Hey there everyone! I bet some of you thought I dropped off the face of the earth again, huh? Well, I'm still here! My life just got a little bit complicated for a month or so, unfortunately. I mentioned in my last Author's Note that I was moving, which in itself was difficult. But I also had to switch to a brand new job, and became single as well. So, things were pretty hectic for awhile there. But I kept chipping away at this chapter, and with Sindra's help I think it's finally presentable. So here it is, in all of its violently insane glory.

Humming quietly to himself, Sheogorath skipped up the last few steps to the doors of his most luxurious throne room. But as he reached for the handle, he hesitated.

"Hmm… I feel like I've forgotten something," he muttered, half to himself.

"My Lord?" Mika asked as she fell in behind him.

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing," the Prince declared, waving his concerns away with one hand as he thrust open the door with the other.

"Perhaps it is best that I go first," the Seducer insisted, not stopping for her words to be considered as she pushed past him and into the main room.

As he stepped aside to avoid being bowled over by the determined Mazken guard, realization struck Sheogorath. "Oh! That's what it was!" he cried in excitement. He deftly grasped Mika's left hand as she stalked into the room, pulling her back and catching her over one arm like a dancer clutching his partner. And just in time, as over her head sailed an angry bolt of red magickal energy. The magick struck a passing bird, transforming it into a very large, very agitated Elytra. The bug chittered and screeched as it sailed through the sky, its momentum carrying it over the Bliss skyline and out of their view.

"Heh…" Sheogorath ventured, feeling sheepish as he replaced Mika on her own two feet. "I forgot to dispel the Wabbajack from the door," he explained, placing a hand on the door and muttering a counter-charm which disarmed the trap. Mika just stared at him inscrutably, though he saw a ghost of amusement cross her otherwise motionless face, if only for half a moment.

"Anyways, we can't let bug problems distract us. We've got much bigger issues to deal with," Striding through the now-safe entry way, the Mad God made his way through the dual-colored reception hall to the throne at the far end. Behind it, still standing stoically, was his Aureal bodyguard, who watched Mika's approach with open distaste.

"Still here I see! Splendid! You're a credit to your people, my dear!" Sheogorath congratulated the daedra for her patience, before sitting down in his cushioned throne with an exaggerated sigh. Mika took her place behind his throne on the left-hand side, giving her Golden Saint counterpart a threatening sidelong glance. "Now then! To business!" Sheogorath clapped his hands together excitedly. "Haskill! Haskill! Where are you?!"

"You called, my Lord?" the Chamberlain replied matter-of-factly, materializing at the foot of the throne with his arms folded into his overlong sleeves, as per usual.

"Ah, yes! I did indeed!" the Prince thumped his staff, directing his two daedric guards' attention entirely to him. "Secure this room!" he ordered them, sounding entirely serious for a moment. "I want no unwanted ears! And I mean that! Any ears that are unwanted are not wanted! Especially by me! I am an ear connoisseur after all, and only the finest-quality ears will do." The daedric warriors strode to the back of the room and began sweeping it to ensure that Sheogorath was not being listened to by the unwanted ears he wanted them to find because he didn't want them.

"Expecting trouble, my Lord?" Haskill prompted in an attempt to break into his idle musings.

"Ah, yes! Well, not as such, no. I mean, I suppose there could be trouble, of any sort: wild grummites, angry orc Heretics, a cataclysmic event hidden behind one of these lovely vases, or something else along those lines. But I wouldn't go so far as to say I'd be expecting such things. I'd enjoy them, certainly, but I doubt they'll happen at the moment."

"If I may ask then, about the increased security efforts…?" the Chamberlain prompted, his tone still neutral.

"Well, for some reason our lovely Antigone got it into her head that I am mortal," Sheogorath explained, peering towards the far end of the reception hall. For a moment, he thought he'd seen something there, but then dismissed it as floating dust-specks being lit by the sun. Simple paranoia, most certainly. "She's right, of course, but how did she know? No one else seems to. Everyone's been content to call me the master of this Realm, as though nothing out of the ordinary has transpired. Imagine: one day your very own landlord grows scales and a tail, and you're the only one who seems to notice. Fascinating really."

