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The Forsworn Retribution	By : Samson Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 60892 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter List
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Rock and a Hard Place

The Forsworn Retribution
Part I - "Upstarts"
By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson
Original Date Written: November 19, 2013

“The Reach...Beautiful land, but not without peril. This place has always been plagued, pretty much ever since the Nords came here. Damn Forsworn...It’s going to take a lot more than what Jarl Igmund can offer to get rid of them. Even then, I’m not sure they could ever be gone, forever. Bastards pop up like weeds.”

“I know all about the Forsworn, Joric. I was there when they had their little “uprising.”

His riding companion looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. Momentarily frowning, the aging Nord said “Yes, you’re around that age, aren’t you? Huh...Your parents never told me about that. Said they got you at the Riften orphanage.” The young man nonchalantly smirked, saying “I’m not surprised. I prefer them keeping it to themselves. I already get odd looks when they introduce me as their son. I mean, I’m clearly not a Nord.” Joric nodded, temporarily looking off to the side, watching a Juniper berry tree pass them by. The young man knew the question was coming even before the old man had turned his head, again. “You must’ve been pretty young. Couldn’t have been more than a babe.” The young man barely nodded, turning his head towards the burbling creek to his left.

“Well, I was a pup, to be sure. I was about three, at the time. My father was a guard in Markarth, so we can imagine what happened to him. Just before the attack happened, my mother and I had gotten on a carriage headed for Whiterun. When the Forsworn made their move, the carriage driver made a break for it, but the Forsworn raided the stables for horses. They took shortcuts through the hills, cut off the carriage, and started killing. I have no idea why they didn’t kill me...Maybe it was a combination of me not being a Nord, as well as just being a child. Maybe one of them had enough humanity left in them to leave me to the wolves, rather than use an axe on me. Hanse was out cutting wood when he found the wrecked carriage, and he took me in with Gertrude. The rest is history.”

The old man briefly frowned, his eyes down on his horse’s head. He took in a little sniff, then respectfully said “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure your parents were good people.” The young man raised an eyebrow, glancing at his riding companion as he said “One thing I’ve always wondered about is, why were they in Skyrim, in the first place? I mean, it’s a beautiful land, to be sure, but...Why leave the Imperial Province? I find it hard to imagine that they wanted a change of scenery that badly.” The old man barely chuckled, starting to smile. Slowly looking over, he said “Count yourself lucky. The elves wouldn’t have shown you the same mercy during the invasion, child or not.” The young man smirked again, barely shaking his head. He was as wary of elves as anyone raised Nordic, but he didn’t have any personal reason to despise them. The Thalmor on the other hand, with their White-Gold Concordat and wandering Justiciars, deserved the malice of every self-respecting individual on Nirn...As far as he was concerned, at least.

When they came to Markarth, they interned their steeds at the stables just outside the city gates, then made their way inside. Joric made his way towards The Hag’s Cure, an alchemical shop that had been around for as long as anyone could remember, while the young man lingered around the front square of the city. Slowly looking around, he crossed his arms over his chest, taking in a deep breath of the crisp air. The Reach may not have been as frigid as Winterhold, but it could still nip at you, if you weren’t careful. Didn’t stop the Forsworn from running around in nothing but loincloths, but there was a reason why they were known as the Madmen of the Reach, after all.

Taking a look around, the young man could only imagine what had happened during the Forsworn uprising. What had his father done, during the attack? Where had he died? Who had slain him? It would’ve been a beautiful sight, seeing Ulfric Stormcloak run the Forsworn out. If stories were to be believed, he had even used the ancient power of the Thu’um. The young man sighed with melancholy, considering the Stormcloak rebellion for likely the third time, that day. It was hard not to think about them, with the strife constantly rising between the Nords and the Empire. That was neither here nor now, however. The young man finally set his sights on the nearby Silver-Blood Inn, beginning to make his way over. He never noticed the young Dunmer woman watching him from a nearby market stall, her crimson eyes subtly examining him through the corners of her vision.

She appraised him like a house cat sizing up a runty skeever, her eyes darting up and down along him. He was a perfect target. An Imperial lad, probably carrying more coin than he needed or deserved. He was dressed in a full suit of leather armour, but if she had bought the same suit, she would’ve had the blacksmith poisoned. It was crudely made, fashioned from cheap scraps, and if she were a little more cynical, she might’ve thought that the boy had made it, himself. He had an iron sword sheathed at his hip, but he had likely never even swung it, before. It was a facade, most likely. An accessory at his side to intimidate people like herself, nothing more. Her teeth went on edge, and her smile turned a little venomous. Imperials weren’t her friends, and spoiled Imperial nobles were little more than vermin, to her...Vermin whose coin could make her life that much easier. She gave the stall owner a charming smile, excused herself, and started making her way over towards the inn. Maybe if she got this one good and drunk, she wouldn’t even have to sleep with him before she robbed him.

