The attacks do not let up.

And Glint's hitting her stride, magically, as Mora's ritual swells and helps her sink into the land.

Jyggalag gets close - close enough that the edges of his crystals threaten to affect the group -

And Glint draws a sword - made of vines and flowers and blood and looking absolutely like nothing that should be capable of cutting anyone - and leaps forward, separating herself from the team and engaging him directly.

His crystal blade meets hers.

Elatra inflicts a succession of curses on Jyggalag.

And Glint dances.

Flowers bloom in her wake, their petals turning into butterflies as she spins around them again, the butterflies growing fangs at the edges of their wings, latching into Jyggalag's crystal skin -

Her sword rings musically whenever it meets Jyggalag's blade, like a flute then a drum then a lute, the sound building and weaving in and out of the tornado she's spinning from dreams and wishes -

Reality's unsticking from itself, a bit, ebbs and flows of purple tastes and bitter colors.

And Jyggalag's starting to crack.

Glint laughs, pressing her advantage, flowery blade still darting in and out.

Jyggalag falls to his knees after one crescendoing blow.

And Glint tucks the tip of her sword under his chin.

"This was a good fight," she says -

And turns him into a shower of glittering rainbow gems.

Elatra applauds.

Glint laughs, bowing dramatically.

And crystal starts to swirl.

"Should we be worried about that?"

"Possibly..." Glint mutters, sword at the ready.

Jyggalag seems to be having trouble holding his form. Still, he sheathes his sword.

"Enough! I am beaten. The Greymarch is ended. For millennia this drama has unfolded, and each time, I have conquered this land, only to be transformed back into that gibbering fool, Sheogorath. It was not always so. Once, I ruled this Realm, a world of perfect Order. My dominion expanded across the seas of Oblivion with each passing era. The other Princes, fearful of my power, cursed me with Madness, doomed me to live as Sheogorath, a broken soul reigning in a broken land. Whenever time grew thin, I was allowed my true form, conquering this world anew. And each time I did, the curse was renewed, damning me to exist as Sheogorath. Now, though, you have ended the cycle. You now hold the mantle of madness, and Jyggalag is free to roam the voids of Oblivion once more. I will take my leave, and you will remain here, mortal. Mortal...? King? God? It seems uncertain. This Realm is yours. Perhaps you will grow to your station."

"Perhaps I will."

"Still, Jyggalag - Mad I may be, and Order you may be, but we have something in common, I believe. A frustration, at what we can't yet be. And a fondness for this world - this whole world, the Shivering Isles and beyond."

"Alduin seeks to destroy it all. Everything that could ever be. Every bit of Order, every bit of Madness - gone."

"I intend to fight."

"You are a good opponent, when you try."

"I would ask your aid."

He laughs, sharply. "Madness and Order, work together?"

"Still, you have a point - I would not see this world destroyed, even if its imperfections vex me. Time has not yet spooled out to its full potential. We shall be allies for now, then, until the dragon is delayed once more."

"Fare thee well, Sheogorath, Prince of Madness. I will see you next in Sovngarde."

She bows. "Fare thee well, Jyggalag, Prince of Order."

And he disappears.

"Well. I did not entirely see that one coming."

"Hah! Three Daedric Princes, all allied! Take that, Alduin!" She giggles, spinning. "Thank you guys so much!"

"You are quite welcome, of course."

Eeeeeeee! She has the cutest helpers. Best smile.

She rubs the back of her head. "I should possibly fix up my Realm some before we go fist-fight a dragon, and let my ally know what happened, and all, but eeeeeee!"

She laughs.

"Do you guys need anything Madness-related, while I'm settling in?"