Hello my beautiful friends. I have returned with a freshly rewritten chapter for all of you. Before anyone worries if I am going to disappear into thin air again, I'm already hard at work on Chapter 3, with the intention of posting it sometime in the next week or two. And I want to reiterate for everyone that I am absolutely committed to finishing this story someday, however long that takes. I want to issue a heartfelt thanks to anyone who has stuck with me for this whole crazy trip Sheogorath has been taking us on. This chapter is for you. This story is for you. As much as I enjoy writing, I enjoy even more sharing what I create with others. If you have any input at all; good, bad, or just goofy, please leave a review. The best part of my day is seeing my inbox fill up with interested readers' kind words and critiques, and I look forward to anything and everything you have to say about my latest contribution to the wonderful world of TES. As an aside, I want to mention my supremely helpful new beta Sindra, who dramatically improved the quality of this Chapter. She's totally awesome.
And so, without further ado, I present Sheogorath's Madness Chapter 2: Dancing, Baked Goods, and Treason
The great door to the House of Dementia creaked open with a pained groan, as though even swinging on its hinges was agonizing. As Sheogorath and his party stepped out of the rain, the Mad God made a slight gesture with his hand. The filthy water that had been clinging to them sloughed off all at once, its hold defeated by his spell.
His vanity assuaged and overcoat dried, Sheogorath stepped into the main reception area. All around him, the blue-flame torches of Dementia's court cast a sinister air, their shadows dancing about like hidden assassins moving to strike. The room's stone columns and spiked walls felt too heavy, like staying in the room too long would result in being crushed, while the waters of the Pool of Dementia babbled around their edges, sounding like conspiratorial whispers and hushed threats.
Perhaps such a foreboding atmosphere was why, aside from the three of them, there was only one other person in the whole chamber. The small, almost-gone mortal part of the Prince felt it understood a little more why Syl had been as wound up as she had been in life. But the rest of him- the Mad God part- snickered audibly at the unique atmosphere and resisted the urge to begin dancing along with the shadows. There would be time enough for that later. For now, he had business to attend to.
Across the reception area, upon a raised dais, sat the throne of the House of Dementia. And, unsurprisingly, it was filled. Upon it sat Antigone, the new Duchess of Dementia, regarding her ruler and his party with a look Sheogorath usually reserved for the motes of dirt that had collected under his claws. Antigone was Syl's daughter, the product of her tryst with Thadon, the former Duke of Dementia. She had her mother's height and pale skin, but her father's brown eyes and hair. Sheogorath liked her much more than her mother: Syl had always clung to her throne like a scared child, much too afraid to do anything other than order investigations into trivial matters, which in turn spawned non-trivial assassination attempts after her subjects grew tired of her mewling.
Her daughter, on the other hand, gripped her seat with an iron fist. She was no less paranoid than her mother, but whereas Syl had turned to fear in her mistrust, Antigone used rage. She was more inclined to investigate matters herself; her usual method of investigation involving blunt objects and the application of great force. The Mad God had been positively delighted when she'd battered her way into his throne room and demanded her mother's throne. Now, though, it seemed he would be given cause to regret his generosity.
Sheogorath returned Antigone's look with a broad grin. The Altmer's eyes narrowed, which caused him to simply grin all the wider, flashing each of his sharp teeth. He knew that she was waiting for him to make the first move, to reinforce the fact that he, Haskill, and Mika were in her court, and at her mercy. It almost made him giddy enough to laugh again, the thought of him being at anyone's mercy, especially here in New Sheoth, his seat of power. But he controlled himself, and decided he'd play along with her little game for the moment, if only to get things moving. At least he could be satisfied knowing his charming demeanor had already frustrated her.
"Oh, Lady Antigone! How kind of you to invite us over! I'd have invited you over, of course, but I just redid my carpets. If things had turned violent, well, getting crimson out of the threads would be a real challenge."
Hearing the obvious threat, the Duchess' left hand tightened its grip on the arm of her throne. Her right was not visible from Sheogorath's position, but he supposed it was gripping one of the many death-implements she enjoyed toying with. After a moment of silence, she responded in a haughty tone. "Why have you come here, Sheogorath?" She said his name like it left a foul taste in her mouth.
