy the symphony I wrote for you, my dear Champion."

An Oblivion portal appears behind him with a loud pop, and Sheogorath steps into it just as an orchestra of instruments appears out of nowhere. There is no one playing them, though, so it is just silence.

All the kittens are now gone, except for one, a tiny black one that will match my clothes and Shadowmere stunningly. I have to give the Mad God props for thinking of my vanity even in this, and I pick up the small creature gently. After blinking brilliant yellow eyes, it mewls fiercely and yawns, showing off its tiny little needle teeth, and I hug the warm fuzzy thing tight to my chest.

"Madanach, True Ruler of the Fursworn," I murmur into his cute little head. "The King in Fuzz."