The young Imperial man smiled at the honeyed scent of mead, glancing around the inn’s interior. The front hall was roomy and warm, and several hallways leading to private rooms lined either side. A few tables and chairs were spread around, along with a roaring fireplace on the far side of the hall. A man behind the counter was pouring golden mead into a metal tankard, chatting with a young Nord man sitting on a nearby stool. A pair of Bretons were seated near the fireplace, and a Nord bard quietly strummed on a lute in a nearby corner. A middle-aged Breton woman passed a broom along the stone floors, steadily sweeping a pile of dust towards the front door. Just before the young Imperial headed up to the counter for some mead, someone pulled open the heavy door behind him, walking in hastily enough to bump into him. The young man’s expression immediately grew contentious, his brow sinking. When the figure partially stumbled out in front of him, however, his expression lightened. It wasn’t often that he saw a dark elf, but it was easy to identify them when they showed themselves.

The woman looked young, but considering the incredible lifespan an elf could enjoy, she could’ve been older than three generations of his family put together. Like all Dunmer, she had dark, ash gray skin, and the irises of her eyes were big and red. Like most elves, her facial structure was a little more angular than he was used to. Her cheek bones were a bit sharp, her eyes were almond shaped, and her ears were pointed at the top. Aside from that, however, she was done up deceptively Nordic. She dressed herself in a green velveteen dress of obvious Nordic make, with being comfortable while retaining warmth as the top priority. The dress was split up the sides up to the middles of her thighs, showing off the rather tall leather boots that she wore. A simple yet elegant silver necklace hung from her neck, inlaid with a quartet of garnets. Her black hair hung down behind herself in a brushed wave, framing her face as it came down to her shoulder blades behind her. She had a slim figure, her lithe body moving with a cultured grace as soon as she stopped stumbling around him.

She smiled disarmingly at him, apologetically saying “Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going! Azura, this is embarrassing.” The young man raised an eyebrow, casually saying “No harm done.” The Dunmer woman smiled more, almost grinning. Giving him a wink, she said “Well, tell you what. If you’re here for a drink, let me buy you the first one. Maybe you can buy me the second, hm? We’ll make a game of it.” The young man smiled more, almost chuckling. On another day, maybe he would’ve taken her up on her offer. If he went home drunk, however, Hanse and Gertrude would want answers, and if they heard he had been cavorting with a dark elf, he’d be hearing about joining the Stormcloaks, again. Besides, he wasn’t sure how much a Dunmer girl and an Imperial boy from Skyrim could have to talk about. Resisting the urge to flirt back with her simply for the fun of it, he politely said “Thanks, but no thanks. Don’t worry about it.” She barely raised an eyebrow, still smiling widely. A little teasingly, she said “Big, strong Imperial like you, I’ll bet you barely even felt me, anyway. If you change your mind, though...” She nodded off to the side, then started walking over towards a nearby empty table. The young man smiled to himself, subtly shook his head, and headed up to the bar.

He tapped his knuckles over the bar once he reached it, giving the bearded innkeeper a nod. The aging man walked over, a weary smile on his face. With ease born of repetition, the man said “Welcome to the Silver-Blood Inn. We’ve plenty of mead available, and if you’re hungry, all of our meat is the freshest, I assure you. What can I do for you?” The young man opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get out a syllable, a nearby woman barked out “Kleppr!” Both the innkeeper and Imperial slowly looked over, the young Imperial raising an eyebrow. The innkeeper, meanwhile, simply sighed. Smiling coldly, he asked “Yes, dear wife of mine?” The outburst had come from the sweeping woman, who was busy passing her broom down a nearby corner. Narrowing an eye at the innkeeper, she was barely holding back a scowl as she said “We have more than meat, make sure he knows! He might want something else, right now!” The innkeeper glanced upwards, looking back over to the young Imperial. He lazily pointed a thumb over at his wife, his eyes going half-closed. The Imperial just smiled, slowly saying “I’ll just have a bottle of mead, thanks. Maybe some information, while you’re at it.”

Kleppr smiled to himself, ducking under the counter. The young Imperial man leaned against the counter, briefly glancing around the inn. He noticed the Dunmer from earlier, still sitting near the door. She openly watched him, a friendly smile on her face, her arms folded over one another on the table. She gave him a wink, then subtly waved him over. He half-smiled, slowly turning towards the bar. Unknown to him, the Dunmer immediately sneered at his dismissal, but she was quick to stifle the reaction. Last thing she wanted was someone cluing in to her game and tipping off her mark. She’d have to bide her time, wait until the man had had a few bottles. Once he was a little less stuck-up, she’d make her move. She couldn’t stop observing the man, but she allowed herself a moment of aloof detachment, taking a step back in her mind. Slowly raising an eyebrow, her eyes drifted over towards the fireplace. The Bretons sitting there looked half-asleep, probably sleeping off one too many bottles, themselves. She smiled, her eyes going reflective. If only her mother could see her, now. From pickpocketing the intolerant Nords in Windhelm to robbing the drunk Bretons in Markarth...She had certainly come a long way.

