The Way to Daedric, A comedy. Options

[LeTren Thundakk]

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The Way to Daedric

==Day One==

A round table of immense size held all sixteen of the Daedric Princes, arguably the most powerful entities in a single collection, yet from the whole gathering and purpose of the table, only a few bits of conversation spoken were fit for a mortal’s ear:

Hermaeus Mora: I am the most erudite among us.

Hircine: I may not be of a scholarly mind, but who needs it during the hunt.

Sanguine: Exactly, being inebriated by the blood of mortals makes for a better hunt anyway.

Hircine: I wouldn’t dare hunt with you.

Clavicus Vile: He would wobble and sit on his bottle just trying to leave this table.

Sanguine: Oh yeah? Watch me!

Sanguine proceeds to slip on the recently waxed carpet.

Peryite: Oh, come on…I just cleansed the floor. Who waxed my carpet!

Sheogorath: The lowest order, eh? Speaking of business done out on the lawn, how are you Malacath?

Malacath: …

Vaernima: (After checking through an orb.) Another mortal has felt my wrath.

Mehrunes Dagon: You know it’s just a dream, right?

Vaernima: How did your plan to rule Tamriel go?

Mehrunes Dagon: Not my fault the Camoran fool had his facts wrong.

Sheogorath: I couldn’t resist.

Clavicus Vile: That’s okay. At least we aren’t cursed.

Jyggalag: I will get you and your little dog too!

Clavicus Vile: Leave Barbas out of this.

Sheogorath: Why should I?

Molag Bal: Try and stop him, the Madgod doesn’t seem to lose.

Hircine: Don’t remind me…

Hermaeus Mora: He could never have a win over me.

Sheogorath: You are too boring.

Sanguine: He never drinks.

Hircine: He never hunts.

Mehrunes Dagon: He never fights.

Vaernima: He never sleeps.

Boethiah: He never participates in a tournament.

Molag Bal: He never corrupts mortals.

Clavicus Vile: He rewards mortals with a book.

Hermaeus Mora: A book of POWER!

Clavicus Vile: Still a book…

Nocturnal: What’s wrong with a book?

Vaernima: Nothing, if you can read in your nightmares.

Nocturnal: Looking at you is a nightmare.

Meridia: I agree.

Vaernima: and how did YOUR plan to have your pal rule Tamriel go?

Meridia: I know nothing about that!

Hermaeus Mora: (laughs) I know EVERYTHING about that.

Sheogorath: Enlighten me.

Hermaeus Mora: The knowledge is mine and mine alone!

Meridia’s eyes shift left and right.

Meridia: I know about it…I saw the whole thing fail.

Namira: The fool walked around with golden armor. Shadow is the stuff of victory.

Sheogorath: but who could see it?

Mehrunes Dagon: Bah, I’m glad he wore bright armor. Perfect for showing the enemy their killer!

Vaernima: Except he was swiftly defeated.

Meridia: Don’t remind me.

Peryite finishes rebuffing the carpet.

Peryite: At lease I’ll be consistent. (As much to himself as anyone else there.)

Hircine: How go the plans for the next tournament?

Boethiah: I might mix it up a bit. Care to enter?

Hircine I have a Blood Moon to prepare for.

Vaernima: and how did…

==End of Day One==



This post has been edited by LeTren Thundakk: May 17 2008, 04:33 AM

[LeTren Thundakk]

==Day Seven==

Loredas, the final day of the week. It is a day of celebration for surviving the week. The Daedric Princes, on the other hand, can’t die. So they just celebrate knowing they can.

Given the nature of the day, Sanguine has been drinking more than he does during the rest of the week. For the sake of reader intelligence, his comments are omitted.

Hermaeus Mora is holding a poetry competition. Hircine was up first.

Hircine: (Clears throat.) The Hare’s Revenge. One day, a tortoise beat a hare in a race. The next, both are subject to a life-or-death chase. My wolves are on the prowl, oh to hear them howl!

Azura, Boethiah, and Clavicus Vile clap. Sheogorath isn’t impressed.

Sheogorath: Ode to Azura. The hunter may hunt and the trickster may trick, but only by being subject to the false-god can Azura [Omitted by request of the Imperial Library.]

[Sanguine insult omitted]

Hermaeus Mora: Very nice effort, Hircine. To you two, though, how dare you call that poetry?

Vaernima: Deep sleep. The man sleeps in the wild, naked to the elements as a newborn child. He takes a tumble down the hill, still asleep never feels the chill. His senses while asleep are dull, and never saw his death at the hands of a troll.

The others clap.

Malacath: My turn…He once was a man, but how now he can. No one knows and all he throws. Making a blue foot as he chews the chute shut. (He rambles on for a few more minutes in a consistently horrid manner.)

Hermaeus Mora: Wow…I think I want to kill myself.

Namira: Even I now know suffering.

Mehrunes Dagon: I think my ears are bleeding.

Molag Bal: YOUR ears? I still have Q-tips lodged in mine. They’ve been bleeding since.

Malacath: Like it?

Azura: No…Just…No, give up and never try again.

Malacath puts his head in his arms.

Sheogorath: Shall I go again?

Everyone else: NO!

Clavicus Vile: I’ll try. He danced around evil fire, and earned from the divines nothing but ire. He was hated by humanity, so exclusive it was unanimity. He learned to serve the dark arts, to not to venture near inhabited parts. He fled to the forest in the cover of night, he soon died from an incurable disease of blight.

Hermaeus Mora: There is our winner!

Clavicus Vile: Hooray, Feyfolken wins me another one!

Hircine: Boo, cheater!

Malacath: I liked it.

Hircine: That seems unlikely.

[Sanguine response omitted.]

Boethiah: Like that’s relevant?

Mephala: Oh, even he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Sheogorath: I do.

Hircine: Not surprising…

Boethiah: I’ll try one. (Cracks his knuckles.) The fighter punched the other, which was called rude. The punched fighter turned to his attacker, and was blinded when he found out he was nude. He yelled out to his attacker, “I can’t see through either eye.” The attacker said, “Too bad, you should be able to see how you die.”

Hermaeus Mora: Clavicus already won.

Boethiah: It was for funzies, then…

Peryite pulls a large bag with him. He tears it open and flaps it in the air. Dirt flies everywhere.

Peryite: Aha! I just created the vacuum cleaner! It is powered by a soul an hour!

He demonstrates by cleaning the room in efficient time.

Boethiah: That’s miraculous!

Sheogorath: I have one of those!

Peryite: H…How? I JUST invented it.

Sheogorath: Easy. I just took it.

He flips a switch to send it from suck to blow.

Peryite: No…DON’T!

Everyone gets covered in the dirt.

Peryite: Well, not the best invention…

Azura: Agreed.

Namira: MY HAIR! It’s dirty again…

Peryite: I’ll grab the shampoo.

Molag Bal: Anyone want to arm-wrestle?

Mehrunes Dagon: Sure, I’ll try again.

Molag Bal quickly beats the four-armed Prince.

Mehrunes Dagon: Drats!

Malacath: Don’t feel bad.

Mehrunes Dagon: Bah, it’s fixed…

Molag Bal: Says the loser!

[Sanguine comment omitted]

Sanguine slips on the waxed floor.

Sheogorath: We should all listen to Sanguine, time to leave the readers wanting more of what will never come!

The Daedric Princes send the writer away and just as he is sent away, he can just make out all seventeen Princes, Jyggalag included, slip on the waxed floor one last time.

==End of the Week==