FicWad

Prologue Reconstruction of Insanity

When mankind was blessed with the spark of consciousness, the craving for power ensued. Millenniums have passed and a pursuit for godhood manifested, many have tried to achieve a godly status and many have failed. Only a select few have had the honor of ascending to godlike power, and one mortal in particular wields the strongest weapon known to all mortals.

Insanity.

This supreme being is known as Sheogorath, a god affiliated with motives unknown to all and his actions which were unpredictable to the gods themselves.

Today this all mighty god felt the need for a hand puppet show to improve his sour mood.

A red curtain split apart from one another, while attached to an opening on a cardboard box which had a large heading. 'My Tail', the title was misspelled and some of the letters were backwards.

Two sock puppets rose from behind the curtains, one white sock puppet had some white string to replicate hair and two yellow buttons to show its eyes. The other sock puppet was tan, it had no hair but it did have blue buttons to represent its eyes.

The white sock faced the tan sock, and it said, "How are you doing today, Baskill?"

The tan sock, Baskill, thought for a moment before saying, "I'm actually doing really-"

"I DON'T CARE! Baskill!" the white sock puppet interrupted.

"Yes, milord," Baskill replied mockingly.

The white sock turned away from his tan counterpart, facing the audience which hung at his every word.

"Today, is a special day," the white puppet lead on, "Because-"

"We don't actually exist?" Baskill continued.

"SHUT UP!" the white puppet yelled. "I'm sorry, are you the star of the show? I think not, you're just a puppet."

"You are as well, milord, we're just the spontaneous acts of your boredom," Baskill stated in a matter of fact tone.

"I think you're a little deaf, probably because you don't have ears, but let me repeat myself, SHUT UP!" the white puppet reasoned.

"I don't have ears, and neither do you," Baskill stated.

"Moving on! Before I was rudely interrupted. Today is a special day, because I, Sheogorath, single handedly, ended the Greymarch! Hold your applause, or...erm...claws," the puppeteer broke character upon an epiphany, that his sole audience was not exactly human.

"Anywho," the white sock puppet regained his character. "I de-Feet-ed the great and powerful, not to mention evil, JYGGALAG!"

Confetti bursted from both sides of the red curtain, and suddenly a third gray sock puppet was introduced from behind the curtains. The strange part was that there was only one puppeteer.

"Bah! I'm the Prince of Order, I'm boring in comparison to Sheogorath. I'm just asking to be slain with this stupid face of mine!" the gray sock declared.

"HER-HER-HER."

The puppeteer was reminded of his audience by a sarcastic guffaw and a glass ale bottle almost hitting the cardboard stage.

"HEY! No hecklers!" the white sock puppet addressed the heckler.

"Lesh get dis over wit it," the drunken spectator dismissed all the hard work that went into the act.

"Ahem. I slew the Prince of Order, a god, Jyggalag. Restoring madness to my realm, the Shivering Isles, preventing the imminent slaughter of the populace from the Legion of Order," the white sock stated with incredible gusto.

The white sock puppet held a small and thin knife in its mouth, then began to stab the gray puppet. What makes this demented is the fact that blood was soaking through the sock and the stabbing became more vicious. It went on until the smell of iron filled the air and the puppeteer began to throw obscenities at the sock.

"I enjoyed dragging your entrails out of your body!" Sheogorath screamed.

"You. Little. Pompous. Gray. Dull. Boring. Prince!" the puppets representing Sheogorath and the parody puppet of Haskill, his chamberlain, sunk down. Eventually, Sheogorath's two free hand began to strangle the previously gray sock, which was now crimson from his blood.

"Did thesh idjot jus' stab his foooot?"one of the few 'living' audience members shifted his attention to Haskill who glanced down at the strange audience. What caught his eyes was the fact that is was mainly composed of stuffed animals, porcelain dolls, and a few skulls. Not to mention, the most animate member of the audience was a drunken merchant crab.

Yes, a six legged crab, with another ale bottle clutched in his hand. Although what made him different is the fact that he had a cloth laid atop of his body, balancing a myriad of items, such as a pristine sword, a couple of old urns, a few bottles of vintage ale, a degraded staff, a cracked pot, a basket of potions, and a sack of soul gems.

