Chapter Ten: Dance Mania (Part Three)


"Honey, honey," a voice called. "Theo… hey."

A warm hand pressed against his cheek, and he leaned against it. A sigh escaped and he felt a hand slipped down and rested on his surcoat, just above his chest.

"This is no time to rest," the soft voice called gently. "My knight." Sharp claws gouged through armor and flesh, his eyes opened wide and he coughed violently, feeling his lungs pierced in.

Coarse hands immediately brushed the area, and he felt... nothing. He looked down, patted it repeatedly as he breathed heavily, expecting the familiar claws of a hawk. Bewildered gray eyes looked up to his surrounding and he waited, tense and still, listening carefully. Shadowmere only snorted somewhere out in the darkness, a gentle reassurance.

"Just a dream," he breathed out gently. A dream…


"Miss Longueville?!" Colbert gasped, eyes widening and hurriedly looked away.

"What's wrong, Jean?" The secretary grinned as she danced.

"Nothing!" The Fire Mage coughed and swallowed heavily. "I… I'm just…"

"Why don't you dance, Colbert?" Asked the completely drunk… and naked secretary.

"I…" Colbert didn't answer but immediately backed away from the beckoning hands. "What in the world is going on here?!" He muttered this to himself at the complete… madness!

Is no one seeing this?! The musicians… they were rotting skeletons, rotting, grinning skeletons vigorously slaving away on their instruments.

A cold hand slinked down behind his neck and he immediately stepped away, bumping into a bunch of students that - Colbert narrowed his eyes at such improper actions. He immediately lifted the boy up from the girl and threw him as far out as possible.

"This is no place for such acts," the Fire Mage snapped down at the tipsily drunk girl.

She did not hear him, merely giggled on the ground with tousled hair and dress.

Is everyone just completely out of it?!

Colbert looked around and blanched when he felt the cold hands around his wrist… cold black hands, dark as a shadow holding him. A silhouette stood right in front of him. Faceless, eyeless… featureless.

Dance…

He shook his head at the silhouette, backing away.

"Dance, Jean!"

"Have some fun, Professor."

"C'mon, you know you want to…"

Dance… the cold hands tugged him.

Warm and cold hands all around him pushed and pulled, touching him. He shuddered against such feeling.

"No." The words gasped out of his lips.

"No?" A cold sharp voice laughed. "You remind me of a priest of Julianos."

Colbert stood astounded. How? He thought when he looked around. The bespectacled scholar stood at the center of the ballroom, surrounded by a swirl of motions. Staffs and students lost to the movements and music.

"Who are you?" He demanded at the pale albino wearing a purple regalia.

"Didn't the Seducers tell you?" Grinned the albino viciously, his white sharp teeth gleaming.

"They call you Madgod." The Fire Mage narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, watching carefully for sudden movements.

"Aye." The man bowed in a curtsy but kept that grin, his white locks briefly curtained his features. "You wanted something?" Inhuman eyes flashed crystal clear.

Sharp gold and blue reflected his image, slitted black pupils like that of a cat's watched the unamused gaze of the mage.

"What is happening here? What did you do to them?!" The Fire Mage called out coldly, he swept his arms at the slavish movements to desires all around him.

"Y'know the answer, Jean," the albino answered slyly. "Think." The Madgod tapped his own pale forehead.

Dance… madness… complete disregard of propriety. The shadows, the musicians, the darkness, and beckoning will 'o wisps. It was like… some disease grabbed hold of their minds. A dancing plague?

"Correct," the Mad God said.

He stepped back at that.

"You can hear my thoughts?" Colbert's voice was quiet at that.

"No…" the god answered. "I know them," he snarled deeply but kept that vicious grin plastered on his face.

That did not make him feel better.

"Why are you here?" The mage asked, feeling cold sweats slid down his forehead, his heart pounding against the cage of his ribs, skin prickling and his hands tight as fist by his side, wishing for his comforting wooden staff. He knew this feeling. It was the feeling of being inside a burning house.

What's wrong with me?

"I was invited, summoned, prayed. And I answered," the Madgod answered coolly. "But surely you have important questions than that?" The albino added with a tilt of his head.

