Private A Daedric Reunion

[cazzer14]

Molag tired of giving blow after blow to Zenithar's defeated, lifeless with effort body. And so the Daedric Prince of Corruption rose to his feet, and plucked an Aedric sword from the bloodstained, cracked marble that he stand upon to finish the defeated Divine.

The sword burned his hand, it's holy properties disgusted and enraged that Daedric hands grasp its fine jewelled hilt. Steam of singed Daedric flesh rose into the air, a hissing sound apparent from the burning. Molag Bal remained unhinged by the stinging. 'It will only last a couple of seconds to slay the foolish wretch' he thought, smugly, confident in the knowledge that he would banish this filthy Divine God from this land, send him back into his realm defeated.

The Patron of Vampires stepped forward, unwilling sword raised to finish off his helpless opponent, a huge devilish grin on his malicious, content face.

Then Zenithar furthered in distance, the entire room extending as Molag Bal was dragged from one end of the room to the other, a harpoon piercing his torso, the black blood oozing out of his chest, dripping off of the tip of the spear that was sticking through his body as the momentum forced the droplets to fly out of his veins and corrupt the clean floor with his bubbling internal liquid.

The seemingly endless flight ceased as Molag's helpless body crashed against a panel, where the harpoon had originated, and didn't have time to react as steel clamps restrained his hands and legs. The spear poking through his ribcage then folded itself and retracted, the bones clicking as the metal forced its way through back to its origin.

Molag Bal roared in rage as he tried to pull himself out of his restraints, to obviously no avail. A booming chuckle echoed in the halls, drowning out the sounds of battle momentarily, Molag focused his eyes upon the source of the sound.

"Your blind desire to see my will broken clouds your senses, Molag. If you took the time to think for a second, you will have seen that my defeat was far too easy for you. I had doubts that this trap would not spring, that you, for once, would stop your endless conquest for the domination of others and consider your surroundings, the scenario you find yourself in for just a moment, and realise that everything wasn't quite right.

"It seems I was pleasantly wrong."

Molag's face scrunched in rage and frustration as he growled "Once I get out of these cowardly bounds you have me in, Zenithar, I promise you... I will make you suffer. Mark my words, and mark them well, Divine; I. Will. Break. You."

A smug, eternally confident smirk appeared on Zenithar's face as he coolly replied ; "No you won't.". All of the blood and injury he had just moments before had disappeared, and the clean, well-kempt image of the Divine had returned. Molag Bal gave the God of Commerce a menacing, revenge-promising stare as the Divine turned and walked away to re-join the field of battle, and gave one last shake on the restraints in hope that they may miraculously break off, and allow him to then rip off the head of that smug bastard, and make his still-moving eyes watch as he crushed his body underfoot.

 

[Znowcicle]

Vaermina snickered as the wails of both sides of her mini battle filled the air. The wonderful symphony of screams and loud booms reminded her of her Quagmire. Oh, how many similarities were there between this battle and some of the nightmares she had inflicted? She could not count all the ways, nor was there enough time to make a very coherent thought in the battle. There was blood splashing through the air in arcs or brilliant color, loud clatters between swords and armor, and the squelch of flesh being bitten and sliced into. It was all very gruesome and she stood there, Lord over her shadows, as her minions wafted through the fighting bodies and slit the enemies throats, or plunged their black blades into various bodies and then continued on with their mission.

So far, the Aedric armies had had no such success in fighting her minions. Their disposition mirrored the dark spaces cast down by the tall walls exactly, and their ability to use other shadows for transportation did not help the Aedric ranks as they didn't stay in one spot for very long. So her shadows continued to dwindle the ranks, and occasionally a shadow would dissipated as a spell was cast at it due to the failure of not moving quick enough. Vaermina didn't know exactly which Aedric Lord's minions these were, but it didn't matter. It kept the gate to Bliss intact though slightly worse for wear. That is, until Mara came bursting through the gate.

Wooden splinters were cast every which way, smaller Daedra were crushed as well as some Aedra as the magnificent beast she rode upon, a beast made from purple light that resembled a sort of ox-like creature, trampled towards Vaermina. She frowned as Mara addressed her, "My dear girl! I thought you had turned to shadow forever! I had no idea where you went but now I've found you!" Mara's robes flapped in the wind as the creature huffed and then disappeared at a wave. Mara's body settled gently through the air as she descended to the ground, her face alight with clear joy. Joy? Vaermina thought to herself, puzzled as she watched Mara approach her and then stop a few feet away, Why would she be happy at a time like this? She is Aedra, surely she would take no pleasure in this war...

"Vaermina..." Mara began and that's when things clicked in Vaermina's troubled mind. She struggled to keep her composure, her countenance blurring from a mask of cool complexion, to confused, to sad, and then finally, to anger. She held up her hand yelling, "Stop playing games Mara!" Mara took a step back with the force of Vaermina's voice, her arm going up in front of her in defense. Vaermina glared at her from the short distance between them before raising her staff against the God of Love.

"Why are you even here Mara? There is no love here like I said before! Are you too high up in your own clouds to realize that fact?!" Vaermina sneered as she snapped her fingers and shot a tendril of shadow towards Mara. It grappled onto Mara's arm and then tightened like a boa constrictor, the long tendril strong but flexible in its grasp. Vaermina cut the tendril off and the end snaked towards Mara wrapping itself around her ankles and then rooted to the ground. Mara stayed still; her face was blank except for the troubled look in her clear eyes as she bore her gaze into Vaermina's.

"But you are wrong, child. Why-" Mara was then cut off by a sharp slap to the face. Vaermina had covered the distance between them with grace and she was now standing before Mara, inches from her actually, her breath coming in heaves and her face red with either anger or embarrassment.

"You don't know what you're talking about." She whispered into Mara's ear before summoning her precious staff. Her staff was still classically adorned with the skull topping the rod, but a small modification had been made. The end was now bladed, and sharpened to a fine point. Vaermina raised the sword end to Mara's neck, Mara swallowed and took a sharp breath in as Vaermina's blade bit into her skin. A scarlet line formed on the side of her neck and then ran down to her robe in a neat streak. Vaermina watched as it did, and then turned her gaze back to Mara's face.

"Why don't you do anything Mara?" She sneered her name as she said it. Mara said nothing as Vaermina lowered her blade and turned away for a moment, pondering. She turned back around and plunged the blade into Mara's shoulder, Mara's face twisted in pain but she uttered no sound but a gruff exhale of breath which angered Vaermina even more. "Fight you coward!" She yelled at her as swung her staff at Mara's head. Mara ducked and then kicked Vaermina's feet out from under her by surprise. Vaermina toppled to the ground, her staff leaving her hand as she fell, a look of shock painting her face as she looked at the tendrils laying lifelessly on the ground where Mara had stood. I lost concentration...was all she thought before Mara was standing over her with her bladed staff held fast at her neck. Mara gazed at Vaermina steadily, her breath calm, and for a moment Vaermina thought Mara would let her up with no consequences, Fool, she thought to herself right before Mara moved the blade above Vaermina's shoulder and plunged it into it. Mara looked like an innocent woman, kind and gently but this attack was in no way gentle. She had pushed down hard. Vaermina gasped in pain as Mara twisted the staff in the wound, the blade cutting all the while, then threw the staff aside when she was satisfied with the blood pouring out of the wound.

"Go now." Mara whispered as she took her leave. Vaermina tried to give her a confused look through her pain but Mara had already disappeared. Vaermina sat up, her shoulder sending signals of warning throughout her body as she then proceeded to stand. She didn't bother looking around for Mara, she knew she was gone, just as quickly as she had came, but when she picked up her staff she heard something new.