As the innkeeper stood up, he uncorked a bottle of mead, laying the tangerine-coloured bottle down on the counter. Smiling to himself, he said “Information, eh? Well, first thing’s first. Ten Septims for the mead.” The Dunmer woman perked up, her eyes darting over towards the man. This was a golden opportunity that no thief could pass up. She watched the man reach into a pocket on his leather armour, pulling out the small golden coins. She sighed irritably, her brow barely furrowing before she caught herself. “Damn,” she thought. If he didn’t have a coin purse, then she’d have to get him out of his armour, entirely. Pickpocketing loose coins was too much of a gamble, and if she was brought to the guards again, they’d throw her in Cidhna Mine for the rest of her long, long life. She angrily drummed her fingers across the table, a plan building in her mind. The young Imperial took a swig from his bottle as the innkeeper gave him a toothy smile. In a hushed tone, he said “No, I don’t know her name, but yes, she’s been looking at you ever since she sat down. I’ll bet she’d warm up if you brought her a drink...And lucky you, we’ve even got rooms available, too.” The Imperial grinned somewhat, setting his bottle down on the counter. Giving a light shake with his head, he casually said “I wasn’t going to ask about that. I was going to ask if there was any work to be done, around here. Consider me a sellsword.”

The Dunmer woman quietly cleared her throat, trying not to laugh. She smiled to herself, hiding a snigger or two. This boy, a sellsword? He couldn’t have seen more than twenty years, and he thought he’d be a mercenary? Oh, the folly of youth! She almost felt obligated to smash his rosy fantasy, now. One less moronic Imperial that’ll run headlong into a bandit’s decapitating battleaxe. The innkeeper smiled, but in the interest of keeping a customer happy, one of his hands ducked under the counter. When he brought it back up, he was holding on to a folded-up sheet of paper. Pleasantly, he said “Sure, if you think you can handle it. A few of the guards have been passing these around, lately. I already have more than I care for, so take one. If you feel you can handle it, you’ll probably get a tidy sum of gold for it.” The young Imperial took the paper, taking a swig of mead as he flipped the paper open. The Dunmer woman watched him with a snarling grin, looking him up and down in interest. Maybe he was a little more than a mere mark. No, he was a simpleton, she couldn’t bring herself to look down on him, anymore. Now, she was just amused by him, she pitied him. At some other time, maybe she would’ve mocked him, openly derided him until he slunk away in shame. Would’ve served him right for being so arrogant. Would’ve served him right, thinking he was so much better than her!

The young Imperial smiled to himself, folding the bounty notice up. Taking a swig from his bottle, he said “Simple. I could be done and back in time for meat and potatoes.” The bartender just smiled, but his eyes were clearly a little amused. The Dunmer woman was too busy swallowing her laughter to notice the man make for the door. She looked surprised when she noticed his departure, then became angry. Never, in all her life, did a mark ever escape her. Once the Imperial had left, the innkeeper none-too-subtly said “There goes a dead man. Say goodbye, ladies and gentlemen.” A particularly drunk man called out a farewell from a nearby table, earning a few laughs from around the inn. The Dunmer woman huffily got to her feet, her brow furrowing deep. She’d have to get creative, with this one. Following after him, she stepped out into the light, stealthily glancing around. She spotted her mark, walking off down a cobbled pathway. Following the tiny stream running through the streets of Markarth, she quickly deduced that the man was headed for either the blacksmith, or The Hag’s Cure. Nothing else was interesting, down that way of the city. Pulling up the front of her dress, she turned around and took off in a light run, taking the long way around. Heading up the middle of the city, she ran past Understone Keep, crossing a stone bridge sitting in front of one of the city’s waterfalls. She glanced to her left, looking over the edge of the long drop down below. The blacksmith’s lay down below, a wooden waterwheel being powered by the flowing waterfall, keeping the blacksmith’s forge burning. To the right, there was a small alcove in the mountain wall, leading to an alternate entrance into the Hall of the Dead. She smiled to herself, her eyes narrowing.