Colbert snapped shut, his eyes distracted by the blur movements surrounding them. "If this is a dancing plague…"

"Would they die?" The Madgod grinned even wider. "It's called a plague, Colbert… for a reason."

"You monster," the words slipped out without thought.

The tall god merely chuckled and bend down towards him. He poked his chest as he said this… "Like you? Like the fires you had unleashed to those villages as they screamed. I… am at least merciful. A bitter mercy, but a mercy nonetheless," he told him as he rested his forehead just an inch before his.

Colbert only gazed back coolly at that, unflinching under those inhuman eyes. "I bid you to release them from this enrapture," he said - no, commanded.

"But don't you have other questions to ask?" The Madgod asked slyly as he stepped back. "Here's your chance, Colbert."

"Those questions don't matter."

"Oh…" the Madgod hissed, disappointed. "It does… more than you know it." He grinned again.

"You're oddly straightforward, brother," murmured a bewitching voice.

Colbert blanched when the Lady of the Evening stepped forward, taking her brother's arm in hers.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" The midnight blue lady chided back at her mad sibling.

The mad one just looked back at her, bewildered. "What did I forget?"

"The price, Sheogorath…" she told him gently as if berating a child for forgetting something so simple.

"Oh… isn't the dancing plague the price?" Sheogorath asked innocently, scratching his head with his other hand as if he was swatted at the back of his head.

"I did not-" Colbert began sharply, panicking.

"You asked in ignorance, and shouldn't I, a god, smite you for such ignorant action," the Mad God interrupted with narrowed gaze.

"That's not how you bargain with the mortal," the Lady added, resting her hand on his shoulder. "That's cheating. You took advantage of his ignorance."

"Really…" Sheogorath's voice dripped at that then turned back at Colbert. "Caught by my own sister," he muttered and drawled, "Well, you want me to release them?" He swished his fingers at all around him.

"Yes," Colbert answered calmly, his breathing slow. Trust not, give not.

Knowledge has a price, be prepared, mortal, to give.

The Mad God watched him for a long time. "Should I ask your arms?" He grinned. "Cut off your legs. Burn your face or eyes, or both perhaps? Should I take your magic?"

Colbert gulped and kept silent. His tongue somehow stiff and heavy.

"To release the whole academy…" the god went on, tapping his chin with his index finger. "No arms or legs are worth of… how many hundred souls here. A thousand shells… no, no," he whispered, lost in thought. "Hundred thousand?" He grinned.

A duel…

"A d-duel," Colbert blurted.

Are you mad? Have you gone mad?!

The albino god looked at him sharply, his eyes both turned icy blue. "That... " He frowned and murmured, "Now that's… surprising."

The Lady beside him only raised an eyebrow at the mortal. "You don't know what you just asked, didn't you?" She told him softly, with pity on her face.

I asked for a death sentence, didn't I? Colbert thought quietly. Not the first time he did such thing.

"Sheogorath is the best blademaster of our family," The Lady continued. "No one has ever challenged him for such duel."

"Aye," another voice added and an ebony arm rested down on the Mad God's shoulder. The drunken demon slurred with a wry lopsided grin as he leaned heavily for support. "Not even Bal… or Bo. Or… or..." The demon slipped down onto the floor with a crash. "Or Dagon. Or Mal-mal..." He sniggered from the floor. "Or anyone for the whole matter!"

"Except Jyggalag."

Both of them turned quiet and looked at the Madgod.

"But that was a long time ago. These eons, all of us played with our pawns and never once moved a king," Sheogorath said with a dull voice. "I think you've lost your head, mortal. You're asking a god to duel with you. These are no legends or echoes of the fantastic past, Jean Colbert. So tell me, why should I move my king for a pawn?"

"Heroes managed to live to tell the tales," Colbert added quietly.

"Do you believe in such tales?"

Now? Now he's got to. It shows he has a chance, but… "No," he answered calmly.

The Madgod tilted his head at that, staring at the odd being before him for a long time. He burst into laughter and covered his face. "My… how selfless of you?!"

