Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
Sujava’s morning was not going well.
His Argonian manservant, Kreeves, had woken him a full hour early because he’d mixed up the appointment schedules. At six o’clock he’d come bursting into Sujava’s chambers, attempting to rouse him for a fictional meeting with a mining baron that would not actually occur for another week.
To make things worse, Kreeves had burnt the sausages and over-steeped his tea. Not for the first time. Sujava kept the reptile around because he was a capable bodyguard—and had successfully slain half a dozen would-be-assassins—but the man was a terrible servant.
Sujava knew that he should really hire another body man, and just keep Kreeves around for protection, but the extra cost niggled in his mind.
He was the wealthiest man in Markarth, but Sujava despised unnecessary expenses.
The truly bad news came after he’d finished breakfast and was going over his correspondence in the courtyard. The birds were out and drinking from one of his massive stone fountains that was carved into the likeness of Vivec. The birds were chirping away happily as he ripped open letters with an ivory-handled knife. (Made from mammoth tusk—very expensive.)
But the contents of the letters were anything but happy. In the course of fifteen minutes, Sujava learned three very troubling things: His spice galley that had been destined for the Sumerset Isles had been captured by Bosmer pirates off the coast of Vallenwood. The crew was presumed dead. Four entire wagons from his caravan heading across the Alik’r had spoiled during the journey, quartering his profits. And lastly, a smuggler’s ship that was supposed to bring him five chests of Moon Sugar had run aground outside of Solitude and been destroyed.
In so far as he could tell, Sujava had lost about 300,000 Septims in one morning.
He hurled his knife at the fountain, scattering the small birds in every direction. The handle of the knife cracked in half, and for a few moment the only sound was the steady gurgling of the fountain.
“Bad news, sir?” Kreeves said from his post behind Sujava. The Argonian always stood where he could keep eyes on all of the entrances and exits to a room.
“No,” Sujava snapped. “I’m throwing utensils around out of joy.”
“Joy and anger often look the same on you,” Kreeves pointed out.
Sujava closed his eyes, pressed a thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, and sighed.
It wasn’t that much money, in the grand scheme of things. He had another dozen ships invested in other journeys, and wagons in at least twenty caravans all over Tamriel. He’d earn back the loss in a moon’s turn.
Still, it irked him. Sujava did not like losing money.
He thought about having Kreeves go down into the city and buy him a whore—something exotic, a Redguard or an elf, maybe—but thought better of it. He wasn’t really in the mood for sexual pleasure. He had a better idea.
Sujava stood up and retied the sash on his silk robe. The Imperial merchant had become plump and pale in his middle years. There was a time when he’d maintained a perfect body—spent every morning killing himself with exercises and training. But, eventually he’d learned that money bought a lot more than looks, and he’d let himself go, one sweet roll at a time.
“I’m going to the basement. Need to blow off some steam.”
Kreeves mumbled something Sujava couldn’t hear.
“What’s that?” He asked, turning to his manservant. “Speak up, I don’t understand reptilian groans.”
“It’s just that…the one you’d been keeping down there, the Orc. He’s gone.”
“Escaped? Kreeves, I told you after that black haired elf-bitch escaped that if another one ever got away it’d be you in the chains next!”
“No, sir. I mean he died.”
Sujava paused. “Really?”
“In considerable pain. I believe the stump of his right leg mortified.”
Well, that just put the icing on the cake. Sujava’s day was entirely ruined. Breakfast was terrible, he’d lost a small fortune, wasn’t in the mood to screw anyone, and didn’t have anyone to torture.
“I am vexed,” Sujava said.
“I’ve told you several times,” Kreeves began, “you should allow me to cauterize the amputations. The…subjects…will last longer that way.”
The Argonian fidgeted uncomfortably. His snake-like eyes darted around to each of the courtyard doors, as if he might attempt to escape from the conversation through one of them.
“I do not need your input on matters of torture,” Sujava said, walking over to the other side of the table and filling a tumbler with Cyrodill brandy. It was early in the day, but what else did he have to do?
“What I do need, Kreeves, is for you to fetch me another subject for the basement.”
The reptile groaned to himself. “Sir, I picked up the Orc just a week ago. It is not prudent to take another from the city so soon.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “The guards will start asking questions, and before long we’ll have to move again. Do you not remember Anvil?”
Sujava waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. I remember. Go out and get a Forsworn or something. Nobody cares about them. Isn’t that why we moved to this Dwarven shithole in the first place?”
Kreeves looked at his feet. “A Forsworn. Yes, I can do that. Do you have a preference on the gender?”
Sujava thought about that. “Male. But not as powerful as that Orc. He was too used to pain. Get one with magical abilities. Those are the most fun.”
Kreeves nodded. “I will send up some off-duty guards to look after the place while I am away. Do not leave the estate while I am gone. The Nords are not as careful as I am.”
“Yes, yes. Be back before nightfall. I need a diversion.”
Sujava gulped down the contents of the tumbler before Kreeves had crossed the courtyard. He was already pouring himself another glass when the Argonian slipped through the strong, oak door.