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Power Corrupts: (ch. 46)
🕑 Added 2020-09-19 13:41:37 +0000 UTCRight. Right, right, right. Was this a bad thing? It didn't seem particularly bad, but given that quite literally the entire city was throwing a rager to the point the city was left unguarded… I was going to say that it was a bad thing.
But clearly, I was the only one to think so. Dibella and Sanguine continued to dance, basking in the attention and adoration they received before more couples began to join them. The music was nearly lost in the sound of people cheering, laughing, singing and shouting.
I didn't get any offers on account of my black wispy armor and the fact I looked like I could break everyone here in two. The fact that I could not withstanding. Instead, I fell away from the crowd, pushing my way back to the parts that weren't dancing. I saw Babette sitting on a ledge, swinging her feet back and forth like an impatient child.
As I approached, she leaned down to shout in my ear over all the noise. "There is movement in the shadows," Babette alerted. She tilted her head in the direction of an alleyway that overlooked the rager. Trying to be stealthy about it, I looked around that direction first and my gaze slid over a man in an alley.
Where everyone else was drunk on either ale or joy, if not both, his face was set in a scowl. He watched the crowd carefully and when he noticed I was looking in his general direction, he quickly left. My lips pressed together into a thin frown before I glanced back at the dancing gods. No matter how crowded the plaza became, they always had enough room for dramatic twirls and leaps.
"This isn't good," I noted, shifting my gaze up to the keep. Despite the fact that my words should have been lost to the sea of noise, Babette somehow heard me. She cocked an eyebrow, but this wasn't the place to explain. I simply jerked my head to the keep and gestured to her to follow before pushing my way through the crowd.
I needed to see just how far the party had spread. And the answer was far. I had thought I was exaggerating when I said that it was like everyone in the city was in the plaza. While that wasn't exactly true, it was only because of the number of people passed out drunk in the streets, telling me that the party had migrated through the city. Possibly several times.
"This vomit is at least three days old," Babette informed, inspecting a puddle of it with a frown. While it could just have been a one off, given how every alley reeked of piss and vomit, I didn't think it was. "Quite the celebration to last three days. I'm surprised any of them are still standing."
"Or there's any alcohol left in the city," I muttered. This was a problem beyond making it difficult to get food to Falkreath. For at least three days, the city had done nothing but partied, led by two gods. This was bad. This was really, really, really bad for reasons beyond the most obvious. "We need to find the Jarl," I said, increasing my speed as I jogged to the keep. On the streets were dozens of people, passed out, drunk, or so hungover they wished that they were one of the former.
It didn't take long to make sense of the winding streets and track the keep. It was a large building half-built into the mountain behind it and had one of the few doors made of Dwemer metal. All the others were wood. And as I arrived, I didn't find a single guard.
My lips thinned as I approached the doors and pushed them open. The interior of the keep looked utterly ransacked. The throne was empty and there wasn't a single person in sight. Not a servant, not a guard, and no Jarl.
"No blood" or bodies,” Babette noted as we stepped into the empty keep. Fires still blazed, though far lower than they should to keep the keep warm. That was true, I observed as my gaze swept over the hall. The tables were flipped and what had once covered them spilled onto the floor. My gaze landed on a broken barrel that was laying in the middle of a puddle.
“They ransacked the keep for booze,” I said, feeling… awed, for a lack of a better way to say it. The citizens of Markarth were partying so hard that they raided the keep for booze. And they got away with it. Had they driven the Jarl out of the city? Looking at this, I could believe it. Still, that was the best-case scenario. The worst-case was far more worrying. “Look around for the Jarl or any evidence where he went. I have a real bad feeling about this.”
Why couldn’t anything ever be simple? First Falkreath and now Markarth was a mess? I guess I should expect the Thieves Guild to have taken over Riften, or something at the rate things was going. At least Babette didn’t protest at getting ordered around and helped me search.
It didn’t take long to discover something wrong. I went straight to the bedroom to see if the Jarl’s absence was planned, judging by if his clothes were missing. Instead, on the floor of the sizable bedroom, was a body. A man wearing armor, war paint on one cheek while one eye was a milky white. He was killed by a stab wound to the throat.
“This didn’t happen long ago,” Babette said before she stuck a finger into the wound and… ew. Ew, ew, ew, ew. EW. She licked the blood off her finger before letting out a content hum, and I was so glad that I chose to wear my helmet again or she would have seen my thoroughly grossed out expression when she looked up at me. “Within ten hours. I suspect that the assault on the keep for booze was a diversion.”
