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Skyrim: Plaything	By : GE_The_Beast Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 21453 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
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Elayne accepted that she was kneeling in front of a shrine to Molag Bal. Eola was at her side, the one good eye staring at the blue-tinged glow that was the only source of light for either of them to see by. Her magicka hadn’t even begun to recover enough for a candlelight spell. It must have been a drain effect, keeping her magic from coming back at all. Plus, she thought, even if they ran the doors were locked. Where would they go? There was no running. No, they had to face him. Narrowing her eyes, she stared at the glowing light. “I bear your stolen skin?”
“The book you carry. A vestige of mortality took from me skin. A great battle occurred and another Daedric Prince intervened on their behalf. They took my skin with them when they returned to Mundus. I had always wondered what had become of it. I should have known Mora would make use of it.”
“Captured Dreams is made from your skin?” Elayne shivered.
“You are not touching Apocrypha as you walk Oblivion. Mora was clever. My power is stolen to use that book. Now that I see it, I can feel the drag upon Coldharbour every time you use that book. Two worlds. Two lives, their souls entwined!” The laughter rolled across the walls. “Whereas this mortal was marked at birth in the blood of her twin, you are of the blood of Akatosh. Normally I would take back what is mine, and drag you down to Coldharbour to pay for your insolence.”
“That would serve little help to you.” Elayne challenged. “Your worshippers beg for vengeance. They rage against the Nords, and stew in squalor and suffering without any sign that you favor their fight. Now that I know the truth, I understand. Madanach was your previous champion. But he was defeated.”
“His soul is old and rotten, fed lies until his ego burst open the mountains along with that of his wives and children. All but one.” Eola shivered, worried. “He did not have the courage to do what needed to be done. His weakness led to my mace being left here to rot. You have consorted with a lesser prince long enough, worm. Swear now before me that you shall forget Namira, and serve me instead. As you were intended! As your entire line has sworn in secret for thousands of years!”
“But I lead the cult of Namira!” Eola dared to say.
“Insolence! You dare spit upon my favor? Your line is blessed to dominate and control all that lies before you. No matter the scale, no matter the cost. Your line is promised all that they desire will come under their control.” The voice thundered, the blue light flaring. “Namira deserted you, and left you to starve. To die nameless and forgotten in the darkness. Your soul was never hers. It. Was. Mine.”
“He’s right.” Elayne stated. “When I offered to save you, Namira stated that she cared little for the life of one worshipper. Even the leader of an ancient cult. She already knew your soul was marked for someone else.”
Eola looked around, at anything other than the glowing blue shrine. “I would refuse you.”
“My mace lies rusted and rotten. It has not drawn blood in too long, Dragonborn. You need a way to stop Alduin for good. More than just kill him, but stop him from ever returning.” The voice said smoothly, for once not rattling and vibrating all of the bits attached to her. “His soul is greater than most. I doubt even Talos himself could contain him. But it would not be the first time a Dragon was dragged to Coldharbour. Perhaps we could make a deal, mortal. You want my mace. But I would only allow my champion such a grace.”
“I am no Ysmir, no Talos.” The Greybeards said his original name sometimes. Old scrolls of his were still preserved upon High Hrothgar. “I am not going to be like the Aedra. I seek answers not found in their depths. When I knew I had to slay something Aedric, the first thing I did was look amongst the Daedra.”
“You are a weasel! Mora has a champion! He has never chosen another all of these eras. He keeps his pet on a tight leash, Always has. I offer you a choice, Mortal.”
A portal to oblivion opened, and a number of items tumbled out. Moonstone armbands, bicep bands, chains and some kind of thin mesh bit of moonstone that barely would cover someone’s body. A thick, glowing collar made from moonstone was in the pile, words in elven script running across its surface in quicksilver. There was more, but she couldn’t identify what it was. It looked complicated, difficult to remove. “The prices…” She realized. “All of them.”
“By using my book, this is your future. To be a slave to something you do not yet know. Every time you use it, you pay the price. It was Hermaeus Mora that decided the place you travel to. He knew that by the end you would become a little plaything. Hardly able to decide for yourself.” The dark laughter tugged on her piercings, making Elayne squirm. “Become my champion, and you won’t have to become a slave. But you will be forced to enslave others, as worlds collide. If you don’t want this, it is simply too late. The worlds are already blending together around a focal point. You. Though it weakens my own power to let it happen, I find this to be entirely appropriate.”
Elayne blinked, taking in that information. “I would eventually become that? My other self?”
“Your habits have already changed, and if you want to take steps to prevent your assimilation with your weaker and crippled self in that world, Take of my power and become my champion. You will need more than weapons and prophecies to defeat Alduin.” The voice stopped rampaging through the room, and instead whispered in her mind. ‘Dominate that which was stolen from me. Make her beg to be yours. Only one free woman will be leaving this place. One of you shall be collared before that door may open. Of course, I am whispering to you both. I told her that my mace must taste your heart’s blood before the door may open. Or her own.’
