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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
- 25
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- 27
Right after being released from Castle Dour, Elayne moved for the Winking Skeever. She didn’t have to wait for Eola, as she was sitting in the front room with both of their bags packed. “We need to find another place to stay.” Eola said carefully, glancing at the Skeever’s front desk. “They want to know who our masters are. They don’t want to be harboring escaped slaves.”
“That’s okay. Let’s go to Radiant Raiment.” Elayne insisted, remembering their contract. “They will let us stay there.”
“We don’t have much gold left, and we can’t sell items to people with these collars on.”
“Come on.” Elayne said, stealing the last of Eola’s bread and ignoring her indignant sound of complaint. “I need some advice for what I have to do next.” Their heels clicked on the stone of Solitude, as both women slipped around some patrolling guards to open the doors of Radiant Raiment. As the bell rang, Endarie came around the corner and saw them.
“Oh sister! Elayne has returned!” The Altmer grinned, cleavage blatantly reminding Elayne that she was flat chested. “Here to buy more?”
“Sorry, we’ve just got a bit of gold and jewelry to sell you today.” Elayne said conversationally. “And I want to know about these things.” She pointed to her collar and Eola’s headpiece.
Endarie clapped her hands, the Altmer’s own towering heels clicking as she moved across the room to inspect them. “Sit down, sit down! Our honored guests now both have collars! Miss Elayne, you simply must tell me what convinced you to give yourself away!” Hair was gently nudged out of the way, as Endarie looked behind Elayne and over the top of Eola. “Oh, this is peculiar. I’ve seen this sigil before. Taarie! Come and see this!”
Now both Altmer were behind Elayne, poking and prodding at her steel collar like it was a marvel to them. “Oh yes! We have seen that before, when we visited the Imperial City! Oh, miss Elayne. Poor luck to you, to be collared to a dead man.”
“The collar claims you belong to the Septim dynasty!” Endarie laughs, as Elayne felt cold. “How quaint! And this model is difficult to remove without its special key.” The Septim dynasty?! She was wearing a collar from a dead dynasty! And all of their things were likely in Cyrodil, behind many locked doors. She sighed, accepting that right now she was going to be stuck in this collar.
“What about Eola?”
“Ah, that? When she has spells active, or is channeling magic she gains daedra eyesight. Better than a night eye spell. Some Altmeri warriors have used it in the past for fighting in fog or areas with dust or thick concealment.” They patted Eola on the head, coming around to face them both. “We would be happy to buy jewelry and gold from you. Those pesky collars must be so frustrating. But then again, you’re the hero. You’ll make a good name for yourself.”
“I have,” Elayne chewed her lip, worried. “Another question. Something I need help with.”
“Anything, darling.” Endarie drawled. “We are glad to help you.”
“Amaund Motierre told me to meet him in his quarters tonight. I am bringing together a lot of the powerful people in Skyrim, and he says that he will ruin the meeting unless I go to his rooms tonight.”
“Blackmail.” Endarie nodded. “Very direct blackmail.”
“Yes, very Imperial. They just snap their fingers and expect everything to just work for them.” Taarie mocked carelessly.
“Where is Yodie?” Eola asked, still slightly afraid of the hair mage.
“She has a date tonight with Viarmo of the Bard’s College. If what they are doing would be called a date.” Endarie laughed. “She’s getting plowed by that bard.”
“Don’t be so rude, Endarie!” Taarie mocked. “We both know his attentions quite well ourselves.”
“Oh yes, but now we need to talk about a member of the Elder Council! This can’t be his first affair.”
“It’ll be a new experience for me!” Elayne said loudly. “I’ve only had sex once, and it was with a Bosmer.”
Eola snickered. “Slut.” She said under her breath where only they could hear. “Was it worth it?”
Elayne gave Eola a short glare. But then turned her head back to Endarie and Taarie. “I need to know if you think he will ruin my meeting if I don’t go to him.”
“A politician like that? They’re drunk on power.” Endarie considered.
“Can never get enough, in my opinion!” Taarie interjected. “But they are easy enough to ply.”
