Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
“You’ve returned,” Divayth Fyr said.
He was sitting in an ornate chair carved from Telvanni Oak. He wore the same set of Daedric armor he had when I last saw him, almost three hundred years ago. The breastplate and pauldrons were enameled with black and red—a dark contrast to his ash skin and bone-white hair.
You’d think the wizard would have learned some humility in four-thousand years. But no. He insisted on wearing full battle armor everywhere he went as if he was Uriel Septim.
“I looked for you in Morrowind,” I said.
“I was not there.”
Behind Divayth, two massive stained glass windows revealed a breathtaking view of Solitude. He had claimed an old tower on the outskirts of the city as his own. It seemed like a sad imitation of Tel Fyr, but we are all a victim to fate’s circumstances, I suppose.
I let the room fill with silence. Thumbed the hilt of my Akaviri katana, just to make Divayth nervous.
Even great Telvanni wizards must fear the Godslayer.
“What do you want, Nerevarine?” Divayth asked finally, when he could bear the silence no longer. “I can’t imagine you crossed the Great Eastern Sea just to say hello to me.”
“You and Akavarin are disturbing the peace of my retirement. I’ve come to see what all the fuss is about.”
He seemed to relax at that. I suppose he thought I might have come back just to kill him. Revenge for the whole “Corprus-cure-turned-immortality” thing.
“I see. Yes, there has been some excitement. Akavarin has built a city underground and populated it with Falmer resurrections.”
“I haven’t seen it, of course,” Divayth said nonchalantly. “But if the energy it’s emitting is any indicator, I’d say Akaravin’s realm is about the size of Sotha Sil’s Clockwork City.”
“The Clockwork City was larger than all of Mournhold. It took me four days to find Sotha’s rotting corpse in that place.”
Divayth shrugged. “It could be bigger. Won’t know until I get down there and have a look.”
Wizards and necromancers—always building or plotting something.
“Why are you interested in Akavarin’s city?” I asked.
Divayth grunted. “I can’t express concern when the most powerful necromancer in all of Tamriel decides to rebuild his dark empire of old?”
“I could barely get you to bother helping me save all of Vvardenfell from complete destruction. There has to be something else, otherwise you’d be off in the Summerset Isles fucking Altmer girls.”
Divayth stroked his white goatee thoughtfully. I could tell he was trying to decide whether or not he could get away with lying to me.
“Funny you should mention that,” he said. “I helped you save Vvardenfell, but it was destroyed anyway. Reduced to a burning pile of ash, despite our heroic efforts. Time, it seems, is more powerful than both of us. Perhaps I should just pack up all of this,” he motioned around the room, “and depart for warmer weather and some elven cunt.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I pointed out.
He laughed at that, but I could sense his fear. It leaked from his pores like sweat leaks from a hunted animal.
I had forgotten how much everyone feared me—how good it felt to hold that power over people again.
“Akavarin has…dug something up. A Dwemer artifact that I would like to have.”
“What does it do?”
Divayth rolled his eyes. “I have a great respect for you, Nerevarine. And this little visit has reminded me what a colorful, exciting life you’ve led. But you simply wouldn’t be able to understand the answer to that question. Even Akavarin—the only living soul who comes close to rivaling my knowledge—doesn’t know what it does.”
“But you do?”
“I know enough to know Akavarin should not have it. How’s that?”
“It’s thin, Divayth. Almost as thin as when you said you knew enough to brew a cure for Corprus.”
“That again?” he waved a hand at me. “Do you know how many people would commit a genocide to be given the gift I accidentally bestowed upon you? Why is it that you’ve scorned your immortality?”
I shrugged. “Everyone just repeats the same mistakes. Over and over again. I grow…tired of watching them. Civilization is like a poorly managed circus.”
“Says the two-hundred year old man. You’re an infant. You know nothing of weariness.”
There are few things that irritate me faster than a condescending wizard.
“Tell me what the artifact does, Divayth, or I am going to kill you.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, but he couldn’t hide the stink of his fear.
“I believe that it can be adjusted to provide me unlimited access to the Netherworld—the ability to traverse that dark plain without making the…sacrifices that Akavarin has made. He has forsaken his soul and only really managed a glimpse at the Netherworld. That artifact is a map and a skeleton key, all wrapped into one.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s a Dwemer design. Yagrum Bagarn told me, of course. It was one of the most closely guarded secrets of his people, before they all disappeared in a puff of smoke, that is. Flew a little too close to the fire. I won’t make the same mistake.”
“Where is the fat dwarf, anyway?”
“Oh, he’s around.” Divayth smiled deviously. I could tell that he wanted me to ask more, but the truth was I didn’t really care where that sack of shit was. If I saw him again, I intended to kill him, but I wouldn’t go a step out of my way to end his miserable life.
When I didn’t say anything, Divayth continued on his own. “So, now that you know what we’re up to, what do you intend to do?”
“Think I’ll accompany you down to this second Clockwork City. See if I can’t shut up the infernal racket coming from Akavarin’s meddling.”
Divayth sighed. “I figured as much. Well, suit yourself—I won’t try to stop you. I still need a few more days to prepare, the artifact is not easy to handle. There’s plenty of room in the tower…” he trailed off, motioning idly to the door behind me. “Pass the time however you wish.”
I turned to leave. Took three steps towards the door.
“Another thing,” Divayth said, sighing even heavier this time.
I stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“My daughter, Beyte, would like to see you. She…felt your arrival even before I did. You’ll find her down in the gardens. I told her we’d only be here for a few weeks, but she insisted on planting things. She always does.”
“Yes, she does,” I said, and then kept walking through the door.
Beyte: probably a better reason to have crossed the Great Eastern Sea than anything to do with wizards and necromancers.