Story of Steve part 2!
It took a long time to learn how to simply be outside of Cold Harbor. The malleable nature of the Void between realms was disconcerting and disorienting. Somehow it was like everything and nothing at the same time.
After He figured out how to exist, then to think and finally how to move, He set out to discover a place to belong. There were limitless Oblivion realms, pocket dimensions and cracks in between, but He wasn't trying to simply exist, He was trying to find a purpose, a master, a home.
With goals in mind, He nodded and took the first step into his future.
Malacath, the Daedric Lord of the shamed and the outcast was a good place to start. After all, wasn't that exactly what He was?
But when He arrived at the fringes off Ashpit, the area was difficult to traverse, as it wasn't made of anything substantial to stand on. It was as if the air was made of nothing but bitter smoke and rage. He found it difficult to move forward, so instead raised His voice and called forth in hopes of summoning Malacath.
"Malacath! Keeper of the Sworn Oath and the Bloody Curse, I beseech an audience with your…um…really strong lordship."
At first, nothing happened, and He wondered if Malacath had even heard him, and if he had, if he would bother to pay attention.
Then, a voice like an earthquake managed to shake even the flimsy smoke surrounding him.
"Who dares enter my realm, uninvited?!"
He winced, "Um…" what did He say? He didn't have a name or any great deeds to attribute to Himself.
"I am a Dremora, seeking glory and battle!"
That was the truth, and He felt a surge of relief for coming up with something that sounded so good. He wasn't great at on the spot declarations or answering questions.
Malacath's booming voice barked a laugh.
"A lowly Dremora Churl seeing glory? Seeking battle? Go find that with your Daedra Prince, Churl."
He scowled, relief replaced with annoyance. "I can't! I got fired from my job, kicked out of Cold Harbor. I need a new master."
"Ah!" the voice interrupted. "The truth comes out! You seek not battle, you seek not even I, Malacath, you seek comfort in familiarity."
His annoyance sparked to anger. "What?! How dare you! I am a Dremora, we live for the splendor of battle, for serving those strongest. I came to you because you are the patron of those scorned, of the outcast! I need a purpose, a new master."
"I do not take weaklings into my realm," Malacath snapped. "You have not even killed before!"
"I have too!"
"A Soul Shriven doesn't count," the Daedra Prince pointed out. "I mean a true life. Soul Shriven have no souls, no minds most of the time. You have yet to spill blood, and still you come to me? A Dremora fired from his job is not the same as those scorned."
He flinched at the harsh words. They weren't entirely untrue, but He still disagreed all the same. He was still an outcast, still in need of something or someone.
Malacath continued; "You are a child, Churl, a weakling who is not fit to be a warrior. Perhaps you'll do better as a merchant? I've heard some of your kind prefer that life,"
His hands tightened into fists even as the words echoed something of truth. He wasn't a warrior. Not yet.
But Dremora were always warriors. Always fighting and serving.
He hadn't heard of these 'merchants' before, but He had no reason to even trust that Malacath spoke the truth.
"If I let every creature into my realm that had a tantrum, I'd be overrun with emo teenagers!"
"You know what?!" He snapped. "You're the one who is weak, Malacath. You couldn't even stop yourself from becoming this thing. No wonder the other Daedra say you aren't really a Prince! You're the child, the one who hides in his room all the time bitter at the unfairness of the world."
In retrospect, that wasn't the wisest course of action.
The smoke in the realm turned red and stopped moving, as if everything in the realm suddenly froze with the hottest of fires.
"Excuse me?!" Malacath's voice seethed.
He winced, "Er…I'm going to show myself out. Have a great day your….um…scornedness."
"Get back here, Churl!"
"Nope!"
He turned and walked quickly towards the edges of the realm, breathing to Himself, "Time to go!"
As the rantings of Malacath faded behind Him, He slowed His pace and sighed.
That could have gone better, but now He knew that Malacath would never accept him. Not until He already had glory. But He couldn't do that without a master.
What a terrible cycle to be in.