The young Imperial man sighed, beginning to climb the steps up to The Hag’s Cure. Joric’s little “concoctions” usually took a while to make, even for an old maid like Bothela. He had never been able to bring himself to trust the ancient bat, primarily because all Forsworn appeared to have intricate face tattoos. Perhaps it was a rite of passage, perhaps it was an identifier of rank. Whatever their purpose, Bothela, too, possessed facial tattoos, and she had never seemed particularly malignant towards the Forsworn or their cause. The implications kept him from trusting anything she brewed up. As he neared the top of the stone steps, a sudden yelp of pain rang out from his right side, coming down the ascending staircase beside his own. He rushed up the rest of the steps, looking up the second stone staircase. He was surprised to find the Dunmer woman from earlier at the top of the steps, holding her right knee with both hands. Her eyes were screwed shut, and her lips were pursed in pain. For a moment, he wondered how she could’ve gotten so far around the city so quickly, but then he focused on her injury. Quickly beginning to climb the steps, he said “Hey, you, are you alright? What happened?” The dark elf opened her eyes a crack, barely looking at him before closing her eyes in pain, once more. Taking in a sharp breath, she hissed out “I fell down on my way up the stairs...Banged my knee on the step...” The young Imperial momentarily raised an eyebrow, saying “That’s gotta hurt. Can you walk? Bothela’s is just down there, she can sell you a potion.”

The Dunmer woman waved away the suggestion, taking the man’s hand once he offered it. “No, no...I’ll be fine, just need to stretch my legs, a little...” As she rose to her feet, she intentionally bumped into him, arms going around his waist as she collapsed against him. He caught her carefully, firmly standing his ground lest they both topple over the edge of the walkway. Her hand deftly darted into the pocket she had seen him pull his Septims from. “Whoa, easy th...” He said, trailing off. His eyes suddenly lit up, a huge grin on his face. Before her hand could leave his pocket, she felt one of his hands grab her wrist, getting her in a death grip. She peeped, her eyes widening. How in Oblivion had he caught her? Her hand hadn’t been in his pocket for more than a second! She gasped through her nose when his other hand smacked into her face, grabbing her by the jaw. His seizing grip on her face puckered up her crimson lips, her eyes staring into his as he muttered out “Pickpocket, huh? I would’ve expected that sort of thing from a Khajiit, not a dark elf.”

Her brow lightly furrowed. Through her puckered-up lips, she barely managed to get out some stubborn rebelliousness. “It’s Dunmer, Imperial.” He chuckled, his eyes filling with spite. He pulled her hand out of his pocket, smacking it away from him. She released her bounty in the process, scattering a few Septims across the stone walkway. Before she could do anything, he reached under his other arm, pulling an iron dagger from a hidden sheath. He pressed the edge to her throat, filling her eyes with fright. When she started to consider her possibly very short future, her eyes began to get moist. She could only see two possible outcomes for this situation, and both involved her death. Either this man would do the deed himself, or she’d meet her fate in the Silver-Blood family’s mine. Oh, she knew she shouldn’t have gotten out of bed, that morning! She had had a sinking feeling that something would go wrong, that day. Must’ve been a sign from Azura. Too late now, she supposed. He pushed her backwards off of the pathway, taking her into the shady alcove in the mountain wall. He pushed her up against the doorway to the Hall of the Dead, the long vertical designs in the Dwemer door pushing through her dress.

He had a cruel smile on his face as he pulled his dagger away from her throat, replacing it in his hidden sheath. Releasing her jaw, he planted his hand against the door, beside her head. She could smell his breath as he spoke, sweet from the honey in his mead. “So, tell me...What should I do with you, hm? If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a damn pickpocket. I should “remove” the tools of your trade.” She swallowed some excess saliva in fear. She tried appealing to the Imperial’s sense of mercy. Quietly, she said “Look...I’ve already been caught by the guards for stealing twice, before. The first time, I talked them out of arresting me. The second time, I was lucky enough to be able to pay it off, but if I get brought in a third time...They’re not playing around. I’ll be in Cidhna Mine for a long, long time. A long time. Please, you can’t do that to me!” The Imperial’s smile grew wider, evolving into a grin. Quietly, he said “Well, that doesn’t leave me very many options. If I take out my knife again, I won’t be able to put it back until it tastes Dunmer blood. Is that really how you want this to go? Doesn’t matter to me, either way. If a guard comes along, I’ll just point to my coins, out there...No skin off my nose.”

Some part of her told her that he was full of it, but she couldn’t bring herself to call his bluff. If she was right, he could still report her to the guards. If she was wrong, well, that’d be the end of her illustrious thieving career, to say the least. Smiling a little nervously, she knew she was about to talk herself into an unpleasant corner, but she didn’t have much of a choice. “C-C’mon, it’s not that serious. We can work something out, can’t we? Someone with my talents could be useful for a boy, er, man like you...Eh heh.” The Imperial’s grin relaxed back to a cold smile. Leaning in, he whispered into her ear exactly what he wanted. Her eyes went wide. Her lips tightened up in a flat line. She vigorously shook her head, for a few seconds. No way, no how. Not a chance in Oblivion. Not even if she had to work seventeen hours a day, in the mines! He grinned disbelievingly, smugly murmuring out “Really?...I don’t believe you. If your dignity means so much to you, though, I could get a guard in five seconds flat. Maybe if you really, really ran, you’d get more than three steps past the blacksmith’s...Of course, then you’d have to deal with the dozen or more guards standing between you and the city gates...And then all the guards beyond the gates. I don’t favour your chances very much, miss Dunmer.”