Elayne and Eola made eye contact, measuring up one another. She at least had her elven armor. Eola had a maid dress and a basic sword. But her Destruction Magic was far better. Eola was breathing faster, her dress strained around her breasts. They both knew the Daedra. They could lie, but at the end of the day a mortal could only entertain a Daedra. Elayne didn’t even know what to say. What could one say? How could you explain all of this! She herself was still putting it all together.
Molag Bal didn’t give them time to decide, his shrine going dark and with it all of the light. It was like a signal to both of them. Heels scraped and they both moved. Elayne backed up, moving down the tunnel and towards the thin light that was at its end. Eola was going for the mace, of course. Elayne just ran into the basement, her magicka still not returning. It would come down to martial skill. But she had things Eola did not. She reached into her bag, drawing out a potion of invisibility. It wouldn’t last long, but it wouldn’t have to. Eola was coming.
Invisible, Elayne watched as the woman walked, barefoot and very quietly. She had taken off her heels before coming after her. In one hand, she held the sword she had been given. In the other, a cruel rusty mace. Without armor she seemed to have decided that this would be the best way of winning. But oh so quietly the Breton moved past her, into the rest of the basement. Elayne didn’t wait for another chance. Her dagger of paralysis flashed out, cutting Eola in the thigh.
It didn’t work. Now her invisibility was broken, and she and Eola were facing off. No magic, no lies. Weapons flashed, her armor doing a good job but the rusty mace catching her in the side of the head. That rattled, but her strikes finally worked. Bleeding heavily from above her ear, Eola fell over. Frozen. The paralysis took effect, even though it took four strikes. Elayne took the mace, and the other weapon back. “Stop fighting me and follow me. Molag Bal told you one thing, and me another.”
Eola’s eyes rolled, watching the mace. Elayne just shoved the rusty thing into her bag, putting away all of the weapons. “I didn’t want to fight you! When that wears off, get your ass back to the shrine.”
Elayne didn’t give her any time to think about it. She just stomped off, heels clicking on the stone. She did light a torch, though. She didn’t want to trip. Being able to see the shrine didn’t make it any better. Old blood stains were on the walls, stains of sacrifices from older times. Of the pile of things she had seen tumble from Oblivion, only the collar was left. The gilded moonstone was left open, concentric rings of material ready to snap shut permanently upon her neck if she wanted it. Her own neck itched, knowing it was right there. A collar with her name on it.
One of them needed a collar before they could leave. Was Molag Bal lying? He had to be lying to one of them. Or maybe he just wanted to be entertained. The Daedric prince probably wasn’t lying about Eola belonging to him. Namira hadn’t had any love for the woman, even though she led the coven. So that wasn’t a lie.
It was some minutes later before Elayne heard noise. Eola decided to show up in her musings, the maid dress cut along her stomach. The other cuts were along her thighs and arms. “Sorry.” She stated.
“It’s a Daedric Prince.” Elayne said. They had only met today, but she felt like she understood Eola better than most. Someone that didn’t quite know where she stood. A lost soul. “What did he whisper to you?”
“That you were going to kill me and become his champion.” Eola said without fear.
“He told me he said that to you. But he didn’t say that to me.” Elayne considered quickly, glancing around at the small room. “The Daedra can lie. And they may have lied to us about certain things. We just need to figure out what those details are.” The shrine remained oppressive, but silent. Molag Bal wasn’t something she could afford to trust in any way. “Even his champion seemed to have been betrayed by him. Madanach had taken the Reach, but was betrayed by someone. His kingdom didn’t last three seasons, and he seemed to be doing things fairly. Or so people claim. I’ve heard both sides, but most people think it was bad for everyone.”
“My,” Eola almost admitted it. “Madanach was the previous champion. But he was defeated, and the mace is here, defiled and rusting away without a hand to wield it. It needs souls to rejuvenate its connection to Oblivion.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“That’s what he’s been whispering to me about.” Eola admitted, looking at the shrine. “Whispering about Madanach and the mace.”
“But there won’t be any souls to fuel it until we get out of here.” Elayne pointed out. “The trap here isn’t the mace. It’s part of it.” Elayne still didn’t trust Eola. The woman was a daedric worshipper. “What do you think?”
She never saw the dagger coming. Or maybe she did, and accepted that it was the way. One nick on her leg, and the Breton froze. Elayne grabbed her arms, shoving them into one of the racks along the walls. It was enough, as she locked the left wrist on the rack. Eola unfroze just in time to try to get her right arm free, and Elayne had to wrestle the arm into the rack. It clicked, and she stepped back from the thrashing woman. “Bitch! You know something more.”
“I found you. I fucking found and saved you!” Elayne yelled, voice cracking. “I am the one who walked Oblivion and found what I needed! Now you’re assuming that I’m trying to kill you over something your father has done!”
“Don’t call that man my father!” Eola roared back, screaming on her own. “He did nothing for me!” She kicked her feet, arms contained in the rack. “I raised myself! I found myself! I don’t belong to anyone or anything! I clawed and ate my way into favor, and became leader of the entire cult!”
