Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
And now I’m in Falkreath, carrying a diamond the size of an Orc’s fist in my satchel. Five High Ordinators from Mournhold hot on my trail.
They’re persistent bastards, I’ll give them that. I’ve had my share of town militia and hired posses on my heels, but those types generally give up when you pass into a new country. Hell, sometimes a wide stream is enough to shake them off a trail. Return them to their patrol duties and ale houses.
Not these Dark Elves though. With their masks and scimitars and raspy voices. They just keep on coming.
I found the diamond in a hidden room beneath the treasury of Almalexia’s Temple. Took me three weeks of prep and two entire nights to pick all locks down into that cavern of gold, so I was glad for the surprise.
Not so glad for the wrath it’s brought down upon me.
I have no idea where I’m going to find a fence that can move this kind of weight. Riften, maybe. There’s talk the Guild still has a rag-tag presence in the sewers there. Myself, I was never much for affiliation—more than one thief in a room has a way of turning things to shit before long. Better to work alone.
It does make it harder to sell your goods. Can’t deny that.
The Ordinators are a day behind me, near as I can tell. I dipped into Cyrodiil and tried to lose them near Cheydinhal. Wasn’t any good—they tried to bribe the inn keeper, and when that didn’t work they tortured him until he gave up my hideout in the hills outside of town.
I lost the tip of my left ear when they came for me. I was lucky that’s all they got.
So I headed to Bruma and then over the mountains. Five torches followed me the entire way across the border, no more than an hour or so behind me. I gained some distance on the way down into Skyrim, though. Dark Elves can’t descend for shit, but my cat legs are built for it.
I can’t head to Riften now—that’ll just tip my hand and then I’ll never sell this stone. I’ll just run away from Ordinators the rest of my life.
No, it has to end here.
I stash the stone outside of town and I head to the tavern.
It’s crowded. Farmers, peasants, and one Orcish mercenary. He’s the one I want. I order a horn of mean, polish it off, and stumble over to him.
“Hey, greenskin,” I say, slurring a little for good measure. “A hundred Septims says I can kick your ass.”
He gives me a once over. “Sit down, cat. No reason for you to die today.”
I sway a little and then shrug and turn around. As soon as he lifts his horn again I whip around and smash my fist into the back of his head. His mouth crams into the horn and his horn crams into the wooden table.
One of his big teeth snaps off and his face turns into a pulpy mess of blood.
I have time to get a few more good swings in with my claws before two guards pull me off him and arrest me.
“It’s the dungeon for you, crazy cat,” they say.
And off I go.
The Ordinators are further behind me than I thought. Must have gotten bogged down in those snow-wrapped cliffs.
“Wake up, Azrakar.” A raspy voice says to me, interrupting my nap on the second day. I open one eye and breathe in his scent. He reeks of blood and zeal and anger. The same as all Ordinators.
“Nobody calls me that anymore,” I respond. Stretching my limbs slowly and popping each of my long, feline knuckles. Then I stand and look at him. He’s the tall one—their leader. The one who cut off my ear with a swing of his ebony scimitar. His armor is enameled gold and purple, probably worth two, three thousand Septims.
“But that is your name.” It wasn’t a question.
I shrug. No sense in hiding it now.
“I’m Valen,” he says. His voice is muffled behind the golden mask. Eyes burning red beneath it. “Where is the diamond?”
“When I lose something, I always try to retrace my steps,” I say. “Where’d you last see it?”
“Disappearing down a sewer grate. In your hand.”
A pretend to consider this new information. “Are you sure it wasn’t some other Khajiit that took your stone? Other races sometimes have trouble telling us apart.”
“I won’t ask again. One more smart answer and I can promise that you will die screaming.”
“And if I give it up I can go free?”
He paused. “You can’t save yourself. But I’ll make it quick if you make this easy.”
I move closer to him, right up to the door of my cell. I look around the corner to the jailer’s room. It’s filled with seven Nords and the other four Ordinators.
Not the odds that I wanted. But I don’t have a choice.
“Well, you drive a hard bargain, grey skin.” I lean close like I’m about to whisper a secret.
He doesn’t move, but his eyes are fixed on my face, not on my hands at the base of the lock, popping open one tumbler after the next.
“The diamond’s up my ass,” I whisper to him, just as I feel the final tumbler release and the door pop open. “Come and get it.”
Then I slam the door forward, hitting Valen in the face hard enough to knock him back a few paces. The sound echoes across every wall of that tiny prison.
“Jailbreak!” one of the idiot Nords yells. And in perfect, predictable northerner fashion, he draws his sword and buries it hilt-deep into one of the Ordinator’s chest.
Doesn’t even think twice.
That’s why I love this province. All they know is violence.
Valen isn’t stunned for very long. Before I’m halfway across the room his scimitar is drawn and he’s coming towards me.
“Fucking cat,” I hear him mutter as he takes his first swing at me.
I’m no match for all that terror. Don’t even consider standing my ground for a second. I duck and weave around his furious cuts and then high-tail into the jailer’s room—which is half-full of dead people already. Most of them Nords.
I have to hand it to the Ordinators—those grumpy bastards can fight.
I leap over all that violence and and head for the stairs. Take them three at a time until I reach the mid-landing, where I duck behind a big wooden barrel. Squeeze myself deep down between the wall and the wood until I’m invisible.
The fighting downstairs doesn’t last much longer. I hear blood splattering on the walls and organs hitting the floor with wet thuds. Screams.
Then slow footsteps heading up. They stop at the mid-landing, and I pretty much resign myself to a grisly end to my miserable life.
But then the door to the surface bursts open. Sunlight pours in.
“What’s all this?” A Nord voice yells. “What have you done?!”
“The Cat…he’s escaped.” It’s Valen’s raspy voice. I’d figured him to be the last one standing.
“Gods, you’ve butchered them!”
Then the sound of an arrow being notched.
“No…the cat. He’s here some—”
He’s interrupted by the thrum of the arrow being released. I hear it plow through armor and flesh.
“Fool…he’s made a fool of us,” Valen gasps. Then he falls over with a metallic clatter. His face ends up almost level with mine, the way the steps are angled.
I can’t tell if those red, hate-filled eyes see me before the life goes out them.
Don’t care much, either.
The Nord who killed Valen descends the stairs, passes the landing. I can hear him muttering curses under his breath as he inspects the bodies. I slip out from behind the barrel and head for the door.
The diamond is right where I left it—in a hollow stump a hundred yards from town, wrapped in a dirty cloth.
And I’m off to Riften.