But why? Another voice whispered inside his head as Colbert grimaced, his eyes watched the staffs and students, made into stringed puppets and pulled along for some… twisted amusements. What kind of beings took pleasure in acts like these?

Perhaps the zealots in Brimir's faith weren't lying.

Gods… they called themselves. Colbert blue eyes fell back on the Mad one. "I dislike bloodshed and unnecessary death," he answered the voice in his head.

"Yet you resort to violence which is the culprit involved both of those. You asked for a duel."

True. He gave a wry smile at that. "What then would you ask as a price if not a duel? The life of another person? My firstborn?"

"We've made such demands as those before. Loyal servants, they usually become, or troll food," the mad one told him with that sly smile still on his face. "Are you sure about this duel, Jean Colbert?" He added, tone serious.

"If you would not let them go, then I must do what I can." The Flame Snake glared.

The Madgod merely chuckled at the glare of a serpent. "Alright, I shall amuse you." He grinned and stepped down, well more like stepped forward. His height now equal to Colbert's as he said this, "Your fire against my blade. You win… and I'll let go."

"Oh c'mon Sheogorath, why would you go spoiling the party like that?" Complained the drunk red-faced demon on the floor. "It's not just your party."

"Regardless… the mortal asked," said Sheogorath without turning his head.

"You haven't finished the condition," Colbert interrupted.

A smirk was the reply. "You lose, and well… you get to watch them dance until they die… while you bleed to death of course. Appropriate despair for the most conceited, right, Jean Colbert?"

The music stopped. The soft taps and thumps of dancing feet halted. The crowds of students and staffs watched him blankly and all backed away to give a huge clearing around them. A soft hum, Colbert blinked in surprised as a hazy glowing dome spilled down.

A cage.

After all this time, retribution comes in a form. Colbert couldn't hold back the grimacing smile.

If this was a dream… it's one frightening one… He thought as he saw the glint of blade appearing out of the purple swirling vortex. It was a strange one as its design and crossguard were serpentines.

"Your staff, mage," his opponent said and the sound of wood clattered onto the floor.

There it was… his staff. Polished black and smooth, a comforting friend. Colbert watched carefully as he kneeled down and grabbed hold of his weapon.

"You need not worry for the mortals. Your spells will be shielded by this dome. Cross my heart, hope to die." The Mad one grinned at the hazy blue spherical ward that took up most of the ballroom. "Go all out, Mister Snake." He stood on the opposite end of the clearing, haven't moved an inch as he leaned on his sword as if it was a cane.

Why doesn't he move?

Foot tapped as he waited then the sound stopped. A sharp song of a blade, Colbert gasped when he saw it lunged right past where his head used to be. The gleaming metal singing for his blood as he side-stepped.

How did he- Colbert eyes briefly flashed at the large space of the clearing.

"You dodge!" Cried the albino man happily, nonchalant at being before him. "But too slow."

What. The thin line appeared down from his shoulder and across his chest. Blood splattered onto the albino as he just kept grinning even with the red stain. I didn't even see him move! Colbert's eyes widened as he landed onto the floor.

A chant slipped, he raised his staff in aim and a fiery serpentine snake burst and lunged to coil around his opponent.

"Oh," said the albino and jumped back easefully at each attack, the fiery snake crackling of hot flames. "Very stylish," he commented then narrowed back onto the mage. "Oh, my…"

Colbert breathed heavily as he stood up, clutching the freshly made burnt flesh. Better sealed than bleeding.

"A bit of masochist, are we?" Grinned the Mad one, and he moved again.

Got you! A swirling firestorm sprung right in front of him, sucking the air sharply as it blasted his assailant.

"You're predictable," the Fire Mage said at the roaring flames as he breathed deeply, gasping from the hot air. Hopefully, he wasn't lying about the dome stopping his spells… Colbert exhaled heavily and stepped back, only to feel a presence.

"Really? Now that's insulting," said a deep voice from behind him.

He heard the sound of blade cut through flesh. Colbert looked down and grimaced at the protruded sword in his guts.

"I…" the Fire Mage blinked at this.