“You were starving in the dregs and catacombs, scratching at the darkness! I will drag you, kicking and screaming with me because I need a princess of the Reach! I will give you over to the Forsworn, or I will drag you with me until you have seen enough of the sun that you are no different than any of them!” Elayne was yelling louder than Eola could. “I am going to defeat Alduin and you will be what I need you to be or I will break you over my knee!”
Eola laughed, her eyes manic. “I’d like to see you try! I don’t need to be a champion of Molag Bal! I’m already champion of Namira!”
Elayne wracked her mind for solutions. Eola had challenged her. And Molag Bal wasn’t lying when he showed her the collar. She decided right then, that specific claim was the truth. Molag Bal wouldn’t release them until one of them wore a collar. Her hands dug into her bag, the red ebonite coming out. Eola wouldn’t just have to wear it, she would have to be dominated. Or Elayne could be the one to accept the gilded moonstone collar, and spare Eola. A Nordic hero would sacrifice. A Breton hero would take what they needed. No matter the cost. Their magic was still drained, leaving her unable to cast spells.
Eola stood on her feet, glaring. The shrine lay empty, devoid of life or interest. Elayne dug into her bag some more, grabbing what she thought might do the trick. “Eola. You will be my bitch. I’ve decided it. This collar? It doesn’t come off until I say it does. The Dragonborn in the other world designed it personally. Only someone perfectly fluent and understanding of the dragon tongue can remove it, once it is closed around your neck. Before the end of this night, you will be begging me to lock it around your neck.”
“There is no way in any plane of Oblivion I would accept that.” Eola said, her one eye locked on the Ebonite. With only the one eye, she never saw Elayne lifting her skirt until it was too late. “Elayne? What are you doing?” She sounded worried. With something like the Stick, she should be. Elayne herself was stewing something fierce just holding it. Her nipples were like rocks, which got harder as the other woman’s smallclothes hit the floor.
The shrine was glowing slightly, as Eola started panicking. Her legs kicked, but Elayne just pulled herself forwards and pressed her legs until they were stuck folded up between their torsos. Breathing hard, she brought the Stick forward until it was ghosting along her inner thighs. “Are you my bitch, Eola?” Elayne warned. “Last chance.”
“Fuck you!”
“Your choice.” Elayne said, dark laughter echoing from the shrine in response. Oh, she did. It took an entire night and more with her in the rack. Elayne had to take a break and use the Stick for herself, just to make it through. But the next afternoon, they were finally able to leave that place. Eola bought herself new armor and a new weapon, but she kept her eyes low whenever Elayne so much as glanced at her. Around her pretty lithe neck was a red ebonite collar. It glowed with power, and she knew that somehow deep within something had changed. She was not going to be a slave. And at her belt, she kept the rusty mace. Molag Bal was a prince of his word. There could only be one champion.

Meanwhile, in Whiterun, Lydia returned home to Breezehome, carrying all of the spoils of war. Her collar she kept hidden as best she could until she got to Breezehome, before the almighty itching on her skin drove her to remove her armor and just sit on her bed, angry and bitter. She was a housecarl, damn it! She was no slave! She wasn’t! This collar was unjustly forced upon her! Why had Elayne gotten hers off, and Lydia had to keep her own!
Growling, she reached into the bottom of her bag, where she kept her personal keepsakes. One of which she took out to glare at. Just to spite the damn book, she had taken one of the pages within it. Blank, of course. It was ancient, but didn’t feel aged. “You’ve caused me trouble, book.” Like arguing with a book would do anything.
But then ink started flowing out from the page, glowing for a moment before sinking back into the paper. ‘All knowledge has a price.’ The words flowed beautifully across the page, almost in Elayne’s handwriting. But it was too perfect for that.
“Are you alive?” Lydia dared to ask.
‘Do you desire revenge? Does your collar weigh down upon your undeserving head?’
Lydia growled, staring at the page. “Don’t toy with me! Ysmir take you, I won’t stand for riddles or double talk!”
‘What do you want, then?’
A most curious question. Lydia rolled her shoulders, just trying to decide what should be her response to a scrap of paper, of all things. “I don’t want this kind of life. I am a housecarl. Not a heroic echo.”
‘Perhaps a deal can be made. For a price, of course.’
“Always a price, and always an offer! But everything is just a lie.”
‘All truths are simply what your eyes tell you is real. A housecarl is only supposed to value what their master does.’
“Perhaps I don’t share the same values as my Thane.” She admitted it. Gasping, she realized she admitted it. It was as near to breaking an oath as any Housecarl might give. But, did Ulfrik Stormcloak not do the very same to Torygg? He swore a vow, too! There was only so much one person could take before they were forced to action! “I,” She faltered. “I want justice.”
‘Speak your justice, Nord. Those beyond the veil will name your price.’
Lydia named what she wanted. It was crude, but it was exactly what her Thane deserved. Especially for how she so readily accepted the words of Daedra.

[Those of you reading this, You may decide the price that Lydia will choose to pay for her justice. Your comments and input shall decide her fate…]
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Skyrim: Plaything