Sheogorath Eats A Nike Shoe Covered In Hot Sauce

The Mad-God looked down on his meal that Haskill had prepared for him, as he did every day of all eternity. Because Gods don't like the idea of aging, so they simply don't. Sheogorath kindled a weapon in his hand, shining in silver. Slick spikes counting four were upon the top of the pain machine. Below that, a long iron handle fit to wield the tool and use it for its intended purpose. This weapon of mass destruction, commonly known as a "fork", was going to be his main means of eating his meal that was dressed upon his silver plate. That meal in specific, was a leathery footwear. Known as a "shoe", to those mortals. The shoe was warm, and mortal-foot-shaped, so that they could walk among the dangerous terrain of Tamriel without being stabbed by rocks, bit by bugs, or being devoured whole by gargantuan worms of Black Marsh. Actually, the shoes don't prevent that last one, but it certainly makes them run harder! However, this one in specific was different to all Tamriel designs. It was much more sleek. The top was covered in pitch-black, and in the center of the shoe, directly under the foot-hole were fabric-esque strings. These were "laces", designed to entrap the foot of the wearer, taking away their sense of free will and give the shoe total control over the mortal's emotional, mental, and physical state, consuming it whole in its leathery maw. Alternatively, they were designed to prevent the clothing article from falling off. That makes more sense. Or does it? Nonetheless, the shoe's bottom was painted white, like the beautiful fresh-fallen snow of Skyrim's mountains. On the side was a cold, white checkmark sigil. A symbol of homage to a concept, place, person or thing called "Nike". An ancient God that the mortals fabricated and worshiped in the Merethic Era that Sheogorath has forgotten of, perhaps. No matter. The God of Madness takes a bottle of a substance that provokes primal, flaming fear in the tastebuds of commonfolk, something so disastrous and bitter that people would often tear up at the treachery that it induces. Like an arsonist within their metabolism... Sounded perfect for him, Sheogorath thought! The people called it "hot sauce". He sprayed this brilliant bane across the shoe, slathering the footwear in an infernal mush, and soaking it in flame-inducing food. He laughed maniacally, almost emptying his fake Godlike lungs as he threw the fork away and picked up the shoe with his bare, elder hands. Sheogorath brought it into his jaws, and bit into it rather ungracefully, sauce flinging into his white beard as a wet whisper emerged from the laces. It took him a whole twenty fucking minutes to swallow, and then he laughed. He took yet another bite, stronger this time. The shoe was warm, baked in spicy goodness just ripe for the tasting. It pleased the Mad-God's throat as it made its descent down his Daedric stomach and became thin air once it reached the bottom, because he is a God. He extended his tongue to consume some of the sauce (just the sauce) and swallowed. It was GOOD. So goddamn good. He ripped out a lace, on particularly juicy with the hot substance. He sniffed the string well and good with his left nostril. (The right nostril is for babies.) Then, Sheo swallowed it. It felt like a worm. He liked that. So he summoned an exact replica, turned it into a word, and ate that too. Yummy yummy in my tummy. Finally, he extended his maw so large it was the size of a pretty tea-table, and he swallowed the entire rest of the shoe in one FUCKING gulp. Laughing, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"So, where were we?" he said.
"...Well, I was trying to explain that your realm was in civil war, Your Majesty Madness, but I think I have an overwhelming sense of nausea." Said the priest, before fucking dying right there.

Sheogorath then turns to the camera, and says " https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_V2sBURgUBI ".