“How?”
“They are politicians. They have their own reputation to uphold. If you can turn the tables back on them, then the sex is always better, but they respect you more. Or fear you.” The altmer smiled. “You’re a powerful warrior with skills that could easily end his life. You could go in there and daintily sleep with him. Or blackmail him.”
“Or just castrate him.” Eola added.
“Eola!” They all chided. “No, there would be penalties to harming such a man. A member of the Elder Council? He could afford to send assassins or worse to show his displeasure later.” Endarie mentioned. “He wants you to go to him? Go right ahead. Just take control in the bedroom and do whatever it takes to get what you want. You’re a woman, not a sheep.” He really could afford the assassins,
“Right!” She grinned. “I’ve got this.” She really did! “I just have to go to Amaund Motierre tonight, make sure he won’t ruin my summit and then I don’t even know. After that? We’ve got a few days before I have to be on High Hrothgar.”
“Ah, well, perhaps we can be of assistance.” Endarie spoke up. “After you brought up your problems and spent most of your hard earned money, Taarie and I dragged something out of the basement for you. We’ve had it for years, but recently we both had a dream. A dream where we gave it to you.” Taarie held up a large glowing orb. “An adventurer brought this to us a long time ago, and we thought it was a gem.”
“That wasn’t an adventurer, Taarie! That was the battlemage!”
“Their brother was the battlemage, not him! Some big shot Breton in the Legion!”
“Well, he was worried about his brother. Wanted to hide something in a place his brother would never look in. We paid him a paltry sum for it. But it seems to want you to have it. Endarie and I both agree that if an accessory can talk back at you, it doesn’t belong upon your skin.”
“It is the same difference. Objects that can think for themselves make us slightly worried.” The other Altmer offered as she placed the glowing orb in Elayne’s bag. “Now, about this Motierre,” Before Elayne could stop her, the Altmer activated her ankle bands and attached her to the chair. “You’ll need to look perfect for attending to him!”
“Delicate flower or thorny rose?” Endarie nudged Eola out of the way, as both women dug into Elayne’s gear for her clothes. Stockings and lingerie were being dragged out, as Elayne turned beet red and Eola cackled.
“With that face and makeup? Flower. I doubt our dear Lady has the experience to be a rose.” Elayne would say she didn’t want this, but they seemed to know what they were doing. “Though if she wanted to remain unspoiled we could always dig up a chastity belt for you, darling.”
“What is a chastity belt?” Elayne asked, not actually knowing.
“You won’t like it.” Eola warned. “Don’t show her!”
“I agree. We’re saving it for Yodie if she fails to please Viarmo.” Taarie said. Elayne wasn’t sure they were joking. But over the next few hours, the sun started to go down and Elayne made her way back to Castle Dour. This time she looked stunning. She had to agree on that. A soft blue dress was tightly drawn across her body, making it clear that her breastband barely deserved the name. It was one of those thin silk strips that just made sure to remind Elayne of its existence rather than actually do anything helpful. Not that she had much to lift, mind you. Her smallclothes matched, riding up on either side and between the cheeks of her ass. The skirt was so tight that anything else would show. A garter belt wrapped around her thin waist, and long white stockings ran up her legs to tease her thigh bands. A pair of black heels rested on her feet, and her hair was styled to be high upon her head. It would probably come out of it before the end of the night, but it looked excellent right now.
Her bags were left back with Eola at the Raiment, and all she had was a thin cloak to ward off the cool night air. Finding Motierre’s rooms was actually difficult, and behind multiple layers of defensive guard posts. She knew where the room was, but they didn’t want to let her approach it. It was within the Emperor’s Tower, after all. A muffle spell and an invisibility spell at least got her close to the base of the tower, and she had to thread the needle between walking patrols to get into his rooms!
She sighed in relief as the door slid shut behind her, and looked across the small chamber. There was a bedroom in the back, but in front there were large desks with scrolls and ink in ordered rows. Sitting at that desk was the man himself. While his outfit seemed colorful enough, his palette and demeanor just made the man appear to blend into the background. A member of the Elder Council he might be, but the man almost felt like a wallflower.