She weakly whined, trying to come up with a counteroffer. He grinned, watching the gears spin behind her eyes as she desperately tried to worm her way out of her punishment. He waited several moments, smiling to himself as she exhausted every possible futility. He had her, there was simply no getting out of it. She sighed pathetically once she had given in, the pride in her eyes crushing in on itself. He leered, nodding downwards, urging her on. Raising her eyebrows, she faintly asked “Seriously?...Right here?” He winked almost tauntingly, saying “I think my friend will be a little while, so feel free to take your time and really enjoy it.” She pouted bitterly, but slowly began to drop down. The last vestiges of her dignity were hammered away as she came down on both knees in front of him, still trapped in the narrow space between him and the door behind herself. Oh, if only her mother could see her, now. From robbing drunk Bretons in the Reach, to taste-testing Imperial unmentionables in side alleys. She’s certainly come a long way.

He grinned, watching her unbuckle his leather armour of her own volition, loosening up the fauld. The Divines would probably punish him, for this. Mara, in particular, would frown. A thief’s a thief, however, and if he didn’t show her the error of her ways, then maybe her next attempted victim would be someone with a little less leniency. It would take something drastic to wake her up from her fog of-

She took in a sniff once she had loosened his fauld enough, getting a whiff of his musk as she went for his undergarments. Her face soured, the Dunmer hastily muttering out “Dear gods, man. There are rivers running through every inch of the Reach!”

His brow sank, his teeth gritting. Screw it. If she wanted to be a petulant little child about it, then he’d treat her like a naughty girl. A bit of inequity would do her some damn good. Just the thought of what he’d do to her was making his undergarments uncomfortably tight. He swatted a hand up under her face, slapping her chin hard enough to make the back of her head bonk against the metal Dwemer door behind her. She looked at him with annoyance at first, but when she saw the rage rising in his eyes, she was very quickly subdued. He pulled his undergarments to the side, exposing a second sword. He could almost see the Dunmer’s pupils shrink, her nostrils flaring as he jutted towards her face.

Well, this was an unpleasant surprise. She liked to imagine that her marks were all...Unfavoured by the gods. It helped make her feel powerful, in control. It made her more confident, it amused her, made her feel like she was better than them, somehow. Even if it wasn’t always true, it was easy to hurt a man’s pride by insulting him, like that...But she’d be pretty hard-pressed to damage this Imperial’s confidence. Quite suddenly, the task ahead seemed a lot more daunting. She glanced up to his eyes, silently begging for mercy. There was absolutely none to be found. She looked back down, sighing through her nose. Well, she had made her bed. It was time to sleep in it. At least he looked clean...Wouldn’t make her job a whole lot easier, but it was something.

Being polite about the matter was the last thing on the Imperial’s mind. It was either she swallow his sword, swallow his sword, or become the plaything of every inmate in Cidhna Mine. Pulling aside his fauld, exposing his sizeable blessing completely, he pushed his hips forwards, rather rudely punching her lips with his swollen tip. She glared up at him, but was wary of further disrespect. Her mouth was already in enough trouble, she didn’t need it getting her into deeper problems. As it was, she was likely about to discover exactly how deep her mouthing off could sink her. There was probably a Dunmer saying about this kind of thing. Don’t open your mouth out of turn?

She stared up at him as he grabbed his girthy rod, rubbing his swollen tip around over her soft lips. He ordered her to kiss him, and she snootily shook her head. He turned his head to the side, taking in a deep breath. Before he could call for the guards, she briefly puckered up, giving his tip a faint peck. He looked back to her, grinning. He commanded her to do a better job, otherwise she’d be kissing the dust-covered pickaxe of every Forsworn in the mines. She whined pitifully, then complied. Her eyes drifting downwards, she could barely see the lengthy meat kabob sticking into her face, his musk filling her nostrils. She kissed him a little more earnestly, using her plump lips to pamper the underside of his tip.

“Lick. You’re stalling.”