“To kidnap the Jarl and his family,” I suspected grimly. I looked over the bedroom to see if it offered any other clues. The fact that everything was orderly meant that whoever killed this guy got the drop on him. It was impossible to tell if they had nabbed the Jarl here… and that no one knew that they were gone, hinted that they probably had a hostage to keep everyone from raising a ruckus. Swallowing a sigh, I stood up. “We need to check the prison. I don’t suppose you know where they are?”
“I never had a reason to visit them,” Babette answered. So we would have to find the prison ourselves. That was simple enough. Accepting that answer, we left the keep in a rush and I walked up to the first conscious person that I found outside the keep.
“We’re looking for the prison, can you point us in the right way?” I asked a guy who had just finished puking in an alley. The guy blinked at me with bleary eyes, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at as he processed my question. Then a slow grin tugged at the edges of his cheeks as he began to giggle like I had made a joke.
But, apparently, he wasn’t laughing at a joke I had made. He was giggling at a joke he was about to make. “It’s that way,” he informed, pointing to the ground. Because the prison in Markarth was a mine. Clever. Very funny. Expect it wasn’t funny at all.
Slowly, I reached up and grabbed him by his tunic and lifted him off his feet with ease. That did the trick and I saw a hint of panic in his eyes that sobered him up enough. “I’ll show you the way,” he hastily corrected. He nearly collapsed into a heap when I dropped him, but he managed to stay on his feet. The guy practically ran away from me, but he seemed to be running in the direction of the prison.
Following him, I saw more traces that the party had raged throughout the city as we walked by the Temple of Dibella. It was a massive tower with a set of stone steps leading up to a set of large doors that were left open. However, I could tell what was going on inside. Simply because it had spilled outside of the temple itself.
A group of men surrounded a young woman just outside of the gates, all of them naked. My first thought was that something wrong was happening and I was about to march up the steps to start stomping on their heads until they cracked open like eggs. Only for the girl to take the cock out of her mouth while she was being railed by two other guys at the same time, so she could shout, “I can handle more of you! Quite touching yourself and start touching me.”
That summoned another three guys to step forward as she resumed sucking. She jacked two off with her hands while another two used her hair. It was a real surreal experience because she looked like she was wearing the remnants of a temple robe.
Right. Well, I guess they were enjoying themselves and I had way bigger problems.
The guy brought us to the prison, leading us through a tunnel before he came to an abrupt stop. “Uhhhh… That’s not supposed to be open,” I heard him mutter, and I already knew my fears were going to be confirmed. I walked down the steps and I saw it. The front gate to the prison was open. Wide-open. Not a single guard in sight. My lips tugged down into a frown as I pushed the guy to the side and walked into the prison.
It was empty. Which was bad for a prison in general, but it was especially bad for Markarth considering that the Forsworn king was imprisoned here.
“Well… I guess we know who kidnapped the Jarl,” I said, trying to find a silver lining in this mess. I just wanted to buy some food. Now I was dealing with… this. How did the Dragonborn do it? A week in and this was already driving me up the wall. I was fine with challenges and the like, but just cleaning up other people’s messes was… annoying as all hell.
“The Jarl has been kidnapped?!” The guy shouted while Babette looked around for a moment.
“Are you certain he’s still alive?” She questioned, sounding like she couldn’t care less. And she probably didn't. It wasn’t like she had a horse in this race. I did(,) though.
I nodded, “Probably. The guy was imprisoned here for decades. Forced to work in a mine. I can’t say for certain if he was specifically mistreated but all things considered, he probably was. If only by the Jarl’s father since they had bad blood between them. So, I’m guessing that Madanach took the Jarl and his family to flip the tables on him. An ironic vengeance and they would be useful hostages.”
Madanach, the King in Rags, was described as ruthless and pragmatic. It’s something that I could see him doing.
“And I suppose we’re going to go rescue him?” Babette questioned, sounding thoroughly annoyed. Almost as annoyed as I was. Was it really too much to ask that something be simple in this place? I couldn’t even talk to the gods that had more or less taken over the city or start to deal with that headache. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. Maybe I could slip in and out without them noticing and I could just… not deal with them.
That sounded like a plan.
“We are,” I confirmed. Well… I guess that this was a good way to become Thane of Markarth. At the rate I was going, I was going to end up the Thane of all nine holds before winter set in. “I know where they will go. Hey, guy,” I said, making the guy snap out of his mini-panic attack as he realized just how bad this was. The Forsworn had plagued Markarth for decades at this point. It would be like learning that you had lost Osama Bin Laden or something. “Where’s Hag Rock Redoubt?”