The fighting around her, between her minions and the Aedra at the gate had ceased during her and Mara's confrontation. It had grown a kind of quiet in Bliss until the familiar screams and clashing noises sounded from the palace. She could hear Sheogorath's voice resounding loud and maniac in his yells above all the noise, ''FIGHT ME AKATOSH! FIGHT YOUR DOOM! THE DAEDRA PRINCE OF MADNESS!'' She gasped, "Akatosh...fighting Sheo-" she began, "No...no..." She kept her staff at the ready, spearing any enemy in her way as she hurried towards the palace. The noises of fighting growing louder and louder as she came nearer.

''Forget the Aedra, kill the Divine!'' She heard him shout as she came through the door to the courtyard. Madness was apparent as Daedra slung their blades in flurries against Akatosh's army. It was a terribly equal match between their minions. Each felling another and then another, not one minion touching either Lord. Vaermina had finally gotten close enough to the center of battle to see Akatosh and Sheogorath clearly. The minions were dwindling now, she was safe a few feet away as the minions tiny minds were on their master's orders, and the order, right now, were to kill the immediate threat - The Prince of Madness.

It had finally grown quiet, the last dwindling cry of pain finally dying to nothing but a forgotten memory. The two powerful figures stood facing the other in silence. Steely gazes being cast without emotion, until finally Akatosh spoke.

''Join us Daedra, I sense your confused, your losing your insanity. But with so you are becoming very powerful, join us and become the first Daedric Prince to become a crossbreed of Aedra. You will be unstoppable.'' Vaermina gasped, her first relatively loud noise since arriving. "No..." She whispered to herself. "No!" She said louder, her voice wavering a little as she did. She didn't care at this point that her shoulder was still pouring blood, she didn't care that the blood was soaking her right side, or even that her arm was practically lame at the moment. Her face was paler than usual, her eyes pained, but her mind was on this situation. Her mind was on Sheogorath. "Dear Mad God no!"

 

[Soundwave129]

Jyggalag was fading quickly, flicking back and forth between realm repeatedly. He heard a roar overhead and for the first time in centuries, he felt fear. Was Akatosh seriously going to target him? Jyggalag would be banished for long enough by Talos, a fight with Akatosh, and he wouldn't be able to leave his realm until the next era. But wait, as his eyes adjusted, Jyggalag saw that this dragon was smaller, and... yellow.

Poison spewed from Peryite's mouth, covering Talos in slime. Landing, the taskmaster opened his maw again, this time sending out a blast of fire that knocked the Divine away. Jyggalag flickered back as the souls flew back into his soul gem, keeping him in the Shivering Isles. Jyggalag brushed himself off. "Thank you for the rescue, Peryite. Have you been keeping order amongst the soldiers?" Perite hissed. "Of courssse, mighty Jyggalag. It isss my duty." "Ha! You speak true, blighted one. Now, I need to ask you a question. You have, I assume, scouted out New Sheoth?" "Indeed I have." "Excellent. Now, do you know if there is an item capable of restoring my lost power somewhere in this city?" "Yesss. In the throne room of Sheogorath's palace, your old ssssword is kept on display."

Jyggalag snapped his long, bony fingers. "Yes, of course! My blade should contain enough power to let me stay in this plane without this blasted gem. Peryite, you are a rank above the idiots who up the majority of our brethren." "Thank you, friend. It isss alwaysss my honor to-" There was a brief flash of something, and then a faint gurgling sound. Time seemed to slow for a few seconds as Peryite's head fell from his body. The rest of him fell shortly after, to reveal a very angry Talos on the other side, his golden longsword dripping with green blood. "You think you can stop me? I'm insulted, Daedra." Jyggalag gripped his maces tightly. "Now then, Prince, where were we? Ah yes, I remember now." He started to Soul Tear Jyggalag again, but the lord of order managed to hit him in the jaw in time to silence the words. Then Jyggalag turned and ran as fast as could, away from Talos and towards Sheogorath's Palace.

 

[Isara12]

After preforming the stars special power, it faded back to moonshadow. Azura panted a little, then took off to find the nearest daedra. Soon enough, she came upon a large room, looking around, she saw a shocket: Molag bal was strapped to a wall! She walked up to the dominated lord of dominance.

"hello bal, recognize me?" Azura smiled. She and molag had a history. Molag tried to "dominate" azura, but endedup failing She wondered, would he remember me now that i look like a little girl? A more humorous thought entered her mind:hes gonna be rescued by a little girl!

Suddenly she heard someone enter, and turned around to find Dibella.


"why hello azura! How do you like the form akatosh gave?" the divine said mockingly. Azura growled.

"you bitchy slut! Im going to-" suddemly dibella flicked her wrist at her, and she felt numb.


"theres a reason akatosh changed you into this: so you can be my puppet" she started moving hand in a variety of ways. Watching helplessly, her body took a knife from dibella, which burnt her hans. Her body then approached molag bal, and proceeded to scar molags body with multiple slices of the knife

 

[Neverwin]

Nobody turned down an invitation from Sheogorath, and Nocturnal was no different; though whether she attended out of fear, out of obligation, out of curiosity, or out of some obscure reason was a mystery. She had been there. She had always been there. A flicker of shadows was the only indication she had given of her presence to the other Daedric Princes, so that they would know that she was there. But nothing more than that. What she intended to do at the little get-together was unknowable, as her motives often were. So far, she had done nothing.

And when the Aedra showed up, and now that everything was chaos, Nocturnal remained further hidden. She did not fight for she had never been one to fight. Her servants were few despite having many followers. She simply observed. In a realm outside of her own, she was not quite as protected in shadow but it served well enough. There were many decoys, built up of nightingales and ravens (birds) to throw everyone off as to where the true Nocturnal laid.

To do nothing always would be to be nothing always. Nocturnal was not nothing. She was not something. She just was. And so, she revealed herself... in a manner of speaking. The large room containing Dibella, Azura, and Molag Bal was suddenly filled with darkness. It was hardly a handicap for any Daedra or Aedra or Divine; it was for show... probably. She was standing behind Dibella, cloaked and her face hidden by her hood.

"Dibella... There is no beauty in the darkness. There is no love in the darkness. There is only dark in the darkness. And I, Nocturnal, am the darkness." A pair of dice fell to the ground, rolling towards Dibella slowly before coming to a stop. "Hmm. Your luck may be running out."

The dice floated back to her and disappeared back into the cloak. "I am not violent... or possibly I am. Or possibly I could be. Let us talk. Shall we?"

The darkness lessened around Azura, seeming to highlight her. "For what purpose has my sister become your puppet?"

 

[CHIM]

Spoiler: OOC

For the purposes of this roleplay, Mephala is depicted as a female.

Mephala opened her eyes in her realm of the Web and breathed a sign of great pleasure. Her webs have been spun, and the murders have been committed. She sighed to herself as she remembered that her Morag Tong had been disbanded, and that murders had to be committed by those misguided and the easily tempted. A certain man had given her a sense of great pleasure when he lied his way into Whiterun and slaughtered its guards in their sleep. I've been waiting for something like this for a long, long time. Time in the Web lasted many cycles, as plots and conspiracies had to be laid slowly and carefully, over a long period of time.

"Webspinner, invitation." A Spider Daedra made its way over to the Webspinner and laid a invitation written in the language of the Daedra. It was addressed to Mephala herself, and from Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness. A party, how convenient. Mephala had just finished laying an intricate plot to disrupt Molag Bal's Shrine in Markarth, but it had to wait. Mephala was not one to turn down a party. Maybe I could squeeze some information out of the other Daedra there. At a wave of her hands, the Webspinner moved from the Web to the Asylum, Sheogorath's plane. Or was it the Shivering Isles, she did not know nor care.

"Aedra and Daedra, all together in one place." Mephala lip curled into an amused smile. "Sheogorath, you demon prince of madness."

