Bus Ride Fantasy

Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More

Smugglers Run

SmugglersRun

We took on twenty chests of Moon Sugar off the coast of Elsweyr. The cats where all smiles as we loaded up. Happy to have made their fortune on our bad intentions.

Carried our hull of poison halfway around Tamriel. Along the Black Marsh and Morrowind. Overtop the crown of Sheogorad.

To Skyrim, we went. Where the war had brought loose customs agents and high skooma prices.

I’ve been to most every port this world has to offer. Big bustling towns like Anvil. Rotten mudflats full of fleas like Gnaar Mok. Little coves that only smugglers know about.

I’ll take the coves every time. I find things quite a bit more pleasant without other people around.

They say I talk a lot, but that’s mostly just to make other people shut up. If it walks or crawls in this world, my take is that it’s rotten all the way down to the core. Like the apple at the bottom of the barrel being feasted on by worms.

But it wasn’t coves we were after this time around. It was the Port of Solitude. This was to be our big score, at least that’s what Skinny Beans told us.

He was the first mate. Dead now.

The black Argonian slit his throat—bit into it so deep he damn near cut Beans’ whole ugly head off.

Marauders. Thiefs. Blackbloods.

I guess that’s a bit like an Orc telling the skeever it stinks, but I don’t care. Those thieving bastards wrecked Scapegrace and bushwhacked us in the night while we were trying to make repairs and salvage the damn chests of Moon Sugar.

Only reason I survived is because I’d gone off behind some rocks to take a shit. Some sailors, they’ll squat and throw heat on a deck of twenty men. Won’t even think twice. Not me—I like a bit of privacy.

I’ve had my life saved by two men, one elf and one bolt of lightning (that’s a much happier story than this one). Never thought it’d get spared because of a shit.

I watched Beans get his due while I still had my pants down. Half the crew was dead before I’d gotten laced up. And the others weren’t long to follow.

Korlan was the only other survivor. After the Blackbloods had looted the ship and disappeared in a fleet of longboats, I checked the wreckage and found him wedged between a table and some netting supplies. His face had been bashed in badly. All of his teeth on the right side were gone and his ear was all mooshed in. A terrible wound to look at.

He was a strange one, Korlan. Just showed up one day, killed one of our crewmates in a bar brawl, and asked if he could take his place. Beans liked fighters, so he took him on.

We got a fire going on one of the islands near the wreck and considered our situation.

“Got to find ‘em. Kill ‘em,” Korlan said. He didn’t talk much to begin with, but his wound seemed to make him even more concise.

“Oh, grew a sense of honor, did you?” I responded. “There’s nothing writ that we have to go avenging fallen crewmates. We weren’t soldiers and we weren’t friends. Hell, I didn’t even like half those salty bastards. We were smugglers. And that means we don’t go saving people in need or chasing after bad men. Smugglers run. That’s what we do.”

Korlan shook his head. “Not honor. Chests.”

“Oh, you and me gonna kill forty men and then haul twenty chests out of whatever damp-ass cove they brought them to? While we’re at it, why don’t we tame a fucking dragon and fly it down into their hideout. Burn that black reptilian fuckoff into a smoking cinder? Good plan!”

I was angry, I realized. Maybe I’d been lying to myself about not even liking half the crew. Brown-Eyed Ben wasn’t so bad. Told funny jokes. And Tristan Thick-Dick was pretty swell with the fiddle. I knew I’d miss some of those slow, sad songs he played late at night after we’d drunk our weight in brandy.

Korlan just stewed for a while in front of the fire. Implacable.

“Look,” I said after a while. “It’s not possible. We can’t kill them all alone. We’re lucky we aren’t dead, and I don’t fuck around with fate when it gives me a good break. I say we head to Solitude, steal something small and fast, and then we hightail it out to somewhere warm.”

“Not alone,” Korlan said, looking up at me. “With the Brotherhood.”

“The Brotherhood? The fuck are we going to pay them with. Hell, how’re we even going to find them?”

Korlan smiled. His mouth was full of blood and I could see splinters of teeth pushing every which way.

“With the chests.” Then he pointed off in the direction the Blackbloods had gone. “And blood.”

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4 comments on “Smugglers Run

  1. Elspeth Aurilie
    December 5, 2012

    “his ear was all mooshed in”

    I may have smiled when I saw the word “mooshed,” simply because you used the word “mooshed.”

    Another excellent story. I laughed when I read about how he avoided being killed. Yes, yes people poop in Skyrim.

    I see that Narova has her own category now!

  2. ericanorth
    December 10, 2012

    Sometimes it’s the attention to even the smallest details that make your stories so remarkably memorable. When he was thinking about how he’d miss the crew, the sad, slow songs he played at night after they drunk their weight in brandy… That’s the stuff that sticks with you about these characters you’ve created, long after you’ve finished reading and you’re still thinking about them and their world.

    • Fargoth
      December 16, 2012

      It’s funny you mention that detail – I almost took it out because I thought it was a little too…I dunno exactly. I just wasn’t sure it fit. It’s helpful to hear that it helped you remember the story!

  3. Pingback: The Basement « Bus Ride Fantasy

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This entry was posted on December 4, 2012 by in Skyrim Fiction and tagged , .
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