Sheogorath’s Summoning Day

2nd Of Sun’s Dawn

Somewhere on the East Auridon Coast

“Come on, Erenalf! We’re almost there!”

“Whatever. I just want to go home.”

“Are you a coward, Ere? Are you a Khajit? Or are you an Altmer?”

“You know I’m not a coward, Nel. I just think this is the worst idea you have ever had.”

“Worse than that scheme to break into the palace and woo the Princess?”

“Worse than that.”

“Worse than that? We got locked in the Skywatch dungeons for a month!”

“Some things are worse than a jail cell, Nel!”

“Like what?”

“Like the the Madgod! Do you even realise the depth of your depravity? It’s 10 to one we’re driven insane, or die! And all this, for a stupid dare!”

“Yeah, but just imagine the look on everyone’s faces when we get back!”

“If we get back. This is heresy.”

“Come off it, Ere! You’ve heard the stories. Sheogorath isn’t dangerous, he’ll just mutter about cheese for a few minutes and conjure up some exploding fish... or something. Anyway, I think we’re here!”

The two mer slowed their pace. Above their heads stood an archway, cut into the cliff face by ancient hands. The elves glanced at each other. Erenalf’s brow twitched, and a glowing ball of light appeared in his outstretched palm. He tossed it gently to the air, and it drifted slowly into the dark. He smiled uneasily.

“After you, Nelian.”

...

The entryway gave way to a cave, which wound deep under Auridon, away from the picturesque Summurset sunset and into the heart of Nirn. The passage widened slowly, and after the two Altmer had been underground for a little over an hour, they found themselves in an enormous chamber, with obsidian walls covered in inscriptions of skeletal figures and runes that seemed to dance around in the dark. Erenalf summoned another Magelight, and willed it forwards. Soon it hung above them, on the roof of the room. At the centre of the chamber stood a worn marble statue, with a body caked in green moss. The face, however, was unobscured, and adorned with a wide smile. Erenalf shivered. Nelian picked his way across the uneven ground towards the statue’s base, and knelt.

“Hail, Sheogorath, I call upon you! Hear my voice and manifest!” he called out, and waited. The chamber was silent except for the echoes, bouncing off the walls.

“Nel! The offering!” hissed Erenalf. His companion cursed and rifled through his pack.

“Uh, ok, so we brought a couple of things, your Madness, because we weren’t sure what you’d like... here’s a lovely Valenwood vintage I had imported... or this sapphire? How about this kitten? Hello? Are you even listening?”

“Don’t disrespect him, Nel! Try placing them at the foot of the statue?”

“Okay, but I’m not sure he’s paying attention to -“

The pack exploded in purple smoke, filling the room with a flash and a bang. Erenalf thought he could hear a screaming cat, but before either elf had recovered, the smoke began to swirl and congeal, forming a shadowy figure. Nelian gasped. The smoke was a suit now, a bright purple suit, with a similarly garish top hat pulled low over it head. The figure looked up, and the two elves jumped back. Sheogorath grinned at them.

“So! What can I do you for?” the Prince chirped in a strange, unplaceable accent that seemed almost a mix of Nordic and Reachman.

“Uhh...” Nelian stammered. Erenalf could see clearly on his face that his friend had not expected their little adventure to go this far. Well, that made two of them.

“I must say, I adored your offering,” the Madgod continued, “Well, the wine and the jewels were a little run-of-the-mill, but that kitten was so adorable! I think I’ll name her... Twinkles? Oh, she’ll make a gorgeous scarf! Come on, say something! I won’t bite! Ha! Or will I?”

Erenalf remained speechless; half because he was shocked by how harmless and odd the Prince seemed, and half because he had heard the forbidden stories of the horrors Sheogorath had wrought all across the archipelago when heretical Altmer had tried to summon him. Despite the Daedra’s jovial appearance, Erenalf had a heavy sense of dread. He looked to his left. A smile had broken on his friend’s face, and Nelian began to speak.

“Well, in all honesty, we only came here for a dare. Our friends back in town didn’t think we would, and we just wanted to prove them wrong. We didn’t think you’d actually show up!”

Erenalf’s heart sank like a stone. He saw the Daedra’s eyes narrow, and his face tightened. Nelian continued, ignorant of the Prince’s changing demeanour.