She shut her eyes, trembling for a moment at being caught. She briefly extended her long, moist tongue, gingerly flicking it around at his tip. He grinned, cruelly saying “You look good like this, Dunmer. You know, I’ve got a long memory. We might have to do this a few more times before I forget about your filthy hand in my pocket. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? I mean, by Mara, you couldn’t take your eyes off of me as soon as you ran into me. You wanted this all along, didn’t you? I had heard that dark elf girls couldn’t keep their legs shut, but I didn’t think it was actually true...Well, maybe it is. You can’t keep your mouths shut, at least.” She almost glared at him, but she felt too crushed to show any further defiance. Instead, she merely took it, her face slowly beginning to burn with blush. Once she had gotten the end of his rod moist with her saliva, he pushed forwards, forcing his tip between her lips. She quietly mumbled in her throat, a protest dying before it began. She quickly opened her jaws, letting him push in until her lips were beginning to glide along his shaft. He sighed contentedly as he quickly sank as deep as she could handle, making the Dunmer gag and tense up when he went further and speared into her throat. Coughing and sputtering, she pulled back, pressing herself hard against the Dwemer doors behind herself in an effort to get away.

He chuckled, pulling back just enough to let her breathe for a few seconds. She nearly screamed against his manhood when he suddenly thrust forwards, pushing hard into her. Stars danced across her eyes as he pushed into her throat, sinking several inches down her gullet. Tears ran from her eyes, slowly making her mascara run down her cheeks. She grabbed on to his thighs, digging her nails into his skin, choking around his tool. He pitilessly stayed there, for a few seconds, before withdrawing. Long strings of saliva connected his lengthy shaft to her mouth, the Dunmer woman coughing and sucking in breaths. He gave her a few moments to recover, but it was less from a sense of sympathy and more from the simple fact that he didn’t want her retching all over his loins. Once she had recovered, she stared at his tool with crossed, dazed eyes. Part of her was stunned that he had had the audacity to make such an egregious attack on her person. Another part was shocked that she had managed to take the whole thing down to the hilt, she could’ve given the whores, er, priestesses of Dibella a run for their money. Her face burned as she realized that, in her current predicament, she didn’t exactly have the high ground to call anyone a strumpet.

He gave her a little slap on the cheek, ordering her to open her mouth and stick out her tongue. Humbled thoroughly, she simply let out a meek whimper, doing as he commanded. She closed her eyes as he filled her mouth once more with his taste, his texture rubbing around the interior of her defenceless mouth. He grabbed her head with one hand, sinking his fingers into her hair as he took a good handle on her. Unceremoniously, he started pulling her head back and forth, impaling her mouth over his throbbing sceptre. She shut her eyes tight, black streaks running down her cheeks to her jaw, her hair shaking around as she was brutally taken. The rush of having so much authority over another made him chortle, adrenaline coursing through him as he grinned down at her. Steadily becoming drunk on power, he muttered out “You know, it just occurred to me. I don’t even know your name! Ah, doesn’t matter. It’s rude to talk with your mouth full, anyway. Just think...If you had actually gotten away with it, we never would’ve gotten to do this! What a shame that would’ve been, huh?”

She opened her eyes, looking up at him tearfully. Her pointed ears began to burn with her blush, her breathing heavy and ragged as he violated her face. She dropped her hands from his thighs, bringing them down to her own, grabbing on to her dress. Her repentant look was satisfying, but not quite so that he came even close to considering relenting. No, they both had to see this through to the end. Then she might be truly regretful. He grabbed her head with both hands, no longer pumping her head back and forth. Instead, he started thrusting, poking the back of her throat with every inwards movement. Her eyes went wide in panic, mucus beginning to dribble from her nostrils. She fought her gag reflex, looking up at him desperately. Her hands balled into fists over her thighs, her nails nearly cutting through the fabric of her dress. He briefly laughed, making sure not to make too much noise. Quietly, he said “Ahh, I never figured myself for a dream-fulfiller. Let’s be honest...You wanted this. Why else were you staring at me? Why else would you wanna, mmfh, buy me a drink? Ysmir’s beard, did you get caught on purpose? Hah, you did, didn’t you?” She whimpered, shutting her eyes as he started probing into her throat, again. Spittle dripped down her chin, making her ashen skin glisten.

Her tears grew even more copious, fuelled with shame the very moment heat began to bloom between her thighs. She sobbed through her nose, the tingling down under only serving to stomp her deeper into the dust. She could hear him breathing above her, his thrusting getting deeper and deeper with every few seconds. It was a wonder she hadn’t given him a look of her earlier lunch, yet. She didn’t think she’d be able to stomach the shame of, well, evacuating her stomach on him.

“Look at me. Look at me, elf.”

The Dunmer complied, looking up at him almost sightlessly, her mind furiously attempting to keep her throat relaxed. Smiling pleasantly, he said “I’ll tell you what. You’ve got two options...I give you a drink better than any mead, or you’ll have to worry about a little bit more than streaked makeup. Of course, if you take it on the face, I’ll give you every Septim I’ve got in my pocket...Whaddya say? Better make up your mind quick.” Her eyes lit up. Maybe she could get something out of this, after all! She nodded to the best of her ability, the corners of her mouth flickering upwards in a stretched smile. He grinned wickedly.

