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Skyrim: Plaything	By : GE_The_Beast Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 21445 -:- 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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- 17
“Where are you going?” Eola grumbled. “Falkreath is the other way.”
“We aren’t going to Falkreath.” Elayne told her, glancing again at the ebonite collar around her neck. “There is a clearing here. Just through the trees is one of my caches of supplies. I want you to stay here in the clearing, keep a watch out. I’ll be back soon.”
“There was a bandit fort just down the road a mile.” Eola considered. “Been here for years, you shouldn’t go alone.”
Elayne gave the other Breton woman a glare. “Aam!” The Dragon word was keyed to the Ebonite collar, which immediately shocked Eola. Not hard, but enough to remind her that the one in control was Elayne. “You set up camp here. We already killed the bandits last week. Hard fighting, but my housecarl Lydia is one of the best combatants in Whiterun. Cut through them hard.” She waved her hand. “I’ll be back soon. Besides a bear or two, these woods should be safe.”
“Fine.” She growled. “If someone dies out here, bring back the corpse!”
How cruel a statement. Elayne moved through the woods, careful on her heels. Only a couple minutes into the hills and she was in another small clearing, up against the base of the mountain. A spring covered in moss was at one end of the clearing, and against the stone of the hill a door was hidden. You couldn’t see it unless you pressed right up against it. She knew the password, and entered without any fanfare. This place was mostly empty, anyways. It was quiet, but the fires were lit.
“Did you succeed?” The sultry voice of Astrid came from her room, just inside the maze of corridors. “You’ve been gone for weeks.”
“My mark is dead.” Elayne clarified. “He was killed inside a camp of bandits, and the bandits were completely unharmed. The only one to die that night was Maluril.”
“Excellent.” Astrid sounded at least pleased. “Come into my office. There is a sensitive task that I must talk to you about.”
Elayne stepped in, her heels clicking on the stone. But the Astrid she once knew was a very different person this time. Gone was her shrouded armor, and instead she wore some kind of mockery of what an assassin should wear. It was tight, and had a skirt that only dared to cover the thighs. Black and red heels sat upon her feet, enchanted and silent as she took steps around the room. “Uh, nice shoes!” The other world was bleeding into this one! Just like Molag Bal said! Astrid would never wear impractical high heels!
“Oh, these old things? Quiet, I must admit. Enchanted long ago, when I was much more proud to show my legs in public. But my husband likes it, so wear them on occasion.” Astrid ran a hand across her heel’s spike. It looked like old blood had been stained upon it. “I like your shoes quite well. I’ve only seen Thalmor with them.” Her eyes twinkled, their dark orbs focusing upon her. “Where did you get such pretty things?”
“A dead Thalmor.” Elayne lied smoothly. “In Dawnstar. She was left for dead.”
“We don’t need that kind of attention upon our family, initiate. Be careful with your blades. But good work. Now, we have another task. One that the Thalmor are paying for. One of them has performed the Black Sacrament, and we have answered. I very much would hate to hear that our next kill was spoiled by the actions of a hero.” She said the word mockingly.
“The Thalmor want us to kill someone? Why?”
“They want a very specific person dead. Killed in a way that paints the Empire as the culprit.” She took out her dagger, plunging the simple steel affair into the symbol for Dragonsreach in Whiterun. “Elenwen of the Thalmor has performed the Black Sacrament. She wants Jarl Baalgruuf the Greater to be killed, and the empire to be blamed.” Astrid’s eyes flicked to her own. “You are a thane of his court, are you not?”
Elayne’s heart hammered. The only place she called him in these land was Breezehome. Her aunt’s tent was a poor place to consider a home, lacking comforts. “Why does she want him dead?”
“Does it matter? She has paid three thousand septims up front. If we succeed, it will be that much again. We cannot afford to fail.” This place was a ruin, and the few people that were here had expensive tastes.
“It does matter!” Elayne overrode her. “It fucking does!”
