The Promotion of Peryite

It was the night of our monthly working dinner. I leaned back and watched lazily as the other Princes arrived, one by one, to sit around the grossly ornate table I had manifested in my great hall.

Why were we meeting at my place? Well, you know what they say about old habits.

I laughed in advance, which earned a few glares.

Molag Bal grandly stepped out of his fiery portal, reeking of sulfur and blood. He scanned the room. “Am I the last?”

Vaermina hissed, “The Prince of Entropy will arrive shortly.”

“So everyone worth mentioning is here,” Molag Bal scoffed. He slammed his fist on the table before taking a seat. “Where the tusk are my vampire souls at?” He growled, giving everyone a piercing stare.

Here we go, I thought.

Azura met his gaze with icy disdain. “I found a few sneaking into my realm just last night. It is not my job to keep track of your trinkets.”

Nocturnal leaned forward. “You too, Azura? So Bal did not send those vermin to Evergloam to piss me off? I was preparing to wage war tomorrow!” She turned to Molag Bal with a feigned smile. “But I’ll postpone, if it’s just some foolish error.”

“Bal, clean up your toys,” Azura ordered.

“Indeed,” Nocturnal agreed. “Immediately, or war is back on.”

Bal scoffed. “The tusk I will. I don’t do deliveries.”

“My werewolves have been going off track as well,” Hircine interjected. “Also, none of you have sent me any unwanted Daedra lately. Am I to believe they’ve all been model employees in your realms? Am I supposed to hunt unicorns and be satisfied?”

Hermaeus Mora’s many eyes widened. “I sent you a dozen Seekers last week, Hircine. They failed to properly catalogue the Code of… ahem… never mind. They failed, and I am eager to watch you play with them.”

Hircine gave Mora a wicked grin. “Good. Very good! So where are they?”

“Hang on a minute.” Mora expanded. For a moment, there were eyes everywhere. Everyone was buried in infinite eyes. I briefly lost sight of the brie before me.

Soon the ocular infestation receded, as Mora said, “I found them. Trying to escape, of course.” The remaining hundred eyes all rolled.

Mephala grumbled, “This is ridiculous. Who dropped the ball? Who will clean it up?” It didn’t take long to choose someone to accuse. “Boethiah, what are you plotting?”

“Me? Why would I bother? What about you, Webspinner?” Boethiah challenged.

Arguing ensued. My precious great hall was subjected to the increasingly damaging effects of Daedric dinner table melodrama. Lava flowed. Lightning sparked. The earth trembled.

Clearly certain consequences of certain choices had not been carefully considered by my so-called comrades.

Yet.

When the table split with a thunderous crack, I decided to speak.

“Wellllll this was fun, for all of a minute, but now I'm beginning to be bored,” I said, with a massively fake yawn.

Azura paused her tirade of threats toward Namira, to fling her wrath my way. “Shut the tusk up, Sheo. You’re practically new here.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or shall we remind you?”

I spread my hands. “And shouldn’t I be the touchy one? Hah! No matter.” With a grin, I added, “It sounds a bit like the realms have grown, shall we say, disorderly?”

The chaotic cacophony paused, as everyone turned to stare at me.

I watched as realization dawned, and decided to rub it in. “If only it were someone’s job to keep everything on track! Wouldn’t that make sense? I wonder who had that horrible responsibility, until very recently?”

There was a moment of silence.

Then everyone said, “Oh, tusk.”

I laughed, long and loud. They brought this on themselves, and it was glorious. Serves them right.

I wiped a tear from my eye, and helped myself to more brie.

Malacath coughed. “Clearly we need to select a new Taskmaster. Perhaps if we each choose a mortal champion for combat…”

“Boring!” I shouted, “And slow, and likely to weigh heavily in your favor. How about this?”

I touched my nose. “NOT IT!”

Flabbergasted, everyone immediately touched their noses. Mora even manifested a nose to touch.

This spoke volumes about their lack of preparedness for my new nature. Their willful rejection of causality allowed their malleable minds to remain as easy to manipulate as ever.

They didn't lead. They didn't delegate. They didn't plan.

All they had really done was change my flavor.

Let the games begin.

At that moment, Peryite walked in, carrying aged beef and kimchi. He took in all the nose-touching, and with palpable confusion said, “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”