He started thrusting even more savagely, making her softly cry out against his rod. Her nose bumping into his pubic hair, his orbs slapping into her chin, her throat stretched around his bloated manhood, her head began to go light with want for oxygen. She lost track of time, several seconds passing by that she couldn’t account for. When she finally sucked in air again, sticky heat was splashing over her face, the Imperial groaning over her. It wasn’t until she realized that the meaty intruder had been dislodged from her throat that she knew she was being coated with his rich, syrupy bounty. The...Unladylike cosmetic hit her in numerous strings, pouring forth over her cheeks and mouth in hot bursts. The rather intense aroma of his seed shot into her nostrils, almost instantly making the tingles between her thighs grow all the more intense. When she realized that her undergarments were beginning to cling to her skin, the obvious explanation made her bottom lip quiver. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, her eyes closing as he finished glazing her face with a humiliatingly large load. The heat of his seed seeping into her skin, she sat there and caught her breath, recounting the poor decisions that had led her up to this particular point. She’d certainly come a long way...And the fall had been a hard one.

He smiled, reaching into his pocket. His mouth started hanging open as he pulled his hand out, looking down at it in mock shock. Sarcastically, he said “Aww!...I only had two Septims left! Well, a deal’s a deal! You earned every last one.” She felt the coins bounce off of her chest, clattering on the stone floor. To add insult to injury, he grinned and muttered out “Don’t spend them all at one place.” Her head started to hang down in shame, the Dunmer woman hiding her face from him. He watched her in satisfaction, tucking his still somewhat turgid rod back inside his undergarments. Doing up his fauld, he simply raised an eyebrow at her, then turned and walked off. She barely glanced in his direction, her breathing cheerless and weepy as she recovered.

Joric watched his adopted grandson walk down the nearby stone staircase, counting a handful of Septims as he went. The elderly man smiled, briefly holding up a small glass bottle filled with a rather vile-looking green fluid. “Bothela never fails to come through. Woman can work wonders. Eh, what’s that you have there, Maximus?” Maximus had an oddly self-satisfied look on his face, a wide smile plastered on his face for the first time in quite a while. It wasn’t ordinary for the young man to be in such outwardly high spirits. An energetic and carefree tone in his voice, he said “Just don’t try and pass me anything she’s made. And, this?...Just some coins I dropped, earlier. I strolled around while you were busy.” The elderly man momentarily frowned, watching Maximus hop down the final few steps, pocketing the Septims in the process. Almost grinning, Maximus nodded off towards the side, saying “Let’s get a move on, shall we? I feel pretty hungry, all of a sudden. Plus, I’d like to talk to you about this bounty I picked up.” Joric raised his eyebrows, but silently nodded. Maximus continued, beginning to lead his companion towards the front gates to the city.

“You’re always saying a real Nord respects the animals, but doesn’t let them push him around...Well, apparently, this bear has made a nuisance of itself. I’ll make the thing’s pelt my new blanket, soon as I get some food in me. The extra gold would do me good.” Joric chuckled to himself, good-naturedly saying “I didn’t let you come along with me so you could find new ways to risk life and limb, but I suppose a bear wouldn’t be too hard to handle. Just make sure to bring along your shield, otherwise the thing’ll be liable to get you on the ground. Get pinned under a bear, you might as well make your peace with the Divines.” Maximus just grinned. After all, not once had Joric mentioned informing Hanse or Gertrude of his little endeavour. Having your grandfather for a personal friend had perks, sometimes.

The next day, Maximus was walking down the steps of Understone Keep, richer by a sack of gold. He hadn’t actually met the Jarl, he had been rewarded by the Jarl’s steward, but it was still a little exciting to have been inside the ancient Dwemer palace. While he was there, he had picked up a second bounty, this time for a small bandit camp in the hills. The steward had suggested collecting a group of warriors for the task, and Maximus had humbly accepted the advice. He may have been brave, but there was a fine line between bravery and foolhardiness. Maximus wasn’t sure where he could pick up a few other sellswords, but he assumed that the inn could’ve been his best bet. However he gained allies, he certainly wasn’t going to leave the bounty for someone else to rake in. It was nearly eight hundred Septims, after all! Just the thought of all that coin made him a little giddy.

A sudden yelling derailed his greedy fantasizing, making him raise an eyebrow. Looking off to the side, he noticed what looked like a scuffle in the streets. Three city guards were ganging up on a single individual, a woman, from the looks of it. She was putting up a fiery struggle, but in the end, the three guards overpowered her. Pulling her to her feet, they forced her along, heading in the direction of Cidhna Mine. Maximus stood there, still halfway up the stone staircase to Understone Keep, watching the rabble come closer. He quickly recognized the voice of the woman, noting how he could barely recognize her without her Nordic dress...Or his, ahem, admiration icing her face. Just the thought made him chuckle, but he suppressed it as the group drew closer. The Dunmer woman was dressed in some kind of leather armour he had never seen before, possibly custom-made. A pair of Elven daggers were sheathed at her hips, and a leather backpack was hanging from her shoulders.