 

[The_Madgod]

Clavicus flailed around on the ground, feeling defeated. He could hear Kynareth's grunting, revealing the damage to the Aedras Divine flesh. Then, he heard an odd cracking noise. The noises continued, soon accompanied by the noise of someone climbing to their feet. Then, a weapon being drawn. The cracks ended and were replaced by a buzzing noise, accompanied by a sweet, primal song that the blind Prince assumed was Kynareth.

Then, as the Daedra began to fumble to his feet, he heard another voice. A shout. Clacking jaws followed, then more screaming. Suddenly, the noise of rocks thrown at a wall. Clavicus falls flat to avoid whatever just happened as an odd liquid splatters onto his body. Then, a sawing sound commences, followed by a guttural war. The ground in front of always-charismatic Clavicus begins to shake. "JUST BANISH HER! COME ON!", echoes a voice. The voice of Hermaeus Mora. "Come on, you blind fool! You can't see her? Where she is relative to you is sounding pretty damn much like secret knowledge right now! I hereby bless you with the secret knowledge of where she is - just strike at my voice, and try to hit her, not me! I'm running out of words for the song - can't hold her forever!"

Clavicus stood up, a sudden wave of anger filling him. He conjured a great sword, put a powerful soul trap on it and aimed for the voice of Mora, his anger with Kynareth giving him strength. He threw the sword down and felt it enter the flesh of someone, or something. Then, a scream- "Damn you Daedra! You think you have defeated Kyne, patron of the hunt? I will return and slay both of you, then destroy your realms! I'll crush all the armies of Oblivion if I have to! You both shall die!"

The sword dissipated, leaving an angry Clavicus hunched over nothing. He fell, then finally afforded himself a small rest to recover. Unfortunately, it was interrupted by two familiar voices. First, a shouting from across the battlefield. It was undiscernable, though Vile still recognized the voice. Pelinal Whitestrake. The Aedra appear to have asked for the help of Lorkhan. Then, before the knowledge that the Divine Crusader was in the Isles could sink in, an old pal of Viles dropped in. An angry, familiar voice boomed out over Clavicus- "What have you done to Sister Kynareth? This time, Pactmaster, I will really kill you!" The god of life and death had returned.

(No colors or fonts are available to me from this app, sorry. I'll edit it when I get home tomorrow.)

 

[Morganatic]

Kyne screams, curses in a barbarous Atmoran tongue, bloody froth forming at her mouth.

"Damn you Daedra! You think you have defeated Kyne, patron of the hunt? I will return and slay both of you, then destroy your realms! D'you know what it's like to be hunted, Mora? Did your little lapdog-bitch teach you a thing or two about what it's like to be the quarry of a pack of hounds, Vile! You both are going to -'

And her Aedric flesh gives out under the combined onslaught of the rending song and Clavicus' blade. Shivered into a thousand minute pieces by the terrible melody, Clavicus' gambit of trapping the deity falls short, but, blind as he is, he can feel something slip into the umbral blade, filling its thaumaturgical interstices like quicksilver in a philosopher's stone.

Hermaeus Mora staggers, jerks back, her warform wilting and withering, her song finally over. The reaper-thing's head looks down, taking in the arm's length of ebony now protuding from its chest, reaches one pseudopodous limb behind itself, feeling the over-penetrating blade now emerging from its back. It teeters, then topples over, managing to decompose the sword's physical presence from its flesh before falling back into unconsciousness.

~ ~ ~

'Oh Clavicus. I put such thought into that body - I liked it!'

A deep, sonorous, masculine voice sounds out from just beside the Pactmaster.

'No matter. All things are subject to the power of change, and I would only have limited myself by staying with it. Nice work on the Wind Mistress, by the way.'

Arkay's voce booms across the battlefield, his booming footfalls as guileless and inescapable as death itself. Hermaeus Mora doesn't even bother listening to a word he says, and yawns theatrically, popping his shoulder muscles as sinew and gristle reform themselves from mashed and hacked arcane flesh.

'Anyway, I believe that that would be my curtain call for the moment. Arkay and I get along rather well, actually, and I have little interest in antagonising him today when we could be playing at dice for souls tomorrow. It would be poor form to leave you without a means to defend yourself, though, Clavicus, and so -'

There's a hiss of severing air as Hermaeus draws a blade from his own flesh, then a deeply unpleasant squelching noise followed by a soft moan. A couple of small jellied orbs fall into the Pactmaster's lap.

'Eyes. New eyes, my old eyes, for you, formed of the New Flesh. They'll restore your vision, make it better than it ever was before, let you see secret things you'll never dreamed of - just possibly give you the insight to hold off Arkay on your own, without Barbas in tow. You'd regret putting them in your sockets tomorrow, of course - hell of a headache - but if you don't, will you even exist by then?

For the second time in as many minutes, Clavicus has reason to be glad that he can't see, as the sounds emerging from Hermaeus' ever-changing form are nauseating enough. A storm of cracking limbs and shattering bone drowns out his voice, continuing - or so it sounds - until every bone in his skeleton must be dust; this hellish breaking song develops harmonies, begins to tune itself into a droning buzz, and then begins to fade as the knowing god makes his gruesome exit into the skies of the Shivering Isles.

Daedric Princes can appear in whatever guise they choose, mortal or mythic, natural or unnatural, and it's not Herma Mora's problem that his fellow princes are all just so boringly limited. He knows all things, is intimately acquainted with the secret arithmetics and patterns that govern life, and is suffused with the raw energy of Oblivion - it's not surprising that he's usually in forms that other beings find strange. But he's outdoing himself here. Reaching far back into the past, into the Dawn Era, the Knowing God has stolen the face and forms of two of his oldest champions; two Ehlnofey giants of surpassing power and wisdom, the warrior-chief Hecatoncheir and her scholar husband Clesthyra. These two forms boil and run like molten wax across the Daedra Prince's embodied will, but he masters them, forces them to coexist in one being. And that being is a herald of Hermaeus' glorious power. Each of Hecatoncheir's hundred hands is contorted in a different spell-bearing mudra, marshalling spirits of flight, knowledge, protection, and power to the Daedra Prince; he wears each of Clesthyra's hundred eyes like a crown, spying out all hidden things that wish him harm, and piercing every deception that presents itself before him.

It's an intoxicating thing to feel, especially just after he was nearly banished by Kynareth, and he leaps for joy, half a mile into the air, hands busy weaving a path beneath him. He looks down into the battle, examining its flow and rhythms, carefully conferring with his future and past selves to see how it will and might play out. Answer unclear - try again later. Damn it. Out of the corner of one madly rolling eye, he spots a subtle glow light the top of a nearby crag, and the light is refracted through the prism of his vast intellect into its constituent parts. Gate. Formed not from a Sigil Stone - what sort of madwoman would play around with those - but from another Realm of Oblivion. Powerful, too, but subtly done. A rosy grey-ish blue. Mephala! Full of curiosity about what his sister is doing here, he unweaves his perch above the battle and plummets down to meet her, slowing his fall by momentarily transposing his body into the distant past, before that dullest of Et'Ada, Father Gravity, saw fit to become part of the material world. It's a fantastically wasteful bit of spellcraft, when a slowfall would have solved his problem, but, as the god of secret and esoteric knowledge, he has standards to maintain.

Composing himself, he bows low to the webspinner, sweeping his arms before him in a . It looks a little less respectful than it might - something of Namira lingers about the Knowing God, and they seethe like a centipede as he straightens up.

'Black-handed sister! In the absence of the Madgod, who I believe is currently squaring off in a chest-puffing contest with the Lord of Time, let me be the first one to welcome you to the Shivering Isles. Given that we all seem to be doing our best to kill each other right now, I hope you'll enjoy your stay, but I'm sorry if you were expecting a party ...'

