BY : bobbyT000
Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Oblivion
Dragon prints: 952
Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls or any part of it, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

  Rays of hot sunlight beat down on the bailey, causing even the Daedric Prince of Madness to sweat under his purple finery. Of course, a daedric prince had no need to perspire, but Sheogorath liked to show his worshipers he possessed at least a few traits in common with mortals. Flanking him were Aureals and Mazken, each of them on their respective sides of the courtyard belonging to Mania or Dementia. In the centre of the courtyard, on her knees with arms strung up to a wooden frame, was a naked and quite attractive Imperial woman named Alessarulia. Alessa for short. Her raven hair was usually kept up in a bun but today it fell to her shoulders in a dishevelled mess. Sheogorath's gaze often drifted to her breasts, the perfect size to fill a groping hand, and other areas of her voluptuous body.
  “Today we have a criminal in our midst,” he shouted to the crowd gathered at the bottom of the bailey's marble steps. “Her crime,” he let his words settle over the throng, “is sanity!”
  Heads shook and gasps sprung up from the people. The mothers in the crowd covered their children's ears with squalid hands.
  “We must decide… hmmm, no,” the daedric prince snickered, “we must let her decide, whether or not she is guilty of this heinousness.”
  There were shouts for setting her ablaze, disembowelment, throwing her from the wall, and giving her to the Scalon Pit. The latter of which Alessa particularity didn't like the sound of.
  Sheogorath held up his hands to silence them, “There will be many opportunities for all of those things,” he said cheerfully. “But no, we must let this one decide her own fate. I have seen this,” Sheogorath emphasized his precognition by using his fingers to pry open his eyelids.
  Silence fell upon the bailey.
  “What will you do Prince Sheogorath?” came a baritone voice from the crowd.
  The daedric prince scratched his scalp in thought. He walked around to stand behind Alessa and studied her backside before splaying his fingers and slapping her ass as hard as he could. The flesh of her now rosy cheek bounced back into shape faster than he saw it jiggle. He sighed, nodding  in affirmation to an unarticulated thought, and turned to face his audience, “Aichan! She must go to Aichan. The prisoner will test her, she won't be able to hide from herself there!”
  The crowd remained silent, some scowling. Imprisonment meant that they didn't get to see her die in consummate agony.
Sheogorath gestured to his Aureals, who ran to the edge of the steps and drew golden swords. The change in the crowds demeanour was immediate, instead of their previous grim silence they affected a cheer. Another gesture from the daedric prince had the Mazken releasing Alessa and bringing her to stand before their mad sovereign.
  “I don't know if you're truly guilty of sanity,” he began, “but I certainly think you are. I'm not so good at that sometimes though,” Sheogorath had to stop to release a fit of giggles. “So, my sweet imperial, Aichan will know the truth. Aichan is our prison. Those who are not guilty are able to escape, but those who are guilty do not escape. Understood?”
  Alessa nodded weakly, wanting nothing more than to be back in Cyrodiil.
  “Your crime was quite heinous you know,” he added on. “Who in there right mind reads a map to find there way around!? HA! It makes no sense really.”
  The Mazken nearest her raised a gauntleted fist and Alessarulia’s world went black.


  The faint clanking of chains was the first sound that registered. Bits and pieces of her senses were returning to her but she might have rather stayed unconscious. A headache that threatened to tear her skull in two sent waves of throbbing pain into her already hazy thoughts. She was being dragged backwards by the arms along damp stone; her heels scraping along the floor had left them bloody and raw.
  “She awake,” came the guttural voice of a grumite.
  Alessa was hauled up to her feet by the two humanoid toad-like creatures that had been dragging her along, “You walk now,” ordered the first speaker.