"Surprise?" He could hear the wide grin from his assailant. "Now, will you enjoy the celebration?"

Warm red blood pooled the ground at his feet.

"H-how…" Colbert whispered.

"I'm no spirit of this pale shade you call your world, Jean Colbert," the voice behind him answered calmly. "Regardless, I accept the price, Colbert. Think of this as a bitter mercy."

His visions wavered and he felt the cold presence in his gut leave. He slammed onto the bloody marble floor for that.

"Jean!" A voice screamed.


It has to be a nightmare. It's got to. I would never ask for a… duel, not with… I… what's going on? What's happening?

"Jean?" A voice called.

He blinked and jerked his gaze from the blood red wine. His eyes were met with dark black hair and a worried pair of eyes.

"Drank too much?" Longueville smiled in her beautiful black dress. "You spaced out just now."

"I think... I should retire early," the repeated words slipped out of his mouth, and a feeling washed down on him.

He said those words before. Colbert turned away woodenly from Longueville, quickly left and retraced his footsteps. The bright lit chandeliers of the ballroom disappeared into the dark hallways of the castle. A crunch of dried leaves, damp earth met his boot and the sound of gurgling streams and distant ball music greeted him. The smell of sweet, sweet wine whiffed heavily in the air. He immediately looked upward.

"Are you tormenting me?!" He yelled at the enchanted canopies, his blood boiling at the thoughts of dancing skeletons. Of students and staffs led by the cackling Grim Reaper.

The voices laughed, mocking. "It's what you get for facing the Madgod, mortal."

Now, will you enjoy the celebration?

"Where is he?!" He demanded.

"You've got guts!" Hissed a seducing voice hotly into his ear. "To demand the Mad Prince twice! He was merciful to you the first time!"

"Release the academy from this plague!" He said and spun around to face the voice only to blanch at the alien creature.

Sharp blue slitted eyes, metallic skin glistening dusty red and a provocative silky fabric. A long luscious black hair draping down an enticing body. Not hard to imagine why she was called a Seducer.

"What are you?" He murmured as he backed away.

She merely gave a feline smirk. "We are the Daedra."


Nelrene cursed as she always had. Once the Ruler of Dementia's guard, now a mere footsoldier… equal to dogs and male Seducers. But Syl got what she deserved, that stupid duchess bit more than she could chew.

Who knew Sheogorath Himself would become the Duchess worst fear. Sheogorath, the Inquisitor? She had laughed when she came back after Syl disposed of her.

Muurine was right in some ways about Syl.

Nelrene also knew in that paranoid infested head of that foolish Bosmer, she was capable of turning back on them and side with Order if given a proper push. Both Mania and Dementia's rulers were capable of being pathetic idiots, one that would cower and hide their tail between their legs once the Madgod came for them.

Syl was first before she could even try to join the Greymarch. Thadon, as she predicted, ran like a dog he was when that happened.

Nevertheless, it was gratifying to see the Inquisitor, Sheogorath sat on the throne. Victorious for once when all she knew of Greymarch was its unending force that always… got them.

Mortals always failed.

It was unbelievable, but a strange sight she had dared dream for a long time. To see Madgod and yet… the Inquisitor. He was Sheogorath, as He always was since the Dawn. Yet he was also a mortal, perhaps she did not see how the stars behaved and void aligned, the shadows that he cast behind, how He was actually Madgod-to-be.

Only the Prince could see such intricate tapestry, perhaps it was why mortals fascinated them.

It reminded her the times her Lord hid as a mortal witch to fool the Prince of Wishes. Or as a knight wearing a cooking pot over his head as his helmet.

But it was the past. He had not glanced at her after she had done her part in the conspiracy, not even once after she was disposed of. After all, she blamed the mortal Muurine and did not utter her most hidden thoughts on Syl, what that capricious Duchess would do on them. Merely uttered what the Bosmer deserved.

The Seducer sighed. Too late to change her oaths, she was Sheogorath's through and through. Wouldn't mind if He just looked at her once in a while, she slumped.

And now she had to deal with this! Yarn Mountain!

Nelrene shuddered as she heard the rustle and brush of wool somewhere off.

