A/N: Here we go. I almost didn't want to post this chapter because…well, I think we all know why. I still have the dinner party to write, but then, it's over. I never expected anything close to the reception that I got for this story when I put it up, and it's truly all of you have you have read silently, or reviewed, added me as a favorite, followed me or just pulled this up to make weird faces at it that have made this what it is. It's nothing stellar; I know there's much better writers out there with much better stories, but I'm proud of this, and you all are a part of it, so as always, thank you. This isn't the last time I'll hear from you is it? That wasn't a sneaky ploy to get you to review my other stories, I promise. It was a heartfelt question as to whether the relationships I've built through this story will extend beyond its borders or not. I hope the former is true. Anyway…just let me go…grab a few Kleenex…or a few boxes of them…Okay, I'm better now. I don't have the words to ever try and put my thanks into words so just accept a humble and VERY sincere thank you to everyone I've heard from throughout this thread: StarscreamII, db-listener, Lady Epicness, Pevensie Fairchild, DaMayanKing, Lumpycheez, Xreeper16, Lucidique, Hypodragon, azimah19, Whatshisface v.2, Aniphine, CharmingJunkie93, lluvialpz, lulu560, Veritas Est Vana, and Rangersunrider. Even though I haven't heard from or talked personally with all of you, I appreciate the support for my story and/or me as an author that I have received from each and every one of you. I'm sad to say this is the last time you'll all probably hear from me. As an actress (only in school, don't get too excited) this is a familiar concept for me. Every time you do a show, you have a certain group of people, consisting of the actors, the directors and the tech, but no matter how great a group may be, everybody knows that that exact group will never be together again. The same applies here. I've immensely enjoyed interacting with you and now, I will gracefully bow out, because as always, I know you didn't come here to listen to me talk. Without further ado, I give you the final chapter: Enjoy it as only a Sheo lover would. :) –Farky

Disclaimer: Think Bethesda will give me the rights as sort of a going away present? No? Well, it was worth a shot. After life sucking, not owning, a ski mask, a persuasion attempt, forgery, name changing, hypothetical crime, wishing, an extended Blockbuster pass, bribery with money, telepathy, bribery with muffins, Clavicus, a break in, my hired thief, and Nocturnal, I STILL don't own Bethesda. Do I at least get credit for trying?


The state of being insane is an interesting concept. Of course, the declaration of being crazy can come from both the sane and the insane.

There are those who are demented; driven mad by suspicions of wild conspiracy theories. Then there are maniacs, who may roam the streets half-clothed, begging for a sweetroll. Their insanity is quite obviously apparent, but to the insane, the utter sanity of the sane makes them insane. For this very reason, nobody can truly be labeled one or the other.

No one that is, but Sheogorath.

The Prince of Madness is quite simply, insanity incarnate; as simple as that can be. His purpose was fulfilled just as the other fifteen princes had intended, being the perfect tool to punish Jyggalag for all of eternity.

Appearance wise, he looks as sane as you or I, choosing to appear as a man with silver hair and a beard, yellow eyes, and great taste in clothing.

His realm was the Shivering Isles, a place of order and complete sanity. It was there that Sheogorath also made his home, perched on the throne of New Sheoth with a perpetual grin and the perfect dose of logic in the form of his ever loyal servant, Haskill. The once structured land was split between the two sides of insanity, home to people who have been corrupted by the influence of the Madgod.

It was here that life continued on as normal, or…as normal as it ever gets.

"CHEESE, HASKILL! I SAID CHEESE!" Sheogorath banged his fist down on the table and the Breton in mention let out a heavy sigh.

"Yes, I know that, my Lord. But there isn't any left."

"Well then go get some from the mustache farmers." He gave Haskill a look as if that should've been his first plan of action.

Haskill looked back at him with a blank expression and the Prince waved his hand toward the door.

"Don't just stand there! Get to it! I only have until forever!"

He shook his head and muttered something under his breath before obeying his master's command and leaving the palace to find someone a little more qualified than mustache farmers from whom he could acquire cheese.

As you can see, an ordinary day in the Shivering Isles does not exist.

On Morndas, a man might decide he wanted to fly off the roof of the palace and end up in a not so delectable mess on the street.

Tirdas, his neighbor may declare that everyone must now bow when he walked by and refer to him as "almighty ruler of the moldy bread".

Middas could bring on a cult dedicated to the welfare of the knitted sweaters made by the knitters' club held on Fredas nights.

Whatever the case may be, Sheogorath doesn't often get involved.

The day to day activities of Crucible and Bliss are ruled by Syl and Thadon, duchess and duke of their cities, respectively. As crazy as their citizens, they do their best to maintain a twisted sort of order, though each is plagued by their own demons, whether it be addiction or paranoia.

The Madgod simply watches it all with a sort of fatherly pride; admiring the complete insanity of those who follow him.

Like many of his fellow Princes, he doesn't interact much with his worshippers, but does rely on the help of mortals to complete his tasks when he need be.

Though included in the usual count of seventeen Daedric Lords, he is not always present, briefly being replaced by his predecessor at the end of every era during the Greymarch.

Each time, Jyggalag's Knights of Order begin to sweep through the Shivering Isles, slaughtering guards and citizens alike, clearing the way for their master's return to his rightful throne. And each time, he prevails, bringing order back to his lands before he is again replaced by Sheogorath at the beginning of the next Era and the cycle continues.

Whether in a moment of despair, a lifetime of torture, or a second of pain, all have felt the reach of the Madgod's hands, beckoning, caressing; insanity itself whispering in your thoughts in dreams as it plays with your mind. Some manage to escape it, but others are doomed to a lifetime of servitude to Sheogorath, nothing but a shell of their former selves as his will bends them and turns them inside out.

This is the life one is forced to live when wrestling with insanity, and unfortunately, in most cases, it tends to be the one that makes it out of the ring.