"Maybe your just not cut out to be the bad guy, Steve."
He shook His head, banishing that ridiculous notion.
There were more Princes to visit, surely He'd find somewhere to belong.
"I…..have….learned….that…..time….is….."
He looked out over the creepy, hazy oceans of slime again, for what had to be the hundredth time since stumbling into Apocrypha.
He just couldn't figure out what exactly was even going on here.
Books were flying.
And those tentacles freaked Him out, if He were being honest.
"That…..is…..the…truth…..of…..knowledge,"
He refocused His attention on the mass of eyeballs and limbs and darkness in the sky. How long had He been standing here? His legs kind of ached.
"And….that…..is…..your….task, to…prove….you…..can….serve…me."
He paused, blinking a few times. "Um…could you repeat that? I…kind off spaced out, you talked so long."
The eyeballs all closed and opened as one. "You…..are…..fired…..get…out,"
He sagged, "Well, he said that fast enough…."
"Have a drink!" A Seducer said, practically throwing a drink at Him.
Some of it managed to splatter on his armor, but most just fell on the floor.
He made a face and belatedly tried to catch it. "….Thanks."
"Suuuure!" she slurred, before falling over on the floor in a fit of laughter.
Looking around the dimly lit cavern, He made a face and wrinkled his nose. Everything was a mess, and everyone there was impressively drunk.
"So, is this all you do? Get drunk?" He asked, confused.
A Dremora flicked a hand at him from his chair, slumped over it. In his other hand were two mugs. "Nah, we….do…stuff. Yeah, stuff."
"Like?" He asked, sidestepping a set of two Seducers twirling around in a sloppy dance.
"Stuff!" Another Dremora echoed from the back of the room.
The first guy pointed in that direction and nodded.
"But what about battles and glory?" He asked, unsure how any citizen of Oblivion could live without those core values.
"Pssshhhhh," a Dremora said. She was on the floor, curled up with bottles all around her. "Whast wrong with takin' breaks and….huh? Whats was I sayin'?"
"Look," a Dremora with long claw-like scars on his face said, walking over on unstable steps to sling an arm around the newcomer's shoulders. He tried not to make a face or twitch at the contact.
"Every day here is a battle…a battle against our constitution!" the Dremora exclaimed.
"Yes!" a Seducer chimed in, rising her mug. "And to the Daedroth for which it stands!"
A Xivilai picked himself off the floor partway to continue one; "For we the not-people, to form a more perfect party, have decided that we will not go quietly into the night, for this is our independence day!
"There may come a day when the frothiness of our drinks fail, and we forsake the bonds of fellowship in our cups, but today is not that day, or night, for that matter!" the first Dremora continued.
All three voices chimed the last part; "One thing, or the other thing, invisible, with beer, mead and wine for all!"
The gathered group all cheered and hollered.
He blinked a couple of times. "Yeah….I'm going to pass on that drink,"
"Boo!"
"Party pooper!"
"Get outta here, you…you….lame kyn!"
A Seducer ran in, wild grin on her face. "Conga line!"
"Yeah!"
He shook his head and headed for the door. Parties had never been his thing anyway.
He stared in disgust at the darkened, foggy plane that stretched out before Him. The floor was crawling.
Literally.
There was nothing but worms, spiders, maggots, centipedes and other repulsive creatures to be seen.
"….No," He said, shaking his head and backing up slowly.
He squinted at the amount of garish colors and sights that assaulted His senses.
The realm of Moonshadow had a certain charm to it, something about the whole place made Him feel euphoric, but it was also almost painful.
It smelled like what He imagined flowers smelled like. He wasn't sure, Cold Harbor didn't have very many of them, after all.
The sky was a constantly changing array of rainbows, stars and sunsets. Sometimes He swore it was all at once.
"Are you alright?" His Winged Twilight guide asked in her screeching voice. She paused to hover in the air next to him.
"Yes, it's just…" He stifled a cough. "…colorful."
