“Pelagius, look! We have a visitor!” A bearded man practically jumped from the large table, surprisingly spry for his apparent age. The stranger wore two-toned clothes, both halves perfectly clashing in a display of odd harmony. The unusual human turned to another of his kind, a man with dark circles under his eyes.

“I see, my lord.” Pelagius, as Pinkie assumed his name to be, sounded a bit depressed. The display and apathetic tone reminded the Element of Laughter of the misunderstanding after Gummy's birthday party the previous year. “She appears to be a small, colorful pony.”

“I can see that, but we should let the lass speak for herself.” The two-toned stranger looked at Pinkie with blind, grey eyes that still allowed the human to see perfectly. It was an odd paradox that kept a strange sensation brewing on the forefront of her mind. The display of inhuman attributes sent a memory sparking through her brain. “What do ya say, little filly?”

“You look like Hircine!” That wasn't the party pony's most tactful moment, and it seemed to throw the oddball for a loop. The white-eyed nonhuman-human blinked a few times, before a sinister-sweet smile spread across his face. The unorthodox stranger picked up Pinkie by her forelegs and spun her around. Pelagius only kept his blank look at the two as they laughed in glee.

“Right you are!” The confirmed Daedra tossed the Element into the air fast enough for her ears to pop. Just as the pink pony neared the pocket dimension's ceiling, she reappeared at the table with a slight poof. The Oblivion spawn clapped at the display he caused, though his human servant seemed unimpressed. The oddly clothed biped took a bow, one of the formal sort reserved for audiences with royalty, before he spoke in a laughing tone. “You're talking to Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness, Lord of the Never-there!”

“Hi!” The Scottish-sounding Prince was confused, and not the confused he enjoyed being; the kind of confused where fun things happened. The previously mortal Daedra rifled through the memories of his predecessor for any sign of his own tampering with equines. “I'm Pinkie Pie, Number One Party Pony of Ponyville.” The tiny pony extended a hoof in greeting just as Sheogorath finished his thoughts, and the Prince accepted the offered limb and gave a firm shake.

“Pelagius, don't you have somewhere to be?” The former Emperor took the hint and disappeared in a small plume of smoke. The pink equine oohed in awe at the display of mysticism, even though it was nothing compared to what she'd seen Twilight do. “Now, I believe you have some explaining to do.”

“Well, I'm from Ponyville, like I said, and Reman has us in Skyrim so Princess Luna can talk to the Emperor and Equestria can be friends with the Empire!” The Prince looked at the babbling pony in slight annoyance, not too pleased with the information he was receiving. Sheogorath knew everything regarding the diplomatic party's mission on Tamriel, but he still wanted to know how the non magic-using equine had managed to infiltrate the his servant's mind without the Daedra knowing. “And when I was in Solitude with my friends, I found this guy that looked like he needed a hug, but he wouldn't let me hug him and just gave me a bone and told me to go to the Blue Palace!”

“Why didn't you say so earlier?” Sheogorath somehow managed to sound angry and happy at the same time, his voice even held two tones as he spoke. The Madgod looked a bit depressed as a thought rolled through his semi-infinite mind, but his smile never left his face. “All I need to do is finish things up with Pelagius, then I can take my luggage and be back to the Isles!”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to rush you.” Pinkie had mistakenly took the Lord of Madness as being sad, as though she only looked at his face but ignored his voice. But being as fickle as the Master of Insanity could be, it was only natural for the deity to find a way to extract entertainment.

“Well, if you really feel bad, then you should help me get everything back how it goes.” Fog lifted as Sheogorath spoke, revealing the treeline and three paths that extended into the distance. The Ascendant mortal could feel the tiny equine's acceptance of the task even as her own ears were just receiving the words, and he prepared accordingly. “Now, I know you're thinking about doing this the way you'd usual tear through a dungeon, but it'll take more than brute force to help Plagius's mind.”

“We're inside a man's head?” While not the strangest thing to happen to Pinkie that month, it was still a surprise to learn something like that. Much to the pink pony's astonishment, Sheogorath's happy laughter provided some odd comfort where it wasn't remotely needed.

“That's right, little filly, we're inside the mind of a homicidally insane monarch!” The Madgod gave his best impression of jazz-hooves, which was only added to with the Prince's wiggling fingers. “Quite the vacation spot, really.”

“I'll be right on it!” Pinkie seemed ready to take off down one of the paths, but a hand made of fog wrapped firmly around her tail, halting any possible movement towards a perceived solution to Pelagius's woes. Sheogorath shook his head at the mare's attempted subversion of his plans. The Prince of Madness was a kind god, often considered to be completely neutral with his influence, and he would only allow someone to go into a potentially dangerous situation if it would be incredibly funny. That being said, something just felt wrong about letting the naive pony march off to almost certain pain without the aid of forewarning.

“Come on, lass, you have to be smart about this. I know, I know; you think you're fine with your songs and dances and cakes, but why use all of that nonsense when you can use...” Sheogorath had been waiting for quite some time to hand his most treasure artifact of to a mortal, and Pinkie seemed like a good worshiper to have around. With his slight cliffhanger of a pause, the Madgod finished his sentence. “... the Wabbajack?!”

“Oh boy!” Pinkie didn't even know what that was, but it sounded like fun. Fun things often had fun names, so something like Wabbajack made it sound like a funny boat of squeaky toy. The party pony looked in awe as Sheogorath pulled a staff out of the air. The Daedric artifact found its way into the pony's hoof by unseen forces, and the mare was shocked when she felt a familiar twinge as the otherworldly material touched her. Glade let her hold Hircine's Ring for a few minutes one time, and Pinkie was amazed to see that the Wabbajack had the same effect on her. “What's it do?”