As the guards forced her along, she alternated between shouts for her immediate release, and screams for mercy. A sly smile came on to Maximus’ face as he made a quick decision. Hastily walking down the staircase, he approached the group just as they crossed him. “Hey there, wait a minute! Stop!” The guards, unused to someone barking so authoritatively at them, momentarily paused. When they noticed that it had only been some random commoner, however, they were quick to brush him off, one of them even warning him about interfering. The Dunmer woman clearly recognized him, there was certainly no surprise in that, but Maximus found it peculiar that she didn’t look at him in hatred or rage. She gave him a desperate, pleading look, glancing at the sack of Septims in his hands. Maximus quickly deduced her thoughts. When the guards started hauling her away again, she looked over her shoulder at him, tears running into her eyes. Maximus sighed, quickly walking after the guards.

Firmly, he said “Hey, listen. How much is her bounty?” One of the Nord guards let out a sharp laugh, the group still pulling the Dunmer along forward, never pausing to talk. “Are you kidding me? Back off, kid. This elf’s been a thorn in my side for weeks, I’ve been waiting for her to screw up.” The Dunmer woman momentarily put up a fight, loudly saying “Not the mines, please! I’ll never survive, down there!” Maximus was almost shouting as he said “Look, I have gold! The Jarl, himself, wants me to put together a group of sellswords to deal with some Forsworn, and I think this elf has some interesting talents. So, here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna get paid, the Dunmer won’t go to the mines, I’ll get my first recruit, and I’ll get her out of your hair. Simple! Unless, of course, you’d prefer I go to the Jarl and talk to him about this...”

The guards slowed to a stop. The Dunmer, panting, stared at Maximus. Maximus resisted the urge to smile in victory. Their greed was getting to them all, he had more or less bought them off, already. He held up his sack of Septims, raising an eyebrow as he glanced from face to face. Coyly, he said “Take it. The Divines have a greater purpose in store for her. You too, I’ll wager.” The guards each glanced back and forth between the sack of gold, the Dunmer, and each other. Finally, after a few tense seconds, they released her. “Fine,” one of them grumbled, grabbing the sack from Maximus’ hand. Coldly, the guard added “Hope she gets a Forsworn axe to the spine, it’d make Markarth a better place to live.” The cruelty in the guard’s tone made the Dunmer woman sniffle. She dusted herself off as the guards slowly walked away, obviously reluctant to turn a blind eye to the elf’s latest misdeed. The Dunmer waited a few moments, not paying attention to Maximus. Perhaps she had the misguided hope that he was simply being charitable, and had concocted his grand story purely to secure her release. She was wrong in a few different ways, putting a smug smile on Maximus’ face.

When she finally looked towards him, she avoided eye contact, at first. Almost mumbling, she said “Well...I guess we’re even, now.” Maximus grinned. “Hah! Even? You’ve got a funny way of keeping score, Dunmer. Far as I’m concerned, we barely settled our first debt...I’ll be, you know, generous, and just say that you paid in full. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I just paid the guards the hefty bounty I just received...Money I had promised to someone...In order to save you from a short life in the mines. As far as I’m concerned, you owe me one. Several ones.” The Dunmer’s eyes went crushed, again. Quietly, she groaned out “Oh, no.” Maximus gave her a wink, chuckling out “There is some good news, though. I was exaggerating when I said we’d be fighting Forsworn, we’ll just be taking on a few bandits...And we’ll be getting other people to help, too.” The Dunmer sighed wearily, momentarily hanging her head down. When she raised her head again, she barely met his eyes. Her tone of voice strengthened as she tried her best to salvage what little dignity she could scrounge up.

“Well...You’ll be happy to know that I’m no pushover, in a fight. If I have my tools, I can carry my weight. If we’re going to be working together, I guess we should introduce ourselves...I’m-”

“Yeah, that’s nice. Can’t say I’m terribly interested. I’ll give a damn about your name when you’ve finished paying off your debt. We’ll need more people, though.”

The Dunmer scowled, her eyes narrowing. He wasn’t sure if her feelings were hurt over his disinterest in her name, if she was upset at being cut off, or possibly both. He couldn’t find a reason to care, in the end. Her name wasn’t important. He could go through his entire life without ever knowing her name, the very thing that identified her as a person, and he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. He nodded off to the side for her to follow, beginning to walk off. She sighed, but for some strange reason, she found herself following. Maybe she believed him when he said that she was still indebted to him. Maybe she couldn’t get the previous day out of her head. Whatever the case, she followed at his heel, trying not to feel absurd in the process.
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The Forsworn Retribution