Skyrim: Plaything

BY : GT_The_Beast
Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim
Dragon prints: 16069
Disclaimer: This story is made for fun, profit and entertainment. In no way do I own anything discussed. I do not own Skyrim or The Elder Scrolls fandom in any way, nor do I intend any profit from this story.

It had been five weeks since she had last been through Ivarstead. She had pored over every single tome and record in High Hrothgar, and taken notes on dragon script to the point that her little journal was filled all the way through. Notes, potential connections between the Greybeards and ancient threats to Ravenspire. Strong voices with long memories. Not that she would hold them at all responsible for the actions of their ancestors. Elayne hadn’t found anything at all useful in their records for finding an Elder Scroll. 

The only recommendation they had was to go to the College of Winterhold. Which of course she couldn’t do. She had gotten into trouble with Collete, and had been suspended from her studies. They were both Bretons, so she had thought she could ask her questions about Deadra. Colette panicked and kicked her out of the college when she heard that she had spoken directly with a Daedric Prince. Apparently she was not supposed to do that. 

Ivarstead passed as quickly as it came, the small village giving way to the lake near it. There was a small island with a cave on it, and Elayne cast a Waterwalking spell to cross the frigid water. Adventurer she may be, but the waters in skyrim were frigid. Getting wet meant finding a fire and drying out your sodden things. Her newly acquired armor felt snug after weeks spent by the fire reading and writing. A few days hard walk would cure that, she knew. She had the set custom fitted for her by Adrianne Avanici over in Whiterun. Fitting into regular armor here in Skyrim was hard, for her. Her waist so waspish, her torso long and willowy and her breasts barely there. And then there was her ass. Since she moved to Skyrim she hadn’t bothered to wear anything but dresses, as her ass was huge. Paying for a tailor to custom fit anything to it was expensive, so her pack had three or four decent dresses to wear. As well as a cloth wrapped package at the bottom. She didn’t want to think about her Great aunt’s gift to her. 

At least that fit. The armor of the Bretons of Skyrim, more feather and bone than cured fabric. Her Great Aunt was one of the matron mothers of one of the Forsworn tribes, and thought she should have a fitted armor on her travels. But Elayne didn’t have the courage to wear that. She didn’t have much to show off, and most people considered the Forsworn enemies here. Not to mention she hated being cold. The armor covered very little and warmed even less. This Elven armor was the first one that managed to show off her ass and waist. Everything else since she had almost been beheaded was either tight on her ass and loose on her waist or just baggy.

She skated across the water, revelling in being able to move freely again. High Hrothgar was cold, and after weeks on the frosty peak it felt good to just be free. Her hair was in a messy bun under her helmet, kept clear of the air and water. It wasn’t something she was very proud of, either. It was the color of dirt, and curled excessively. 

On this island was another one of those Nordic ruins, one she had been through to put together the Gaulder Amulet. She had almost died in here, and knew that everyone avoided it. It made it a perfect location to do what she intended. There were sinkholes within that went into a flooded ruin, but the cave itself had enough light and space for what she needed. At the bottom of her pack, past the wrapped up Forsworn armor and spare underclothes was another bundle. Except that this was a daedric artifact. 

The book was worn, covered with multiple types of parchment and fabrics that she couldn’t fully identify. The pages were thick, and one of her spare breastbands was wrapped around the book to keep it closed. The knot came undone, and she sat down on top of an old chest to read. A candlelight spell helped the atmosphere, and Elayne took a deep breath. When she opened the book, a single sentence seemed to bleed out of the parchment.

What Path of Secrets do you seek, Champion?

The Oghma Infinium. A literal part of Apocrypha, able to impart knowledge and secrets to any mortal that reads it. It was also the reason she was kicked out of the College. It was intelligent, or reflected the intentions of Hermaeus Mora. “I seek a specific secret.” She whispered, afraid that the village a mile away could hear her. 

The words shifted. All Knowledge has a price. Speak your desire, Champion.

Her armor felt tighter for a moment. It was not often that the Daedric prince of knowledge bargained. “I need to know how to defeat Alduin. It’s my destiny, but no one knows how to do it. Only a Daedric Lord would know how to defeat something Aedric.” Or at least, it was the most likely way she could learn how with the college barred to her.

There is a book in the hands of a Dunmer named Maluril. Obtain it, and you may discover the secrets you desire. But be warned. The price for each piece of knowledge is devious. There was a flash of magic, and the Daedric Artifact disappeared. Left behind in her hands was a single item. It was an iron circlet, wider than her arm and rough in design. A single bonded ring hung from the front, and offered no other explanation of its purpose or intent.

As curious as the item was, the name Maluril was already known to her. Deep in her pack was a crumpled contract. An agreement that she would kill someone. She had always felt on edge about it, and chickened out before she would kill another person. The screams of Grelod the Kind still haunted her, and she hadn’t been in Riften since. There might be a price on her still. But the Dark Brotherhood wanted her to kill someone again. A Dunmer named Maluril. She knew where he was, and exactly how to approach him. 

But if it were for the sake of killing Alduin? She could afford to kill one man. One man would be a price the world should pay. Her own life was already at risk, after all. Within the hour, she had a carriage moving towards Morthal. And from there, Mzinchaleft and the Dunmer she would have to deal with. Idly, she played with the object in her hands. It was curious, the iron ring heavy enough to imply great strength and equal in size all throughout the ring. There was no way to open it, or pull it apart. Whatever it went to, it did not have any give to the design. Spinning it, she began the long ride to Morthal.

“Did you hear, someone has been called to High Hrothgar!” The cheerful wagon driver began. 

“I’ve not heard.” She gave the easy lie. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, we Nords have a legend about a hero that would be born, called the Dragonborn!” The overly chatty driver said. “No one has been able to tell who it is, yet. They wear a mask all the time, they say.” Elayne still kept that Dragon Priest mask, wearing it in towns to hide any kind of embarrassment she might feel. 

“Really?” She asked, faking interest. “What are they saying about this hero?” It was good to be unknown to these people. She could save them from Alduin and then disappear back into the life she really wanted.



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