Bus Ride Fantasy

Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More

Death Comes to Markarth


Narova slipped into Sujava’s villa at midnight. Invisible and silent—a ghost melting into the stone walls and the pale light. Her scent was the only thing that betrayed her presence. Small traces of the Pine Forest that still lingered on her palms and the strands her jet-black hair.

But traces of pine were enough.

The spear came flying out of the shadows as Narova was crossing the courtyard. Nothing more than a soft hiss cutting through the cool night air. And no more than half a second for her to try and dodge it.

She was fast, but not that fast. The barbed point dug into her right thigh and pulled a stone-sized chunk of flesh away as it sailed off the long cliff that bordered one side of the courtyard.

Nothing but air and rocks below.

Narova felt her invisibly spell being pulled from her skin, and she cursed at the burning pain in her leg.

Same spot I took that fucking arrow on my first job, Narova thought. Can’t catch a break.

A slab of darkness split out from an alcove on the far wall, and the Argonian appeared.

Narova was hoping that dangerous bastard would have found another master by now. It would have made her revenging a lot easier. But it looked like she was finally out of luck.

He already had another spear in his hand, but didn’t seem keen on throwing it.

That’s his last one, then.

Narova backed up a few paces and moved to her left, keeping the massive stone table in the center of the courtyard between them.

“I remember you,” she said. “You’re the bodyguard. Sleeves, is it?”

The Argonian mirrored Narova’s footsteps. Each one of them light and precise.

Okan-Shei-Kreeves is my name.” His narrow lizard eyes darted around the roof of the courtyard quickly, looking for others. Then back to her. “I remember you, too. The black-haired elf that escaped.”

Narova tested some weight on her leg. It was bad. Fighting him on even ground would be hard enough—this was downright stupid. But she wasn’t going to run away. Not after all of this.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to just let me pass?” she asked. “You might not have noticed, but your Master has it coming.”

Kreeves crouched down, readying his spear for violence.

“We all have it coming, elf.”

Narova Blackhair squinted her eyes and tried to steady her breath.

“Blood, then.”

He nodded once, and rushed towards her. Hitting the table with one leg and rocketing forward.

He wasn’t the first Argonian to bum-rush Narova, though. She ducked to her left and caught his wrist with her left hand. Pushed every ounce of paralysis she had into his reptilian skin.

Nothing happened.

In an instant his spear was spinning around. The shaft caught her in the temple—flooding her vision with white—and she barely had time to leap back out of range as the point rushed forward in two fast jabs.

It was all Narova could do to pull a throwing knife from her hip and chuck it haphazardly in his direction. He ducked it easily, but it was enough to keep him off her for a moment while her vision leveled out.

Kreeves danced away to the right, and she twisted to keep him in sight.

“Powerful magic,” he said. “It would seem you’ve become more than just a wayward hunter.”

Narova didn’t respond. She was too focused on his steps and his spear-arm, looking for a weakness. He moved like water—fluid and fast and inexorable.

She was in trouble.

Narova only had time for a handful of breaths before he was on her again. This time she focused on dodging his spear thrusts, which flicked out like a snake’s tongue testing the air for prey.

They came in a flurry of highs and lows—no sooner had she rolled away from one thrust than another was coming right at her chest. In less than a minute she was panting and covered in sweat. Backing up and circling and desperate for more room. Fucking courtyard. Fucking cliff.

Kreeves didn’t even seem winded.

Narova knew she wouldn’t last much longer. Time to try something different.

Something fancy.

She edged over towards the table, letting her focus on his thrusts dim just enough so she could weave a spell together.

Back, back, back. Just a little more.

She came up alongside the table—which still had a glass sitting half full on the edge—and feigned a slip. Let her knee buckle and her dagger drop. Pain shuddered through her wounded right leg.

Kreeves hesitated just for a split second to adjust his spear for a killing thrust.

That was all she needed.

Narova gnashed her teeth together and flung the cup into the air with her mind. It crashed into the lizard’s temple, shattering instantly and splashing liquid into his eyes.

The spear passed harmlessly over her left shoulder, and Narova lunged forward with her dagger.

Even with a face full of wine Kreeves was fast. Narova got him with two quick slashes to his face and throat, but missed her killing stroke. She ducked down and tried to jab into his liver but he was already dancing away. She only managed to drag a few scales off of his hip.

He skipped back a dozen yards and shook his head, clearing it out. Dark blood poured down his chest and onto his spear-arm.

“Clever,” he said.

“Like you said, more than a hunter.”

Narova could see the gills in his neck opening and closing, like a caught fish gulping for air.

So you do get tired. Best keep you that way.

Narova grabbed at his spear with her mind. Pulled it up towards the sky. She managed to lift it almost a foot before the lizard tightened his grip and pulled it back down with a grunt.

With gritted teeth she bulled forward, still pulling the spear with all of her strength. Her telekinesis slowed him down just enough for her to sneak inside his spear thrust and ram her dagger into his chest.

He growled in pain, then mashed his head into her face.

One, two, three.

Narova felt her nose break and her cheek crack. Terrible noises. The warm feel of blood pouring from both nostrils. But no pain yet.

She stabbed him again but couldn’t keep a grip on the hilt. They both wound up on the ground—punching and biting and clawing at each other with their bare hands. His lizard-breath was everywhere. Steamy and rotten in her broken nostrils.

Somehow he got behind her. Wrapped a scaly arm around her throat and cut off her air. Narova tried to hit him, but he’d wedged himself in too close and she couldn’t get at him. Her eyes bulged and she looked down at the cliff in front of her. Only darkness and the sound of rushing water below.

Her vision filled with spots. Then the black started closing in.

“I’m sorry, elf,” Kreeves rasped from behind her in his reptile voice.

Narova ran her hand along his chest, searching desperately for the dagger-hilt.

“See you in the next life,” he said.

His fingers clenched down even tighter, breaking her skin.

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

Narova’s hand finally found the dagger wedged between two scales on his right side. She yanked it free with the last bit of strength in her body.

Then she crammed it backwards into his eye.

He let out a primal howl and slacked off on his grip just enough for Narova to take a breath and slip one hand around his scaly arm. Then she hurled her weight forward, flipping him over her shoulder and off the cliff.

Kreeves was still screaming when he hit the rocks below.

Narova sucked in air as fast as she could, feeling her neck to see if he’d gotten to one of her arteries. Didn’t seem like it—just more scars.

Far below she thought she caught the black flicker of a body being rushed away in the water. Into the Forsworn hills.

Her mouth and neck were covered in blood. More of it pumping out of her nose in a thick, red torrent. Narova pulled some cloth from her pocket and wadded a piece into each nostril.

Then she picked up Kreeves’ spear and walked towards the door.


11 comments on “Death Comes to Markarth

  1. Elspeth Aurilie
    January 10, 2013

    Oh gods, I really, really thought you were going to kill her. Excellent work.

    • Fargoth
      January 10, 2013

      The thought crossed my mind!

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This entry was posted on January 9, 2013 by in Skyrim Fiction, Tales of Narova Black Hair and tagged , .
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