Ankyra Sound to live and die by the sword

seventeen was a generous number, the dreadfather thinks to themselves. it was given because they were being nice; some of the lesser daedric princes weren't often counted.

i have many names. the dreadfather, the name they favor when introducing themselves. padomay, sithis, ingram. they rattle them off with an errant twitch of their ear; though the last uttered name almost caused a sly twich of their lips. they school their expression before it can make itself present upon the lines of their face.

the void, prior. still though only in dreams and induced waking dreams. the dreadfather offers; a lofty, if haughty shrug of their shoulders given. and now this mortal realm, i suppose. it wasn't their dream to linger here: in this place of light and color. there was comfort in the dark throughs of night and there is almost an internal surprise at themselves at the fact that they were not more nocturnal.