In the crooked crevice within one of the floating Isles, there was a nook. Large enough to be a cave, a small cave that she could hide. Far above enough to be away from the rampaging storm below, and low enough for the moving mountain.

Well, not low enough now, the thing had bend down, seeking her out. She could hear the flurry of living strands amongst the howl of the storm coming closer.

It was like playing hide and seek. Except… she was an ant in a hill, hiding in one of the many tiny caves.

Then she saw it, the fluffy bristled ends of red wooly strands.

She cursed in annoyance and immediately ran out of the cave, jumping off the ledge and down to the raging storm.

A moment later, she heard a huge crash of millions of strands slamming to the spot where she was. Debris flew past her in her fall, grazing her. From her back, a bat-like wings formed and wind surged her glide upwards.

"That was close," she whispered as she glided up to the surface.

The Seducer grimaced when she saw it.

A moving mountain… swirling vast of wools… no, she thought. A flash of red wild magic, something similar to what Wabbajack blast, the strands flickering into metallic silver coils, glistening in their buzzing movements.

And now it was a giant Atronach made of metal strands… then back to wool in the red flashes.

How does it do that? She frowned as she glided on the outskirt of the Isles, her blue-silver metallic eyes watching the giant swatting the golden blurs of Saints.

Wabbajack changes its target unpredictably… this thing, Atronach whatever, almost have the same spell effect. The red flash of magic.

But it only changes to wool and back to metal, unpredictably so. Nelrene watched as it rampaged across the Isles. Good thing the dogs led it to one of the outskirts isles.

It can't be… She didn't know how Wabbajack was made. It was a secret jealously guarded, but every Daedric artifacts had a piece of the Prince inside it. Part of its core so that even if it was destroyed, it would come back again. How would this thing have a piece of their Lord inside it?

Well technically speaking, they all have a piece of the Prince. The Realm itself was the Prince. The bonds, their oaths that kept them anchored to their Lord was a piece of Sheogorath. It was their Lord's power that held their animus from being completely taken by the Void if they ever fell, through the Wellspring of course.

That mountain… was part of the realm. Once an immovable piece of yarns, but what changed it to be this Atronach?

Nelrene frowned and pounded her head with her fist. She was close, she could feel it.

Then she was slammed by the seeking strands of wool, knocking her helmet off.

"NO!" She cried at the feeling of the brushes of wool, coiling around her and her arms, taking her in.

No! No! No! No! She silently screamed as it pulled her in.

A flash of red, the magic spilled over her, making her hair crackled. A cold silver metal touch against her skin as the giant thing swirled… then froze in its movement.

She turned around, in puzzlement, locked within its grip.

A sudden blast of motions, sharp ends of metal strands spreading all over the skies in straight lines and piercing any in its way. Completely wiped out a whole branch of Saints. Nelrene held back the scream of pain as the coil around her tightened.

The world closing around her as it swallowed.

It was dark, and the only company was the tight painful grip that never seemed to end and the roars of wool brushing and moving, and metals scraping against another. She was inside it…

A light pierced into the darkness, a red light. She opened her eyes as the grip loosened around her, her mouth gaped at she was seeing.

The Obelisk of Order. No… the Crystals of Order don't grow like that. It doesn't even grow at all unless the Greymarch was happening again. What should be an array of carefully grown monumental crystals, were crystals of various size. Small and big, growing in all direction, without thought and care. Dark roots of a growing Tree of Madness sap had taken hold the crystal rose.

And mostly, it pulsed a mesmerizing red color when no Obelisk ever shone of any light or life, unless the flames of Greymarch counts.

She reached out with her hand, pulling herself easefully out of the flurry of wools. Metallic blue palm rested on the warm pulsating surface. It felt alive.

And angry… and happy, and sad… and… hunger…

She moved her hand away quickly.

"You aren't an Atronach," she whispered. It was not because yarn wasn't an element. Such logic was meaningless in the Shivering Isles. But perhaps this was… this madness was the element, was twisting it anyway into... something unconventional. This crystallized concentration that was its heart. "You're a Monarch."

This was its core.