"Oh," she said, drawing the word out. "Yes, I always forget some things find this realm to be too much to bear. It's beauty mirrors the Mistress of our realm, Azura of the Crimson Gate, Queen of Dawn and Dusk, Mother of the Rose, Queen of the Night Sky,"
"Yes," He said loudly, cutting her off. "You've mentioned. Many times."
The Winged Twilight laughed, which made Him cringe.
"Oh my, you must understand, she is truly beautiful, and should also be loved."
They continued on their way past waterfalls of silver and gold, making what appeared to be little progress towards the rose tower in the distance.
"When you met our wonderful Lady, be sure to tell her how lovely she looks. She likes that."
"How vain is she?" He asked, sneezing. More flowery smells were wafting around them. He swore it was poison.
His guide gasped in utter shock and whacked him upside the head with her wing. "Heresy! How dare you insult her?!"
She looked around and flew in closer, whispering; "Between you and me? Really vain. Spends most of her time using her powers to fix her hair or change appearances altogether."
He frowned. "Oh."
"But she is nice," the Winged Twilight said, pulling back. "Not a meanie like some of the others. All we have to do is spend our who existence loving her, and she'll love us back."
"Isn't that like the opposite of actual love?" He asked, stifling another sneeze.
Seriously, the flowers…
"What would a Dremora know of love?" The Twilight giggled, flying forward once more. "You are silly, little Churl. But I'm sure our benevolent Lady will like you. She likes everyone, our Azura of the Crimson Gate, Queen of Dawn and Dusk, Mother of the Rose, Queen—"
"I know!" He snapped, only to sneeze again. His eyes were starting to water.
"I thought Molag Bal had a big ego and had too many titles, really…" He muttered, wiping his face to clear away the pollen.
He got whacked again. "Dremora! So rude! This is why we usually don't let Kyn in,"
"Hey," He said, frowning. "That's not very nice,"
"I am as kind as our Mother Azura, Queen of Dawn and Dusk, Mother of the rose, Queen of the Night Sky!"
"Ugh! He growled, "Stop saying her titles! I get it, she's pretty and special."
"Indeed!"
He looked around at all the flowers. "I…think I'm allegoric to these,"
The Winged Twilight looked back at Him.
"Hmm…you do look rather ill…"
Suddenly, a figure stood in front of them, radiating power that only a Daedric Prince could wield.
"Oh!" The Winged Twilight exclaimed gleefully. "Azura of the Crimson Gate, Queen of Dawn and Dusk, Mother of the Rose, Queen of the Night Sky, our beloved Lady! You have come to greet us!"
He looked and saw that somehow, they had reached the base of the rose tower. He decided not to be surprised; Oblivion was an odd place.
Azura basked in the praise of her servant, flipping her hair.
"This is the Dremora, looking for a home." The Winged Twilight said, flapped a few paces away so Azura could step forward to see Him.
"My, a Dremora that hasn't tried to tear up the place yet." Azura said, laughing. It was a delightful sound. "What brings you here, Churl?"
He sneezed, despite his efforts not too, but answered her question regardless. "I seek a new master, one that will lead me to battle."
"Oh, fame and glory? Vanity of a different sort, hmm?" she teased.
He paused, "…You heard that,"
"I hear all in my realm. The benefits of not being consumed with trying to destroy or claim." She replied. "I have more time and power to help those that adore me, those that serve me. Those that love me."
"You aren't mad?" He asked, cautious and ready to run.
She laughed again, "Dearest Churl, no, I am not. My sphere might be the magic between Dusk and Dawn, the hidden things none may know, the secret realms, but it is also one of vanity and egotism. I am the patron of all things beautiful, and with such splendor as mine, pride surely follows."
He would admit, she was beautiful, in a terrible sort of way. Her appearance was something He could never describe, but it was elegant and blinding at the same time.
"So, Kyn, tell me; what do you seek, and do you believe you could find it here?"
He paused. He got the feeling this was not a question hastily answered. As gentle as Azura seemed, he suspected she could be just as cruel in a heartbeat.
"I…seek somewhere to belong." He answered at last.