"Why, to pay a visit to my favorite Duchess, of course!" he replied, taking a small step forward. "You know, Antigone, you've fascinated me ever since you took this job. Imagine: someone whose mother had died doing the exact same thing, signing up to have a go of her own! What was your motivation? Did someone offer you a massive amount of baked goods? Oh, I bet it was sweet rolls! I love those bedeviled things, can't keep my hands off of them, you know..."
As he spoke, Sheogorath continued to move slightly. He'd take a step left, then right, then left again, and maybe two or three steps right. As he went, he twirled his staff like dancer's baton. To all the world it simply looked like he was dancing this way and that as he rambled on about sweet rolls.
"But, maybe you're out to prove something," he continued, changing the subject abruptly. "Your mother, to be honest, was horrible. I can't imagine you were very fond of her. I certainly wasn't! So perhaps you're here now to prove you're a better Duchess than she ever was! Forget Syl! Antigone is twice the woman she ever was! And let no one forget it!" The Mad God's staff began to shimmer ever-so-slightly with magick power. He began to take bigger, more daring steps toward the throne, yet still moved with the grace of a dancer. The Duchess' eyes were riveted to him as he gained the first step of the dais, but she didn't react.
"Of course, it should be remembered that the one who killed your mother is in this very room." Sheogorath climbed the remaining steps of the dais quickly, moving to stand just next to Antigone. His staff twirled through the fingers of his left hand, now visibly trailing magickal sparks. "In fact, he's standing right here. Right. Next. To you."
At that the Prince changed tack, gripping his staff with both hands and slamming its tip into the side of Antigone's throne. The blow, and the power behind it, caused the arm to crumble into dust. As if waking from a trance, Antigone started, then sprang out of her throne when she saw Sheogorath standing right next to her, as though she saw him appear from out of nowhere. As she moved, she drew a wicked-looking mace from behind her throne, brandishing it in a way that gave the Mad God no doubt that she was familiar with its uses.
"Now, Antigone, why don't you tell me about my 'illegal possession of the Throne of Madness,' before I arrange a gruesome family reunion for you and your mother?"
Despite being caught off guard, the Duchess kept her wits about her. Her response to the threat was an audible growl, before dropping into a fighting crouch. Mika, Sheogorath's Mazken attendant, began moving to interpose herself between her lord and the threat, but Haskill held up a hand to stop her. "He's been bored, of late," he murmured in a resigned tone. "Allow him this moment of exertion, please." Though she could have simply forced her way past the old man, the Seducer remained where she was, and simply looked on with some concern as the scene played itself out.
Sheogorath, for his part, seemed as relaxed as a corpse, twirling his staff in his left hand as his right scratched under his scaly chin. "I mean honestly, to have the nerve to issue such threats to me, in my own home, under my own roof! The audacity! I've seen some crazy folks in my day, believe me, but this just seems suicidal! You know we have a hill for that right? It's quite beautiful actually. I love to go there on my holidays, chat with the locals, see the scenery, juggle the skulls, that sort of thing. It's a riot!"
"Enough, impostor!" Antigone shouted, poising to strike. "Die by my hand like the fraud you are!"
"That..." was all the Mad God managed, before the weight of her words hit him. Antigone followed up on her warcry with a lightning-fast overhead swing, intending to crush his head with her mace. Putting what she had said out of his mind, Sheogorath whipped his staff crossways above his head. Though it appeared to be a simple slender piece of wood, there was enough force behind the strike, enough to knock his opponent's weapon harmlessly to the side.
"Very well, Duchess! If it's come to blows, then I won't hold back." He shook his head, looking truly remorseful. "It's a shame, really. You were my favorite." As the Prince taunted his opponent, he changed the grip on his staff, holding the head in his left hand with the tip pointing straight ahead, like a rapier.
Antigone merely sniffed derisively in response and launched another assault, intending to batter aside the Mad God's puny staff with sheer force. Her strikes were quick and precise, always controlled so as to not waste energy, but powerful enough to numb even the strongest shield arm.
But every attack was batted aside by the Sheogorath's staff. With just his left hand he weaved an impenetrable defense, meeting every blow with a counter that always sent the mace just far enough one way or the other to miss. Antigone's eyes bulged in impotent rage and disbelief as the simple stick knocked her weapon back again and again. Though it would bend to impossible angles under the weight of her attacks, it would always snap back into the same shape, showing no signs of splintering or snapping. With a scream of fury, she leaped back, intending to take a moment to gather her senses and change tactics.
