Sheogorath, Prince of Madness, Lord of the Never-There, Sovereign of the Shivering Isles drummed his fingers on the arm rest of His ornate throne and suppressed an annoyed sigh. Things were going smoothly in the Isles, well as smoothly as things went in a realm populated entirely by the mad. There hadn't been an incursion of heretics in several weeks, He hadn't had to banish a miserable soul to the Hill of Suicides in over a year.
Even the Gatekeeper had gone without entertainment for quite some time. It had been awhile since he had deigned to place a entrance to the Realm in Mundus.
In short, He was bored. Bored, bored, bored, and on the verge of a Princely tantrum!
"My Lord, shall I arrange some entertainment?" Haskil materialized at his side, eyebrows raised inquisitively over a perpetual frown.
"Bah! Boring." Sheogorath muttered with a petulant scowl.
Haskil pursed his lips slightly. Boredom was a dangerous state in his Master, entire civilizations had fallen to ruin, their streets running with blood and laughter, when He was bored. While this normally would suit Haskil just fine, his Lord's boredom had also caused Him to banish His faithful servant to the mortal realm for years on end to parlay for Him as a Priest of His Shrines. While it might amuse his Master, it cause him no end of irritation. Perhaps he could... nudge his master into a mood that would prove detrimental to someone other than Haskil himself.
Before he could open his mouth to speak, the Daedric Prince snapped His fingers and bounced a few times on the cushioned seat, His lips twisting in a manic grin. He stood up and twirled his walking stick through his fingers, delighting in the sound of the air whistling as the wood whirled through the air.
"I know just the thing... just the thing!" He tossed the staff to Haskil, doing a little impromptu jig down the stairs of the dais. His grin widened, showing straight white teeth, and clapped His hands together once, loudly.
The sound of hands striking together resonated distinctly in the throne room, and the red and blue torches swayed and flickered ominously as though the waves of sound had disturbed them.
Sheogorath reclaimed His walking stick and sat back down on the throne, rubbing his hands together with glee. The grin stretching His lips settled into a contented smile not unlike a feral cat that has just torn the throat out of some much humbler creature...
___________________________-+-________________________________________
-In Cyrodiil-
In a grove of trees due south of Chorral, and a little to the east of the ignominiously named village of Hackdirt, the earth heaved and buckled startling nearby wildlife into swift retreat. From the dirt rose an ominous door, a gaping maw from which an unnatural azure light spilled forth into the foggy morning. Few animals returned to the area even after the shaking of the ground ceased. Only a few multicolored butterflies seemed brave enough to dare flitting about upon the twisted flora that sprang forth around the stone edifice.
If a few people in Hackdirt woke from dreams disturbed by horrific nightmares or brilliant vibrant landscapes that sang and whispered and threatened, no one ever mentioned it to each other. It can be said that one or two of the townspeople suddenly viewed their neighbors with suspicion, and began hoarding odd collections of disparate objects, but there are eccentric people in every community.
No one ever murmured a word about the children that began speaking backward or in perverse rhyme, it wouldn't be the thing to criticize someone else's children after all... No, life in Hackdirt was just perfectly normal. Perfectly normal...
Even the Gatekeeper had gone without entertainment for quite some time. It had been awhile since he had deigned to place a entrance to the Realm in Mundus.
In short, He was bored. Bored, bored, bored, and on the verge of a Princely tantrum!
"My Lord, shall I arrange some entertainment?" Haskil materialized at his side, eyebrows raised inquisitively over a perpetual frown.
"Bah! Boring." Sheogorath muttered with a petulant scowl.
Haskil pursed his lips slightly. Boredom was a dangerous state in his Master, entire civilizations had fallen to ruin, their streets running with blood and laughter, when He was bored. While this normally would suit Haskil just fine, his Lord's boredom had also caused Him to banish His faithful servant to the mortal realm for years on end to parlay for Him as a Priest of His Shrines. While it might amuse his Master, it cause him no end of irritation. Perhaps he could... nudge his master into a mood that would prove detrimental to someone other than Haskil himself.
Before he could open his mouth to speak, the Daedric Prince snapped His fingers and bounced a few times on the cushioned seat, His lips twisting in a manic grin. He stood up and twirled his walking stick through his fingers, delighting in the sound of the air whistling as the wood whirled through the air.
"I know just the thing... just the thing!" He tossed the staff to Haskil, doing a little impromptu jig down the stairs of the dais. His grin widened, showing straight white teeth, and clapped His hands together once, loudly.
The sound of hands striking together resonated distinctly in the throne room, and the red and blue torches swayed and flickered ominously as though the waves of sound had disturbed them.
Sheogorath reclaimed His walking stick and sat back down on the throne, rubbing his hands together with glee. The grin stretching His lips settled into a contented smile not unlike a feral cat that has just torn the throat out of some much humbler creature...
___________________________-+-________________________________________
-In Cyrodiil-
In a grove of trees due south of Chorral, and a little to the east of the ignominiously named village of Hackdirt, the earth heaved and buckled startling nearby wildlife into swift retreat. From the dirt rose an ominous door, a gaping maw from which an unnatural azure light spilled forth into the foggy morning. Few animals returned to the area even after the shaking of the ground ceased. Only a few multicolored butterflies seemed brave enough to dare flitting about upon the twisted flora that sprang forth around the stone edifice.
If a few people in Hackdirt woke from dreams disturbed by horrific nightmares or brilliant vibrant landscapes that sang and whispered and threatened, no one ever mentioned it to each other. It can be said that one or two of the townspeople suddenly viewed their neighbors with suspicion, and began hoarding odd collections of disparate objects, but there are eccentric people in every community.
No one ever murmured a word about the children that began speaking backward or in perverse rhyme, it wouldn't be the thing to criticize someone else's children after all... No, life in Hackdirt was just perfectly normal. Perfectly normal...
