Okay, this will use a 'woman' Sheogorath, or as I dubbed her 'Femogorath'.
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Hrard felt like someone had slapped him in the face with a wet cabbage.
Stumbling through the Pelagius Wing, he had suddenly tripped and found himself lying on grass. He looked up in shock to see that he was in a clearing, with large, dead-looking trees surrounding him, and a huge table laden with food. Sitting at the table were two figures, a man and a woman.
"More tea, Pelly my dear?" she chirped, holding out the teapot.
"Oh, I couldn't. Goes right through me," the man replied. "Besides, I have so many things to do. So many undesirables to deal with. Naysayers. Buffoons. Detractors. Why, my headsman hasn't slept in three days!"
Hrard felt strong arms lifting him off the ground, and he grabbed his Spectral Assassin's shoulders and clambered to his feet.
"Thanks, Lucien," he muttered. But the Spectral Assassin wasn't concentrating on him.
"You are far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius!" the woman proclaimed, standing and clapping her hands. She was dressed in a purple and red gown, the colours split down the middle, a white edge to it, and the sleeves seemed to be designed differently. She was a beauty, with white hair and blind eyes.
"What would the people do without you?" she continued. "Dance? Sing? Smile? Grow old?"
Hrard approached her, and the man, Pelagius, sniffed in disgust and vanished.
"How rude!" she cried. "Can't be bothered to host an old friend for a decade or two!"
"I'm here to deliver a message," Hrard managed, somewhat distracted by her strange, maddening beauty.
"Reaaalllllly?" she gushed. "Ooh! What kind of message? A song? A summons? Wait, I know! A death threat, written on the back of an Argonian concubine! Those are my favourite." She put her hands on her hips. "Well? Spit it out, mortal! I haven't got an eternity!" She paused. "Actually, I do. Little joke." She cackled.
"But seriously," she said, suddenly solemn, "what's the message?"
"I was asked to retrieve you from your vacation," Hrard replied, hearing his Spectral Assassin go 'hmmm' behind him.
"Were you now?" she enquired sweetly. "By whom?" Hrard opened his mouth and she stopped him. "Wait! I want to guess!" She tapped her lips with her finger. "Was it Molag? No, no...Little Tim the toymaker's son? The ghost of King Lysandus? Or was it...yes! Stanley, that talking grapefruit from Passwall!"
"Wrong on all accounts, aren't I?" she asked sadly. "HA! No matter! I don't want to know! Why ruin the surprise?"
She gave him a hard stare. "Do you really think that you, a puny little mortal, can convince me to leave? Because that's...crazy! You do realise who you're dealing with here, don't you?"
"You're a madwoman," Hrard hazarded. She let off a barking laugh.
"Jolly good guess!" she commended him. "But only half right."
She smirked.
"I'm a mad god, THE Mad God, actually. It's a family title. Gets passed down from me to myself every few thousand years. Now YOU," she began loudly, and Hrard jumped. "You can call me...Ann Marie!"
Hrard heard Lucien gasp behind him.
"But only if you're partial to being flayed alive, and having an angry immortal skip rope with yer entrails!" she added. She suddenly flashed him a charming smile.
"If not...call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness." She dropped a faux curtsy. "Charmed."
The Time of the Torte 1/?
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Hrard felt like someone had slapped him in the face with a wet cabbage.
Stumbling through the Pelagius Wing, he had suddenly tripped and found himself lying on grass. He looked up in shock to see that he was in a clearing, with large, dead-looking trees surrounding him, and a huge table laden with food. Sitting at the table were two figures, a man and a woman.
"More tea, Pelly my dear?" she chirped, holding out the teapot.
"Oh, I couldn't. Goes right through me," the man replied. "Besides, I have so many things to do. So many undesirables to deal with. Naysayers. Buffoons. Detractors. Why, my headsman hasn't slept in three days!"
Hrard felt strong arms lifting him off the ground, and he grabbed his Spectral Assassin's shoulders and clambered to his feet.
"Thanks, Lucien," he muttered. But the Spectral Assassin wasn't concentrating on him.
"You are far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius!" the woman proclaimed, standing and clapping her hands. She was dressed in a purple and red gown, the colours split down the middle, a white edge to it, and the sleeves seemed to be designed differently. She was a beauty, with white hair and blind eyes.
"What would the people do without you?" she continued. "Dance? Sing? Smile? Grow old?"
Hrard approached her, and the man, Pelagius, sniffed in disgust and vanished.
"How rude!" she cried. "Can't be bothered to host an old friend for a decade or two!"
"I'm here to deliver a message," Hrard managed, somewhat distracted by her strange, maddening beauty.
"Reaaalllllly?" she gushed. "Ooh! What kind of message? A song? A summons? Wait, I know! A death threat, written on the back of an Argonian concubine! Those are my favourite." She put her hands on her hips. "Well? Spit it out, mortal! I haven't got an eternity!" She paused. "Actually, I do. Little joke." She cackled.
"But seriously," she said, suddenly solemn, "what's the message?"
"I was asked to retrieve you from your vacation," Hrard replied, hearing his Spectral Assassin go 'hmmm' behind him.
"Were you now?" she enquired sweetly. "By whom?" Hrard opened his mouth and she stopped him. "Wait! I want to guess!" She tapped her lips with her finger. "Was it Molag? No, no...Little Tim the toymaker's son? The ghost of King Lysandus? Or was it...yes! Stanley, that talking grapefruit from Passwall!"
"Wrong on all accounts, aren't I?" she asked sadly. "HA! No matter! I don't want to know! Why ruin the surprise?"
She gave him a hard stare. "Do you really think that you, a puny little mortal, can convince me to leave? Because that's...crazy! You do realise who you're dealing with here, don't you?"
"You're a madwoman," Hrard hazarded. She let off a barking laugh.
"Jolly good guess!" she commended him. "But only half right."
She smirked.
"I'm a mad god, THE Mad God, actually. It's a family title. Gets passed down from me to myself every few thousand years. Now YOU," she began loudly, and Hrard jumped. "You can call me...Ann Marie!"
Hrard heard Lucien gasp behind him.
"But only if you're partial to being flayed alive, and having an angry immortal skip rope with yer entrails!" she added. She suddenly flashed him a charming smile.
"If not...call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness." She dropped a faux curtsy. "Charmed."