"Now now, my Duchess, you can't back out now. Didn't your mother ever teach you to see treason through to the bitter end?" The Prince was suddenly before her again. His staff was now in his right hand, and he was holding it by the tip, like the head was a truncheon. "But perhaps you're simply being sporting and allowing me a chance to land a hit. Very well then! Have at thee, and other such things!"
Antigone brought her mace up defensively, intending to ward off an attack from the front, but Sheogorath was already beside her, swinging his weapon at the back of her knee. The blow landed with a meaty smack, eliciting a shriek of pain from his opponent. Her leg shuddered involuntarily as it struggled to hold her weight under the stress.
"Too slow!" he admonished, smacking the tip of his staff against the wrist of her weapon hand like a switch. She dropped the mace with a screech, letting it clatter and clang as it rolled down the steps of the dais. "Too slow!" the Mad God said again, landing an overhead blow across the back of her shoulders with both hands. With a cry Antigone fell to her knees, too stunned by the immediacy of the attacks to put up any resistance. "Really, far too slow!" he taunted, striking the top of her head with his staff repeatedly to accentuate each syllable.
Stepping back for a moment, Sheogorath examined his handiwork. The Duchess groaned in pain and clutched the wrist he had struck. He assumed it was broken. He noticed her eyes were flitting this way and that, like they were trying to focus on something but couldn't. Satisfied with the knowledge that he had probably won, he strode up to Antigone once more and lifted her chin with his staff. "Do you yield?" he asked, all sense of mirth dropped from his voice. "Or do I really need to find yet another Duchess?"
"I... yield... Sheogorath," she managed to spit out, sounding as though the words pained her more than the damage he had caused with his staff.
"Splendid!" he cried, all sunshine and potatoes once more. Or was it felines and raindrops? Dogs and mucus? He never could remember. "I'm so glad we could work that out like civilized people, my Duchess! Just so very glad! You have no idea of the trouble it would have caused me to kill you! I mean really, your job is probably the worst one in the entire Isles! And I'm counting the ones in Deep Wallow, I'll have you know."
As he spoke, the Prince lifted Antigone by the arms and set her down in her throne once more. He then walked back down the dais and fetched her mace, laying it across her lap like a child's favored blanket. He patted her cheek, then stepped back to examine his work, a hand under his chin. "Wonderful. Picture of regality, really. You'll be just fine, my girl, just fine."
"Now then," the Prince said, folding his arms across his chest with an exaggerated 'harumph.' "Haskill? Mika? Would you care to join me?" he called back across the hall. "I think we've reached the important bit!"
"At your command, my Lord," Haskill replied as he tried to trot in a dignified and jaded manner towards the dais. Mika simply rushed on ahead, taking her customary spot at Sheogorath's left shoulder.
"Much better. It was like I was missing an arm without you around, Mika." Sheogorath was quite surprised when his comment was received with a sheepish grin. He'd never known the Mazken, or the Auriel, or really any daedra to be for being embarrassed for any reason. But as curious as that was, he really needed to focus on the task at hand, for the moment. B because he'd already promised himself a sweetroll when this was all over, and by the Divines he was determined to get it! "All right Antigone, out with it. What's your beef with old Sheogorath?"
"I…" the Altmer woman hesitated, seemingly unsure of herself. The Prince could easily imagine the feeling was a first for her. The Mad God part grinned, but the withered mortal part almost felt sorry for her.
"What's eating you, my Duchess?" Sheogorath prodded. "You didn't eat a bad scalon egg for breakfast, did you? Now come on, speak!"
Swallowing, like she was trying to rid herself of some clinging fear, Antigone continued. "I… is it… is it true that you're not really Sheogorath? That you're just a mortal who usurped his throne?"
I know it's short, but I am rewriting each Chapter as it comes, to make things simpler. Chapter 3 will be a bit longer, and 4 and 5 will be even longer still. We'll get there, I promise. And as always, I humbly request that everyone who enjoyed (or didn't) the story to write a review. The more of those I get, the more encouraged I am to continue writing!