“It’s barely sundown. I suppose,” He glanced at the window. “Oh, it is much later than I presumed. Would you look at the time, keeping up correspondence is a drudgery of a task.” He carefully took his quill, setting it aside with ginger care. He even lined it up with his scroll, so that when he would continue writing later it would be ready. A mortar, pestle and retort were on the desk as well, with a calcinator off to the side. They looked recently used. “Welcome to the scribe’s quarters. I don’t mind them, and it keeps me close to my liege. Just in case he needs anything.”
“I wanted to talk to you about my summit.” Elayne said, carefully. “We didn’t finish our conversation before.”
Amaund Motierre seemed to come back to himself, smiling. “Quite right, quite right! So, your summit. I brought up a few complaints to the Emperor, and let me just say, I commend your daring! But I also worry about a slave organizing such an event.”
“I’m!” Elayne started to say, thinking less carefully. “I, uh, cannot remove this collar. It’s an item made for the Dragonborn to serve while wearing. It belonged to Tiber Septim.”
Motierre blinked. “So that means that you are doing this by the authority of a saint.” He whispered. Not god. He didn’t refer to Tiber Septim by his divine title, either! And this was the man that wrote the Imperial half of the White-Gold Concordat! “Well, that strengthens your position with Stormcloak, but the Thalmor will almost certainly reject anything you bring to the table by that authority. Well. I can cross that concern off.” Which he actually did.
“The summit is going to happen soon. In less than a week. I don’t want the Empire to feel left out. Or as though they won’t have a chance.”
“I am certain they won’t.” Motierre pointed out. “No, this entire summit will only work if the Empire is going to win the summit. As you best know, a meeting between two great powers will always favor the one who has the strategic points. Right now, that is Stormcloak. His forces hold the passes at Helgen, Riften, Blacklight and contest the last connection to Cyrodil. Falkreath is under threat, but the Jarl is one of the most useless leaders I have met in this province.”
“Sidgier is not the most promising member of the hold, but his steward Narya has been working for his family for at least half a century.”
“She’s a Thalmor plant.” Motierre smirked. “Of course she is running it well. Falkreath is just as much a chokepoint for the Thalmor as it is the Empire.”
“Really?”
“How else would she keep her little collection? She has profited off of the family for a generation. Though the hold is fairly run, her brother has connections to a group called the Sommerset Shadows. I am not the spymaster, but it does pay to know the strategic movers and shakers.”
“About my summit.” She brought him back to the point. “You said it would fail.”
“You’ve not given any faction enough time to plan a calculated response. Only the Thalmor have even been able to contact Tullius so far, and it has been nothing concrete. Normally when any kind of diplomatic event is held, you do it in clearly neutral territory. You’ve at least done that right. For the circumstances you’ve picked a location that all groups except the Thalmor find acceptable. They plan on refusing you, by the way.”
That was unfortunate, but not unexpected. The Thalmor would be a good source of intelligence for the dragons and Harkon. “Refusing me? Why?”
“Probably the disrespect. You sent a letter to them but came to us in person. It’s a casual disrespect that makes perfect sense for your career so far. I applaud you doing so, as it improves your standing with the other factions. Appeasing the elves is hardly a reliable method. I should know, after dealing with their diplomats for five years during wartime.” He laughed, as if that were something more impressive to someone who had fought dragons.
“So I have a good location.”
“Your location is perhaps the best we can hope for. The mages may find it encumbering, but other than that I can only guess the Thalmor will be the ones coming intending harm. No, my concern is that you are obviously favoring the Reachmen. These Forsworn appear to be the real reason you are bringing this Summit together. Stormcloak is going to feel betrayed and the Empire will have no choice but to further destabilize the region and support a new power.”
“It is true, I would like to see my people fairly treated.” Her people. She had admitted it.
“Then let us discuss these Bretons of the Reach. History has not had a kind relationship between them and the Nords. Not to mention the continuous dead free folk that suffer in that region from the tactics of the Reachmen.”