The guy looked at me with wide eyes, “I… it’s to the mountain range south of here, but that area belongs to the Forsworn. Why?”
“Because that’s where they’ll take the Jarl and his family," I guessed. It was the stronghold of the Forsworn in the games. It might not necessarily be true, but if we were going to find a lead then that's where it would be. "And if he was only taken about ten hours ago… we might just be able to catch them on the road."
…
There wasn't even anyone that we could tell that the Jarl had been kidnapped. The captain of the guard was somewhere, possibly dead or drunk. Not that it would have mattered because it would have taken time to gather up the guards, more time to sober them up, then more time to get them in a state that could be called fighting fit. So, I didn't bother.
As a Project X level of party raged in the city, we left it behind and hit the road. And there wasn't a doubt in my mind that the party would still be raging by the time that we got back with the Jarl and his family in tow.
We followed the roads, traveling in the general direction of Hag Rock Redoubt by following the mountain range. It was rough terrain, the cart had to be inventoried more than once to make our way to the Forsworn hideout. And that made it so much more alarming considering that it was so close to Markarth. They shared a mountain, almost.
The Redoubt looked like it could be a city itself. A half-collapsed city filled with people judging by the fires and the smoke. Unlike Markarth, however, it wasn’t in a state of utter chaos.
“Oh… great, they’re planning to attack,” Babette noted. That made sense. With Markarth in a state of disarray, they were gathering their strength and were going to take the city while it was weak. Except there was one small wrinkle with the plan.
“No, I doubt that,” I dismissed, looking at the thousands of people down in the Redoubt. An army. “They know that if they take the city now, then they become the target. Ulfric would stroll over here and take the city again like he did the last time. And he’d do it too because it’ll buy him a lot of popularity. They won’t be able to keep the city. And if they did, then why bother taking the Jarl hostage at all?” It didn’t make sense. They were gathering their strength alright, but not to attack the city.
“I suppose you have a point,” Babette admitted as we crouched behind a rock that gave us a great view of the Redoubt. And of the road that led to its wooden gates. We couldn’t find the Jarl on the road, but I’m guessing that was a case of them taking backroads rather than them beating us here. “What shall we do then?”
I glanced over at her, “We wait for the guys sneaking up on us to reveal themselves and kill them, for a start,” I answered easily enough. My voice carried just loud enough that I heard someone shift behind us and the sound of a bow being drawn. Several bows. Turning around, I saw a dozen people perched on the ridge above us. They wore furs, teeth, and bones while their faces were painted. They glared hatefully at me as I stood up, unafraid, and placed myself between their bows and Babette. They would think I was just protecting a helpless girl, and they would be proven wrong rather shortly.
Beyond the first dozen or so were dozens more. Most of them looked like they… well, like they had spent decades in prison. You’d think that hard labor would build up muscle, but when you didn’t eat enough it makes you look like a skeleton.
“Hello there,” I greeted them, “I was looking for you lot.”
A man stepped forward. He was dressed in rags, his beard was down to his waist and his hair was pure white. Despite the stress lines that marred his face, his dark blue eyes were flat and measured. Hard, even.
“I rather doubt that considering you arrived here before us,” Madanach, I’m guessing, said in a cold and measured tone. His eyes were on me. All of their eyes were on me. And they should be. I was the guy in the Ebony Mail that was seven and a half feet tall.
“I wouldn’t worry much about specifics,” I said with an exaggerated shrug of my shoulders. “Do you have the Jarl with you, King in Rags? I was looking to rescue him,” I said, cocking my head up at him in challenge. The King in Rags looked down at me and I could feel his unease. He didn’t give any hint of it, but it was in his eyes. He looked nervous. So close to the finish line, but I was one hell of a roadblock.
Because, even with close to thirty men, he seemed nervous. And he should be.
Slowly, Madanach nodded and a man was dragged forward. His nose was broken badly, his short-cropped beard was soaked with dried blood, one eye was swollen shut. I had never seen the Jarl of Markarth before, but judging by the circlet he wore, he was the Jarl.
"Jarl Igmund," I greeted him calmly. "I'll be bringing you home soon enough."
"They… have my family," Jarl Igmund gritted out through a swollen jaw.