"Do go on, my Lord," Haskill added, trying to push the conversation back on track.

"Ah, well, as I was saying, somehow, Antigone found out what is really going on with us, with me. Not only that, she decides the best solution is to kill me! Don't get me wrong, that's usually her best solution, and it almost always works out. But in this case she was wrong. Almost dead wrong." Here, Sheogorath paused, peering again at the far end of the chamber. He could swear that he had seen something just then, but as his guards made it to that end, they signaled that all was clear and started back towards him. "Hmm… odd!" he declared, putting whatever it was out of his mind as he returned to the conversation at hand.

"You were saying…?" Haskill prodded. The man was a taskmaster, pure and simple.

"Hmm, where was I? Mortal, Antigone, dead, goats and ropes and purple hairy aunts… ah, yes! Well, I know Antigone. She's a smart little Duchess, that one. Strong as she is, she had no chance of deposing me, whatever her scheme was. And I'm sure she'd have known that, if she were in the right state of mind…" Sheogorath trailed off, leaning forward in his throne and frowning visibly.

"Are you saying something put her in the wrong state of mind?" Haskill asked, trying to rein in his Lord's errant attentions.

"I'm saying someone put her in the wrong state of mind. And gave her information she shouldn't have had. And probably wiped her memory of the whole ordeal afterwards as well." A violent gust of wind from outside caused the palace doors to burst open with a clang that echoed through the great room. The gale howled throughout, causing its occupants' ears to ring from the noise. A bust of someone named "Bumberflubkins", according to its plaque, was knocked from its display and crashed to the floor, splitting open and releasing a spectacularly foul stench.

"Aha! I knew it!" Feeling triumphant, Sheogorath called on his magickal abilities and pointed to the ceiling. "Wabbajack! Do your stuff, if you please!" Another red bolt erupted from the daedric artifact hidden among the rafters and sped towards the now-open door. Although it looked as though nothing was there, the magick struck something full on, square in the doorway. For a moment, it highlighted what looked to be a very surprised and afraid Imperial man, before the entire shape was twisted and reformed into a harmless mallard duck.

Everyone in the room who wasn't Sheogorath stood dumbfounded for a moment as the hapless animal fell to the floor with a heavy "plop." It then tried to waddle towards the still-open door, attempting to make good on its escape. The windstorm which had been raging mere moments before had ceased entirely, though the duck still struggled on its new and unfamiliar legs, failing to make any significant progress.

"Oh Mika, would you be so kind as to secure that duck?" Sheogorath ordered cooly. "I do believe it is trying to get away."

At his command, the Seducer trotted across the room and scooped up the Wabbajack victim in her arms. The duck obnoxiously protested as she brought it back before the throne, honking and flapping its wings ineffectively. Mika merely grimaced and tightened her grip on the animal, though she looked as though she might prefer simply snapping its neck and be done with it.

"Silence!" Sheogorath thundered, all traces of mirth gone from his demeanor. He leaned forward menacingly on his throne, glaring into the eyes of the former man. "Cease your struggles, or I'll have you for dinner. With a light sauce, I think." The mallard squawked one final time in fear, then did as it was told. "Much better," the Prince said, tapping the side of the bird's beak with his staff. "Now then, why don't we introduce you to our good friend Heirdir? He's a pleasant chap, and could use a good pet to break up the monotony of his schedule, most of which involves agonizing and violent torture. Doesn't that sound like fun to you?"

In response, the duck began honking and struggling even more desperately than before. Wordlessly, Sheogorath motioned for Mika to take him away. The Mazken turned and hurried out the palace doors, looking like she was fighting the urge to crush the annoying animal in her arms.