She gave him a knowing smile. "And?"
"No, I don't think it can be found here. Not for me." He answered honestly.
She wasn't angry, in fact she looked pleased. "Very well, Churl. You may leave. I don't believe you can love me as much as I deserve, so I do not think our partnership would be advised."
He sneezed again and she laughed.
"Besides, you seem allergic to my precious roses."
Azura turned to leave but He stopped her; "Do you know where I should go?"
She glanced over her shoulder, looking curious. He elaborated; "I've heard you can grant visions,"
"Ah," she replied, turning back around. "Giving mortals visions and truths is easy. It is much harder with beings from Oblivion. We are too similar, you see."
She eyed him for a moment, "However, I know that you will find what you seek in a place you don't expect, and I see gold and blue, but nothing more than that."
He frowned, disappointed.
"Don't despair, Kyn," Azura commented, "Now, you must go."
She waved her hand and He was suddenly outside her realm and the nasty flowers. As the vision of Moonshadow left Him, He heard His Winged Twilight guide one last time; "Bye Dremora! Good luck, may Azura of the Crimson Gate, Queen of Dawn and Dusk, Mother of the Rose, Queen of the Night Sky, our beloved Lady's true words of beauty guide you home!"
He rolled his eyes.
That was a waste of time, but as least He would never have to hear those titles again or smell those horrid flowers.
When He had offered to listen to why the Nocturnal was sad, He hadn't expected to spend so long listening to her babble on about nonsense.
Currently He was awkwardly patting her back as she sat in a depressed, listless heap.
"Um…Are you sure you're alright?" He asked.
"This is common for us," she said, voice flat. "We have much melancholy."
"…Have you tried like…..potions for that?"
She shrugged, but otherwise didn't move.
There was a long awkward moment of mopey silence. As the minutes dragged on, He wracked His brain to find something uplifting or helpful to say. He was never really good with words.
"Um…so…do you think Nocturnal will want to meet with me? Do you think she'll let me work for her?"
The Daedra woman gave him a look, melancholy apparently forgotten. "You do realize that our lady is the Mistress of Shadows, right?"
"…Yes," He replied, not sure where this was going.
"Your about as stealthy as a Daedroth and as mysterious as a scamp."
He blinked. "So…no, she won't want me to work for her?"
The Nocturnal rolled her eyes, "No, she doesn't."
"Then why did you even let me in this realm?" He questioned.
"I was lonely, and I wanted someone to talk too," she admitted.
He sighed.
She sighed.
He frowned, realizing she was slipping back into melancholy.
He did promise to listen to her problems, it would be rude to just leave. He was going to be here awhile…
"I am Mephala, Webspinner, Spinner, Spider, Teacher of the Secret Arts, Queen of the Eight Shadows of Murder and more. I tug at the web of creation, and unravel the secrets of mortals. I am the Spiral Skein, and the Spiral Skein is I."
"…I'm still not sure what you do," He admitted, looking down at the spider.
It managed to somehow frown.
"Seriously? You've never heard of me?"
He shook His head, feeling like He was walking on thin ice. "Oh, no, no. I've heard of you, great Mephala, I just…don't really understand your whole thing."
"My whole thing?" The spider hissed. "I just told you!"
"Yes, I get the spinner thing with the webs and…you know…" He waved around the darkened cave at the spiders and webs and general creepy appearance. "All this…but…what do you do?"
Mephala sighed. "Sex, murder and lies. That make enough sense for you?"
He recoiled at the sudden change in her voice. The slow, seductive tone was gone and replaced by something biting and to the point. A completely different sounding tone.
"Er…yes. I understand."
"Good. Now, what do you want? I have lies, murders and sex to plan!"
He bit back a question regarding how that all worked, being that she…or he…was a spider….or…not?
He shook his head. This was all so confusing. Working under Molag Bal was so much easier.
"I'm looking for work. Got any leads?" He asked, being as straightforward as He could to match her attitude.
"Hmmm….." the spider said, lifting up one front leg to tap what might have been a chin area. "Let me think….let me…think…"
"Can you lie?"