  She did as she was told, although every step she took sent spears of pain through her feet. The grumites led her past cells holding all sorts of species, from exotic creatures to the native races of Tamriel. Some were dead, others were huddled on the floor muttering to themselves. Those who weren't dead or mad probably wished they were. One of the cells they passed contained a naked Breton woman and a dark elf who looked to be her captor, or at least a prison guard. The elf had his breeches around his ankles and the woman held his enlarged cock in her hands. With reluctance she slid it in to her mouth and began working it like an instrument. The elf groaned and grabbed a handful of her hair. When she tried to pull back he held her there until she began to choke and turn red in the face. The elf became more aggressive as her distress became obvious, forcing himself down her throat until her eyes watered and she began producing strangled little gasps for air. Finally she was able to pull away, tears streaming down her face, and scarfing down air as quickly as the viscid white semen clinging  to her lips would allow. The dark elf beamed at the sight and, after forcing her to lick his balls, shoved his cock so far down her gullet that her eyes bulged and her body heaved from gagging. 
  The grumites laughed as Alessa watched in horror.
  “Hope you like cock,” one of them jeered. She was shoved from behind so hard she stumbled and fell to one knee.
  “Get up!” her second captor shrieked, he delivered a hard kick to her rear to get her going.
  The trio came to a hallway lined with bodies suspended on posts by every conceivable body part and then some. Male cadavers hung, upside down and sometimes legless, by hooks driven crudely through their genitals while the female cadavers dangled from breast hooks or were propped up by pikes shoved into their orifices.
  The final site they came across before she was thrown in her own cell was a pit filled with putrid water and bloated torsos. Every once in awhile a slimy baliwog could be glimpsed moving beneath the surface, these movements were usually followed by the bobbing of a torso as the creature picked at the flesh. The stink of the pit had made Alessa vomit.
  Her jailors left her sprawled out on the old straw that blanketed her confines. Alessa wept, unable to stop the flow of tears and emotions that left her prone and sniffling on the cold floor. Nothing in the legion’s rigorous training had prepared her for this.
  She couldn't become just another mutilated body on a spike or food for the grumite’s wretched offspring.
  She wouldn't.


  “You look like shit.”
  Alessa glanced up from her knees, which she had hugged against herself leaning back against a corner of the cell. The oscine voice belonged to a young bosmer woman with dreadlocks the color of wheat and inquisitive blue eyes. She was naked like Alessa, but unlike Alessa she had a willowy figure and her breasts were mere buds of flesh under her perky pink nipples. Even so, Alessa found the sylph-like woman pleasing to the eyes.
  “How long have you been in here?” she asked.
  Alessa shook her head, “Maybe a couple of days,” her own voice sounded foreign and hoarse. “I can't tell for sure.”
  The wood elf pouted, “You're such a beautiful woman to be stuck in a place like this.” She glanced around the chamber to see a jug of stinking water and a refuse pot shoved into the opposite corner of the cell. Alessa shifted awkwardly when her visitors eyes lighted on the gradually filling pot.
  “Would you like me to bathe you?” continued the bosmer, procuring a key.
  Alessa gave her s skeptical look.
  “I'm serious, you can't just wallow in your own filth.”
  “What are you bathing me for?” the imperial asked.
  The wood elf smiled, “To see the masters of course.”
  Alessa’s heart skipped a beat. “And why would ‘the masters’ want to see me?”
  “To determine the manner in which you'll die,” she smiled, “obviously”. She placed a hand on her waist and cocked her hips, “My name is Vlachel.”
  Alessa was determined not to show her unease or the cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck, “Are you a prisoner too?”
  Vlachel shook her head, making her dreadlocks bounce. “No,” she began, “and yes. I am a prisoner but I'm granted amnesty from my punishments for helping to take care of other prisoners.”
  “So?” Vlachel put her hands on the bars again and leaned in, “Will you let me bathe you?”