He turns, looking down the hill into the fray, where a silver-armoured monster twice the height of a man is happily reducing a Xivilai to a reddish smear in the Demented soil, while a troupe of maddened hungers prance about him, darting in to taste of his flesh when they get an opening. Finding that he's covered in unwholesomely glowing metal, and indeed may not even have skin and bone underneath that, they begin dodging mace-blows to leap in and start devouring the erstwhile ally. He turns back, shrugging, a look of fraternal concern in his eye.

'… well, maybe this is your sort of party?'

~ ~ ~

Pelinal's mind is blank. He's in his element, literally awash in a sea of the blood of his foes, and not being subject to the frailties of mortalkind, he could quite readily go on doing this until the end of the next Era.

But something stirs him.

What?

He's not hurt - no, he couldn't be hurt. Umaril was an exception, a being out of reality, from the loins of another Kalpa untimely ripp'd, and only such a creature could harm him, and only with deceit and Daedric backing at that. Then what has disturbed his meditation, his peace with this gore-drenched world?

He looks about himself, taking in the rampart of corpses he's built just within sword-length, then down, at the barely recognisable mess beneath his feet, that once had been a Xivilai Hierarch. He remembers killing slaying the foul daemon - oh, hours ago! Has he really been standing here mauling its dead body ever since then? Judging by the fact that there's not a single intact bone in its body, well, yes, it seems like he has! Pelinal chides himself gently for this lapse in concentration, and then, stowing the Mace at his side, draws the Sword and begins clambering out of the pit of horrors he's built for himself.

The first Daedra he sees that doesn't flee in abject terror before him only do so, he imagines, because they already have their backs turned to him. High on a hilltop above him, he's spied a pair of what look like Lords of Oblivion, one horror in the guise of a tarry black-skinned man, one in that of a pale spindly woman, their thin veneer of humanity belied by their grotesque many armed form. He begins to tramp up the hill, grinning, ready to take skulls for Lorkhan - but then he hears it again.

His head snaps round, and then, in a panic, he realises that it's Jhunal, it's Julianos, his lord, his liege, pierced by swords, his ebony godsblood spilling upon the savage hungry earth of this Daedric realm. Above him stands a proud, louche figure, tall, elegant, decadent, a horror of sin and death and carelessness, trampling wisdom and learning beneath its feet. Sanguine raises his arm above his head, and, in a flash, there is his sword, ready to decapitate Julianos.

A mortal would never make it in time. A divine might, if they were swift, but even the Aedra were limited by constraints of matter - they could not press their way through the throng of battle, not force spirit-flesh through spirit-flesh. But the Divine Crusader is no divine, and neither is his patron - the Shezzarines mantle a darker, more vital force than any effete Aedric Lord.

He unhinges his jaw, opening his mouth wide as if to Shout - but no shout emerges. His mouth just keeps opening, widening impossible, inhaling land and swallowing the soil of madness. His teeth flash from the earth to the roof of the sky, unmaking the land on which he stands and gripping it between jaws that span the horizon. A tangled fray of Stendarr's Vigilants and Dremora turn, scream and rout in an instant as they Pelinal Star-Eater's mouth opening up to devour them. And then, half a mile of battleground within his mouth, he bites down. His tendons and the muscles of his face blacken and begin to slough off, as the power of Sithis suffuses them, and, shaking his head from side, worries at the fabric of the Shivering Isles itself. Within seconds, he's torn loose a field's worth, and swallows it and the dozen warriors who were too slow to escape with a mighty gulp, consigning it over to the hungry Void. And then - then there is nothing between him and Sanguine. There are no foes, no ground to cover, nothing - for Sithis has taken it all.

His face and lips still smoke from channelling the raw power of entropy, but he doesn't care. He doesn't feel any pain. Pelinal Whitestrake grins, drawing his sword and stepping unexpectedly inside Sanguine's guard, aiming a vicious shield-blow into Sanguine's pretty face, and roaring a mindless war-cry.

'KILL! KILL! KILL!'

 

[meben15]

finished with his observing of the battlefield Sanguine casually sauntered over to Julianos, and raised his other deadly green scimitar above his head. "Now its time for you to feel true pain Julianos!" And with a wicked smile he swung his sword downwards towards the fallen god. But then, out of no where, a new threat emerged, carving a deadly path through the melee of the battle Pelinal Whitestrake was suddenly right in Sanguines face. With his sword he stopped the Daedra's blade from hitting Julianos, and with his shield he smashed Sanguine in the face, roaring with blood lust and rage.

Sanguine flew backwards several feet from the raging knights blow, his face horribly mangled by the strike. He was dazed for a second, and by the time he got to his feet Julianos had stood again as well, his horendous wound healed. "The tide has turned Prince of Debautchery!" Julianos yelled, firing a blazing ray of lava towards the Daedra. Sanguine dove to the side, changing shape in mid dodge. He turned from the muscular Redugard warrior to a hulking Dremora lord, forehead complete with great rams horns.

Sanguine had no sooner changed shape Pelinal charged him, swinging his deadly blade at Sanguine's middle. Quickly the Daedra conjured a flaming great sword, knocking aside the crusaders attack and punching at him with his other hand. Pelinal blocked the strike with his shield and countered with a vicious kick to Sanguines knee, causing him to crumple to the ground.

Sanguine cursed as the Crusader loomed over him, "Why do you have to come and ruin all of the fun! Get out of here you pesky little fly!" With a burst of telekinetic energy he sent Pelinal flying into a nearby building, making the entire structure collapse on the crazed warrior. Sanguine had no sooner gotten up when Julianos mounted his attack on the Prince, sending a ball of expanding magical force flying towards him. The Daedra had no time to react and was catapulted backwards, slamming into the wall that encompassed Crucible.

Sanguine was again dazed, and had a much harder time getting up than he did before. Slowly stumbling to his feet he looked around him to see an entire section of the wall had exploded outwards. Turning back towards the crucible side of the ruined wall he saw that Julianos had levitated the buildings rubble off of Pelinal and he and the god were charging towards him.

As he charged the divine Crusader roared, "DIE DAEDRA!!! MY BLADE WILL SINK INTO YOUR HORRID FLESH!!!!!" Sanguine laughed at him, "You stupid, misguided moron! Don't you know Daedra can never die!" With that he opened his mouth, and a huge tidal wave of wine erupted out of it. Just as the wine-wave came into existence, Julianos decided to throw a lightning bolt at Sanguine. Unfortunately for both him and Pelinal the Wine got in the way. Then, Sanguines two adversaries were hit by the electrically charged wave of alcohol, and they both fell backwards, twitching.

Sanguine laughed manically at his imense sucess, "Buahahahaha! You clumsy bumbleing fools cannot hope to stand against my might!" With that he sprinted off down the slope into the chaotic battle still raging on outside the city, morfing into a flame atronach as he ran. While his words were brave Sanguine knew he would be hard pressed to fight both Julianos and the Crusader, so he decided a tactical relocation was in order.

The Daedra's enemies soon followed behind him, raging through the crouded battlefield, Julianos throwing bolts of lightning at him and Pelinal simply throwing words. The Prince of merriement darted through the mixed forces of Aedra and Daedra, slaughtering hundreds as his molten form flew through their bodies. He laughed a his pursuers attempts to hit him. "Catch me if you can! Although I don't think you will!"

