Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
Akavarin called, and so I came.
After being embraced by the Morathi Coveneant, he sent me to the Summerset Isles to sow the black seeds of our order. But after only a few months, he called upon me. I have put windy plains, warm sands, and rocky mountains beneath my heels. And now I am returned to Skyrim.
For my master’s call cannot be ignored.
I find Akavarin on a grassy hill hidden deep within the Reach. Scattered bits of an old ruin dot the area—grey remnants of an old world and a forgotten people.
There are ravens everywhere. Thousands of them.
They circle the top of the hill in a widening gyre—a black current swirling around to the rhythm of some unified and dubious purpose. Every once in a while one of them break away from the pack and heads off. North, south, east, or west.
These winged creatures are the eyes and ears of Akavarin. And my master sees all. Hears every whisper. Nothing escapes him.
I climb the hill with my head bowed. I have not brought any resurrections with me. For much of the journey I kept a pair of Altmer twins. Powerful sorcerers that tried to route me out of my island stronghold.
They did not succeed.
But it would have been a great insult to bring my own animations to Akavarin, so I slew them at the border between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, continuing the rest of the way alone. I will miss those twins. Perhaps I can find their corpses on my way back and pull some final wisps of life out of them.
Akavarin is seated cross-legged in the shade of a lone tree. For a moment, I wonder what kind It is, then I realize that the leaves are actually more ravens. Clumped together and searching with their eyes.
My master’s head is lowered, I can only see his pale nose and sharp chin beneath his black hood. But I know he sees me. Smells my sweat. Hears the steady beat of my heart.
“Welcome home, Mordred,” he says.
I kneel before him, placing my forehead onto the ground. The grass is cool, still a little damp from the morning dew.
“Master. You summoned me?”
I hear him stand up. See his long shadow stretch out over the hill from the corner of my eye. Even the shadows are at the mercy of his will.
“Rise,” he says.
I obey, but keep my eyes lowered and wait for his command.
“How do you find the Summerset Isles?” he asks, voice oscillating between quiet, far away tones and close whispers. I have forgotten how unsettling it is.
“Warm, and rich. I have laid claim to a small chain of islands and begun our work. There is a great power there.”
“That is why you were sent. Obstacles?”
I shake my head. “Nothing of import, yet. I expect the Thalmor will mount a more involved attack eventually, but by then it will be too late.”
Akavarin nods once. A raven swoops down and lands on his shoulder. He turns his head ever-so-slightly and listens. Then nods again.
The raven alights his shoulder and joins his brothers in the tree.
“I did not wish to interrupt your work in the south, but I require you elsewhere.”
I raise my head ever so slightly and look for a moment into his burning, pitiless eyes. A moment is all I can stand before returning to my feet.
“I am at your service, Master.”
“A rival of mine seems to have…returned. I thought him dead, but I was wrong. He is very powerful. Very old. Almost as old as I am. It will be no small thing to bring about his destruction. But that is what I mean to do.”
“If I may ask, my lord, who is he?”
“Divayth Fyr. A follower of the old ways. He opposed me long ago, when we were both younger men. I am not certain of his intentions now…but it is unlikely they do not include my death.”
I felt an inflection in Akavarin’s voice that I had not heard before: anger. The grass upon the hill seemed to wilt from an unseen pressure.
“Shall I kill him for you?”
Akavarin laughed. A dry cackle that sounded like dead leaves rustling in the wind.
“He would incinerate you from half a mile away. No, I want you to kill one of his apprentices. Torture him first, and ask these questions: Why has Divayth Fyr chosen now to return? Where is he going? What is he after? Do not stop until you’ve had the truth.”
“As you wish, master,” I say.
“The apprentice will be strong, but you are stronger.” Akavarin paused for a moment. “I am putting a great responsibility on your shoulders.”
“I won’t disappoint you, master.”
Akavarin takes a step forward. The ground seems to shudder with each footfall, as if some great beast lies beneath his skin, and the human before me is nothing more than a thin shell.
He puts one hand on my shoulder, and I feel an icy cold fill my body. Every hair is shocked to attention.
“His name is Neloth,” Akavarin whispers. “He is in Solstheim. Do not fail me.”