"Well then, that was something, wasn't it?" the Mad God asked the now-quiet room. Turning to the Aureal guard on his right side, he prepared to give another order. The Aureal's demeanor stopped him cold. She looked positively heartbroken, sorrowfully glaring at the floor with her hands at her sides. "Er… it's Vera, right?" Sheogorath ventured, hoping he remembered the name of his more Saintly guardswoman. "Is there something wrong, my dear?"

Vera, who had nodded slightly in acknowledgement of her name, simply grimaced. "That man was on my side of the hall, my Lord," she admitted, tightening her fists so hard that her knuckles began to turn white. "The fact that I missed him in my search clearly shows I am not worthy to serve as your protector."

"Oh nonsense," Sheogorath insisted, waving her concerns away with an unconcerned hand-gesture. "To be honest, I wasn't even sure he was there myself. I just had a sneaking suspicion that we were being watched, is all. I could have just as easily cast the Wabbajack on a cockroach and turned it into a yam, or something equally deadly."

"...My Lord?" Vera seemed confused, looking up from her glowering in self pity to stare at him. "Do you not wish to punish me?"

"Why would I?" he asked with an honest shrug. "The worst thing you did was miss an invisible man, which isn't so hard. I didn't miss, of course, but then I'm the Mad God around here, aren't I? So no, you're not under any sort of punishment. Besides, I'd hate to have to find another Aureal to guard my right side. You already do it so well, and you're very good about keeping an eye on that treacherous Seducer to your left."

At the praise, Vera looked away again, her face inscrutable. But she did return to her former guarded stance, and if Sheogorath wasn't so completely grack-shit insane, he'd have sworn she was standing just a little bit straighter and taller this time.

But before he could contemplate the intricacies of daedric posturing and turtle-flu (or perhaps it was the tortoise-flu) Haskill cleared his throat, hoping to bring things in the meeting hall back to order.

"My Lord, you have my congratulations on flushing out such a deviously hidden individual," he began. "What do you think he was doing here?"

The Prince opened his mouth to answer, but thought better of it and waved his staff instead. At the far end of the hall, the large door that had blown open due to the mysterious windstorm swung back on its hinges, slamming shut again with a loud bang'. Not expecting the sound, Haskill jumped in surprise, momentarily breaking his elaborate veneer of court decorum. His Lord snickered mischievously. "Sorry," he apologized, sounding not-at-all sincere. "Couldn't resist."

Giving him an admonishing look, Haskill cleared his throat and tried to salvage some dignity by acting as though nothing at all had happened. "As I was saying..." he prompted.

"Well, as I was saying, before this whole episode had started, someone probably manipulated our dear Duchess Antigone, most certainly with the intent to destabilize the Isles. Whatever their methods, we clearly saw the result." Here, Mika came trotting back into the hall, nodding to Sheogorath's inquiring look and taking her place at his left side. She and her counterpart looked sidelong at each other, but said nothing.

"Now, I'm not a gambling man, but if I were, I'd be willing to put some serious yams down that whoever we just caught is part of the same group of people who tampered with my Duchess. That might have even been the very one who did so! Either way, our palace's defenses are no laughing matter. Except for the magical barrier I created that makes anyone who steps through it laugh uncontrollably, because that's hilarious. But the kind of training and magical wherewithal these people would need isn't easy to come by…" Sheogorath scritched at his scaly chin, thinking of what this revelation would mean. "These people have some serious backing. Haskill, we'll need to move up the time-table. And I'll need my fighting pants ready to wear tomorrow."

"The ones that spontaneously combust, my Lord?" Haskill attempted to clarify.

"No, no, that's highly impractical," Sheogorath insisted, quickly dismissing the ridiculous notion of flaming pants with a wave of his hand. "I want the ones that can inflate to massive proportions, so I can float into the sky and be above all my enemies. Sheer tactical genius."

"I shall see what can be done, my Lord," Haskill responded, his tone carefully neutral. "As to your other request, I believe I have come across a promising lead."