 

[Mini Mongo]

Sheogorath was somewhat shocked by Akatosh's comment,and with so stood, frozen in fear, doubt, and one of the biggest questions a Daedra could have.
To become a Aedra/Daedra crossbreed would make him as powerful as Magnus himself, but with so he would lose his title, his powers, worshipers and........Vaermina.
He couldn't let this happen, but a strange force was in control and began to reply ''Akatosh.......I acc'' luckily the possessed Sheogorath was put of by a loud shout from Vaermina, the will of the strange force disappeared, and Sheogorath regained himself.
Confused, angry, and afraid of losing his title of Madgod Sheogorath swung his blade towards Akatosh, and what was almost excitement, and passive was gone to anger, and aggression, and with so he dodged the blade, and began to disappear, but as he did he muttered a few words.
''Mark my words Sheogorath, your end will come, and when it does, you'll regret your decision.'' Akatosh muttered as he disappeared, each words quieter than before.
Sheogorath was confused, what was happening to him, Vaermina was more mad than him, and soon he would be destroyed by the Princes, and with so a new Madgod elected.
He hoped Vaermina would stay with him the hole time, there was no one else to aid him.

Once Akatosh had disappeared Sheogorath turned to face Vaermina, and with so began to walk to her.
''Vaermina, I fear my time as Madgod is gone, and are bond is failing.
All the insanity and Madness I had is going, my isles are failing, and falling to Order, and with so I change with it, and I lose my madness. This war has great effect upon me, for everyone sword swiped, every arrow quivered, every spell charged, and every death I gain power. But with so lose Madness, and change the Isles and myself. I feel as if I am being taken over, my mortal form is forming in Nirn, but in return my power and body is being taken, a strange force lurking among the shadows.
A powerful great force, able to make us all tremble, and I fear it seeks me, wishes to end me so it may walk are realm, lurking in the darkness, and when the time is right, when I am mostly sane, my being gone, and my power great it shall take it's prize.
It will kill you, me, and everything in between, Daedra, Mortal and Aedra alike. This force of the unknown is great, and I wish you to promise me to live when the time comes. Not even the Prince of Knowledge, Mora could foresee this, not even in the great library of Jyggalag could such a text be found. Nor a Elder Scrolls with such knowledge to warn us all, this is a time of change, and shock among us all, not even the great moth priests or researchers knew of this new threat.
This war is the start, here to weaken you and power me, I wish you to kill me now, we cannot let this power loom.''

The words Sheogorath said were curious and frighting, and with so both Vaermina stood staring at eachover, Vaermina did not carry out the Lord of Madness's will.
Sheogorath understood the situation, and could respect it, and with so he turned away from her, looking at his beloved Palace's remains.
His throne lay half destroyed, but not gone, so Sheogorath walked to it, each step as if he carried a thousand men with him.
He sat upon his throne, dazed by dreams of sanity, but his worries were not over just yet.
A voice trembled in his great mad mind, a deep eachoing voice, the voice of his enemy, the one who wished to claim Sheogorath as his own.
''Sheogorath...........I claim you as my own, stop resisting my power but accept it, I will take you, whether I shall kill you, or whether you accept my mastery.
Each day I grow powerful, feeding of everything, upon changes I feel power, upon power I feel conquest, upon conquest I feel death and darkness.
Let the void claim you Sheogorath, let change happen, for change must always happen, for without change, I would not existence, and so everything would of never been. Let change embrace you. Let me embrace you.............''
The voice was full of pain, death and fear, it spoke as if it was the being of all, the change itself was coming, it was as if it was to walk the mortal and immortal plains alike.
It spoke of the void to, perhaps it existed within, but what being could hide in the void, the wrath of Sithis was ever watchful there, nothing could hide from never being.

Such things confused Sheogorath, but he thought and thought, sitting on his throne as war waged.
Questioning his own power.

 

[Skyrimosity]

Hircine was dazed from Stendarr's furious attack. Hircine hadn't fully regained his composure as Stendarr prepared the death blow. No... it can't end like this. I... I won't let it! Hircine suddenly struggled his hardest against Stendarr's grip but he could not shake it. Stendarr put a boot on Hircine's chest and reared his silver greatsword. Hircine didn't feel like leaving the party just yet. With a poof of magic, Stendarr was left looking for his nearly defeated foe. But where was Hircine? He was escaping the building as a were-mouse. Yes, you heard it right. A were-mouse. They were more common on Nirn than many people thought and Hircine wanted to save himself this time.

He ran into the road as a mouse before transforming back once more into a great wolf. He reared his bloody fangs and let out a howl of pure bloodlust. Two werewolves were transported from Hircine's Hunting Grounds instantly to his side. Stendarr stepped outside just in time to see the 2 were-wolves appear. "What's the matter Hircine? Can't fight mono e mono? Awww... poor doggy. Too bad I forgot my treats." Hircine let out a vicious roar. "You shall not get lucky again, you pathetic Divine! For now you shall be my lunch!" Hircine and the 2 other werewolves charged at Stendarr, but Stendarr would not go down easily.

 

[Soundwave129]

Jyggalag was running as fast as he could towards the palace, but Talos was right behind him. Every time Jyggalag gained a big enough lead, Talos would shout and speed right back to where he was before. As they waded back into the crowds of soldiers, Jyggalag saw his chance to get ahead. He jumped, flipping through the air, leaving Talos to run straight into a werebear. Jygglag landed behind the hulking beast, and continued running.

Talos dismembered the bear, and was about to sprint ahead, when he was suddenly corned by three Aurorans. "It is Talos!" One said. "You are the one who caused the death of Lord Umaril, and the defeat of mistress Meridia!" Said another. The third one pulled out a glowing Ayleid axe. "Let's kill him!" "Not today, boys!" Said Talos as he knocked them all down with a swooping kick. He quickly slew them all as they lay on the ground. Then he remembered Jyggalag. "Dammit!" Talos shouted again and again, futilely trying to reach his prey.

Jyggalag burst into the remains of New Sheoth Palace, and ran up to Sheogorath. "Where is it, you blithering idiot? Where is my sword!" The Madgod shrugged. Jyggalag howled in anguish, and went over the rubble where Sheogorath's trophies had once been. Digging desperately, he found nothing but rubble but then he saw something gleam, and pulled it out. It was a small cage. Jyggalag tossed it away, seething with anger. His mood did not improve when Talos came running in.

"Fus Ro Dah!" Jyggalag flew past what was left of the great tree behind the throne of madness, crashed into an empty pedestal, crushing it. Talos ran up and put his boot on Jyggalag's chest before the prince could rise. "You didn't expect to escape me, did you? Now then, I'll be giving you this one chance to give up and..." Talos's voice was tuned out by Jyggalag as he saw something lying right next to his arm. It was the hilt of a sword. And it was made of crystal. Grabbing his sword, Jyggalag slashed Talos across the chest, causing the Divine to topple. There was a crackle of lightning, and Jyggalag laughed. "I am restored! War god, do you wish to fight me, or are you afraid of even combat?" Talos got up, wheezing. "Let's do this, Daedra."

 

[Znowcicle]

Vaermina stood and watched silently as Sheogorath stopped mid-sentence. Akatosh left them and then Sheogorath was speaking to her. He was telling her about some force coming to take him; some force that would destroy them all. And then he asked the very thing she did not want to hear, "This war is the start, here to weaken you and power me, I wish you to kill me now, we cannot let this power loom.'' Vaermina winced, her throat beginning to sting so she swallowed hard. The Mad God simply turned from her as she didn't make a move to end his life...She watched him, as she walked towards him; she watched him and he looked like he was listening to something. She could not hear what was speaking to him but she didn't want him to listen.

"My dear Mad God..." She whispered into his ear once she had reached his side, "Please don't talk that way. You cannot lose your madness, not now..." She chuckled looking around at the rubble.