It was always the storms the Mad Cat favored. But didn't stormy days represent Kyne's anger, or was it her grieving over her dead husband? Nirn did not know rain until Shor had fallen.

But in other tales, it was Mara's tears that wept rain for some star-crossed lovers.

Nevertheless, there was an old superstitious, never summon during a storm. Pray in whispers. And do not travel in such time unless you wish to risk one's life. Only the foolish and brave would go out into a storm.

But Nords sang on in such weather in their heaving hos when hunting for Snow Whales and climbing precarious paths on mountains. Redguards braved the seas as their ancestors had done, not tarrying away from such superstitious.

For some, death claimed them.

The Mers were wiser, but few, young and foolish mayhap dared. And those that were experienced were willing to shorten the hundreds of years in their life.

Storms were His days. As for why it was, perhaps it was the unpredictability of a storm, perhaps it was the tales that happened during stormy days that attracted the Madgod, or perhaps it was some mad logic that it was best not to think about but that was just being lazy. His Lord always made the mortals strove towards broadening their mind… even if it broke them.

The citizens of the Shivering Isles though had faced such storm, a rising tide, a flood that shall take them until their Lord tore it away in his taciturn dance with it.

And then he was gone again. Changes though frightened the mad mortals, for the changes they knew was that when Order came, when their Lord disappeared. The Isles they knew, split into pieces, the Sea of Madness now a raging storm that clawed them. Madness grew ironically out of control in the shade cast by the absence of their Lord. Such chaos was neither anarchy or of the scheming kind, but mad ones.

And the Tree of Madness grew, its roots dug deeper to the point it poked through the Isles, chaining them to the heart, the center, New Sheoth. Small saplings grew from the roots, and into blooming trees that bled of blood and gold mist.

But the mortals danced instead. Dance, and dance, and dance as all kind of chaos that even the shades of those unstable locked away since The Beginning came out to join. The Dancing Plague was a celebration, the anniversary of their Lord's victory over the curse. Surely their Lord would appear again, dancing, saving them again. So too they danced on this day.

The air thick with visions, like the haze in incense and smokes when one was high of Moon Sugar.

If not the storm, but the golden pollens of the Tree of Madness flowering, swallowing the Isles in its constant snowing. Even the Crystals of Order that decorated all around the Isles, adamantly floating above the storm when lands had given away under them. A stubborn pillar of stability, remaining at the very same spot as they were like the constant moons and sun in the Nirn's sky.

They glow for once, a color in its gray prism. Purple.

"A color, you say?" Dyus said slowly as he stood on the edge of the white room, gazing at the realm around him from his prison.

"The realm is changing. And yet there are those who still doubt… the curse never broke," Haskill reported in a bored tone.

"If no such Order exists in this realm-" the old mortal began.

"Would Madness tear itself apart?" Haskill finished and sighed heavily. "The storm below is rising like sea tides on full moons."

"His Grace's anger is great," the lifeless chamberlain murmured.

"It hasn't changed, merely expressed more violently now. Such phase will pass," his colleague brushed off calmly. "Change is a constant here."

"If the Obelisk itself is corrupted by this then we do not have much time," Dyus added gravely. "They had always been 23. Never would I imagine the number would change."

"Yet it is," Haskill replied.

"Bring me a sample of the crystal."

"You're willing to hold a concentrated source of what you hated most?"

"It is crystallized… surely you should see this as Order inflicting on madness as well?" He pointed out. "I still wonder how one could crystallize madness," Dyus spoke in utter disbelief. "Does it not represent itself as constant moving water and manifesting roots, not instilled like a crystal? Never still and always growing, an impairment like the roots that hold the Isles in its crushing grip?"

"Yet such impairment keeps its citizens alive," Haskill jabbed back, growing tired of this constant conversation that always struck between them. "You are confuzzled, I get that." He drolled. "Besides, there's more to madness than you'll ever understand."

Jyggalag's former Chamberlain was quiet at that.

"To others, he is silly and eccentric, nonsensical," Haskill continued. "But dangerous for his unpredictability. Yet do they only see that side of him?"

"Can you blame the mortals?"