“Are you attached to your liege?” Astrid asked, concerned. “He will not be so much longer.” Elayne’s mind raced, thinking of the young boys that Baalgruf had as heirs. Or his drunken warmongering brother, who wanted to join the empire and fight the stormcloaks. “Calm yourself, darling. You have done well in killing that mage. He was well hidden, and you managed to chase him down. Now we have need of you again. You must go to Whiterun, and do exactly as I tell you. You have killed and taken souls for Sithis, Elayne. You joined the Dark Brotherhood and there is no backing away from such a familial connection.” Astrid’s hand caressed the hilt of the dagger embedded in the table. “Dragonborn or not. Hero, thane, adventurer? None of those titles matter to me. For to me, you are like a daughter. A daughter-in-arms and a daughter to Sithis. We are too few to treat each other lightly.”
“Tell me what I have to do.” Elayne whispered, her neck feeling oddly heavy.

Lydia had put away all of the gear, sold all of the loot and had finished taking care of all of the tasks left to her. She had even been to Farengar, and sold some of the odd staves and soul gems to the man. She was quick about it, unlike her Thane. Elayne could lose herself in haggling at every market stall. The woman’s obsession with not disturbing even the newly dead or taking very much for herself would make her a martyr by Imperial standards. But damn her, they barely had enough for their first few months of work. On one occasion they had slept in a barn because Elayne had spent their coin getting someone else out of debt. She was the definition of selfless hero.
A Daedra-worshipping selfless hero. The Divines supposedly spun the Dragonborn from the aether into the world, to save the mortals that were within. But would the Aedra accept her work and sacrifices? Elayne didn’t even bother looking for an Aedric weapon that could hurt Alduin! She never even considered it, when it was those same Aedra that spun her soul into being! Fuming, she paced back and forth in Breezehome and just tried not to be angry about it all. The collar around her neck was a constant reminder of daedric meddling. She had done all the tasks assigned to her with efficiency and fairness. There was a literal mountain of coins hidden under the floorboards in the alchemy room. More than seven thousand of them, enough that the little chest needed her full weight to close before she could nail the floorboard back down. Elayne wouldn’t be back for days!
Passing the kitchen table, she looked down at the crumpled paper she had made a deal with. Did that make her a Daedric worshipper? “No.” She affirmed aloud. “I have made no deal, paid no price.”
The paper seemed to loosen and tighten in response to that statement. Lydia shivered, knowing that on her table was a piece of a daedric artifact. Two more were underneath the alchemy room, underneath the chest itself. The Daedra were dangerous, and fickle. Playing with their attentions was risky. Lydia had spent hours in the temple of Kynareth, but all that did was remind her that her nipples still hurt from their piercings. Listening to Hiemskr was also a bust, not helping her feel comfortable in her actions either. She had even visited the halls of the dead, to venerate her parents. It still brought no comfort. Groaning, Lydia pulled her armor back on. There was only one thing that would calm her heart after all of this. “I need a drink.”
The Bannered Mare was her favorite place to drink. The Huntsman was full of hunters and felt elitist. They didn’t always love the guards being in their business, and Lydia never quite felt welcome there. Jorrvaskr was fun to drink at on occasion, but Lydia didn’t feel like testing her steel today. Drinking back in the guard barracks just felt like a step backwards after all she had worked for. So, on went her armor and covered the collar and her piercings. Which also hurt, but she wasn’t a milk drinker. She could handle the pain. Instead of the full greaves, she decided to wear a nice set of pants. Insulated for the cold, and better than armor if she got lucky. Which, she was certainly hoping to do so.
Her feet carried her towards the brightly lit building, boots crunching gravel on the stairs. They must have put some on the muddy roads. That meant travelers were in town, perhaps more than the usual folk. Better than another tumble with Mikael. That reminded her of another reason to be annoyed by her wayward Thane. She had slept with Mikael for the answer to the riddle in that damned book. He was not the greatest. He had experience, sure. But the damn bard only cared for his own pleasure. Mikael was playing, but not with any gusto. Lydia did a once over of the room, seeing the winter tradesmen with their furs, the odd courier. At the back table, there were some visitors she did not recognize. But they had large weapons, one of which was an Ebony war axe. Rare to see, and well used by the look of it.
“Mind if I join you?” She asked, stepping over to the table. It was just a pair of people, bulky and large. The man was definitely a Nord, though it looked like he had stood in too many snowstorms as a child. His skin was pitted by the cold, something you usually saw on older men. It was definitely a sign of experience. The woman looked soft, almost Imperial soft. Her skin was perfect, but Lydia could see past that. Her hands were callused so heavily that the ebony war axe on her back must have been used daily. Her shoulders were wide, and the woman was tall. Slightly taller than Lydia, actually. Few women were.