"You must still possess your madness for all this to be going on in your Realm." She looked up at his face, downcast as it was, and then she returned her face to the ground. "Surely you could fight off this...'spirit'?" She asked, her voice low but hopeful. Jyggalag came up to Sheogorath then asking about his sword. He ran off and started scraping through the rubble frantically. Vaermina paid no mind though, until Talos came up and shouted at Jyggalag. Talos had seemed to over look the two of them, he seemed consumed by Jyggalag...She graced the palm of Sheogorath's hand with hers, a soft touch of flesh, and squeezed his hand reassuringly. She wondered, fleetingly, if the Mad God would part from her to help his counterpart, Jyggalag, from Talos. Never the less, she laced her fingers within his for a moment as she whispered to him, "I won't let it happen. I won't let it take you..." She brought her eyes back up to him hoping that her words and her touch would help...but deep inside, in the back of her mind, her own nightmare was beginning. Oh Mara...why must you have been here?

 

[Morganatic]

In the hands of the Star-borne Knight, a shield is as lethal a weapon as any sword, and he chuckles happily to himself as he sees the blow strike home, feels Daedric flesh crumple beneath his shield, tastes the faint tang of congealing ebony blood in the air. This, now this is war, this is combat, this is what he lives for. Pelin-el has fought upon ten thousand battlefields on ten thousand worlds, and the Chim-el Adabal in his chest pulses with unearthly light in sympathy with the rhythm of battle.

There is no martial gambit, no Daedric trickery, that escapes his battle-cunning, and the sudden transformation into a war-form to surprise his attackers is so predictable it's almost pathetic. Acting without thought, Pelinal draws himself up into an almost balletic stance, then snaps his sword down in a killing stroke. Sanguine blocks the strike, conjuring up one of his Dremora servitors and hastily binding it into the form of a long heavy greatsword, arresting the Crusader's strike just inches from his bare chest. He doesn't mind, though, but savours the bound Dremora's agonised screams as Arkay's steel bites into its flesh. That, and the fact that Sanguine's sword-arm is now accounted for, which means - here it comes - the left hook. Predictable. A brawler's move, effective maybe in wine-sodden barfights, but nothing that might avail the Daedra lord against the wrath of the creator. He covers his side with his shield, blocking the blow, then drives a metal-clad knee between Sanguine's legs, seeking a weak spot. The Lord of Misrule may enjoy his earthly pleasures, but he will be made to pay for such hubris of body and mind. And pay he does - the blow sends him reeling backwards, mewling in a heap at Pelinal's feet.

He draws the Mace, gives it a few practice swings, limbering up before he levels the Prince of Revels and banishes him from this plane, visiting the wrath of the Aedra upon him. He winds up a mighty swing - but it's too late. Pelinal's impetuous arrogance has undone him yet again, and his foe has recovered enough to sit, and to eye the warmongering Ada cruelly.

'Why do you have to come and ruin all of the fun? Get out of here, pesky little fly!'

The Daedric Prince snarls out a curse, flicking his fingers as if to dismiss a beggar, and blows Pelinal away on a tsunami of psycho-kinetic energy. It's harder to do so than he might have expected - Pelinal's body has the heft and vis inertiae of the core of a dead star, and the feedback from the blow nearly dislocates Sanguine's arm - but such concerns barely trouble a god, and he rolls, stands, ready to face Jhunal's next onslaught.

For his troubles, the Divine Crusader languishes under a a few dozen tons of collapsed temple. The telekinetic blow had sent him crashing through its foundations, battering him against walls and columns and buttresses, but he is an indomitable quasi-divine psychopath, and that's the sort of thing he can easily recover from. He pulls himself to his feet, and begins wading through corpses and rubble back into the fray. He does so, however, with his characteristic level of berserk thrashing, and it's not long before he's inadvertently brought the whole building down on top of him. A divine constitution can only endure so much, and Sanguine's assault, combined with the impact of a small building crashing down onto his head, causes him to black out in pain. Sacred engrammatics, a holy fractal tracery written in a script known only to Lorkhan, glow crimson, and more power is channelled into the Nine's Champion, restoring his life and broken body. Bloodshot eyes shoot open, and, grimacing in pain, he braces his legs underneath him and begins swimming up until he sees daylight. Sweeping away arm-loads of fallen masonry like so many autumn leaves, he begins to stride back towards the fray, his pace quickening.

'DIE, FOUL PRINCE OF OBLIVION! BY MY HAND, YOUR SOUL WILL BE SHATTERED! I WILL FEAST UPON THE MARROW OF YOUR BONES!'

The Prince of Misrule turns to him, regarding the bloody horror that's staggering towards him with a quizzical eye, and sneers.

'You stupid, misguided, moron. Don't you know Daedra can never die?'

His words drip with scorn and contempt, and, in the presence of one of the Lords of Oblivion, metaphor becomes reality. Bitter wine, corrosive as aqua regia, trickles from his mouth as he speaks, splashing down onto the paving and carving deep hissing rivulets across the shattered stone. It builds to a flood, overtaking the Divine Crusader, and, when Julianos' mis-aimed thunderbolt strikes its surface (Pelinal mutters an oath that he'll repay the Wise God in blood for this), it flash boils, transmuted in an instant into a searing hellish cloud of burning spirit of wine and acidic vapour. It scourges his armour from his flesh, but underneath his armour, there's no flesh, only more metal and plate - more armour that burns at the touch of Sanguine's sour wine. Eventually, it washes away, leaving a pale skeletal shadow of the spirit that once was Pelinal, that shivers and convulses, actinic lightning coursing over its body.

Sanguine grins, the flood finally abating. A long tongue snakes out to savour the last drop of wine, then begins laughing - a chuckle that builds into a low, rumbling belly-laugh.

'Buahahahahaha! You clumsy bumbling fools cannot hope to stand against my might!'

His body liquefies, transmuting living flesh into divine fire, and, wearing the guise of an atronach, he simply flows down-hill. Servants and servitors of the warring pantheons, mortal and Daedric, ignite in his wake. Some ignite in flames, screaming in pain as their bodies char and boil - others ignite in passion, screaming in pleasure and laying down their weapons as they are seized by liquid ecstasy. Julianos cautiously follows, levitating after the Prince of Revels, throwing the odd bolt of lightning after the fleeing creature of flame, but it's a half-hearted effort - he's been severely weakened by the fight, and seems more interested in husbanding his strength than bringing the fight back to the Daedra.

~ ~ ~

At the crest of the hill, something stirs. The Star-borne Knight has lost most of his armour, has lost most of his flesh, to the point where his silvered bone are clearly visible through his flesh. But he cannot be stopped - only slowed down. The skeletal figure draws itself up, commanding his cintimanic armour to flow like mercury back over his form, clothing it in muscle and sinew, if not flesh. It's an imperfect simulacrum of his body, and will take some time to reform into the Crusaders' Relics as any historian would recognise him, but this imperfection only brings his divine nature closer to the surface. The Chim-el Adabal glows with a fierce red light, buoying up the Divine Crusader and restoring strength to his limbs. The Shield and Mace are missing, and the Sword is badly corroded by acid, but he hefts it above his head in a wordless war-cry, and begins to run down the hill after Sanguine, acid-holed robes fluttering behind him.

He's unable to catch up with Sanguine by sheer speed, but then he doesn't necessarily need to. Fighters from every side dive out of the way of the mindlessly roaring silvery apparition, limned in a corona of hellish red light - those that don't are quickly cut down by it. Pelinal walks in a circle of open ground the radius of his sword-arm, and isn't particularly troubled by mortal obstacles like 'buildings' or 'walls' either, preferring to simply shoulder his way through slabs of stone and wooden planking. He stalks the Prince of Misrule for some time in such a manner, seeing to pin him and bring him to battle against the walls of the Sacellum. Eventually, he brings the Daedric Prince to bear, stumbling across him by chance, finding the Daedric Lord in combat with three of Kynareth's minotaur children. He strikes all three down with deft blows, but then looks up to see a battered, bloody, but still very-much-alive Pelinal Whitestrake standing there on the other side of the square. He's pointing at the Daedric Prince, then, once he sees that he's got his attention, draws his thumb across his throat.