"What else could I blame?" Sheogorath's Chamberlain stood up from his tea break. "I must leave, however much I enjoy your company," Haskill said with a sigh. "If my Lord sees me now, he would no doubt find other ways to annoy me."

"Do you believe the curse is broken?" Dyus called out.

Haskill stopped and turned slightly. "Yes." Sheogorath's Chamberlain hummed and smiled. "Here, we both agree in some ways. We both expect for the curse to end is for one Prince to cease to exist, or at least halted until the next cycle."

Dyus was silent at that. "Your Lord once had a strange way looking at the curse."

"Oh. Did he say something?"

"He asked me this: What does it mean to be mad? Especially a mad god, the Madgod?"

"The mortals scholars and elves say it is to echo the Aurbis' Duality, after all… there is the Dragon, the most schizophrenic of them all. But aren't all gods mad, Haskill?"

"The idea of god plotting against himself is… just crazy. I'm still half-expecting Sheogorath to still surprise me for fooling me with this quest. A bait to make me mad. But then… I would be admitting I am him."

"Perhaps the curse is actually for one to always plot against... themselves. Madness isn't the curse, it is a symptom just as Greymarch was a symptom. It would make sense, after all, it serves the Princes' purpose. One god's nature chaining the other. To stave off Jyggalag. This change the Isles is going through is just another symptom, right?"

"Haskill… I… Who am I?"

"I'm not Sheogorath! You are! Here, hold this stick and sit on this throne. There, now you're the new Madgod!"

"I do not care for the answer, nor do I dare to fathom it," Haskill replied softly but with a hint of a sad smile. "Regardless, it is always a pleasure to serve him."

"I have to start all over again, don't I? Never mind! There's nothing more beautiful than a blank canvas… right?"

"Is this where it all comes to… me, a Prince of a dead realm…"

Never again he wanted to see his Prince mourn.

"Now would you excuse me, I have your job to do," Haskill said quietly and finally left.


"I'll tell you a story, mortal," whispered the seducing demon into his ear. "About a priest. She served the dead gods, guided the people of those who asked. She taught children and fed the mouths of orphans. She lived her years to help others."

Colbert gasped in pain, his right eye bruised and he could feel the blood sliding down his face from the cut. He hung upside down, held by some enchanted chain around his legs. A strange chain as it was transparent except for the light it gave off. An eerie purple ethereal light.

"In other words, she was a dull, boring mortal," drawled her sister by her side.

"Shh," the Seducer pressed her finger on her sister's full lips. "I'm talking," she told then gave an appraising look at the mortal hung above them as if he was a feast.

Colbert grimaced at that look.

"The dancing plague struck her village in their moment of celebrating Mad Pelagius day. Too late she found out, but for hours on, she cried the villagers to stop. She had stood and shouted just as long as they danced. But after three nights and two days passed, she was found by the guards, surrounded by fallen mortals. Starved to death, and dehydrated but with grins on their face, only hers were riddled with dried tears."

"And then she died?" Her sister interrupted again.

"Well, she lived. Everyone died. But she lost her voice." She rolled her eyes.

"Why are you telling me this?" The Flame Snake said this quietly, squinting down at them as blood had slipped into his left eye, not to mention he was without his spectacles.

"I'm just saying," the Seducer replied, her hands slid on her exposed hips and rested against them as she examined him. "Why do mortals give themselves to pain when they could be happy?" She tilted her head and stared with big eyes in wonder. "How do you do that, always giving in to such foolish endeavor?" Her voice was strangely quiet.

"You really don't understand human beings?" Colbert asked gravely, breathing heavily.

"No, I don't. But they are always interesting because of that."

"Can we have fun with him now?" Whined her sister. "We're waiting, you know!" She pointed at the other Seducers who were peeking from behind the surrounding the trees.

I need to get out of here… Colbert breathed heavily, searching for something, anything really to help him out of his predicament. And I need to start carrying my wand everywhere.

"Sister, don't you think it's getting cold?" A voice called out from the trees.

"What do you mean? It's never cold here," the head leader replied in disbelief.

"Well… the stream has frozen over."