"Not well…"
"Kill? Are you good at killing?"
"Yes," He answered as firmly as possible.
All eight eyes blinked at him. "So, no, and you were telling the truth about the lying too. I'm not even going to ask about my third favorite vice. Dremora aren't really the best at that."
He wasn't sure if He should be insulted or not.
"I'm afraid you just aren't my type of agent, Dremora." Mephala said. The voice was gradually dropping back into it's normal, wispy tone. "I need agents like spiders, cunning and deadly, agile and silent. I need to sow distrust and fury into the world, and watch the tapestry of mortality, life's greatest lie, unravel."
The spider bore fangs. "To put it simply for your addled brain, I don't have any work for you. Now, leave, before my darlings get hungry."
"Alright, fine, I'm leaving…" He said. "Do you know someone who needs a Dremora?"
The spider chuckled. "A mortal, perhaps?"
"….Right, one of your things is lies…"
The cackles of an ethereal tone echoed long after He left the cobwebs behind.
He'd run into Peryite completely be accident, and almost kicked his image out of the way, since it looked like a giant skeever.
Honestly, He'd forgotten about the Taskmaster until running into him. The other Daedra often ignored the prince, or scoffed at his sphere of Oblivion.
"Oh, a Dremora?" Peryite said, sitting up on his hind legs to stand taller. "What might you be doing out here?"
"…Walking?" He replied, unsure how to answer.
He hadn't heard good things about this Daedric Lord from other Dremora.
In fact, He'd heard nothing from Churls and Catliffs that had gone to work for him. They were never heard from again.
"What are you doing?" He asked, feeling like he should at least be polite.
"I am on my way back to The Pits," Peryite replied, whiskers twitching. "I have some lovely souls of skeevers to take to their new home."
There was an awkward pause.
"Well, I'd better be going," He said, gesturing vaguely in another direction.
The form of Peryite started to change from that of a skeever into a four legged dragon. It was small, but still a drastic change from the vermin he had been moments before.
"Wait a moment, Dremora. You seem…chaotic." Peryite circled him. "Yes, yes. I could work with this…"
"I'm not interested," He said quickly, backing up.
Peryite's wings twitched. "Why not? I promise I won't do anything too strange."
"Er…thanks, but…I'm on my way to meet with someone else,"
Peryite sighed. "Very well, but if you find yourself in need of a task, I can help with that."
He suppressed a shudder.
Even if said task was just something minor, there was too high a risk of getting sick from the Daedra's presence.
Literally.
He was prepared to fight for the honor to serve Boethiah, who values battle and competition, but instead, the Daedric Prince asked an impossible task.
"Er…I can't really do that," He said, sheepishly rubbing one armored arm.
"What?!" the caped, imposing guise of the Daedra screeched. "You dare question my will? You dare come to my realm requesting my help and you refuse my task?!"
"No!" He said, pausing and shaking His head. "Well, yes, but not because I won't do it, I can't do it. I don't have any friends to sacrifice."
There was a moment of tense silence.
"Oh." Boethiah muttered. "I've never run into that problem before…"
"Yeah…I don't know many people, and those I do know, aren't around for me to even try and trick into coming here and getting themselves killed." He explained. "Could I…fight a bunch of people instead? Or…I don't know, go fetch something for you?"
"Eh, I've got mortals doing all that. And Hunger to chase the mortals, so…boring." The Daedric Prince replied. "It's not that your story doesn't intrigue me, but I have no work to be done."
He sighed, "Well, at least you didn't insult me for never having been in a battle before. Malacath wouldn't shut up about it."
"Well," Boethiah chuckled, "Malacath…. wait, you've never been in a battle before?"
"I'll just be going," He sighed again, gesturing vaguely to the edge of the realm.
This was beginning to get frustrating.
On the upside, He was gaining confidence when talking to the Daedric Princes, so that was something.
Dog walking was a bad enough job.
Dog walking a piece of living, breathing Daedric power that wouldn't shut up, was worse.