'YOU WILL DIE AS YOU HAVE LIVED, SANGUINE - CAVILLING, FLEEING, A DESPERATELY HEDONISTIC WRETCH! WE'VE ALWAYS KNOWN YOU WERE A COWARD, NOW PREPARE TO DIE A COWARD'S DEATH!'

Pelinal gathers a killing light in the palm of his left hand, and releases it in a coherent bolt of energy at Sanguine. And then, yet again, he charges.

 

[Soundwave129]

Jyggalag swung his sword at Talos, connecting with a loud thud as the Divine of war bounced out into the courtyard. "Ha! That barely tickled Jyggalag, you're getting worse at this." Jyggalag kicked him down a flight of stairs. "Humor. How utterly mortal," Jygglag said in a bored tone as he trotted down the steps after Talos. "It has no place in an orderly world." Talos got up again. "An orderly world? That's what the Divines strive towards, you ignorant demon." "An orderly world? Ha!" Jyggalag swung at Talos, but he blocked it with his longsword. "You really think the Divines keep order? What kind of 'order' are they keeping when people are murdered every day? A world where kinsman wage war against each other, where empires bow to the wills of their enemies, and half nations turn on each other? What kind of order is that!?"

Jyggalag broke the blade lock, knocking Talos back even further. Talos flipped backwards, and landed in the gardens. As Jyggalag charged down at him, Talos blocked perfectly, staggering the larger god and giving Talos time to speed behind him and unleash a flurry of strikes. "Nirn might not be perfect, but at least it's people are given free will!" Talos yelled as he dodged another one of Jyggalag's attacks. "But see how they use that free will, Septim? They use it to banish your rightful worship!" Talos shouted in response. "Fiik Lo Sah!" Jyggalag was dazed for a second, and then he saw something he couldn't comprehend. Talos was taunting Jyggalag, for now there were ten copies of Talos, each identical to the real thing.

"Can you find me, Jyggalag?" Talos's tone was mocking, goading him into slipping up. One Talos rushed Jyggalag from behind. As the lord of order stabbed it, it turned to mist. There was a chorus of laughter and insults. "Better luck next time!" He impaled another one. "Aha! Wrong again!" He killed two more. "You are much too easy to fool!" Jyggalag's eye's widened. He unleashed a large lightning spell, only enough to stun. All the forms around him evaporated. Jyggalag roared in anger. A loud whistle permeated through the grounds. "I'm over here, tough guy!"

Jyggalag ran towards Talos, sword raised, when the god stuck out his hand. "Ah, wait wait, you'll want to watch this." Jyggalag's curiosity got the better of him, and he stopped and lowered his blade. "That's a good boy. So, that little distraction I sent you bought me just enough to run off and find someone else. See, now that you're back at full power, this fight'll never end. But lucky me, reinforcements just arrived. So I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine, I'm sure you've heard of him." Talos stepped aside to reveal a handsome man in jet black armor, with wings sprouting out of his back. "Jyggalag, meet Morihaus!" The man changed form into a large bull, and charged. Jygglalag was thrown across the entire courtyard.

 

[cazzer14]

Molag Bal lay against the panel, restricted, bounded, defeated. He sulked in his confinement, ignoring the pain from the gaping hole in his chest, crimson blood leaking out of the drilled flesh, dripping onto his legs and onto the dusty, war-marked marble below.

​

He then chirped his head up as he heard someone enter the room, before sensing the presence of a fellow Daedra, the being absent of the foul stench the Divines always had lurking on their holy aura. It was Azura, Mistress of Dusk and of Dawn, alleged patron of the Dunmer, and the Chimer before them, bearing her typical guise of a mortal female.​

​

It always clinged to Molag's mind how the Daedric Lords can shapeshift and take the form of anything they want, and yet Princes such as Sheogorath, Azura and Vaermina always opted to take the appearance of such a petty template. Molag never quite understood, although considered the possibility that they may take the cosmetic look of a mortal to better appeal to those they are mimicking, it made sense for a mortal to be more terrified of a tentacled mass of a monster than a beautiful, (at least by mortal standards) human female.​

​

Azura's robes dragged across the smooth surface on which she stood as she approached Molag, rather smugly, as if relishing the sight of an imprisoned Molag Bal, and rightly so, the Prince of Corruption was usually the other side of imprisonment, he was the warden holding the keys, the cruel torturer, the metaphorical prison itself perhaps, not the poor soul trapped there at the mercy of the holder.​

​

Never again. And Azura knew it, and so she knew that she had to make the most out of this scenario, that she had to tease Molag while he was unable to intervene.​

​

"Hello Bal, recognise me?" Molag said nothing, he would not dignify her smug query with a response, he merely stared, glared into her eyes, his emotionless gaze cold with contempt. History had given the two excuses to hate each other, and while forgiveness was an option for them, it was neglected, however, vengeance was equally ignored.​

​

Instead, the two Princes kept distance from each other, knowing of the tension between them, and opting to neither repair nor further provoke it, and now, whilst Azura was in a position overlooking a helpless Molag, she sneered at him, mocking his situation.​

Her snobbery was cut short, however, when the noise of an attention-gaining entrance forced her to turn. Dibella, the Goddess of Love and Practising of Being a Complete Slut, was there to meet her hateful glare with one of equal spiteful apathy.​

​

"Why hello Azura! How do you like the form Akatosh gave you?" she said, somehow with more jeer in her voice than Azura had in her's upon greeting to Molag Bal.​

"You bitchy slut! I'm going to--" her words were interrupted by a subtle flick of Dibella's wrist. Suddenly Azura's movements were clearly not her own. Molag may not have Hermaeus's wisdom, but he could put 2+2 together; Dibella was possessing Azura, and judging by the sight of Azura receiving an Aedric knife from her Divine puppeteer, and her heading toward Molag with said blade, meant that the answer to that equation wouldn't be pleasant for either Daedric party.​

​

* * *​

Molag said nothing as Azura sliced his skin. No sounds of pain, no winces, no words of rejection. Just vengeful silence, Molag's glare piercing Dibella's eyes, going into her head and exploding her mind. Molag needed something miraculous like that to happen, or this would be a long day.

Molag eventually broke the silence, coolly stating to the Divine; "I knew you were into some kinky plops, Dibella, but I never would've thought sadistic torture was in there... That's usually my thing."

Dibella smiled, before replying with; "Sometimes justice is ironic, dear Molag. And while I may be forced to use torture from time to time, violent rape is something I frown upon."

Molag gave her a sinister smirk and responded with a menacing tone underlining his words; "One bad thing leads to something worse, the same goes for sadism. It starts with a little torture, but keep going down that road, and it will eventually lead to rape. Perhaps you need to experience it first hand, to really get what I'm saying. I'll be glad to be the one to show you..."
Dibella said nothing, but turned her eyes away, either disgusted or intimidated, it did not matter, Azura was still cutting into Molag's flesh, and the Prince himself was going nowhere. He needed that miracle to happen sooner rather than later.

Miracle came in the form of darkness, and in shadow, and Molag grinned at the sight, or rather, lack of sight, it seems it was his lucky day, as Lady Luck herself had come to his (humiliating) rescue.

Nocturnal materialised behind a confused Dibella, loudly whispering, in a sinister hiss; "Dibella... There is no beauty in the darkness. There is no love in the darkness. There is only dark in the darkness. And I, Nocturnal, am the darkness." She threw a pair of dice at the ground before Dibella, the cubes rolling on the marble, the black shroud clearing the way as the dice rolled through the mist, making the result clear to see, although it was probably only Nocturnal who understood its meaning. "Hmm. Your luck may be running out."

The two cubes flew through the air back to their mistress "I am not violent... or possibly I am. Or possibly I could be. Let us talk. Shall we?"