  Alessa hesitated but eventually nodded and allowed the bosmer to enter. The first thing Vlachel did after bringing in a basin and cloth was crouch down, raise Alessa's chin, and kiss her passionately. She didn't seem to mind that Alessa was dirty or that she smelt like a sty. A second kiss, with more tongue this time, immediately followed the first. Vlachel smelt of lilies and tasted like sweet wine. Alessa felt herself growing moist between her legs but Vlachel suddenly broke the embrace and reached for the cloth. There was a moment of light-headedness and then a warmth that washed away all of her aches and pains.
  “Feeling better?” asked the bosmer, liberally soaking the cloth and starting to wipe the dirt from Alessa's body.
  “Much better, thanks,” she replied, wondering if there had been an analgesic balm on her lips. A part of her hoped that the kiss was genuine even if that were the case.
  Vlachel wrung out the rag over Alessa's head and let the water trickle in rivulets down her smooth, unblemished skin. It felt wonderful to be given even these minor ministrations after her run of bad luck. Alessa closed her eyes and let the bosmer do her work, feeling every fibre of the cloth brush over her until it came to rest on the spot between her legs. The scrubbing stopped here and was replaced with gentle circular motions that seemed to be targeting her clit. The sensations this elicited had Alessa moaning softly and squeezing her own breast. Vlachel bade her to lay on her stomach on the straw and started wiping down her ass. When she finished Vlachel spread her patient's cheeks and, seconds later, Alessa a warm, wet tongue rimming her sphincter. She moaned, louder this time, and arched her back to better present her rear.
  The rimming soon changed to quick flicks along her hole. Alessa was vocalizing her pleasure more consistently now, especially when Vlachel began fingering her pussy. This continued for a moment until Alessa's whole body trembled and she arched her back as several orgasmic jolts wracked her body.
  “How was that?” asked to bosmer, laying down next to her in the straw.
  Alessa took a few deep breaths, she'd enjoyed that immensely but all that came out when she tried to say as much was a shaky but contented sigh.. She rested a hand of the bosmer’s flat stomach and kissed her, inching her hand down towards the elf's shaven slit. Alessa herself was smooth down there as well, thankfully she had decided to do it before setting out to the isles.
  “Can I return the favor?”
  Vlachel smiled coquettishly, “Later perhaps, we wouldn't want to keep the masters waiting.”
  Alessa must have looked crestfallen, this elf had brought her to a sexual high the likes of which she hadn't experianced in awhile and wasn't allowing her to reciprocate. There was nothing more she wanted then to bury her tongue between the bosmer's legs.
  Alessa truly hoped that she wouldn't have to hurt Vlachel making her escape.
  Bosmer and imperial stood, sharing one more kiss before Vlachel collected the basin and motioned for Alessa to follow after shackling her prisoner. They walked in silence through hallways, down flights of stairs, and through gates that slid up into the ceiling to allow them passage. Alessa followed her guide for awhile, it felt good to walk out in the open instead of pacing in her cell, until they came to a heavy set of oaken double doors.
  It was here the bosmer stopped. “We may be lucky enough to see the execution I've been hearing about,” she said eagerly. Vlachel set a hand on the doors latch and silently pushed her way in. The chamber they entered was circular, pillars were set in regular intervals around the circumference of the room. At the back of the room were three chairs occupied by dark elves, presumably the masters Vlachel spoke of. Dozens upon dozens of candles provided light, especially around the scene that occupied the centre of the chamber. A stunning russet haired breton hung suspended from her shackled wrists that ran through a pulley on the ceiling. An iron bar kept her legs open. Alessa's eyes drifted over her athletic form, each muscle was perfectly toned and her alabaster skin glistening from sweat. The masters looked up to beckon them in and turned their attention back to the breton. The middle dunmer gestured to a horrifying twelve-foot creature, appearing to be stitched together from the flesh of other things, holding the chain. Noislessly, without even acnknoledging the masters, it began lowering the woman on to the sharpened post beneath her. The Breton didn't give her captors any satisfaction by begging for her life until her bladder involuntarily released. Alessa felt horrible for her but Vlachel seemed almost giddy. Two baliwog's positioned her suspended body so that the slim spike hovered inches below her vaginal opening. There was a pause that seemed to linger until the monster holding the chain slowly lowered her once more. The woman whimpered as the spike entered her. Alessa could see her beginning to shake now, more so as the skewer slid deeper inside her.