Barbas was sniffing a patch of grass. "Wow! This is great!"
"It's just grass," He replied, bored. They'd been out for hours, and hardly moved ten feet. Barbas kept getting distracted by smells and long winded stories.
"Not the grass, having somebody walk me!" the dog said, looking up. "It's been forever since Clavicus Vile went on a walk with me!"
"Probably because your annoying," He muttered under His breath.
"He's always busy making deals, messing with mortals…" Barbas continued. "I keep telling him to take a break for wheeling and dealing and collecting souls…I mean, he needs to organize those souls, for one thing…"
"Why does he even want that many souls?" He asked, genuinely curious. Molag Bal wanted them to run machines and to have the Soul Shriven slaves.
But He was curious why other Daedric Lords wanted them.
"He likes having them for the sake of having them," Barbas replied, sniffing around another patch of grass. "He's funny like that."
"Uh huh." He muttered, still bored. "Do you think Clavious Vile would make me a deal?"
Barbas whipped around to bark at him. "What? Haven't you been listening? I told you all those stories about the bad deals he made!"
"Er…" He hesitated. "I heard you, but I wasn't really listening…"
"Vile's deals are always in his best interests,"
"But he can grant any wish, right? He could make me powerful and respected and…important?" He asked.
Barbas barked again and butted him with his head. "You stupid Dremora! I just said Vile's deals were…well…vile!"
"Yeah, but-"
Barbas sank his teeth into His leg, and surprisingly, they tore through the Daedric plates and into flesh.
"Ow!" He snapped, stepping back. "What was that for?!"
"Being dumb!" Barbas growled. "Don't. Make. A. Deal. With. Clavious Vile."
He frowned, "I don't get it. I thought you and Clavious were somehow connected. Why are you trying to talk me out of something to benefit your master?"
"Because I'm a nice guy! Or…dog, rather…" Barbas replied smugly. "besides, Vile's busy right now with a mortal gambling for his sister's soul, or something. That's why I came to greet you!"
"How do I know you're not the one I should be careful of," He countered, crossing his arms.
The dog gave him a long, hard stare. "Dremora always think it's a secret plot, huh?"
"Well, is it?"
"If I say no, you won't believe me."
He paused, thinking it over. That much was true.
Maybe making a deal with any Daedra wasn't a good idea…
"I'm leaving." He announced.
Barbas whined and ran around his legs. "But…my walk!"
"I came here seeking power and battle," He explained. "I've seen and been promised, neither."
"Well fine, we didn't want to make a deal with you anyway!"
He shook his head; Sometimes, Daedra made no sense.
The realm of Hircine was an amazing, vast and untamable wilderness.
Or, so He had heard. At the moment, He was on the outskirts talking to a statue of Hircine. The Daedra apparently couldn't be bothered to show up in person.
"So, you see, I'm looking for a new purpose, a new master to serve in glorious-"
Hircine cut off His rehearsed and, if He thought so Himself, quite good speech.
"How fast can you run?" Hircine asked, voice sounding oddly excited.
He shrugged, "I'm not sure, not very. This armor is heavy."
"Hmm…"
"Hmmm…what?" He asked, nervous.
Hircine's voice chuckled, "Well, you see, Dremora, I do need servants. I need things to run through the woods so my beasts can give chance."
"Oh, this job involves a lot of running?" He asked, disappointed.
"Yes," Hircine answered menacingly. "A race, a game of cat and mouse, sometimes literally. You must run, and hide, and then finally be caught and ripped apart."
"I'm not really good at running or hiding," He answered honestly, feeling disillusioned. "I appreciate the offer, but…I'm not sure I'm a good fit for you."
There was a long pause.
He swore crickets were chirping somewhere.
"You know, most creatures freak out about the chasing less than the being ripped apart thing," Hircine pointed out. "But, you have a point. I doubt you'd provide much….entertainment for my followers."
He nodded, "Probably not, but I know this dog named Barbas…"
The realm of Vaermina, Quagmire, was absolutely awful.
