Hello there everyone. Here I am, as promised, with another chapter for you all to enjoy. Yes, it's short, but we'll get to the longer stuff soon, I promise. Right now though, I've just got a few house cleaning things for everyone to know. First, I'm removing all unedited chapters from this website. This is because I want to make sure my readers are exposed to nothing but my best quality material, and I feel it is very confusing to go from this level of writing to the amateurish six year old writing that's in later chapters. So it's all being removed until I can ensure it's of sufficient quality to be re-added. My previous author notes are going to reflect this change as well. Second, I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review my rewrites thus far. I want you all to know that the updates will continue for the forseeable future, as I intend to finish this story sooner rather than later. To all you people who have read, but not reviewed, I ask that you please leave just a few words of encouragement or criticism, just so that I know you're there. Knowing that people are partaking in my work, and care enough to respond via reviews, is what gives me motivation to keep at this. So if you want to see more, please make the effort. Lastly, I want to take a moment to thank my awesome beta Sindrandi63 for her help. She's been a huge benefit in terms of my writing quality, and it's because of her that I can provide these high-class updates so frequently. I highly suggest giving her stuff a read: it's wonderful. So, without further ado, I give you my third chapter of Sheogorath's Madness.
Flabbergasted had always been one of Sheogorath's favorite words. He thought it was suitably odd to describe his feelings in most situations of being out of his depth. However, he decided that, this time, the word simply didn't convey the strength of that feeling. So, rather than answer Antigone's incredibly urgent question, he spent the next few moments mulling over a suitable replacement word. "Hmm…" he mused aloud, falling deep into thought.
After several moments of awkward silence, Antigone ventured to question the Prince a second time. "My Lord, I-"
"Vrambukiflaborrificated!" Sheogorath shouted triumphantly, tossing his staff into the air, then catching it with a flourish. "What a perfect descriptive! Never been a better word in all the realms! I truly am a genius."
"Er…" the Duchess said, at a complete loss.
Sighing in self-satisfaction, the Mad God decided that he could now address Antigone's concerns. "So, you're aware that I replaced my predecessor, are you? Odd, that. I was sure the only ones who knew the difference were Haskill, Jyggalag, and Dyus, his annoying toady . How did you find out, then? Were you spying on me? Did you ask someone else who was spying on me? Did you bribe Haskill? I really should pay him… something, I think. Well, come on! Out with it! What's your source?!"
"I…" Antigone's brow furrowed, though out of frustration or confusion Sheogorath couldn't say. "...I don't remember," she finally admitted. "Just… I woke up one day and was sure that you were a fraud, an impostor, and that you would lead us to ruin. The feeling was just so strong, I…"
"You felt you needed to crush my skull with your metal club, eh? Never gave two second's thought to simply asking me what was going on?" He wagged a finger disapprovingly, and she followed it with wide eyes. "Duchess, my Duchess, really, I simply love that your paranoia leads you straight to violence most days, it saves me a fortune in painting the halls red. But perhaps you need to exercise just a little more forethought in the future. I mean, really, what were you thinking? I replaced a Daedric Prince! Did you really think you could out fight someone who bested the closest thing to a god?!"
"Sheogorath, I-"
"You what?!" he interrupted, on a roll with his tirade now. "What if you had killed me? Would you have taken my place? 'Antigone, ruler of the Shivering Isles! Watch as the realm collapses all around her with nothing to hold it in place!' Was that it?! Maybe you really did eat a bad scalon egg if you came up with an idea like that!"
"My Lord, please, forgive me!" the Duchess cried desperately, before he could continue chastising her. Head down and shoulders slumped in defeat, she was the very picture of shame and misery. "I was wrong, Sheogorath… my Lord. Please… please excuse my behavior. I had no place to question your worthiness to rule these Isles."
"Well…" the Prince hedged, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "While it's one thing to make demands that I step down and try to hit me with your metal death-stick, it's something else entirely to question whether or not I'm actually capable of running this place. It's important that you find that difference quickly, mind you, because I don't want to keep having to beat sense into your skull with my staff!"
"My Lord?" Antigone asked, looking up at him in surprise.
"Whatever wily way you discovered I'm a mortal isn't as important as the fact that, for the moment, I am one. You'd be right to be worried about the future of the realm, because if things continue as they currently are, in a few decades things will be almost as bad as the Greymarch." Sighing, Sheogorath turned to Haskill, who remained as impassive and disinterested as a khajiit with no moonsugar. "It appears our mission has reached new urgency, my most dour Chamberlain."
"Mission, my Lord?" Antigone asked.
Haskill coughed for attention, then stepped forward to address the whole group. "Sheogorath's… affliction of mortality has indeed been a subject of discussion for quite some time. I have taken it upon myself to come up with a way to rectify this most pressing issue. Currently, I have a few leads, but none of them seem particularly likely to succeed at the moment. It will take some more time before I can devise a true solution."
"There, see?" Sheogorath added, thumping Haskill on the back and causing him to stumble in a most undignified way. "Good old Haskill has the whole thing under control! What would we do without him? Are you satisfied, Antigone?"