  Then the screaming began.
  Alessa's stomach turned as she watched a trickle of blood run down the spike that was penetrating things beyond what the doomed breton's vaginal canal allowed. The breton vainly thrashed about as her screams rose to a chilling crescendo and the trickles of blood became a river that washed down her legs. After what seemed like far too long the screaming stopped, suddenly, and the breton's eyes became glazed with sheer agony. There was a moment of stillness and sickening gurgle before the woman was wrought with convulsions. The paroxysm ended as quickly as it began and the breton went still but for a final twitch or two. Alessa continued to watch, disgusted, as the skewer burst out of her mouth accompanied by a spray of dark blood. The woman was dead, of that she had no doubt, but she couldn't help stare at the breton's faintly palsied hands. Even those grew still after a moment though.
  Alessa felt tears running down her cheeks.
  Vlachel clapped her hands together and giggled, “Wasn't that fun?”
  “Is this the new prisoner?” asked the middle dark elf, a woman with ruddy hair tied into a messy bun and piercing eyes.
  Vlachel nodded once ushered Alessa forward. “She is,” replied the bosmer. “The imperial from Cyrodiil.”
  “What brought you here, imperial? Why did you venture to the Shivering Isles?”
  Alessa peeled her gaze from the mutilated breton to regard the murderous elves, “I was sent-” she paused to reign in her composure, “I was sent by my superiors to investigate a portal that opened on the Niben Bay. It led me here.”
  The dunmer nodded and entwined her fingers in thought, “I don't know of this Niben Bay, but I do know that your crimes are serious. This breton,” she inclined her hear towards the impaled cadaver, “committed similar crimes. What do you have to say in your defense?”
  Alessa furrowed her brow, “Is this a trial?”
  “No. This is an examination before a judicial tribunal to ascertain your guilt or innocence by due process of law.”
  “That's a trial.”
  “Don't argue with them,” Vlachel hissed under her breath.
  The dunmer woman stood then, scowling, addressed the bosmer “Vlachel, do take this half-wit back to her cell and teach her to respect authority,” and then to Alessa, “we shall discuss the manner of your death. Meanwhile reflect on your actions, imperial.”


  Dying here was not an option. Alessa paced her cell, her thoughts dwelling on the breton and angered by the thought of the attractive, sane woman’s beautiful body rotting; being slowly consumed in the mire of baliwog offspring. What a terrible way to go. She was disgusted.
  Vlachel had freed her of her bonds on the walk back to the cell, thinking her spirit broken and the spark of defiance within her extinguished. The elf was sadly mistaken, for in truth Alessa’s fire burned stronger now than ever before. On the way back she had picked up a discarded gutting knife with a wicked barb on the end. Upon arriving at her cell she slipped it through the bars before Vlachel turned to face her again.
  That had been two days ago.
  Since then nobody had come to see her. Only the occasional grumite with a bowl of surprisingly sanitary water and a third of a bread loaf. It wasn't until the following day that Vlachel returned wearing a troubled expression and a look that told Alessa that if she didn't escape, today, she was doomed.
  The bosmer entered the cell, as naked as Alessa, and glanced over her captive. It seemed as though the elf was about to speak but Alessa cut her short with a kiss. She had been doing light exercises during the last few days so as not to waste away, so when Vlachel groped her ass she knew the elf was taking the bait.
  “It's time for me to make you feel good,” Alessa purred.
  Vlachel moaned softly but pushed Alessa back, hands still resting on her shoulders, to look her in the eye, “You have been sentenced to death by way of skinning. Your flesh will be stitched with others to birth a flesh atronach and your bones animated to become a guardian of this place. It is an honour to be harvested for Aichan. I had to plead with the masters to agree to this. Their only stipulation is that you be alive and cognizant during the process.”
