"This is grim, Haskill. Very grim indeed," said Lord Sheogorath as He stroked His beard. Haskill knew that the reason He did that was because He had read somewhere that intelligent people stroke their beards when they were perplexed, and had said "If a Daedric Lord can't be intelligent and perplexed at the same time, then who can? It's practically zen to multitask that well!"
Haskill had his own personal opinions on his Master's intelligence. He never expressed them.
"Yes, master."
"If Hircine got his hands on an Elder Scroll…"
"Yes, my Lord, he would have unfathomable power at his disposal."
"Hmm… is there any way we can get send in Daedra to-"
"No, my Lord. Remember Martin Septim?"
"Damn, damn, damn… I mean really, those barriers are more a kind of guideline… may as well put a line on the floor and say; 'this is my half, this is your half.'."
"Well put, Sire, but can you think what would happen if any of the less… desirable of the Daedric Princes found that out?"
"Well… damn. Haskill, have you still got that Orb?"
The word was spoken normally, but a certain power was carried with it. When He said the word Orb, you knew that this was a time that even Sheogorath would act seriously for a while.
"Ye-es, Sire, but… well… you know Jyggalag… it would be like him to put a lovely little curse on it that makes… well, you know."
"Yes, Haskill I know," said Sheogorath. "You mean you could come out with your lungs wrapped around your face, or your intestines tied around your throat and strangling you or your OWN PELVIS SHARPENED TO A POINT AND USED AS A---"
"Um… Sir?"
"MASSIVE- oh, sorry about that. I guess it's just the evil overlord in me."
"… Quite, sir."
"Oh well, I guess it's just a risk I have to take."
"Very noble of you, Sire."
"I try, Haskill. Now go fetch the orb."
"But, Sire, I thought-"
"Now, Haskill!"