Everywhere around Him were terrible visions of flowers, warmth and kindness. Nothing of battles and purpose, but only compassion and gentleness.
Finally he stumbled up to a massive statue of the Daedric Lord and sighed in relief.
"Vaermina!" He implored. "I'm only in your realm to find a new master to serve! Can we talk?"
A voice of both dread and beauty echoed forth from everywhere at once; "Dremora, you should not be here. Physical speicmens are not meant to step forth in my realm. I only desire memories."
"Now you tell me," He muttered, annoyed. "But I need to speak with you!"
The voice shifted, higher, then lower, then quiet and loud.
"I have no use for another like you at this time. Your memories are foul to me, and leave nothing. Lesser Daedra can withstand my realm, but not you. "
"But I-"
The voice cut him off; "No Churl! Leave here at once! You containment my feast with your foolish memories. I seek mortals for their worth to me, not you."
Unceremoniously, the ground opened up and He was falling until hitting something solid, before the world flipped upside down once more.
He groaned and stood up, confused for a moment. He wasn't sure if He'd just been in Quagmire at all or if it was all an illusion.
"Haha watching you fumble around is so entertaining. I could watch it for another six centuries, no! Two centuries! Haha!"
He wiped around to face the new, obnoxious voice and came face to face with Sheogorath, one of the Daedric Princes He was trying to avoid.
He must have shown it on His face, because the well-dressed Daedra scowled. "Someone is a grumpy pants! Aren't you happy to see me? Uncle Sheogorath?"
"Your not my uncle…" He said, confused.
The Daedra rolled his eyes. "Dremora, the buzz-kills of Oblivion. It was a joke, my boy, a joke. Do you know what that is? Well, you must, you are one."
"Hey!" He snapped, reaching for his blade. "I have been mocked enough!"
"I'm not mocking!" Sheogorath insisted, only to pause and then shake his head. "No, I am mocking. But in love. Always in love. I love jokes, and watching you travel around the Void trying to find a home has been one hell of a joke."
He glared at him. "I told you I would not be mocked,"
He drew his blade, but instead of ebony colored Daedric metal, the sword was now nothing but a bouquet of feathers.
"Ah-Hah! See, another joke," Sheogorath said, grinning widely.
He snapped his fingers and the sword returned to its true form.
"No laugh? No smile? Grin?" He asked, leaning forward on his cane to stare intently at His face. "Nope, nothing. Tough crowd tonight,"
"What do you want?" He hissed, irritated and slightly worried about why the Daedric Prince of madness was here to begin with.
Whenever and wherever he visited, trouble followed.
Sheogorath groaned. "I'm bored, alright? And I told you, you entertain! I've been watching you since you left Cold Harbor. All the Daedra you visited, all the troubles you ran into…"
"Don't tell me you have a task for me," He said, halfway sarcastic.
Sheogorath grinned, "Not really, I'm inclined to watch you bumbled around some more. I could have you fetch a button I lost, or my cheese knife, but my favorite mortal already did that, and didn't even return them to me. Gave them to some boring, dull, Dunmer who never stands up. So boring! But, not my favorite mortal. No, no, no. She's fun, thinks I'm funny! Most of the time anyway. I miss Shalidor. There was someone I could watch bumble around too. He was so transparent! Haha, get it? Transparent? Because….well, never mind. It's hilarious. Take my word for it."
Confused and lost in the conversation, He latched onto one thing; "Who is this mortal?"
"Oh! A mortal. You've met her, I think." Sheogorath said, rocking back and forth on his heels. "You know, there's a job for you."
"What's a job for me?" He asked, perhaps too quickly.
Sheogorath grinned again and winked. "If I told you, that would ruin the surprise! Everyone is always trying to skip to the ending of things these days! That's no fun,"
"Did you want something?" He said again, fingers tightening around the handle of his sword. It was taking quite a bit of will power to not take a swing at the Daedra in front of him.
"Yes, I want world peace. Well, no, actually I don't. But I do want cheese, and wine, bread…mostly cheese. Oh! And you to keep doing what you're doing."