  Not happening. Not fucking happening.
  Alessa nodded, affecting acceptance of the elf's sentencing. “Today?”
  Vlachel nodded, actually looking glum. “I'm going to miss you.”
  “Before that,” she cooed, “I want to lay with you one last time,” she kissed Vlachel again, this time hard and sparing no tongue.
  The bosmer smiled, “How can I say no?”
  The women kissed again, slow and lingering. Alessa let it last long enough for the elf to sink into her and slammed her head back into the iron bars of the cell. The sound might have been enough to turn some nearby heads but not loud enough to warrant investigation. Vlachel crumpled on the spot, dazed but not unconscious. Alessa moved her so that her head was propped up on an adjacent wall and procured the barbed knife from under the straw strewn about the floor.
  “I didn't want to have to hurt you,” said the imperial in all honesty.
  Vlachel grunted and tried to grab at her captive. Alessa batted her hand away and drove the knife into the elf’s belly. Vlachel's eyes bulged and she gasped but Alessa didn't stop. Again and again and again she drove the knife into the bosmer, each thrust bringing with it strands of entrails and gushes of dark blood. Vlachel choked and sobbed as she watched her once lithesome stomach become a mess of gore. Alessa ended it, finally. Vlachel was twitching pathetically but still alive. The elf couldn't peel her eyes from her grievous wound. Her face contorted with pain, shock, and the realization that she had minutes, at best, left of life.
  Alessa didn't stick around to watch Vlachel slip away. As soon as she was sure the immediate area was safe she closed the dying bosmer in the cell and began a cautious jog down the corridor. She wasn't sure exactly which way to go, but she was sure of which way not to go. Cell after cell passed her by, one such cell held a Argonian male in full plate armor and a multi-colored frill that shimmered in the light. He even still had a sword despite having been locked up. It was odd, surely, but she gave it little thought as she ducked into the shadows to let a trio of Grumites pass.
  Another hour or so passed until she finally found the prison's exit. The iron gate was wide open. It was true, Aichan's prisoners really were allowed to walk free.
  Alessa did just that, sure that in short order she would be back in Cyrodiil, sleeping in her own bed and-
  The air vacated her lungs as she was hit hard from the side and knocked to the stone. Searing pain erupted in her upper thigh as she was dragged bodily across the ruined courtyard. Alessa managed to glace back and see the jaws of a skinned hound clamped tightly around her leg. She screamed as another undead hound, this one twice the size, lopped up to her and bit town on her entire torso. Ribs cracked and she felt her right lung being shredded like wet parchment. Breathing was difficult, as was coming to the realization that the growing pool of blood was her own.
  “Guilty as charged.”
  Alessa's consciousness was fading, but was still keenly aware the voice belonged to Sheogorath himself. She watched helplessly as a pair of black boots came to rest beside her head. Through the haze of blood-loss she could see the Prince of Madness hovering above her. The hound’s jaws were still locked tight, perhaps the only thing from keeping her from bleeding out.
  “Must you have murdered my poor bosmer?” he sighed. “She was oh so fun…ah but what a gloriously bloody death you gave her! It gives me goosebumps, really.”
  “Vlachel can now serve me in death though,” he continued. “As will you. Your sentence is still to be carried out, but you have deprived yourself of remaining alive for it! Or was that what you'd planned? I may never understand. Ah well, you'll be thrown in the de-fleshing machine with your lover and stitched together for eternity. How romantic!”
  Alessa could hardly process conscious thought, she could only stare at Sheogorath and attempt to discern what the motions of his mouth meant. Her fading heartbeat pounded in her ears and her body began to float like a feather.
  Alessa's last image of life was a skinned hound lunging for her face.
  Her last thought was of Vlachel rimming her asshole on a bed of straw.

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