“They still believe they are at war.”
“Belief is a terrible word.” He raised an eyebrow. “Let us instead use legal terms. These native citizens of the Empire are killing other native citizens of the empire in a civil dispute for territory that is contained to a single province. There is a history of outright rebellion, though the leadership for said rebellion was killed. So there is no legal basis for rebellion, though simmering tides of violence are natural for exchanges of power. Banditry has no legal basis, though the Empire does have limited recognition for some civil disobedience under the circumstances.”
“I don’t understand all of that very well. Can’t you simply say that they are just like the rest of Skyrim?”
Motierre seemed to stop and laugh at that. “Quite true. I had the fortune of bargaining with some of the diplomats from the Reach when Maddanach was in charge. Perhaps you would know them?” He tapped his finger against the desk, ink stains upon the fingernails. “Agrystir and Gwynabyth?”
“I am certain I can find them.” She said. “Why?”
“While your people were in possession of Markarth, we nearly had come to an agreement between High King Istlod and Madanach. They were considering a childhood engagement of their children to cement relations, but it was not to be. Before the diplomats could finalize any kind of deal, the Nord militia had sacked Markarth. Right now you are forcing a diplomatic meeting without any kind of relations created. The Forsworn have little to no chances of a full resolution occurring as part of this summit. You are trying to do in days what normally takes years.”
“I don’t see why you can’t just endorse the Reachfolk making a city and stopping their attacks.”
Motierre rolled his eyes. “It’s been almost a generation of these people living out in the hills. Their children haven’t been raised with the idea of peace as a solution. Naturally they will seek conflict. Just because their elders decide that they will no longer be fighting, or make a vague agreement to stop their practices would mean the younger generation’s anger would burn out.” His eyes roamed across her skin, Elayne feeling her heart beat a little faster. “Can you not see a new generation of competent bandits rising from the numbers of the now-peaceful Forsworn?”
“They would need something else to fight.” She countered. “Something they would only too readily fight.”
Motierre grinned. “Slave to something you might be, but you do have a small shred of brilliance, I must admit. The Emperor and I have agreed to support your summit. But only if our support of these Reachfolk is answered with an immediate force of arms against Ulfrik Stormcloak.”
“I can’t speak for their willingness to march to war.”
“Ah, but you did mention that. You stated that they would give you an army.”
“An army against Alduin! Not against an enemy far from their own holds! They use leather, bone and sinew for their materials of war. Not steel! There are hardly any iron mines in the Reach that support the Forsworn, and that clan is known as the stingiest out of them all. Bone and sinew might not be on the same level as iron and hardened leather, but they are willing to fight for their right to survive. I can’t promise their willingness to fight for an Empire whose veterans fought them so long ago.”
“But vengeance is something we Bretons understand deeply.” Motierre brought up. “I’m counting on their desire to see Ulfrik brought down as part of these proceedings. Sadly, all sides are looking at your summit as though you are a helpful catalyst to their own goals. Which, if I am being honest is the core of diplomacy. Compromise is the result.”
“Are you saying that if the Reach doesn’t join the Empire and fight Ulfrik, you’ll withdraw your support?”
“That isn’t my decision. The Emperor doesn’t have confidence in your summit actually doing anything of value in the region. I concur.” Motierre considered carefully. “I invited you here tonight to convince me otherwise.”
“What would it take for that to change?”
“Stormcloak will demand that any who attend the summit publicly refute the White-Gold Concordat. It’s clear from his actions that he has no intention of respecting your meeting, and will supplant his own needs. The Mages of Winterhold will most likely side with him, and your Vigilants of Stendarr lean towards his political views. They don’t like Talos being silenced. By this nature and the wording of that treaty, we would be forced to enter conflict with those factions as well as Stormcloak. Your summit will do nothing but draw us further into war.” He raked his hair, the man almost disappearing into the background with how unimportant he appeared. But perhaps that was just the appearance he wanted. “It is going to ostracize the groups that have avoided picking a side until now. Thankfully Stormcloak has very few allies. Yet his coffers have not suffered since the war started. One of Tullius’ largest worries, I am certain.”
