Bus Ride Fantasy

Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More

The First Dead Fox

The Swamp Magic

READ THE PREVIOUS STORY IN THIS SERIES

“You’re doing it wrong,” Beyte said, crossing her arms.

“What’s the right way to stand hip-deep in a swamp and do magic?” Narova asked.

“The opposite of what you’re doing right now.”

Narova glared up at the Dunmer. “You’re just about the worst teacher I’ve ever had, you know. And I had a gangleader who made me suck his cock every time I botched a pickpocket try.”

“Trust me, I’m not putting anything of mine into your filthy mouth.”

Garland cleared his throat. “If we could focus on the task at hand?” he offered.

They were all waist-deep in the water. According to Beyte, the water made it easier, although she hadn’t said why.

“Fine. Watch me again.” Beyte uncrossed her arms and held them out. “It’s like…remembering someone’s face, but you’re remembering entire moments of your past. It must be clear in your mind—as many details as you can summon. You close your eyes if that helps.” Beyte’s eyes disappeared behind gray lids. “Pick a specific symbol—or group of symbols—that I tattooed to your body, and bring the moment behind them into your mind’s eye. I’ll choose the first fox I ever killed.”

Immediately, the profile of a snow fox along her left shoulder began to trot in place—eye narrowed and ear perked. “The way he moved…smelled.” Beyte took a breath in through her nose. “And the way it felt to have my palm on his tiny chest when he died.”

The air around Beyte’s fist began to shimmer—the way a cobbled road does in the heat of summer. “Then you take that feeling—the power of the memory—and use it.”

Beyte’s fist shot forward like a crossbow bolt, and a blast of rippled air the size of a small stone erupted along the line of her arm—water flying up on either side of the shockwave. A gentle storm of putrid mist fell on the three of them.

“The power pulls from the dark places of our lives,” Beyte said, softer now. “Lust and rage. Anger and guilt. Hate.”

Her red eyes flicked over to Narova.

“Which makes me wonder why you’re having so much trouble figuring this out.”

Narova resisted the urge to brain the bitch on the spot.

“I’ll try again,” she said instead. Closing her eyes.

Lust and rage and anger and guilt, which to try? Rage. Let’s try rage.

“Speak it aloud,” Beyte reminded her.

“When I found out Festus was dead,” Narova whispered. “There were…trees. I was in the Pine Forest. Excited to almost be home—”

“Skip ahead.”

Narova frowned at Beyte’s harsh orders.

“You must find the height of the moment,” Garland said. Voice far more gentle. “When it overwhelmed you, and your veins were filled with venom instead of blood.”

Narova paused. Thought back.

“I went to Dead Man’s Drink. Placed smelled like piss and sawdust. The ale tasted about the same.”

She felt movement on her skin, just above her left shoulder. Like there was a bug or an insect trying to burrow into her skin.

“Good,” Garland whispered. “More.”

“That idiot Lod sitting next to me. Teeth all brown and rotting. I could smell his wretched lust rising as he talked about my tight cunny and his big cock.”

Narova gritted her teeth. More of her skin started to crawl. The tiny claws of her tattoos skittering down her forearm.

“And I thought about Festus, who was dead, and all the shitty people in the world who were still alive. And how much I wanted to knock Lod’s teeth down his throat and laugh at him while he died.”

Her skin ignited. A heat so scorching it made a blacksmith’s forge feel like a candle. Narova kept her eyes closed and thought of how good it felt to mash the pommel of her sword into that oaf’s face. She thought about all the soldiers she killed that day, too.

And things just got hotter.

There was a popping noise, and then deafened slice. A strange feeling below her waist. Then a mugginess to the air and a vague sizzling sound.

Narova opened her eyes.

The water they’d stood in was gone. Boiled away to nothing in the space of a heartbeat. Garland and Beyte were drenched, but whether it was sweat or water was hard to tell.

“That’s more like it,” Beyte said softly.

“How many of her tattoos did she use?” Garland asked. “I saw two…maybe three.”

“Three.” Beyte’s tone did not leave the door of argument open.

Narova looked down at her arm. There were over a hundred symbols drawn on her in one place or another. An entire arm and half her torso.

“What happens if I activated them all at once?” Narova asked.

Beyte smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

Narova frowned. “The Geyser?”

The Dunmer nodded.

All three of them stared at each other for a few moments, weighing that thought.

“We need to leave this swamp,” Beyte said. “There are things in my father’s tower that I require.”

“Aye,” Garland scratched at a bit of dried mud on his neck. “It was feeling a bit cramped with you two here. I’ll be glad for some peace and—”

But he never got to finish his crotchety thought, because a spear erupted from his chest. The blue, mechanical blood of the Dwemer heart leaking out from him like honey spilled from a cracked jar. Garland’s smiled faded some.

“Oh…” he mumbled. Then fell over in a wet, dead heap.

From the corner of her eye, Narova saw the flicker of a mud-wrapped tail.

The Argonian had found her.

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4 comments on “The First Dead Fox

  1. Carlos
    June 26, 2013

    Wow, I’m surprised no one has left a comment yet. What a great way to end a greater chapter. Thank you

    • Fargoth
      June 26, 2013

      Thanks! This one was one my favorites to write….but also hard because I really liked Garland.

  2. Pingback: Mud and Rage | Bus Ride Fantasy

  3. Pingback: Revenge in the Summerset Isles: Part II | Bus Ride Fantasy

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This entry was posted on June 24, 2013 by in Skyrim Fiction, Tales of Narova Black Hair and tagged , .
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