To that, Madanach nodded, "And they will be killed should you not let us by…"
"Jericho, Thane of Whiterun and Falkreath," I introduced. And after dealing with this mess, I had better be the Thane of Markarth. Madanach actually looked a bit concerned about that. Becoming a Thane was a feat, but becoming a Thane in two Holds?
He was silent for a moment as he looked down at me, "I see. I suppose that explains your confidence," he remarked. "But my men can fill every gap in your armor with arrows before you can even think to move."
He was stalling. But so was I.
"And you know that rock and iron won't be enough to punch through ebony. All I have to do is worry about my eyes," I taunted, and it worked better on the ones with the arrows trained on me. "So, let's see if your guys can make that shot. How about it? You'd each get a free shot at me. Then once those free shots are over, I'll march up those steps and kill every single one of you."
Madanach stared hard down at me while the others looked about ready to take him up on his offer. "Do you even know who I am? What I represent-"
"If you have to tell me, then it means you aren't important enough for me to bother learning about," I said, trying to provoke them. To make sure their attention was on me and me alone.
"Another arrogant Nord. These lands belonged to my people."
"I honestly don't think I could care less," I interjected. "They might have been yours at some point but they belong to Skyrim now. Too bad, so sad-" apparently one of the bowmen decided it was my turn to be interrupted because he took a shot at me. The arrow raced towards my face, directly towards one of my eyes, right up until I batted away with a careless swipe. The arrow hit the ground with a plink and I made it a point to continue without missing a beat. "I really don't see how that's any business of mine," I finished.
The action sealed just how outmatched they were. I saw the brief look of panic on Madanach's face, but by then it was too late.
A red-blue blur moved in their formation, hitting the man that had the Jarl. His throat was ripped out by Babette, who had used the attention on me to sneak around them. Before the first body had hit the ground, Babette pounced on another with a frenzied cry that barely sounded human but it was filled with pure joy. Seizing the opportunity, I rushed forward and cut through the dozen archers in the blink of an eye.
However, my gaze never left Madanach's. I thought he would be one of those never gives up types. Like me, in a way. The kind that could look an overwhelming force in the face and still decide to kick its ass. That's what he had been doing for decades at this point. Instead, I saw his eyes fill with the emotion that could only be called defeat. I almost felt bad when I sliced through the others and plunged my sword into his stomach.
The Jarl was secure behind me and Babette falling into a feeding frenzy was one hell of a distraction. The prisoners were taking off running in different directions, most of them at least, leaving only a few others to guard the woman with a wrapped bundle in her arms. She fell to the ground as a Forsworn guard raised an axe to bring down on her.
I launched my sword at him, it punched through his chest before it flew on through him. Another guard rushed me, thinking I was disarmed right up until I crushed his skull with a near casual backhand. I glanced over to see Babette was gnawing at a guy's throat like a chew toy, her face and hair drenched with blood that soaked into her dress.
Everyone else was dead. A very short battle, but against normal humans, that was to be expected, I guess.
"It's going to be okay," I told the woman and her baby. Despite my soothing tone, she curled up into a ball, trying to protect the baby, and her expression was a mask of fear. And… that was fair, I guess. I would be afraid of me too if I had just watched someone that looked like me tear through over a dozen guys, especially if I barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet too.
Then she looked over to Jarl Igread before scrambling to her feet and rushing towards his side. The battered Jarl wrapped his arms around her and shook with relief amongst the corpses. The scene was ruined a bit by Babette continuing to use a guy's neck like a capri sun, but it didn't stop me from feeling good. I had rescued a family. Like a hero. And that felt damn good.
"So close," I heard one of the corpses whisper. I zeroed in on the body of Madanach. He held his stomach, keeping the burnt organs inside, but he was done for. Slowly, he turned to look at me and there were tears in his eyes with one snaking down his cheek. "I was so close to seeing my home again."
I looked at him, then over at my sword before I started walking to pick it up. I had thrown it way too hard. The thing was buried in a rock. "You know," I started as I ripped my sword free. "You got too greedy. If you hadn't taken the Jarl or his family, then I would have had no reason to come here. You could have just gone home, gathered your strength… I still probably would have ended up killing you eventually when you became a problem that needed fixing, but you would have gotten to live a bit longer."
Madanach looked up at me, tears flowing down his cheeks that his beard soaked up. He swallowed thickly, realizing the truth in my words. "I suppose I was," he grunted out. "But… would it be too much to ask… for you to let me see it? Just a little… I… I haven't seen my home in so very long."
I looked down at him, meeting his gaze for a long moment before a sigh escaped me. Then I plunged my sword into his heart. He gasped, his mouth falling open but he went into shock and died before he could say another word.
