Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
Word got around about the extermination of Fort Leviathan.
I rented out a shithole apartment in Markarth for a week while the rumors spread. Spent the entire time drunk, staring at the ceiling and dividing my attention between activating each of my 147 tattoos one at time, and masturbating.
Fucking tattoos. The horniness is endless.
The tattoo part was good practice, though. Beyte had put a whole bunch of intricate work into the migratory forests of Vallenwood (my childhood, basically) and it took precision to really use them. One of the trees runs all the way down my spine—wreathed with moss and vines and flowers. Each piece of the tree—which I named Terra, after my mother—adds a little bit of extra punch.
And a three-thousand year old tree festooned with growth has some serious potential.
It’s all about the number of memories I need to juggle. The Terra tree is just one memory, but it’s a fucking powerful one. Activating the entire thing would have been enough to destroy that fort, but cost a fraction of the effort because I only have to remember the tree, instead of 20 other experiences.
Good information to have for future massacres.
And no, I won’t go into detail about the other half of my time. Use your imagination.
Seven days after I destroyed every soul in Fort Leviathan, I sobered up and walked back to the Sanctuary. There was a new door installed already, which was impressive. Those things are expensive. I placed my palm on the wood.
“Don’t screw with me, door.” I whispered. “Your predecessor tried that and wound up in splinters.”
Some hesitation, and then finally: “Enter, Narova.”
There was some progress. At least the door respects me.
The Family was impressed, too. I got plenty of devilish smiles and evil congratulations.
“Heard you turned Leviathan into a pile of meat and pebbles,” said Nazir. “Nice.”
“A half legion, plus the mage and the commander,” said Babbet. Her math was impeccable, I’ll give her that. “That means your body count is catching up to mine.”
“Narova…” Babette clucked her tongue. “That’s a very personal question.”
I made my way through the passageways and stairwells of the sanctuary. The place seemed to go on forever, and everywhere I turned there was a new face. Fresh assassins wearing immaculate armor.
Astrid was expanding.
When I reached a landing that was who-the-fuck knows how far from the ground, Veezara emerged from a shadow and pulled me aside.
“There’s been word from Arnbjorn,” the Argonian said quietly. “He’s in Solstheim on an extended contract. Two months, maybe three.”
“Who put him up to that?”
“Who do you think?” Veezara rolled his lizard eyes upwards, towards Astrid’s chambers a few floors above.
“Is it dangerous?” I asked. “The contract?”
“No,” Veezara said quickly, in a tone that made me believe he was on my side. “Just time consuming. He is pretending to be an inept bodyguard for a wealthy merchant in Raven Rock. Building credibility. Or, a lack of it, anyway. The merchant wants to draw his would-be assassins to him, then have Arnbjorn kill them. But it will be a while before the plan…blooms.”
I thought about all of this. It seemed a little convenient, the shadowy rendezvous and everything. Maybe this lizard wasn’t on my side.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
Vezzara blinked. Then shrugged. “Because I am the last one.”
“The last what?”
“Shadowscale. My order will be extinguished after my heart quits. But you…” He looked at me hard, appraising me with those reptilian eyes. “You are the start of a new order. And that means something to me. I want to help you.”
“Fair enough.” I bow my head a little in acceptance. I don’t trust him, but I’ll give him some slack for now. “We’re allies, then.”
“Yes. Allies.” Then he turns and heads down the stairs.
I continue up.
So Astrid sent Arnbjorn away. That was pretty predictable. She knows we’re fucking—and she knows I’m dangerous—always best to remove one problematic part of a combination before you deal with the other.
So I figured it was best to try something…unpredictable.
When I entered her chambers, Astrid was lounging in that same throne-chair thing I’d last seen her in.
“Narova,” she said. Voice flat.
“Heard about Leviathan,” she said.
“You and everyone else.”
She smiled, crooked and devious. “I understand what you’re doing, elf. You’re not half as clever as you think you are.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t really a subtle kind of plan. Why don’t we just be straight with each other?”
She glared at me for a little while, then motioned for me to continue.
“I want to kill for the Dark Brotherhood. And that means killing for you. I want Tamriel to fear us again. And that means accepting your rule. I want to fuck Arnbjorn when he comes back. And that means we need to come to an arrangement.”
Astrid drummed two fingers against the throne-chair several times. “And what arrangement would that be?”
I sniffed. Didn’t even need to create an air current to smell her pussy getting wet. Gods, she was almost as horny as I was.
“I was thinking we could fuck each other like animals, for a start. Then make peace.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Take off that silk, then. Let’s see these tattoos everyone is talking about.”