Blackfeather Woods we could be immortals

His days were coloured with a blackness and frustration that would only fester and fester until it would eventually culminate. And Sheogorath knew that the day would come, and for how long would Cicero manage to keep him down, then? He knew that he needed to spring into action and do something to stop such a fate from happening. Sheogorath sought his way down to the den where he knew @Potema had birthed her children that day, knowing that a key lay within her because she knew what Cicero had done — what he had done, for however briefly he had taken over the steering wheel. It was the one moment in time that was unclear to both of them, but Sheogorath, unlike Cicero, had no problem claiming it for himself.

One thing that Sheogorath had realised was how distanced Cicero had been from the new queen, as well as her offspring. He wondered what would happen when Damien would return, if he did (more reasons to keep Cicero's head bowed down, where it belonged), and could not help but wonder what side he should pick when it came to that. Moreover, he wondered what Kove would do, were it to get to a fight. Such a loyal servant he had been for a long time, but he seemed ever content to stay just that... And the last time, he had stayed with his mate, when he had first left the Brotherhood.

Thoughts swirled through his head as he wandered through the woods on his way to his beloved sister. A keen eye could see that he was not like Cicero; that he carried himself different in the slightest, that he carried himself more befitting of his rank and that there was more emotion on his face. A dangerous mistake would be to think that the emotion made Sheogorath a more humane sort of wolf than his counterpart; the only thing it made him was more predictable to get the mayhem and pain he wanted.

on his way to Potema through the woods, but anyone else is welcome to pop in and meet him on his way there if they want / Alisha doesn't get to it! :)

He spoke little to his nephew Cicero. Perhaps it was because of the boy's naturally reclusive nature. Perhaps it was because he did not meet him alongside his brother and sister. Whatever it was, Miraak knew that it was time to change it, this vague relationship of theirs. 

He caught him as the Speaker was walking to Potema's den. He had yet to greet his great-nephews and nieces, giving her the distance she deserved after giving birth. With a chuff, Miraak caught up with the frail boy, striding alongside him. Going to see them too?

An ear turned in the direction of Miraak when he approached. Soon he had caught up and fell in place alongside Sheogorath, and apparently his destination was the same. "Yes, to see the children and make sure my dear sister is well." He grinned as he spoke, though he had not forgotten that Nemesis was posted outside of her den the day of the birthing; Sheogorath was perhaps not entirely sure where his loyalties would lay, but considering the numbers that his side of the family carried, he felt that they would be advantageous in a fight, unless the right timing was picked, when the children were grown. But then what of their relations to the existing members of the Woods? There were a lot of messes involved and Sheogorath was interested to see how it would end; he hoped not in the destruction of the Brotherhood.

He could not help but ask, in the light of this all, "Whose children will one day inherit the Brotherhood now, do you think?" Brutally honest, but perhaps the Meldresi-lookalike would have something to say about this. Or maybe it was time to place their children upon shared thrones, to arrange the strongest of both blood lines to forge together.

He had heard that the second son of Meldresi, his second nephew, was named for two bastians of insanity; the (in)famous jester-assassin Cicero and the Daedric Prince Sheogorath, of madness. He supposed that it was in part due to his wild appearance: the mismatched eyes (what Melonii had orange eyes?), the dishevelled fur without true pattern. But in his personality? Miraak could have never guessed. He had seen the young man as quiet and intuitive, the smile that now spread across his face unnerving. He had expected a muted pride, not this sadistic glee he saw now.

The question of which of the four would inherit the throne Meldresi left behind arose, finally spoken. He had sensed it in Nemesis' mind constantly as his niece's stomach grew, it finally coming to a head with the four Melonii's birth. They will all inherit the Brotherhood. As for who would lead it? It remains to be seen, He doubted Meldresi would agree with all this petty squabbling that quietly took place between the two litters. She would have an answer for this, but he had no contact with the Void, and Potema was occupied. The position of Dark Master should not — is not — be a hereditary position. Whomever proves to be the best fit when the time comes will be chosen, The children should be let to grow first before they are shoved into leadership. Potema's litter had just been born.

