Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
The underground ruin stretched out for miles.
Mordred walked through the narrow passageways and massive halls—wrinkling his nose at the damp smell and the crumbling brick. The walls were festooned with moss and ivy and mushrooms. The ground was wet and slick beneath his feet.
And in every dark corner, there were the Falmer.
Twisted creatures. Mordred did not care for them. Their blindness made them difficult resurrections to control, and their base nature made them unpredictable in a battle. One moment they’re fighting for you, the next they’ve wandered off to gnaw at a bone or hump some corpse.
Yet, Akavarin had turned an entire ruin of them into his minions.
Strange. Strange and unsettling. Mordred had never known his Master to put much stock in creatures of the deep. He preferred birds and beasts—fast moving allies who could keep a watch on the world for him. Let him know what was coming.
But there was no mistaking Akavarin’s presence further below. Mordred felt his Master’s power growing stronger with each step he took—heard his summons in the back of his mind.
“Closer, closer,” it called. “Return to me.”
What could the great Akavarin want down here among this destroyed civilization? Mordred did not know. Although after what happened on Solstheim, he could start to guess. There was more to the Morathi Covenant than he knew. Much more.
Mordred found his Master seated behind a massive stone table in dining hall. The smoking skeleton of a Centurion was heaped in one corner, no doubt destroyed by Akavarin. Countless Falmer zombies huddled in the shadows—grunting and groaning and waiting to do his bidding.
“You’re being followed,” his Master said. His voice barely above a whisper.
Mordred frowned. He had felt the assassin tracking him, of course, but didn’t think he’d have had the courage to follow him down here.
“I had planned on dealing with him on the surface, after we spoke,” Mordred said.
“It would seem Sithis’ dog has made other plans. He comes closer.”
“The Falmer can’t stop him?”
Akavarin grunted, and all at once the blind, deadened eyes of the Falmer in the room locked onto him. “I did not raise these creatures to clean up your mess. They have another purpose.”
That made Mordred uneasy. “Shall I deal with the assassin now, and return?” he offered.
“No.” Akavarin voiced was final. “Tell me about Neloth, then kill him.”
Mordred shrugged, relaxing a bit. “It would seem that Divayth Fyr has found a map of some kind to the Netherworld. He’s looking for something, although Neloth didn’t know what. Just that Hermaeus Mora was involved.”
“Mora…hmmm.” That seemed to give Akavarin pause. “Fyr always was thirsty for knowledge. Knowledge and power. What does he want with the Morathi Covenant?”
“Neloth said that…” Mordred paused, unsure of how best to continue. “We are in the way.”
Akavarin’s red eyes burned. He said nothing.
“Perhaps something we’ve been guarding?” Mordred ventured.
Another long silence. One of the Falmer made a grotesque sucking noise with its mouth.
“Guarding is not the word I would use.” Akavarin glanced around the room. “The assassin draws near. Put an end to him, and then meet me below.”
“How far below?”
Akavarin smiled. A deeply unsettling expression.
His Master stood up and disappeared down a dug-out Falmer tunnel. The sound of his minions following after him filled the hall. A hundred deformed and dirty feet shuffling into the earth—gone to perform some unknown and dubious purpose.
When it was silent again, Mordred closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. The assassin’s magic felt strong—like a flood of water coming inexorably towards him.
Best stay focused.
He entered the room under the blanket of invisibility. Footsteps muffled with another feeble spell. Mordred sighed, and then sent a ball of fire hurtling towards the assassin’s chest.
Surprisingly, he managed to deflect it into a wall. A cloud of dust and singed rock puffed into the air, and the man materialized.
An imperial with a wrinkled and weather-beaten faced. He wore the black and red robes of the Dark Brotherhood. Mordred had never met one before, but he knew what they looked like.
A servant of Sithis.
“You should not have come down here, interloper,” Mordred said.
The old man shrugged. “Yet here I am.”
Mordred eyed him curiously. “Who sent you? Divayth Fyr?”
There was the smallest flicker of recognition in the old man’s eyes—a moment of panic that he suppressed as soon as it appeared.
Divayth hadn’t sent him, that was clear, but this shadow of a wizard knew enough to know he was never going to see the light of day again.
“Sithis sent me,” he said.
“Of course.” Mordred took a step towards the center of the room. “Let’s have it then.”
The old man frowned, summoning the magic inside of him. He had some skill, Mordred had to admit. The energy was pulled from the moist air and the old stones, filling the man’s old body with the power of destruction.
The assassin moved forward, and Mordred came to meet him.