Molag Bal. I think he would be the ideal prince I would worship. In such a chaotic world of Tamriel, where it is also known as "The Arena,", Molag Bal would one of the princes I would prostrate myself. When people think of Molag Bal, they automatically label him as the ultimate baddie. But there is a much more deeper sense to it that goes if you read the dialogue.
If I lived in Tamriel, I would surely be looking for ways to improve myself. And as a place known as "The Arena," there is only
one way to do so. Through the use of the bow, the sword, or the arcane arts, one takes the steps to improvement. How else do you level up?
"The weak would be punished by the strong."-Molag Bal.
In a cutthroat enviornment of Tamriel, strife and violence culls the weak, empowers the intermediate and lets the strong apt to survive and excel. Conflict seems to be the only way to mature and grow. I guess even the Empire grew through force of arms. And Molag Bal represents power and domination, among other things. And power itself also comes from unrestrained emotions.
It's common knowledge that power comes from impulse and instinct, and thus, to achieve it, those who follow Molag are forged into the warriors by subjugating others and given into situations that force them to know their their true potential or die trying. Conflict is the only way to put an individual's ability to the test and the conflict and lock-of-horns forces one to evolve and become stronger for it. Without power, I guess one goes onto decline and stagnation, and thus proves he isn't worthy at all. Molag Bal is all about the survival of the fittest . . .and raping.
Besides, he is the patron of vampires. Imagine the ability to cheat death by actually dying and still living? To pass on the ages without every worrying about a wrinkle or two(discounting Oblivion). And the supernatural abilities granted? Sure, it's the ES universe and there are many life-altering conditions, but such a thing is tempting.
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”