Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
Sujava had been torturing the Forsworn Briarheart for almost three days.
He’d started by cutting off all of his toes. This time, he took Kreeves’ advice and cauterized the wounds—he didn’t want another one of his subjects dying prematurely.
Then, he’d set the toes aside for later and moved to the scourge. It was a new one—oak handle and Guar-hide leather cords. The hooks were made from Dwarven metal painstakingly collected from ruins throughout Tamriel. Truly a one-of-a-kind instrument of pain.
It had been expensive, but Sujava was pleased with it. Good balance, good leverage from the cords.
He ravaged the Briarheart for most of a morning. Whipping him until his back resembled Skeever vomit far more than human skin. Then he had Kreeves clean the bits of skin and muscle from his new scourge while he enjoyed a large lunch and afternoon tea.
When he returned to the basement, the Briarheart’s back was fully healed. Restored to the nubile softness one would expect from a young maiden.
Sujava could not have been more pleased if a golden dragon had landed in his courtyard and shat out an enormous egg.
Truly, Restoration magic was the gift that kept giving.
He scourged the Forsworn again.
Finally, Kreeves had to spend an afternoon re-sharpening the Dwarven hooks to restore their grip.
It was good fun, and Sujava had enjoyed the exercise immensely. But his back and arms were quite sore now, and—if he was being honest—he was starting to get a little bored of this new game. The scourge was nice, but the Briarheart was a rather stoic subject all in all. He moaned from time to time, and drooled and awful lot. But that was about it.
He was nothing like that black-haired wood elf that Kreeves had captured for him back in Cyrodiil. She had been a little spitfire. Hissing and cursing and screaming terrible insults at him while he laughed and carried on with the whip. She’d promised to cut his own balls off and choke him to death with them, Kreeves remembered with a smile.
That’s the kind of spirit he liked to see.
Losing her had been a bitter disappointment. Most bitter.
Sujava was fiddling with one of the scourge’s prongs and trying to imagine a more entertaining way to torture the Briarheart—wondering if he could re-grow things like this eyes—when Kreeves came padding down the basement stairs. Silent as always except for the thump of his spear on each stone.
“Master,” he said in his harsh reptilian whisper. “You have a guest.”
“Mm,” Sujava responded absently. “I thought my schedule was cleared for the day.”
“It is. Asriel has returned.”
That got Sujava’s attention. He had hired Asriel to look into the Moon Sugar shipment that had been lost a few weeks earlier. Sujava had lost a lot of money in that deal, and that didn’t sit well with him. For all he knew the slimy smugglers had wrecked their own ship and pled piracy while they made off with a fortune’s worth of the Cat Dust.
“The Dunmer certainly took his sweet time.” Sujava tossed the scourge onto a limeware platter, wiped his face and neck with a silk cloth, and stood up.
“Clean this up,” he said, waving a hand vaguely around the room.
“I should stay with you,” Kreeves said quickly. “Asriel is not a…trustworthy man.”
Sujava weighed that. “True. True indeed. Lead the way then.”
Asriel was seated in the courtyard, a goblet of wine in one hand, the other resting lazily on his crossed leg. The Dunmer had long, snow-white hair that swept neatly down to the middle of his back. He wore simple but immaculate black traveler’s clothes. His face was smooth and round—not a single scar, wrinkle, or line of any kind on it. This seemed odd until you had a conversation with the man. A mudcrab possessed more facial animation.
The only thing that moved in Asriel was his lips—the rest of his face stayed placid and calm, as if the world was a dreadfully predictable story, and he long ago lost interest in the plot.
As unsettling as his visage was, Asriel was an extremely resourceful investigator. Sujava had been using him for nearly a decade to accomplish his more discreet business needs—acquiring information, dolling out bribes, laying the seeds of advantageous political unrest, that sort of thing.
A year ago he had managed to incite a coup in Hegathe that opened up an extremely valuable merchant caravan route through the Alik’r Desert. He was an exceptionally useful employee, even if he was a little creepy.
But, as Kreeves had said, he was very far from trustworthy.
“Lord Sujava,” Asriel said, standing up as soon as he entered the courtyard. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Save the asslicking for someone who’s an actual lord,” Sujava said, sitting down on the far side of the stone table. Kreeves took up his familiar position against the wall halfway between him and Asriel.
“What have you found out?” Sujava asked.
“Much and more. My trip north was most interesting,” Asriel said, looking as though his trip was, in fact, the most uninteresting thing imaginable.
The Dunmer paused, his red eyes holding Sujava’s gaze and revealing nothing.
“The suspense is truly overpowering,” Sujava said. “Come on, let’s have it.”
Asriel nodded once, took a small sip of wine, and then crossed his legs again.
“The unfortunate accident involving Scapegrace was more or less a true story. The ship was wrecked on a shoal near the mouth of Solitude Harbor. The crew almost entirely murdered, and the cargo absconded with by a group of pirates known as the Blackblood Maurauders. They took everything back to a hidden grotto north of Solitude.”
“Interesting,” Sujava said, reaching for a tumbler and the pitcher of wine. Kreeves cleared his throat loudly and shook his head once.
“Your bodyguard is a sharp one,” Asriel said. “You see, I was sitting out here alone for some time. Plenty of opportunity to slip any manner of poison into the pitcher.”
Slowly, the Dunmer reached for the pitcher, topped off his own glass, and threw back the entirely of its contents. “Can never be too careful these days,” he said.
Sujava cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “In any case, I think I should like for someone to pay these Blackboods a visit. Do you have any connections up north that might be able to handle that?”
Asriel shook his head. “Not necessary. The Blackbloods are all dead.”
“Oh? How did that happen?”
“It would seem that two crewmembers on Scapegrace managed to not die. They hired the Dark Brotherhood to help them exact revenge on the Blackbloods. According to my sources, both of the crewmembers were eventually killed during the…revenging…however the assassins survived. They’re on their way back to Pine Forest with the cargo.”
“All of it?” Sujava asked.
“According to my sources,” Asriel confirmed.
“And just who are your sources? I hardly suspect that the Solitude tavern is buzzing with this kind of information.”
The Dunmer shrugged. By far the largest display of emotion he had exhibited during the entire exchange. “Secrets are not hard to procure, if you know where to look for them.”
“What a singularly unhelpful comment,” Sujava said. He folded his hands together and thought for a moment. The Dark Brotherhood. Twenty chests of Moon Sugar. Too interesting by far to just let the story end there.
“Keep track of them,” Sujava said eventually. “A quarter of those chests belong to me. And the Dark Brotherhood may be a useful organization with which to nurture a relationship. Find out what they intend to do with the Moon Sugar and then report back to me.”
“As you wish,” Asriel rose and set his tumbler delicately on the table. He glided away on quiet slippers.
“These are interesting times, Kreeves,” Sujava mused after the Dunmer was gone. “Very interesting times.”