Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
Asriel had rented a large set of apartments that overlooked the small cove. Nothing but windows on the eastern wall. Narova watched him for two days from those rooftops, making sure he wasn’t baiting her into a trap.
He spent his entire day in a coffeehouse three blocks away from his rented rooms. The Dunmer ordered a large ceramic pot of coffee each morning, and passed the hours by transferring the steaming beverage into a small mug and taking small, dainty sips like a bitchy princess.
He took meetings with several different people both days. Narova couldn’t get close enough to eavesdrop on their business, but they were all Altmer with the imperious look of low-ranking bureaucrats plastered on their faces. Happy cogs in a system that was so much larger than themselves, they were fooled into believing they spun in the center of it.
Between the meetings, Asriel leafed through a small book of riddles and worked subtle charms on the pretty Altmer that managed the coffeehouse.
Narova figured he’d only need one more day at the coffeehouse to take her to bed, so at three o’clock in morning on the second night she snuck into Asriel’s apartments.
If you could call it sneaking, anyway. The idiot left the windows open.
She unwrapped one bandage from her right arm—about three yards worth of fabric—and balled it into her left fist. Then she held her right hand overtop the Dunmer’s sleeping chest and activated a tattoo by thinking of the first time she’d ridden one of the migratory trees of Vallenwood, when she’d just been a simple huntress.
Not a thief or assassin or mage or…whatever she was now.
The air above Asriel’s chest rippled. Then his liver exploded from his abdomen, the bloody organ flying into Narova’s open hand.
Asriel’s red eyes popped open—along with his mouth—but Narova stuffed it with the entire silk bandage in her left hand before he managed to eke out a proper scream. All he got out was a muffled kind of terror.
“Liver looks much better,” Narova said, turning it over to inspect it. “It’s simply amazing what healers can do these days, isn’t it?”
Asriel’s clutched the gaping hole in his chest. It took both hands to cover the wound.
“Holding in the rest won’t do you much good. I’ve taken the good parts.” Narova jiggled the liver once, then tossed it over her shoulder. She got the tattoo of a cloud-filled night to shimmer a bit on her collarbone, and used the energy to pin Asriel down by his wrists and ankles.
Then Narova bent down so she was eye-level with Asriel. He kept moaning but his eyes followed here. He hadn’t gone into shock yet.
“You’re going to die in the next five minutes, Dunmer,” she said quietly.
“You don’t get final words,” Narova continued. “No insults or spiteful curses on my soul. Kreeves earned his last words, but all you get is this painful, anti-climactic death.”
He struggled against the power of Narova’s perfectly controlled bonds. Didn’t get anywhere.
“You caused me a great inconvenience, Asriel. I wonder why you did it—and why you left that magical block up after you fled Skyrim…” she trailed off, looked at his panic-filled eyes and saw him trying to plead through them.
She felt him trying to work his Charms on her, too. Those wouldn’t work.
“But I don’t care enough to take that silk out of your mouth and ask you. I want your life to end with the taste of my sweat in your mouth. Now fuck off and die.”
A few more muffled moan later, and he obeyed.
Narova stood, lifted her arms over her head and stretched her back. Craned her neck to the left so it cracked. Then to the right.
Then she took a deep breath and cast the familiar shroud of invisibility on herself.
Getting back to Skyrim was going to be a bitch, but at least she wouldn’t have to hide in a cargo hold this time.