“Do you even think it is worth letting happen?” She blurted out. “You don’t seem happy about any of this.”
“I am rarely happy about anything.” Motierre returned. “But there exists an opportunity for us here. Undoubtedly Stormcloak will agree to his own backroom deal to recognize the Reachfolk. It is this action that I desire control over. If the Empire can direct his attention to a resolution that we want, or seemingly beneficial to us then the summit will be a success.”
“So what do you want?!” Elayne demanded. “I feel like I had to sneak past guards and do it in these ridiculous clothes, and you are just running your tongue!”
Amaund Motierre turned, his eyebrows narrowed. “Perhaps your tongue can be of better use yourself. I am helping you. Trying to understand this from a legal standpoint must be hard for the mind of a slave like yourself. Even if you are a hero.” He pushed at his clothing, the outer coats sliding back onto the chair. “It’s a shame you’re not full chested. I would have found that more entertaining.”
“What?”
“You aren’t that attractive to me.” Amaund mocked. “I just told you that in the meeting earlier to see what you would do.” He motioned to her stocking-covered legs. “How far you are willing to go for your summit.”
Elayne felt furious! She had been with Endarie and Taarie for hours getting this right! Some spark of her anger seemed to get through, the other Breton giving her a look of suspicion. Ugh! She still had to prove that her summit even mattered to him! And now she looked angry enough that it showed through her headband’s forced makeup. She had to prove to Amaund that she was serious! As if in answer to her thoughts, her body acted for her.
Elayne almost started herself to find that she was now on her knees underneath Motierre’s table. Her hands moved up his robes, drawing them open and finding every layer that she would normally find. The man hadn’t even worn less for a possible romantic encounter! It took her a minute to reach his smallclothes, finally drawing him out. Motierre said nothing, judging her. Arcane symbols were upon she skin of his somewhat flaccid length, and she couldn’t help but notice they were the same color of blue as ice wraith teeth. The potions those ended up in were often dyed a deep radiant blue.
“You are not my first appointment today, so you may find the-” She didn’t care what he said. She was good at this! Her tongue darted out first, locking on to the length and sucking it into her mouth. The taste of ice wraith teeth was on her tongue, Motierre quickly hardening under her ministrations. “My Lady Dragonborn,” Motierre tried to say. “If you are truly going to make this summit happen, you will need to convince Ulfrik Stormcloak to surrender himself in exchange for the right for all worshippers of Talos to be forgiven under Imperial Law. If he doesn’t want them to die to Thalmor hands even if he does win, then we can pardon them just by his own sacrifice.”
Elayne was trying to listen, Motierre’s penis not even as large as Belethor. She was having no problem taking it down. Her painted lips moved up and down, leaving trails on his skin. He was shuddering as he spoke, blinking as she performed. “The Empire will only accept total victory here. Do you understand?”
Elayne grabbed both of his thighs, pulling back so that the hungry length was out of her mouth. “Yes.” She said, feeling as though this was somehow a risk. Before her tongue could say anything else, she was back to sucking on him. She blinked, feeling her entire mouth full before realizing that she hadn’t meant to do that. She had questions, damn it! Her body wasn’t listening.
“Good girl.” Motierre patted her on the head. Which only seemed to push his length further down her throat with every pat! “I’ll just make sure that you keep your promise.”
He exploded, deep enough that she couldn’t stop herself from swallowing. Both Bretons glowed, magic going from one to the other. The arcane symbols! Elayne tried to back off, butt her mouth was kept on him! He was pulling her hair, even! She activated her racial power instinctively, the magic resistance kicking in softly. Whatever he was doing, it refilled her magicka back up, giving her plenty to cast invisibility or muffle spells to escape later. Elayne made a rude sound in the back of her throat, while her tongue obediently found any evidence of Motierre and dutifully swallowed it.
Amaund released her, leaving her kneeling underneath the large wooden desk. Her lips felt puffy, and she coughed slightly. “What did you just do?” She spoke, softly.