“Everything you can imagine and much, much more.” For some reason, Sheogorath's words weren't too much of a comfort, especially with the fog that rapidly separated the two. The pony walked in the direction she last saw the Daedra, only to find herself looking back at the object behind her, even though she knew she hadn't made any turns. Even though the god was absent, his voice was still very much around. “Now go have fun, and try not to get hurt!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“So, how is this supposed to help me with magic again?” Twilight only asked because she felt her question was necessary; given her current situation, it was warranted. General Tullius had given the authorization required to use Castle Dour's training yard, if only to give the diplomatic party something to do that kept them from venturing into the city. Reman and Renoir knew about the Element's desire to learn more about Tamriel's method to magic, which seemed to require her to spar with the two mages in order to master the magicka manipulation needed to cast spells.

“Trust me, combat practice is the best way to acclimate your body.” Reman was dressed in steel shin guards and bracers, but lacked a shirt and shoes. The lycan's vampiric comrade was similarly dressed, which gave credit to the odd choice of clothing. It wasn't like anyone else in the castle could teach her in a better way, so Twilight was without another training method.

“Relax, we won't hit you too hard.” Renoir knew that full-contact magic was hardly safe, and the physical impacts were negligibly at best. The real damage came from the raw magicka that flowed across a mage's body during the exercises, and the pyromancer's own preference gave even his unrefined energy an incendiary quality. “But try not to get in the way of Reman's or my fists and feet if we're aiming for each other, because that would probably break a few bones.”

“You aren't exactly filling me with confidence.” Nevertheless, Twilight charged at the sound of the bell, ready to channel magic into her hooves. The two bipeds ran with surprising speed to the yard's center, targeting both opponents at once. A foot blurred across the lavender mare's eyes as Renoir tried to kick Reman in the stomach, only for a similarly magicka-cloaked fist to come the around. Twilight slammed her forehead into the Imperial's thigh, which sent his punch off-course and tripped the two humans. The Element caught a pulled punch in the ribs for her trouble, and she almost cried out at the burning sensation that rippled through her body.

Renoir was bucked full-force in retribution for his attack, and was pleasantly surprised to feel a crackle of raw magicka in those hooves. The undead man shoved the pony and lycan off, and gave Reman a kick that sent him skidding across the ground. A headbutt to the lower back reminded the vampire that he had a second enemy on the field, and a thought that the exercise should have been confined to two mages at a time was very prevalent in his mind. The Breton attempted to retaliate, but his Imperial comrade was already back in the fray. Renoir expected some revenge, but was surprised to see Reman's offered hand.

“Just look.” The lycan pointed at Twilight, whose magic was still enveloping her horn, though that fact wasn't what was wonderful. The Element Bearer's aura was still purple, as it would likely always be, but it had taken on a lighter, bluish tone as it became less refined. Being the Element of Magic gave her quite the advantage when it came to scholarly pursuits, so such unusually swift skill reining seemed almost normal.

“Did it work?” The pony was speaking as though she couldn't feel the magicka radiating from her horn. The two supernaturals looked at each other, then back to the oblivious pony, before deciding that she quite possibly could not.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“Listen, I don't want things to be awkward between us.” Glade was speaking to Antonius Tullius, the only human she had met outside of the Companions that was capable of scaring her. The lycan could feel the unease that radiated from the man, but she was glad to feel no actual hostility.

“No worries.” The legate's words were still laced with a hint of disgust, though it was difficult to pin on the mare, because it could have easily gone to the acts that led to the Legionnaire meeting her. In reality, Antonius didn't have any hard feelings about Glade, but it was difficult not to be somewhat shocked with the circumstances. At the lack of a response, the man returned to his book.

“But there are; I can tell you don't like me being with your son.” The lycan mare hovered just above the seated human's head, which served as a wonderful reminder that she was not of Nirn. With a flat look, the Imperial marked his page and stood, slightly annoyed at being driven from his comfort zone. It was such an odd occurrence to be bothered in the lounge that he wasn't even worried about calling it his comfort zone. “I just want to bury the spear before one of us uses it.”

“The what?” Antonius believed she meant bury the hatchet, but her people didn't have a word for the small ax. But that was pure speculation, it was equally likely for ponies to just use spears instead of tomahawks, but that left the question of how they prepared firewood.

“Sorry, I meant wingblade.” While Glade was still incorrect in her symbolism, the legate let it go. Despite the misunderstanding, it presented the Imperial with a wonderful array of options for pegasi wings being weaponized. “But we're cool, right?”

“I suppose we are... cool.” That was an odd statement about the temperature, but it must have had some meaning of peace in Equestria. Maybe it was to contrast the heat of war. Nevertheless, Glade's attempts to end any bad feeling Antonius had about her were irrelevant, because there were no ill intentions to mend. If anything, the officer would chew out his son over his choice in spouse; that was assuming they went that far, of course. “I have nothing to be cross with you about, so long as you don't mention anything about your exploits in the bedroom to me.”

“That's actually pretty funny.” Glade knew he was also being serious, but it was refreshing to see such a serious man use humor to make a point. There was a slight, instinctive tickle in her mind that said she had been accepted in the family. This meant she was allowed to be more open and joking around Reman's father, which posed a very serious question. “Can I call you Dad?”

“Absolutely not.”