“So if you could give us something in exchange for our, uh, sacrifice, that would be capital. Like some cheese? All the stories say you’re a big fan of cheese!”

Suddenly, the elf stopped talking, and looked down, confused. He felt his chest, and fell to his knees, gasping silently.

“Nel!” Erenalf rushed over to him, and grasped at his friend’s shoulders. Nelian’s face had turned blue. Erenalf spun to face the Daedra.

“What did you do?” he cried, tears forming in his eyes.

“Why, I gave him some cheese, just like he asked. Only, I put it all in his lungs,” the Madgod replied, snarling. “Isn’t that a fun conclusion to your little game?”

Nelian’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his face dropped into the dust at their feet. Sheogorath stepped towards Erenalf, who fell to his knees; weeping both for his friend and in sheer terror of the being above him.

“Please! Spare me, I beg of you! I meant no offence, I only came to try and keep Nelian safe! I tried to persuade him not to come, but he wouldn’t listen!”

Sheogorath looked upwards, at the Magelight above their heads, spinning and shining in blissful ignorance of the horrors below.

“I see your fear,” he sneered, “and I sense your honesty. As you ask, I won’t take your life... I will do something much worse. I see you dabble in spellcraft - let’s see how good a Mage you are with the gift of insanity!”

Erenalf’s heart froze, and ice shot through his veins. He threw himself to the Prince’s feet.

“Please, Madgod! Take my life rather than my mind! I will do anything for you! I will kill, rob and maim for you, I will serve you for the rest of my life - but do not strip my mind!”

Sheogorath smiled wickedly.

“Oh, I won’t take it. You will lose it of your own accord. That is your fate, little elf. No one makes the Madgod their punchline.”

And with that, he disappeared in a puff of purple smoke and, once again, the muffled sound of a cat in pain. Erenalf stood up, shaking. As far as he could tell, he was still sane - but that brought him little comfort. He tried to ignore the prophecy of insanity Sheogorath had cursed him with, and weeping softly, Erenalf picked up the corpse of his friend and staggered towards the way out.

...

The sky was mostly dark, but there was a rosy glow on the horizon. Erenalf wasn’t sure if it was sunrise or sunset, and he didn’t care. He was nearly home, stumbling down the last dusty foothills towards his town, with the body of Nelian in his hands. The elf paused, and sat down on the hillside. Just for a minute, he told himself, just while he figured out how to tell the townsfolk what evils had befallen the unlucky duo in that wretched chamber, deep below Nirn. Before he had set off home, Erenalf had used the last of his Magicka to collapse the entrance to the shrine under a hail of boulders. He would not allow anyone else to be lost to the demented fiend below. Erenalf peered out over the town, illuminated against the darkness of the countryside, as his sweat and tears mingled in the dirt at his feet. Suddenly, he did a double take. The town was never this bright; not even on Festival night. He gasped - those weren’t lanterns lighting up the valley beneath him. They were fires, consuming his home.

...

It took Erenalf fifteen minutes to sprint to the walls, and by that time, the fires had subsided, leaving a skeletal town of charred wood and blackened stone. The elf pushed the gate open, and screamed. The streets were lined with bodies, all of which wore a ghastly smile - the same wide, unnatural grin that the statue in Sheogorath’s shrine had etched into Erenalf’s memory. The bloody corpses were strewn in such a fashion that their manner of death was plain to see: they had all murdered each other. Erenalf ran through the streets, struggling to keep the vomit in his throat. The Altmer wasn’t sure how long it took him to return to his family home - time seemed to have lost it’s meaning - but by the time he got there, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears, and all he could feel was the pounding of his heart in his chest.

The family house was ashes. Atop the pile of wreckage lay his smiling family - all impaled by a glass lance; the family heirloom.

...

3rd Of Sun’s Dawn

Somewhere on the East Auridon Coast

Deep under Nirn, the hidden shrine’s silence was disturbed by the distant sound of falling rocks. A while later, a ragged figure stumbled into the chamber, and summoned a weak, flickering Magelight. It dimmed, and faded away nearly instantly. It was an Altmer with wild, bloodshot eyes, ragged clothing and a wide smile. With a manic laugh, he threw himself at the feet of the statue that dominated the room. In a puff of purple, an aged, balding human-looking figure appeared before the gibbering elf. Wordlessly, the man took the smiling Altmer’s hand and they both faded away into the purple smoke.