"I… must admit, this is a lot to take in at once, my Lord," the Duchess replied, looking decidedly befuddled by the entire ordeal.
Kneeling down to her level, the Prince fixed her with an intense glare. "Let me be clear, my Duchess. I fully intend to rule this land with an iron skillet! Er… a steel flask! No... Yams! I will rule this land with yams beyond counting, just as soon as I ensure I won't have an untimely expiration! So breathe a word of this to anyone, and you'll be wishing I was generous enough to put you on the hill of suicides. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes… yes of course, Sheogorath," she said quickly, shrinking into herself and attempting to be as small as possible. "I've never known anything more clearly in my entire life."
"Splendid! Just splendid!" the Mad God leaped into the air and clapped his hands, feeling that the situation had been finally been resolved. "Now then, my Duchess, I do believe you've got half a realm to run, so I'll let you get back to it. As for me, I do believe it's time I visit my favorite pets!"
"Oh my…back to the grackles again are we, my Lord?" Haskill asked, his slightly slumped shoulders the only indication that he was decidedly put out by the very thought.
"Why Haskill! I've never known you to dislike anything, let alone such beautiful and noble creatures of nature," Sheogorath stated, appalled by his chamberlain's reticence as the party made its way out of the Hall of Dementia. "You sound as though my pets have done you a personal injustice!"
"I would indeed consider ruining several dress robes with their defecation a personal
injustice, my Lord," was the sardonic reply. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really must get back to trying to save us all from certain destruction. Perhaps when that is resolved, I will give your pets more of my time."
As Haskill plodded off through the muddy streets of Crucible, Sheogorath made a face at his backside. "Sourpuss!" he chided. He grunted in frustration after the Chamberlain did nothing in response, and turned to his attendant, Mika. "Well, I guess that leaves the two of us. Unless you've got utterly important Mazken things to deal with."
"Where my Lord goes, I follow," she responded, flashing that confounding smile from earlier. What it could possibly mean, he had no idea. Usually when a Mazken smiled at you, you got the sense they were sizing you up, like a predator does to their prey. But there was no malice in Mika's expressions. So, what was it then?
"Splendid! Sheogorath declared, starting off towards the eyrie. "We'll have these beasts tamed in no time, Mika, just you wait! They'll be perfectly presentable for any occasion! Stately dinners, parades, mass executions, the sky's the limit! We'll even get them little bowler hats for the more formal events. Oh, just the thought brings a tear of joy to my eye."
The two of them made their way to the eyrie, a previously-unused section of New Sheoth's palace that was now home to a small population of Sheogorath's favorite creatures. He'd discovered grackle fossils deep within Dementia's swampy wastes, and had wasted no time in assembling a crack team of investigators to determine just what they were supposed to be. Dyus had given the answer: grackles had lived in the Isles for millennia, but had been butchered during a previous Greymarch by the Knights of Order. Probably for being so adorable.
The Mad God had demanded that the animals be restored. After days of research, Relmyna was able to perform the necessary viscero-magicks to animate the fossils that he had found in his travels. So the two of them had trekked through the Isles, finding and restoring any remnants of the grackles that they could find. After weeks of work, the two of them had returned to New Sheoth filthy and bloodied, but secure in the knowledge that they had done a good thing for the realm. So imagine Sheogorath's delight when he found out that the beasts he had worked so hard to restore had moved into a section of his palace, destroying the place as they made it their own. How endearing of them.
"Oh my pets! I have returned! Come give your favorite papa Sheo some love!" Swinging open the heavy wooden doors that blocked off their chambers from the rest of the palace, he strode confidently into the middle of the eyrie, hardly even noticing the droppings and food refuse that was strewn about the floor. He opened his arms wide to beckon the shadowy forms flitting about the ceiling banisters down to him. "Graaaaaaackles!" he called. "Sheogorath wants to seeeeee youuuuuu!"
With a high-pitched, ear-piercing cry, one of the beasts swooped down to the floor, bringing itself into full view. Its leathery wings splayed open, displaying an obvious challenge for dominance against a perceived opponent. Bare grey skin clung taught to visible bones, stretching abnormally as the creature sucked in air for another screech.
"Yes yes, we all know you're the biggest of the lot, Terrance." Sheogorath leaped forward quickly, reaching just high enough with his staff to thump the grackle over the top of its thick skull. The impending screech instead came out as a startled, subdued warble as Terrance admitted defeat. "Oh don't be such a baby, Terrance," the Prince admonished his pet. "I know for a fact you use that skull of yours to bash holes in my nice stone walls, so one little love-tap from me can't hurt too much."
Mika stood watch from a few feet away, visibly tensing as Terrance said hello in his delightfully vicious way. The Mazken was being much jumpier than usual, which was another thing he didn't understand. This day was becoming full of things he did not understand about Mika. He'd have to investigate that sooner or later, before a do-or-die situation sprang up.
"Now then, my darling," he continued as he returned his mind to Terrance, patting him on the side. "Are you the only one who is going to visit me today?" The grackle cawed in response, eliciting a laugh from the Mad God. "Ha! Yes, indeed. You'd think after all my efforts they could show a bit more gratitude. Ah well, you always were the smartest of the lot. Which, I guess, is why you're in charge. So, anything to report, glorious leader?"