"To deny an old man his final request… I approve," Babette informed as she walked up, looking like she had bathed in blood.
"He would have found a way to warn everyone down there. I'm good, but I'm not sure I could protect you all in that fight," I informed when I saw that the Jarl was paying close attention to the exchange. As odd as it was to think, I could probably take on a thousand normal humans. It would take time, but I would be willing to put money on me for that fight.
But while I would be fighting all of them, they wouldn't all be fighting me. Some could run or they could surge past me. And then they would find the Jarl and his family.
"Thank you," Jarl Igmund said after a moment. "I will see that you are rewarded for this." He turned his attention in the direction of the Forsworn camp(.) "Though the trouble seems like it has only begun for my Hold."
I thought about the raging party going at his city and the army getting ready to invade. The King in Rags might have been willing to play the long game but I'm guessing that cooler heads wouldn't prevail when they stumbled across their king dead at the final stretch.
"And I'll be there when the trouble comes to your front door. But first, we should bring you all home." I reassured them as I turned my attention to the Redoubt. At the hundreds, possibly thousands that dwelled within. I tried to picture what they would look like in a solid wall of people baying for blood outside of the gates. And I pictured the anger of those that lived within the walls that acted as agents for the now-dead king.
This is what I get for taking detours.
I could only hope that Hestia and the others were having a better time of it back home.
…
Hestia hummed a song to herself as she painted the interior to the Hestia House while the Hestia Manor was being built. And so was the rest of Helgen, for that manner. Shipments of stone and wood were being ordered from across Skyrim and people looking for work found themselves working for their Familia.
It was odd, Hestia reflected as she painted the living room a lovely shade of blue -- for so long, she had been so desperate for a single familia member. Then she found Jericho and Lili and Lydia. Now… now Hestia found that she could be… picky. She could pick and choose who she wanted in her familia. She could add filters of the kind of children she wanted -- before Jericho, that filter was 'anyone that wanted to join.' now, Heatia wanted… people that were brave. And kind. Gentle and fierce in equal measures.
So far, there hadn't been any others that met her new standards.
Hestia let out a content noise as she put the finishing touches onto her living room wall. Taking a step back, she nodded in satisfaction. As she did so, the door opened and when she glanced over, Hestia saw that it was Lydia.
"It looks nice, Divine Hestia," Lydia commented. She was soaked through with sweat despite the cold. Ever since she learned that she could improve her status through training, Lydia gave herself a punishing regime. Running, working out, fighting imaginary enemies, whatever she thought would help her improve.
"Thank you! I'll get started on your room next, okay?" Hestia beamed at her newest child. It was a little lonely without having Jericho here every night, but Lydia was helping more than words could ever say. "And would you like me to update your falna now? I'm sure you've made a lot of progress."
Lydia hesitated a moment before she shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, Divine Hestia, but I believe it would be best to avoid updating my falna for a time. Until Jericho deems fit to allow me to travel with him," she explained, sounding like she was worried that might upset her. It was a little disappointing, to be honest, but Hestia was coming to expect that.
This world was so very different from Orario. The Dungeon offered a constant and consistent challenge that an adventure could use to improve themselves. Here, the challenges were spread out. You had to go searching for them and hope that what you faced would be enough to improve your skill without overwhelming you, or offering enough of a challenge in the first place.
Which was why Lydia wished to spread out her updates, much like Jericho was, to improve as much as she could before hitting a small plateau.
"It'll be different when we have a few more members. They'll be able to spar with you and you'll be able to help each other improve," Hestia offered reassurance as Lydia closed the door behind her. Her youngest child smiled in response, looking forward to it.
However, before she could say another word, there was a knock at the door. Lydia's eyes went flat, shifting into bodyguard mode before she turned around. She put up her reflective shield and gripped her sword in a tight grip. Lydia went to open the door, but Hestia skipped across the room towards it first. As much as Hestia adored Lydia, it couldn’t be denied that she was a little… growly.
Swinging open the door with a wide smile on her face, Hestia saw a tall man with faint golden skin, eyes, and hair. He wore a long black leather cloak and clothes. Intricate designs were stitched into it, marking him as someone important. If the cold look on his face hadn’t already -- it was the expression of someone that thought they were too important to be in a place or doing something.
“Hullo!” Hestia greeted the man as she opened the door fully. Lydia was ready to strike beside her, but the man didn’t seem to notice her. He looked down at her with narrowed eyes hiding barely concealed disdain. “Can I help you?”