"Oh?" Sheogorath asked, curiosity side-tracking his thoughts. "You've found a way to improve the fire-pants?"

"No I-" the phlegmatic chamberlain stopped himself before his composure slipped completely, then took a moment to collect his thoughts, closing his eyes and taking a few deep, cleansing breaths. "No, my Lord Sheogorath, I speak of your quest to find a more permanent way to bind yourself to this Realm. I believe I've come across something that may be helpful."

"Ah, yes! Splendid Haskill, just splendid!" Sheogorath clapped his hands together in his excitement. "Tell me, what have you found?"

From somewhere within the folds of his robe, Haskill withdrew an ancient and tattered scroll. Taking a few steps back, he unrolled it across the floor of the throne room. On its withered surface were etched an intricate series of lines, all tangled and entwined with one another in an indecipherable mess.

"Haskill, this looks like the Realm's worst attempt at using a straight-edge," the Prince said impatiently, though he stood and walked down the steps of the dais to study the scroll more closely.

"An astute guess, my Lord," Haskill replied, with no trace of sarcasm whatsoever. "However, it is potentially much more valuable than that. As you know, below the surface of your Realm lies the vast Root-Tunnel network, where the giant trees and mushrooms and other plant-life twine their roots together. It is from here that the Gnarls are born, and where the Elytra make their colonies."

"Yes, I've explored several of these Root-Tunnels myself, on various misadventures." the Mad God put in, taking another hard look at the scroll. "Are you saying I missed one?"

"Not as such, my Lord," Haskill said as he kneeled down to trace a hand over one of the many lines on its surface. "Instead, I believe you did not go deep enough. You see, it has long been a favorite legend among explorers of these tunnels that, eventually, they all lead to one place. This nexus of roots is known colloquially as the 'Underdeep'. And it is said that, at the very center of this maze of roots and living tree creatures, is the primordial creatia essence of the Shivering Isles themselves."

"Ah, of course!" Sheogorath exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "It makes perfect sense, of course. At the center of everything is the cause of everything. So this scroll is a map of the Underdeep, then? It's still worthless, but at least now we know what it is. So who made it?"

"Arden-Sul, the great Prophet." Haskill explained as he began to meticulously roll the scroll back up.

"Figures," the Prince snorted, unimpressed. "He's been everywhere. Did he even sleep?"

"I could not tell you," was the monotone reply.

"At any rate Haskill, this is fine work. Very fine indeed. I shall leave at tomorrow, first thing. I'll leave the affairs of state to you in my absence, of course, and arrangements will need to be made to keep Mind-Bender and Antigone from killing each other." The Mad God began pacing back and forth in front of his throne, talking mostly to himself about all the preparations he would need to make for the journey. Even though he'd become much more than he had been after mantling the leadership of the Isles, at his innermost core he was still the adventure-loving Argonian who had fearlessly trekked across Dementia a lifetime ago. He could feel the Root-Tunnel Nexus calling to him, begging him to plumb its depths for treasure and glory. With the added bonus of possible immortality, it was almost the perfect adventure. Almost…

"Haskill," he said suddenly, coming to a full stop and turning to face his loyal vassal. "Haskill, the Underdeep is underground, correct?

"It stands to reason, my Lord, that whatever is underneath the Root-Tunnels is also underground, yes," the chamberlain replied neutrally.

"Curses!" the Prince snarled, stamping his foot angrily. "Curses and curses and more curses! I've been foiled again!"

"Is there a problem, my Lord?" Haskill asked hurriedly, caught off guard by this sudden outburst.

"You bet your robed behind there is!" the infuriated Sheogorath spat back at him, still clearly pouting. "If it's all underground, then how will I use my inflatable battle pants?!"

Just want to take a moment to thank everyone for reading once again. I love writing, but I'm only doing it for you guys. So if you can, please just write a quick review about what you like or don't like, so that I know you exist and to help me improve. Thanks for your continued support, and I hope you're looking forward to future chapters!