“Curse you, of course. Your stamina is effectively nothing. Please don’t put your life at risk. If you die this entire effort will be for nothing.”
“You cursed me?!” She glared up at him from the floor.
“I am a diplomat, Elayne of Wayrest. If that collar had been bound to the Mede dynasty this would have been easier. I will break the curse upon you once our needs have been met at this summit. It is your job to break Stormcloak’s will or trick him into agreeing with our plans at the summit. If he chooses not to, we cannot kill him at the meeting but we can humiliate him.” Amaund smiled darkly. “Enjoy your dinner, slave girl. Now, leave before I call the Penitus Oculatus. They do not take kindly to unscheduled visitors. Oh, and fair warning. You’ll be a fair bit slow and weak for as long as you are cursed. I don’t mind crippling a hero if it means that the Empire can be strengthened for it.”
Elayne’s stomach churned as she stood up, seeing the remnants of a letter on the ground as she stood. It was a scribbled note to someone named ‘The Gourmet’. “What if you don’t support the Reachfolk?”
“I have the Emperor’s ear. As well as the wax seal. I am the one he would look to for advice. He is a military leader and domestic politician. I’m the one who studies the potential catastrophes that may follow unhindered diplomacy.”
“So this is it? You curse me and then promise me nothing?”
“I have a wife if I want to wet my prick in a more meaningful manner.” He scoffed. “With that collar on, any kind of trust I could have in you would be tempered by the knowledge that you might serve anyone with Septim blood. There are disgraced lines out there, some guess. With that in mind, you could be commanded to ruin the summit. A slave should never be the lynchpin of any large scale plan. So, when you are done with your summit, perhaps you will have a new hold for your Reachfolk and we will be seeing the beginnings of peace.” Motierre gave a long look up and down Elayne, in a way that made her skin crawl. “Goodbye, Lady Dragonborn. Be thankful I am letting you return home in some degree of comfort.” He twirled something in his fingers, a fine lace set of fabric.
Elayne felt drafty, suddenly. Her skirt was extremely short to begin with, but now she knew that he had somehow stolen that from her. “H-hey!” She stumbled. “Those are expensive!”
Motierre grinned. She hadn’t even seen him move! “Consider it a keepsake between friends.” He worded carefully. “As a reminder of all of those underhanded moments of diplomacy that lie ahead of us.” He was definitely more than he appeared to be.

Elayne couldn’t get out of the room faster if she tried. He was right about that curse. Her stamina felt like it ebbed away at great speed, though she still could perform bursts of effective movements. Frustrated, she returned to the Radiant Raiment to find everyone else asleep. Her pack was glowing, the orb that had been given to her pulsating. It was something to think about other than this madness with Motierre. But the moment she placed her hand upon it, a voice seemed to slip inside her head.
“Oh, my. The touch of the house of troubles is upon you, mortal. Curses and bargains weight upon your soul like a blight.”
Elayne recognized a Daedra when she heard the voice. So her feet carried her into the basement, where hopefully no one would hear her. “Identify yourself, Daedra.” She whispered. “Are you bound within this orb?”
“From a greater sigil stone of Mehrunes Dagon I carved this beacon, to light the world of mortals and reward their life and works in my name. Your name is known to me, as many souls have been brought peace by your actions. The dead across Skyrim rattle in their graves, as masters old and new disturb them. My light is not there to guide those that would care to stop this. Go to Kilkreath Temple! Cleanse my temple, so the dead may stay silent.”
“Meridia.” Elayne whispered in the dark basement. “That was Meridia.” Meridia had a temple not a far walk from Solitude. Grinning, Elayne looked down at the glowing orb. “Motierre wants me running scared. He wouldn’t have cursed me unless he thought I was a threat to his plans somehow.” She looked at her hands, the skin covered in callus from all of the hours spent with alchemical alembics and mortars. All the hours she had wielded a weapon to defend herself in Skyrim. Motierre wouldn’t dare take it from her.
The next morning, she and Eola set off. Though they didn’t make it far. The gates were shut, and the guards were waiting for them to come through. “The general left a message for you, ladies.”