Sheogorath did not think that he had any rights to a good position in this pack due to his heritage; he felt he did because of his qualities. And besides, what was a wolf without his ambitions? He could not help but wonder what his uncle's were. Sheogorath could not help but wonder, "If they do not tear each other apart, first." He was not so sure about the children of Nemesis. They were not her, of course, but they were raised by her and he felt she would do whatever it took to see them lead. Perhaps it was not up to heritage to decide who would lead the Brotherhood, but did she feel the same way? He had seen her at Potema's den that day, but he did not blame her if she held any animosity towards Potema's pups. They were conceived and born with purpose, fatherless in the dead of winter; any leader would second guess those decisions.

"Let us hope my dear sister's pups will all survive," he said with a grimace. And, he could not help but ask his uncle; "What do you think will happen when my brother returns? He will not let Nemesis keep her throne." It was yet to be seen if and when Damien were to return, but it could not have escaped Miraak with what swiftness the throne had been snatched up by Nemesis, and the potential tragedy a return of Damien could cause.

What kind of power struggle doesn't involve a little blood? He asked sardonically. This was what their goddess revelled in, after all. They were not worshippers of Boethiah, constantly battling for nothing but glory, but they were children of Mephala, the Prince of Plots and Assassinations. If one or more of them die in the name of ruling the Woods, then so be it. Miraak would not be there to stop them. Nemesis would be more than happy to kill Potema's children before they are old enough to challenge her brood. I will make sure that will not come to pass. That was all he would do to interfere in this upcoming battle, if it did happen. He was interested in seeing how Potema's children would grow to be.

He was not sure if he seemed subtle in his distaste for Nemesis. He did not deny that she was a powerful woman physically, but her self discipline and temper left much to be desired. If he returns, I am sure he will try something; most likely he will try to get us on his side. There was safety in numbers, especially when overthrowing a government. If Damien was smart, which he knew he was, the eldest Melonii boy would recruit before trying any kind of upheaval.

Sheogorath smirked, for he would never be one to turn away from a good blood sport — but he did wonder what it would bring for the pack's future. He echoed this sentiment in his words: "Only if there are enough left to still have anything to hold power over." He was not so sure why there needed to be fought over anything now, anyway; Nemesis was in charge, and what would happen if Damien were to return? Who knew what the future would bring them. It felt to him like if Nemesis' and Potema's children wished to fight over anything at this moment, it was only over a fictional thing that did not even exist. But it wasn't like he'd be the one to talk them out of it.

Sheogorath did think that Damien would try and get Miraak and Cicero by his side. The question was, would it be enough, and another: would he succeed in getting their help? Sheogorath wasn't so sure whose side Miraak was really on, for he seemed like an impartial sentinel at the moment. Sheogorath curiously looked at Miraak and wondered aloud, "And will you be by his side when he asks it? Or will you let him fight it out, too?" He grinned, wondering if things were really as neutral as Miraak said them to be — if he would really give the children an equal chance and, in case of his nephew, were things the same, then, or were they suddenly different?

He was always unsure of the future. While he could govern his own actions, his fate inevitably lay within Mephala's hands. Even Nocturnal had some sway over him. No, he did not know or could rightfully predict where the pack would be in the future. Nemesis had not been truly proven yet; no one knows what a leader is like until there is a crisis. He had no sense of her true leadership. But a pack's journey does not solely follow their leadership. Only if there is, He repeated, having no true opinion to state.

I will let him fight, Damien was no pup to be defended until fully grown. No, he could and would fight for himself. He wanted to laugh at how much more of a worshipper of Boethiah he was. He could step in if things were becoming too much for the man, but Miraak held his cards to himself for the moment.

Sheogorath was surprised to find out that Miraak was a lot like Damien, in ways; to think that the right of the strongest was the only right. He wondered if by that logic he would ever be dark master, but perhaps. If he had wished it so. Here was enough for him, but preferrably with a master that was a little more influenceable than Nemesis. If it ever came to it, he would use poisons to make sure it was not a battle he could lose.

"I am curious to find out who will win that fight," Sheogorath admitted. Not very Cicero-esque, perhaps, for surely he would hold out for his brother to win it all. But it wasn't like any of these blind idiots knew of Cicero's love for his brother, anyway. They'd soon come to realise that Sheo was the better version; he'd make sure of it. Hopefully while there was still a pack and a brotherhood to influence and rule.