He stared at him, wondering how the Daedra ever ensnared anyone with his babbling.
"Well, I've got to get back to Mania, or is it Dementia?" Sheogorath said, tapping his chin. "Hmm…can't remember, all well. I'll ask Valaste, if she's still alive. I don't remember, I'm not sure she'll remember either. She's all sane now, so, not nearly as much fun."
He turned, took two steps, then turned back and held out his hand. A pebble was inside his palm.
"A gift for you, Dremora!"
He stared at it.
"I'm not taking that."
Sheogorath frowned, "How come?"
"I don't understand you, let along trust you," He replied.
The Daedra began laughing. "Ah! You are funny. You were right to leave Molag Bal, way too much fun to work for him. Or any of the Daedra really. I think your my new favorite Dremora, Dremora. Have a blast."
He tossed the pebble off into darkness.
"What was it?"
"A pebble. I found it in my pocket and didn't want it anymore." Sheogorath replied.
He blinked, confusion melting into pure bafflement.
"Well, see you round, Dremora Dremora, have a great time in the 3rd Era. I hear it's an arena!" He laughed all the way into darkness as he slowly faded away.
A long moment passed.
"What just happened?"
"No."
He held his hands up in defeat. "What? Just no?"
Meridia continued to stare at him impassively. "Yes, that's it. No. I don't accept Fire Stone's left over scraps."
"Um…Cadwell?" He pointed out.
She had appeared to Him on the fringes of her realm, the Colored Rooms, before He could even enter them. How she knew He was there, He'd never know, but she refused to even let Him see what was behind her.
Meridia's scowl deepened. "You can thank the Vestige for that,"
"The what?" He asked, puzzled.
She rolled her eyes, "Exactly why I cannot let you in. Be gone."
"Fine, I didn't want to join your stupid group anyway," He snapped.
He was running out of options. He was telling the truth; Meridia unnerved Him, but there was only one Daedra Prince left to try.
Mehrunes Dagon.
He, too, was not the first choice, as many claimed he was cruel even to his Dremora. But, he was also the best chance for true glory and action.
With a deep breath, He plunged back into the Void in search of a way to the Deadlands.
The Deadlands were impressive, and they had let Him in without a fuss. He already felt a slight bit of hope He might actually fit in here. Rumors around the Void was that Dagon had something big planned, but He didn't know the details.
If the rumors were true, however, then maybe, just maybe, the Daedric Lord would have need of more soldiers.
He was tired of being mocked, tired of failing in every task given.
It was time for the glory of battle.
Author's Note:
Whew, this one took a lot longer then I thought it would! It was fun yet challenging to keep the Daedric Lords in character, but also mock them. Except Sheogorath. I could literally write him all day long.
I'm trying to tie into as many games as possible, so there's little things hidden throughout. I'd do more from the Morrowind game but I didn't play it, so I'm not as familiar with it. Old games like Daggerfall and Arena get mentions along with others. (Can you spot all the lore tidbits?)
Peryite is supposedly not a favorite among Dremora, which is something I didn't know. I guess it's mentioned somewhere in ESO? Besides, what do you do with him for a story like this?
I always forget Azura is also the Daedra of ego and vanity, and it was just too fun to really play up those traits.
So many Daedra...I could write notes on all of them, but you can always mention things in reviews. I ddid try to keep as lore accurate as possible but still make it funny.
I think everyone can guess what is starting off the third and final part of this story, based on where we left off! Thanks for reading. Below see review replies (I don't remember if I sent you PMs on these already or not,)
Wolfen: OMG, I completely forgot that line Molag Bal has in ESO! It's so much funnier now...hahaha. Is that a lot?
Kaishi Shouri: I'm glad you enjoyed, I aim to entertain ;)
TwistedApron: I'm glad you enjoyed! I find Dremora culture very interesting, actually. And Daedra in general. There's so much there lore wise. But why make it serious when I can make it funny, right?
Thanks everyone for reading!