The dark mist lessened in density around Azura, who had ceased to mutilate Molag, assumingly because her puppet master had stopped tugging the strings momentarily, for how can an entertainer put on a show in total darkenss? "For what purpose has my sister become your puppet?"

Molag Bal remained silent, opting to observe and see how this plays out, and took a deep breath of the black mist that hovered throughout the room. The gas felt cold, yet burning his throat as he inhaled, not a painful burn, but one of cleansing, of shrouded purity.

It also tasted of mint.

 

[Isara12]

"why, you ask, nocturnal?" dibella said "because she has become a target. Daedra are a little too powerful too control, but now, in azura's weakend child form, she is so easy to control. also she can do this" she twirled her had in a circle. and azura was forced to summon her sun. It lit up the room, making everythign visible. Then, it pressed against molag.

Now, if a mortal touched azuras sun, they would be incinerated. But when a deadric prince toucheds it, it is the mortal equivalent of having a red hot iron being held against you, and that was what was happening to poor molag.

"I want to see the sick rapist here punished...and i will deal with you as well...nocturnal" suddenly Azura leapt towards and....stabbed dibella

"Wha-!?" Dibella was overcome with shock. Azura started to smile...then started giglling..then broke into the most batplops insane laughter that could rival even sheogorath as the aedra fell to her knees, and startyed to disipate out of the realm to recover

Speaking of sheogorath, Azura's manical laughter could be heard to the edges of the isles, which meant sheograth could hear it. and suddenly, there was a feeling inside the mad go...

 

[Neverwin]

(OOC: Err... not to sound too picky or anything, Isara, but... umm... would it be too difficult for you to use proper capitalization and punctuation where needed? Spell-check would also be nice. Not sure if you're a native English-speaker or not... if you aren't, I think I can let it slide... but if you are, I would appreciate the effort. Also, I'm kind of having a little difficulty figuring out what's going on? I thought Azura was Dibella's puppet... how is it that she's not anymore??? Also, I'm not sure if Azura would be able to overpower Nocturnal's darkness like that... it kind of seems to me like the darkness and the light would clash, with one side being lit up, and the other side being pitch black. Just some things I thought I'd point out, I'm not trying to be bothersome or offensive or anything. Hope you don't mind)

Nocturnal's expression could not be seen, and there was no indication whether she had been surprised or not by the scene that took place. When next she spoke, her tone of voice betrayed nothing.

"You seek to control what should not be controlled. And to what end? You do not appear to be in need of slaves, and your sexual appetite has never consumed a child's body. Or that is what's known. Was it not the destruction of us Daedric Princes your ilk sought?" Nocturnal said, paying little heed to Azura's incessant giggling or the fact that Dibella had been stab. If one stab was all it took to take down a Divine, then there would hardly be any fighting.

She paused only a moment. She might have given a shrug, but it was hard to tell in the darkness that cloaked her. "I ask because I ask. Do not mistake my questions for concern. You are free to do whatever you wish, provided it is not that which attempts my own destruction. Perhaps we can help one another."

She spared a glance at Molag Bal, noting his grin. There was a whisper in his ear; something that only he would hear. "Ah, Molag Bal. It is rare that the torturer becomes the tortured. Perhaps you are thinking that I shall free you. And perhaps I shall. But this is not something I will do for nothing. Aedra and Daedra may be natural enemies, much like the day and the night, but no one is recognized in the darkness..."

 

[meben15]

Sanguine darted through the raging battle of insanity, the flames from his atronauch form slicing through ally and enemy alike as he evaded the Divine Crusader and Julianos. As he began to pass from the realm of Dementia into the more cheery realm of Mania three greater enemies accosted him. Minotaurs, blessed with the strength of nature my Knye, suddenly appeared out from behind the trees, swinging their great warhammers at Sanguines flaming body.

The Daedric prince cackled with laughter as he transformed into a hulking Dremora once more. With lightning fast speed he batted aside the Minotaurs attacks with his flaming blade, then chopped them all to pieces in a matter of seconds. "Foolish brutes think they surpass Sanguine in the glorious chaos of combat? HA!" As the prince was celebrating his minor victory his blood red eyes caught Pelinal, with Julianos standing beside him, watching him.

Pelinal drew his hand across his throat and roared a bunch of stuff at him before charging up a great beam of dark light in his hand and releasing it at the Prince. Sanguine transformed into his gargoyle form and leapt into the air to avoid both the beam of energy and Pelinal's charge. But he had forgotten about Julianos, and the Divine had predicted Sanguines move, sending a bolt of dealdy lightining at the Daedra.

Sanguine did not have enough time to dodge this attack, and it tore through one of his wings, sending him plummeting down to earth. Before the Daedra could recover the Crusader was upon him, swiping his fowl blade back and forth in an attempt to behead Sanguine. The prince rolled to his feet, snarling with anger and pain as his enemies dealdy blade sliced through his arm, wounding his essence with its Aedric properties.

Before either Pelinal or Julianos could further press their advantage however, Sanguine retaliated. Transforming once more he took on the shape of a giant snake. Before Pelinal could sink his blade into the princes flesh his tail came spinning about, knocking the deadly warrior off his feet. As Sanguine began to wrap his body around the Crusader he summoned another host of Dremora warriors around Julianos to distract the god as he dealth with the Crusader. As he summoned the Daedra to his aid, Sanguine felt a definate weakening of his spirit. All of the wounds on his physical form and the deaths of his followers were draining the strength of the Daedra. He needed to return to his own realm soon to regain his strength.

 

[Soundwave129]

The world was spinning in front of Jyggalag. The courtyard stretched and rotated, shifting through a wide variety of colors as it did so. Had he been human, this was the part where Jyggalag would have vomited. Mustering enough might to lift himself, Jyggalag hefted his sword... and was hit by Morihaus a second time. He smashed through the wall behind him, and sped straight through the House of Dementia, goring any court denizens unfortunate enough to be in his way.

He finally came to a halt in the Private Gardens, tearing through a large fungal pod. Standing up and bracing himself, Jyggalag had just enough time to ready his sword again when Talos ran into the gardens, tearing off his helmet as he did so. "Talos! Have you decided to face me like a true warrior?" The Divine sneered at Jyggalag, his anger apparent even on his heavenly features. "Haha! You think me such a fool that I would fall for that? I hoped you would hold me in higher regard. No, Jyggalag, I have tired of 'honor'. Now I just want this battle ended as quickly as possible, so that I may present what's left of you to Akatosh." "So be it. Where is Morihaus?" Talos slapped his knee, doubling over in a fit of laughter. "You-you mean you haven't noticed? He's been here this whole time!" Jyggalag looked around, bracing for an attack at any moment. What he hadn't braced for, however, was for Morihaus to fly down and grab him.

Flying over the Shivering Isles at top speed, Jyggalag was able to catch his breath for the first time in what seemed like days. "So... Those wings aren't just for for show." Morihaus grunted. "Hrphm." After that, they flew in silence. When they got over a small peak, Morihaus slowed. Then, he spoke. "Look." It was the voice of a bard, smooth and commanding at the same time. "Down there is what they call the Hill of Suicides. If any man tries to end his suffering in this infernal realm, they are sent here, to be tortured for eternity. You could have prevented this, you could have taken your realm. After the one they call the Hero of Kvatch bested you, you could have fought back, killed the new Madgod before he ascended to immortality. But you instead choose to wait in a small realm, secluded from your fellow Daedra. Admit it, Jyggalag: you have grown soft. No matter how much you say otherwise, you respect this new Sheogorath. And because of this, you have failed as a lord of order. You have let chaos rule. And so Lord Talos has decreed that you be crippled. You cannot die, but you will be punished just as those below are. Trapped in your realm forever, with no influence on the outside world. You are banished." Jyggalag could barely let out a short yell of protest before Morihaus dropped him, letting the once mighty prince fall through the air.