Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
I made the poison that was meant to kill Narova Blackhair.
She is a calamity that has descended upon Skyrim. Tossed our snowy country’s delicate balance on its ass.
Chaos. Narova’s true name is chaos.
So yes, I made the venom—and I placed it into the hand of an extremely well-paying Thalmor. But I did not want to see her perish. Not truly.
Chaos can have value. Chaos can be beautiful.
So I followed that score of golden-skinned operatives after they left my apothecary in the wilderness. Perhaps it was curiosity—more than anything else—that guided me. If it was going to be Narova’s time, I wanted to be a witness.
Of course, I drenched the apothecary with oil and set it on fire before I left.
That workshop was my home for seventy-seven years. But if a dogmatic, avarice-fueled organization like the Thalmor knew where to find me, I obviously needed to redefine my notion of a safe place.
Those twenty Thalmor were a crafty group. I was unaware that the Aldmeri Dominion employed such talented assassins. They picked up Narova’s meandering path two day’s outside of Falkreath. Three men followed her trail while the other seventeen took four days to circle around and set a trap with a bamboo needle and my poison.
How they figured out exactly where she’d lay those bare feet, I do not know. That is a mystery.
But my biggest surprise came when I watched all twenty of them strip down naked and cake themselves in the mud from a creek bed. They rubbed the mud into their hair and between their legs—where the scent is strongest—and then left their golden armor lying in a big pile beneath some undergrowth.
It’s probably still there.
Killing a member of the Dark Brotherhood takes some tradecraft, I suppose. Now I have a new worry to add to the list: that these twenty killers were just the tip of a very long blade that is gripped by the shadowy leaders of the Aldmeri Dominion.
And they are in the process of thrusting their weapon into the heart of Skyrim. My home.
But perhaps I worry too much. For all of their skill and preparation, the Thalmor still managed to botch the kill.
They took their shots before Narova’s tattoos were entirely frozen.
A moment of carelessness that ended twenty lives.
Life is funny like that. You can spend your whole life trying to master a single craft. Those men were probably the best trackers and crossbowmen in Skyrim. Maybe in all of Tamriel. But one of them squeezed down on his trigger a few heartbeats too early.
And it meant darkness for all of them.
Still, the botched ambush managed a great deal of damage.
They left Narova on the ground. Her life leaking away onto the forest floor.
And there I was. Morlanus, the patient brewer of poisons, left with a decision.
Do I help Narova Blackhair? Or do I let her die amongst the pine trees that she loves so much?