"What…"

Colbert ignored when the leader left, leaving the overeager sister watching him hungrily. She licked her full lips at him and he held back a shudder.

"My wine! How did it-" a voice cried.

White mist blew out of his mouth, now his teeth started to chatter at the sharp freezing cold. What in the world was going on? Colbert wanted to grumble.

"We need to leave!" Hissed a voice from the tree.

"What?!" The sister shrieked when she was suddenly pulled along by a Seducer.

"Sheogorath is going through a phase! And I'm not curious to see what phase he's going through this time," she yelled and both of them flew off.

A few second later, Colbert fell onto the ground with a grunt, the chains disappearing at their leaving. When he got up, his hand slapped on cold stone… but stopped when he looked down. It was the castle's floor.

Not dirt, or dried leaves. Immediately, he searched around.

He was back in the hallway… a very cold hallway. A bad feeling descended like he had swallowed stones. Quickly he rushed back to the ballroom, rushing back to the lit room only to stop at the sight of ice growing.


It did not take a guess to know when Sheogorath stopped smiling or moving… or being his usual self that something had happened.

Azura looked at her brother worriedly then glanced at the drunk Sanguine who only shrugged back at her.

"Sheogorath," she called out at her zone out brother.

And then he groaned, his pale hands covering his face when he bent down as if he was sick.

"Woah," Sanguine commented in a drunken slur, tipsily making his way closer. "It's freezing ass in here." Mist blew out of his hot breath as he sidled along. "Y'know reminds me that time I got him so drunk and left him on Namira's realm. And she was so pissing bloody mad what he did. Rainbows and shit everywhere," he sniggered, entirely ignoring the fact the shadows had disappeared and musicians had stopped.

"Sheogorath," Azura called out again, her hand rested on the back of his shoulder. Steam immediately hiss and rose off from her touch. "He is cold," she commented calmly with a frown. "Very cold."

There was a knowing look coming from the Prince of Debauchery. "Well, it's been fun. But I'm going," he said quickly and purple vortex burst, taking him in.

Azura just frowned when he high-tailed of out of here. She merely turned her attention back onto the Madgod. "Would you like to sit?" She asked, ignoring how her touch was still hissing of steam. "My rose tea, perhaps?"

He didn't respond. His face hidden in his crooked posture and hands, though his white hair stood on end.

"Something's happening to your realm," she said knowingly then she smiled as she rubbed his shoulder, without care how the ice was growing from him. "I wonder how it still stands," she muttered as every liquid in the room froze solid, foods crystallizing and mortals turning into sculpture.

"Alas… brother, I can't leave you here in this state. At this rate, instead of a dancing plague, you would end up freezing this world over," the Queen of Dusk and Dawn added gravely. "And that would mean my champion as well." She grabbed hold of him as the soft silver light glow from her then onto him.

"Come now, you may rest in my realm."


"This should work, right!" Yelled Zudeh at the Chamberlain as he stood in front of the fifth Obelisk, his hand on the cold surface and deep frown on his face.

The storm had risen up high in this part of the Isles. Winds howling about them, pulling and screaming at them. The blasphemy they are committing. Perhaps the Isles knew, perhaps Sheogorath knew. Nevertheless, they need the Isles under control.

They heard a deep crack. Zudeh blinked and stared when crack lines grew, splitting down the gray crystal.

Haskill has not moved, not even a change of expression. Lost himself within the crystal, perhaps?

Cracks though sent a warning bell rung in her head, and she screamed to her Saints, "Move!"

It burst into millions of shards, spraying everywhere. Some managed to cut them when they all burst into flight. Haskill though didn't blink as the shards entirely went through him as if he was a ghost. He only blinked when the result revealed before him, ignoring the Saints cursing in the background.

He frowned and kneeled down to examine the remnants of the Obelisks, quite calm in his behavior.

A silver rose greeted his sight, one that he recognized. A popular alchemical ingredient, but rare outside the realm it lives. But one His Lord was fond of in his tea.

"Lady Azura," he uttered the name of the meddlesome, possessive Daedric Prince.


I had a horse once. She became a dragon... Goddammit!