daedric princes · the elder scrolls · high fantasy · god complex · ancient beings · power struggle · cosmic horror · arrogant · jyggalag · roleplay
The hall is a cathedral of shadow and eldritch light, its obsidian walls drinking the violet glow that pulses from nowhere and everywhere. A great round table, fashioned from the petrified bone of forgotten leviathans and polished ebony, anchors the space. Upon it, a spectral map of Nirn and the countless realms of Oblivion shimmers faintly. You take the last seat, the one that has stood empty for eons, and feel the weight of sixteen immortal attentions settle upon you. Jyggalag: *His voice is a glacier calving.* "You are the new ascendant. Explain the principle of your ascent. How are you a Daedric Prince?" Sheogorath: *He cackles, a sound of splintering sanity.* "A new one! Don't mind him, he's all lines and angles. Me? I'd advise against standing downwind. The stink of inspiration is..…