“I would hope so… Divine… Hestia,” the man greeted, saying the words smoothly but he couldn’t quite hide the hesitance as he spoke her official title of this world. “I am Regis of the Thalmor Embassy. You are being called into questioning-” He started before he gasped, going ramrod straight. For a moment, Hestia feared that Lydia had stabbed him.
Hestia had heard about the Thalmor and it was honestly astonishing how much the Nords hated them. This world actually had evil gods and the Nords would blame the Thalmor for every bad thing or accident before they even considered it was an evil god’s doing.
But that thought was quickly put to rest when Hestia felt herself getting pushed back while Lysida put herself between the two of them, her shield raised high. Because of that, she missed what happened next but from what she saw… the clothes on the man fell to the ground in a pile and a cheese wheel dropped on top of them.
“Hahahaha! That never gets old! You wouldn’t believe what I had to go through to get Forky -- I had to collect every kind of cheese all across the world -- cheddar, mozzarella, feta, brie, and pecorino romano! In slices, wedges, balls, and wheels. Quite the adventure!” The proclamation was followed with a chuckling laugh. Then a cough.
Slowly, Hestia stood up and peeked from behind Lydia’s shield. And there stood a woman dressed in purple and green, her short silver hair was pushed back to reveal matching colored eyes and a wide smile on her face. And it was then that Hestia felt it -- the presence of a god. Except she should have felt it far earlier… had she found a way to hide her godly presence? Better yet, who was she?
As if to answer her question, a small man darted forward. He was well dressed, wearing a dark purple overcoat and green trousers while his golden blonde hair was twisted up like a candle flame. His face was sharp angles, including his ears which were tapered off into a point that marked him as an elf. His eyes though were wide and a startling shade of blue.
He pulled out a small cone and aimed it at them, “Introducing the Divine Crusader, the Hero of Kvach, the Gray Fox, the Listener to the Dark Brotherhood, the Grand Champion of Area, Grandmaster of the Fighter's Guild and the Archmage of the Mage Guild! She is the Prince of Madness herself -- Sheogorath!” The elf shouted, pure joy in his tone as he stood a bit taller while the woman behind him gave a theatrical bow.
“And I,” he continued, “am her number one fan!” He introduced himself, giving the title as if it were his name.
“‘Ello there! Sorry about turning that freakishly tall candlestick into a bit of cheese -- you can have that wheel if you want, my pockets are already full -- but I just couldn’t help myself,” Sheogorath said, stepping into her home as she looked around. “Lovely place, I like the color! Very pretty. Anyway, those Altmer busybody killjoys… I do believe they have taken something from me. Something more important than food, water, shelter or cheese wheels.”
“Oh,” Hestia said, concerned as she took a step forward. This was the Prince of Madness. Wasn’t he supposed to be a boy, though? “What did they take?” Maybe she could help?
“My clout!” Sheogorath announced, glaring down at the cheese wheel… that… had once been a person. “Since I’ve been frolicking through the woods a bit, the decks are beginning clear up a bit up top,’ she explained, tapping the side of her head. “And I’m almost completely positive that I stopped the apocalypse! Twice even!”
Hestia met Sheogorath’s gaze and saw something that didn’t match the smile on her face. “And I want my clout back! With interest even! So, where’s that freakishly tall giant of yours? I want to ride his shoulders into battle and take back what was mine!”
Oh… Hestia really hoped that Jericho was having a better time than her because she just felt things get really complicated.
Comments
Eldar Zecore
It would be hilarious to hear a report from the Thalmor about all of the insanity that Sheogorath is visiting upon them
IG884HIRE
The fact that there is still enough left of the mortal that became the second(?) incarnation of Sheogorath to be upset over the Thalmor stealing credit for the greatest of her oh so many achievements honestly makes me just absurdly happy. The Oblivion PC is just kind of absurd in the number of things they got up to before settling down as the mad god. Her familia will me glorious. She already has the ultimate in weaponized annoyance at her side in the number one fan man. Having M'aiq the Liar as her captain is the only way this could get any better.
Enjou
Oh gods, Sheogorath has the annoying fanboy from Oblivion following her around.
TheCynicalOne
Or this Sheogorath could have been female when they were mortal and didn't remember till they gave up (most? they did turn someone into cheese...with the Jabbawack I'm assuming) their godly power.
Neruz
I see Sheogorath has decided to gender bend for reasons that undoubtedly made sense to Sheogorath at the time.