Haskill glanced towards the now torn apart cardboard stand that acted as the stage for his master's sock puppets. Sheogorath was strangling the foot he had violently stabbed.

"Yes, mudcrab merchant, he did stab his foot," Haskill informed in a monotone voice.

Haskill brushed off his black regal attire, which covered his red clothes that sprouted like a flower in bloom around his neck.

The chamberlain's head was devoid of hair, and his face was devoid of emotions.

The drunken crab stared into space for a moment, before widening his small eyes.

"Oooooh, De-feet-ed, defeated, foot! Dis makes sense more..." the drunken crab jumbled his words while he made his revelation.

The mudcrab fell from the revelation, and grew a scowl on his face. "Booo! Yo' su'k!"

Another glass bottle was thrown towards the insane prince. Who was still strangling his foot with a face contorted with anger. Which quickly shifted when he heard the sound of glass shattering.

KLREESSHHHK

"Oh look what you've done. You littered in the throne room. Do you know what the charges are for littering in the palace?" the prince took off the gray sock from his foot, and stood up with abnormal grace.

"A frey drank ov ale?" the drunken mudcrab wobbled in response.

"No, a dinner," Sheogorath stated with a hungry smile.

"Wat kinda dinnar?" the drunk questioned.

"Crab legs," Sheogorath hinted.

"Hot-diggity-dang, sounds gooooood," the merchant hiccuped.

Haskill's expression indicated a need to go into further detail but the mad prince held up a halting hand. The following minutes passed in silence.

The mudcrab eventually fell over, presumably unconscious from either fear or alcohol poisoning. Most likely a mixture of both.

Sheogorath sighed in disappointment and lost interest in the drunk crab.

The prince then quickly lost his interest in his audience. He then faced the throne in the room and admired the architecture and design of this awe-inspiring domain.

A large black tree spouted behind the throne, it's roots stretched down the throne's steps. Pedestals lined down on each side of the throne. Pedestals on the throne's right were burning with an orange flame, while the ones on the throne's left burned with a green flame.

The carpet that led up to the throne was separated by two different colors that matched the pedestals on each side.

Both colors represented the domains that rule Sheogorath's domain. The orange represented the brighter part of madness, that expresses enthusiasm, desire, and obsession. It was called Mania. While the green color represented the darker part of madness, it expresses memory disorder, personality changes, and impaired reasoning. It was called Dementia.

This is the yin and yang of the Shiver Isles. One cannot live without the other, both support each other, while also destroying one another. It creates the sense of nonsense.

These two aspects make the whole of madness, while the aspects also represents Sheogorath's split personalities. Lighthearted cheerfulness and a hidden sinister undercurrent.

There is an easy way to describe the mad god. Sheogorath is comparable to a poisoned apple, in which an apple looks very appealing from the outside, but once someone eats the apple, they're in for a horrible experience in which they will never recover from.

As Sheogorath walked up to the throne, he could hear the trickle of water. He knew the cause of the trickle, which was the fountain of water behind the throne but before the black tree. There was also little trenches for the water to flow on both sides by the pedestals.

The fountain behind the throne was vastly important, as was the tree behind that. The Font of Madness was the indicator that he, Sheogorath, was ruler of the Shivering Isles. If it were to switch over to any other god, then his realm would be lost to him. Because the Font of Madness feeds the Tree of Madness, which roots insanity to the very ground that everyone in the Shivering Isles walk on.

Though it matters no more, Sheogorath won. He has won against his nemesis, the yin to his yang, the Prince of Order, Jyggalag. There was no more threats that were imposed on his realm, no more conflicts to be settled, nothing to grab the Prince of Madness' attention. That very fact was great, fantastic really, to everyone else. To Sheogorath, it was his worst nightmare, as there was no calamity to worry about, no chaos to keep him up at night, no treason for a good old fashioned execution. It really caused Sheogorath to experience a feeling he dreads most in the world.

Boredom.

"Ahaaa~" Sheogorath sighed.

"Is something wrong? Milord?" Haskill, the chamberlain, inquired with a dry tone.