Another caw. "Oh my! That many? You've certainly been a busy boy, Terrance! Well, I happen to know that Vitharn, a former settlement to the south, is quite unoccupied at the moment. Perfect place to raise the young ones. Dangerous ghosts, evil insects and tree folk, demented worshipers, of me, it's all very charming and quaint."
A muted screech from outside the eyrie caught Terrance's attention, and his head swivelled towards the source. After a moment, he screeched in response, then turned back to his guest.
"Oh, go on," Sheogorath insisted, playfully tapping the grackle's beak with his staff. "I won't keep you from important business. Just try to make some time for me in the future, all right? I'd love to meet the children!"
Terrance cawed one last time, then butted the Prince gently with his head. "Be sure to write!" Sheogorath called as he leaped onto the wall and climbed up into the darkness. But his words were lost as the shadowed ceiling erupted into a mass of flapping wings and animal shouts as the mass of grackles made its way out into the open air. For a few moments, everything was chaos. Then silence descended on the eyrie as the grackles took to the skies.
Sighing, the Prince plopped down on a bench that hadn't been too badly mauled by the room's new residents. "Seeing them always brings a warmth to my heart," he admitted to no one in particular. Wiping something from beneath his eye quickly, he added, "and I'm not crying, mind you. I've just got yams in my eyes right now."
Mika laughed in that low, husky voice of hers. Any higher pitched and it would have been a giggle. Mazken do not laugh, unless they're butchering an opponent. Was she ill? Had she gone daft? The Seducers and Saints were the sanest of all the creatures in the Shivering Isles, excepting grackles, of course. Or Haskill, damn him. Were they all becoming like this? Was it a sign of some new apocalypse, along with Antigone's attempted insurrection? Why had the realm picked today to throw everything at their Lord? Was this because of the bad cheese he'd thrown into New Sheoth's moat? He hoped not, because revenge for that would be cruel and unending.
She picked her way over to him, doing her best to avoid stepping in anything that looked too disgusting. Sheogorath moved over in an invitation for her to sit, and fixed her with a look of intense curiosity when she finally managed to clear the worst of the detritus on the floor and sat right next to him, mace clanking against the bench as she did. She should have said 'I am fine, my Lord,' or, 'I do not require rest, my Lord,' or something similarly unyielding and stolid. "What do you think," he asked out of the blue.
"Think about what, my Lord?" she replied, hands in her lap, fists clenched tightly for some reason.
"What indeed," the Prince said glumly, scratching his scaly chin in thought. "Things look pretty grim, don't they my azure friend? One of these days I'm going to die, and I won't be coming back. These lands will have no one to lead them, and they'll just come apart at the seams. What's worse, now my own allies are starting to question whether or not I can manage the job. It's enough to make me think the Isles are actively trying to evict me."
"My Lord…" Mika began, before pausing.
"Got something to say?" he prodded, literally, with his staff against her bare leg, which he found to be a lovely mix of solid and springy. "Come on, out with it."
Suppressing what he would swear was an actual giggle this time, Mika continued: "My Lord, despite the… fervent animosity between the Mazken and our Aureal counterparts, we both believe wholeheartedly that you are the one meant to lead us, and the Isles, through these dark times."
"Oh?" Sheogorath inquired, shifting on the bench to look at her more directly. "Care to elaborate?"
"You fought with us, and against us, at Cylarn. You commanded us to victory in the Fringe, against overwhelming odds. You saved our Wellsprings even when things were most dire. And above all else, you held your ground against the Daedric Prince of Order himself. No matter what anyone says or thinks, we believe you've proven your worth as a protector and leader of these lands. And…"
"...and?" he prompted, after Mika had paused for several moments.
"...and, I myself have decided that I… want you to lead us," she admitted, averting her gaze from him. "I believe you're worthy of this role. Of being protected."
"You think I need protection?" Sheogorath asked, feeling just a bit defensive.
"Of course not, my Lord," the Seducer declared, her fists clenching so tight that her bluish skin began to turn pale around the knuckles. "You're the most powerful warrior I've ever seen. But… being your bodyguard gives me an excuse to stay by your side. And that's something I enjoy...very much."
Opening his mouth to respond, the Mad God found that, for once, he was at a complete loss for words. Looking at Mika, he saw the same all-too-mortal emotions swirling in his gut reflected in her eyes. He had no idea what this meant, or where it could lead. But he decided that, for the moment, when everything else was such a challenge, that this was a good thing. It had to be.
"Well then," he said at length, getting to his feet. "It seems I've got a realm to save from certain destruction, yet again, and you need to make sure my backside remains unburned, unmauled, and uneviscerated. So let's get to it, shall we?"
Sorry if everyone thinks this chapter is short. Remember that future chapters will be more than double the length, so you have that to look forward to, at least. For the moment, I want to reiterate that I would very much appreciate reviews and critiques, if at all possible. And I'd like to let everyone know that chapter 4 is already in the works, so it should be coming soon! I have to move today, so that might delay things a bit, but it should be here no later than next week. I hope you're all as excited for it as I am! -Matte