“Not at all.” She said smoothly. “You look like one of those adventurers.”
“Something like that.” Lydia offered, sitting down. “I’m Lydia.”
“Stalf.” The man offered, a single elven longsword at his hip. “From Solstheim.”
“Fura. I was born in Whiterun, but raised on the road.” The woman smiled with her lips. “Stalf here may be carved from the ice itself, but he makes for an excellent shieldbrother.”
“Don’t call me that.” Stalf muttered. But he was smiling as he did so. “I don’t use a shield.”
“You’re still good to have at my back.” Fura mentioned. Under the table, Lydia felt a hand on her thigh. “Mind if I buy you a drink?”
She felt a rush, right after she was touched by the hand. Besides Mikael, it had been a while. The signals she was getting were far from unwanted. “Please. A mead is very needed.” Since breakfast, in fact. Besides the odd color in their eyes, Fura and Stalf were fun to talk to. More interesting than Mikael, by far. Elayne wouldn’t be back for at least another two days. Maybe more. So she invited them home. It just felt right. Normally she would rather take a lover anywhere but Breezehome, but tonight was different. She felt lighter than air, and eager to see what was coming.
As soon as the door to Breezehome shut, Lydia was slammed onto the kitchen table. Her pants were slid to the floor, and she could feel the page of Captured Dreams digging onto the crack of her ass. Lydia was excited. She wanted this! She wanted to get laid, get her focus back, and she had earned this. Her legs were pulled apart, and the entire table shuddered as Stalf brought himself into her.
Lydia could feel her body pushed by his manhood. His muscle strained, but she oddly felt nothing. At most, a slight tickle along her thighs. “Are you even inside? Get in there!” She growled. The man above her glared back at her, his orange eyes focusing upon her form. The table started sliding back and forth, Stalf growling as it was obvious he was working hard. And yet, Lydia could feel nothing. Perhaps her hips being hammered, but there was no rush of feeling. No flush of blood in response to being taken. Looking down, she could see Stalf moving in and out of her, and he wasn’t a small Nord! She was being parted, her body barely able to take him! But still, she felt nothing! Nothing except the feeling of his legs brushing her thighs. And the crumpled piece of paper wedged between her and the table top.
“Oh no!” Lydia wasn’t stupid. She made a deal with a Daedra. There was a price that was paid. Her price was obvious. “Fuck!” She felt nothing from sex. She could still feel the raging fire within, the desire to get off. But there was a man above her, ravaging her and she felt nothing!
“She’s ready.” Stalf growled. “Let’s eat.” He opened his mouth, his teeth sharper than usual. Lydia felt cold, knowing somewhere in her mind that she was in danger. But the glowing eyes of Fura were above her as well, and she felt herself slipping away into the orange orbs.
“I want to keep her.” Fura purred, her own sharp teeth exposed. “Let’s keep her!” Both of the vampires bit her at the same time. Through the rush of pain, sharp and extreme, she finally could feel the pulsing dick inside of her. To her undying shame, she screamed in joy. She had gone from cold nothing to complete fullness in a single moment. As the vampires fed upon her, Lydia came. She came and she came again, whimpering as the pain brought her to greater heights. The only clear thought she had was that the Daedra were far crueler than she originally presumed.
“M’T-thane.” She whimpered. She hoped that Elayne would suffer for this. The Daedra were terrible creatures, and this was all their fault. That was the only clear thought, as she saw Fura come away from her shoulder with blood all over her lips. Both women made eye contact, as well as eye contact with the giant golden scroll that was on top of the cupboards. It didn’t fit in any of the chests, or under the floorboards.
“Let’s take that, too.” Fura grinned. “I think I’ve seen something like that before. A very long time ago.”
Stalf raised his head, Lydia feeling entirely weak and woozy. His lips were also wet with her blood. “She tastes good.” He grinned. “I think she liked being bitten.”
Fura patted her cheek, her muscles slackening and vision dimming. “You’ll be such a cute thrall, Lydia. Welcome to your new life.” Her laughter was terrible, and the last thing she knew before blacking out.
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Skyrim: Plaything