"You know Haskill, the problem is peace," The Prince of Insanity admitted.

Sheogorath stroked his white beard in thought, while his golden eyes, with black slitted pupils, stared at Haskill. The Prince of Madness had unique clothes that fit his title. His clothes were red on one side while purple on the other, with a white undershirt.

"Do you know how long I've been here, Haskill?" the Prince of Madness queried with drained facial features.

"A over 200 years," his chamberlain answered with absolute certainty.

"Exactly! Do you know that every time I pass on the title of myself to a new me that I gain the memories of my predecessor?!" Sheogorath confessed the root of his problems.

"What wrong with that? Milord," Haskill humored his master.

"The problem is, that I recycle ideas that have been done before. Everything I do has been done before. Even that puppet show! I've done it four times, four times Haskill!" Sheogorath elaborated his repetitive cycle.

"I didn't think that you could repeat yourself?" the chamberlain voiced his concern.

"Do you know the definition of insanity? It's 'eating the same cheese, over and over, expecting a different type of cheese.'"

"I don't think that's the correct def-"

"I want to go on an adventure," the Prince of Madness interrupted.

"An...adventure?" the chamberlain couldn't help but pause.

"Yes, my bones need a good crushing, and my skills have grown rusty. I need to stretch my legs on the corpses of my enemies," the mad god confessed.

"Are you going to Nirn?" Haskill questioned.

"No. As much as I've enjoyed the mortal plane and those amusing mortals, I just can't bring myself to keep going back to that boring, dreadful, world. It has lost its charm and luster to me. I know everything unknown about Nirn. I want that feeling, that adrenaline, of exploring the mysteries of what the world has to offer," Sheogorath slowly came to the realization that his 'need' would never be fulfilled. There was no other place as interesting as Nirn, though he already experienced all of Nirn's wonders.

My … that existed somewhere in this vast universe, my divine, beautiful, wise … heed my call…

"Oh. Oh my," a smile began to spread across Sheogorath's face.

Sheogorath was no stranger to schizophrenia, he was a god of insanity, so it was a given that he would be blessed with that aspect of insanity. He would wake up to a chorus of voices inside his head, which would influence every decision he could think of. Though this voice, this voice had a feeling he knew all too well.

Change.

My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière. Pentagon of the five elemental power, heed my summoning...

That voice made itself different from the chorus of madness. Though he had a mix of masculine and feminine voices inside of his head. This voice had power behind it. It was mortal, though it was a mortal with potential, vast potential, the potential to change.

I wish from the very bottom of my heart and add to my guidance and appear!

Out of nothingness, an oval portal manifested at the center of the room. It glowed a brilliant green which spread its color across the room. A presence weighed thick, like a miasma across the palace.

"What?...is that?" the chamberlain asked in genuine confusion.

"Do you feel that, do you feel that familiar presence?" the god questioned his underling.

"Yes, that dreadful feeling. I thought he was gone," Haskill frowned.

"Order," the word escaped Sheogorath's lips.

"You're not planning to enter that? Are you?" the chamberlain asked with a subtle worry. He already knew the answer, though he needed to ask.

"My favorite genocide is just a hop and a skip away. How could I not enter?" Sheogorath rose from his throne, walking down the steps to the unconscious crab.

"Come on, you," the mad prince picked up the mudcrab and continued to walk to the portal.

"I'm going on vacation. The job of a ruler is a hard one, which deserves an overdue break. So keep the fortress down for me will ya, and don't be raising riots in New Sheo while I'm gone you troublemaker!" Sheogorath exclaimed with lots of merry and joy in his proud smile.

Haskill would have attempted to talk Sheogorath out of some of his wishes, but he is the lord of this realm and if he wishes to take leave, it was his right to leave. So, Haskill said his farewells.

"Goodbye milord, please come back soon when you're finished with your vacation, and please don't be gone for too long like your last vacation," Haskill replied in a monotonous voice.

"Don't miss me too much, Has-" Sheogorath paused mid sentence.

"De ja vue. Have I done this before?" the mad prince felt a strange sense of familiarity. "Huh? Twice," he walked through the portal towards his new adventure.

And just like that, the god of madness left his realm to explore a new one.