Elayne uncrumpled the hastily written note.
‘Elayne of Wayrest,
I saw you last night out my window. Stop fucking around my legion. I’ve already got battlemages going rogue, I don’t need more scandal in my fortress. There are Thalmor waiting at Dragon Bridge to ambush you. Be careful.
Tullius’
“That’s rather kind of him.” Eola remarked. “Battlemages going rogue?”
The guard didn’t find that statement funny. “He must be talking about Malkoran. He went crazy at one of the last battles. Hasn’t been around much since. Usually the battlemages are fairly important, they’ve got special passes to come through the gates. If you see him, be careful. He’s a Breton and knows how to fight.”
“Sounds dangerous.” Both Bretons agreed.
“You ladies try to stay safe out there. It’s going to snow today, I can feel it in my bones.” He waved them through. Kilkreath Temple was just along the road towards High Rock. During this time of year the merchants would hardly be traveling by boat, and some brave souls came over the passes. It was treacherous on man and beast. Elayne had only traveled it a few times, and only during the summers.
Eola was wearing her elven armor, while Elayne wore one of her less whorish dresses and armored boots and gloves. She couldn’t cover her collar at all. So both women were slightly shivering in the wind long before they got on top of Kilkreath Temple. The orb was something that belonged to Meridia, after all. It turned into a glowing pillar of light that started showing through the temple, though Elayne had to catch her breath more often than not.
“You have come to my temple, mortal. So much for the consistency of your kind. My edifice lies in ruins! You have returned my beacon. Now, restore it’s light to my temple! A Necromancer named Malkoran has defiled it. Go, purge his vile actions from my temple and prevent him from using my totem.”
Meridia’s voice was softer than other Daedra. It still was loud, but it wasn’t as invasive. Probably why the Dunmer called her a ‘good’ Daedra. “The doors are locked. We would need another way in.”
“My temple knows its master. My light shall guide your way. Help that light find its way, and you shall find all of its doors opened unto you.”
Meridia went silent after that, though the light was being reflected between glowing pylons. True to the Daedra’s word, the front door of the temple was now unlocked. Elayne drew her dwarven sword, and Eola her own shock enchanted dwarven sword. True to Meridia’s word, there were a pile of corpses that had been defiled in the first main room. Both Stormcloak and Imperial armor lied on the corpses.
“Their purses were heavy.” Eola spoke up, pulling a fat one off of the corpse of an officer.
“Hey!” Elayne spoke up. “We don’t defile the offerings of the dead!”
“You don’t. But that’s why you have barely any money to your name, yet you are sent into all of these ruins anyways.” Eola said mockingly. “You want to save up enough to get your bondage off? Or not?”
Elayne snatched the purse from Eola’s hands. “I will respect the dead.” She said, seriously. “We are not to loot their corpses. They fought in life to have that money, and in death their families may need to leave some as offerings. They might have wives or children that can use that more than I.”
Eola sighed, and moved past the pile of corpses. “You’re too kind, Elayne. These people are dead. That corpse is so defiled, the family would get ashes as a return. Maybe some bones. Whatever money they have should be used for good! You need it, they don’t!”
“Their families might need it! I won’t steal from the dead. Any people I kill I will leave gold for their burial.” Elayne said clearly. “No exceptions.”
“You are the worst damn hero.” Eola muttered. But even as she placed the gold back on the corpse’s belt, thick shadows seemed to be gathering in the corners of the room. From the corpse, the weapons and armor flowed, moving across the floor loudly and disturbing the other corpses. Each of them, too seemed to sprout dark shadows and their weapons and armor come together. It looked like a skeleton, but she could see right through it. “Shades!” Eola warned. “This mage has to be some arch necromancer! He doesn’t even need to animate their bodies!”
The shades were made of aether and magick keeping them animated. Since they had magic weapons, the enchantments could harm the wraith like undead. As they made it through the ruin, their intrusion seemed to wake up the wraiths on its own. Elayne still refused to take from the dead. It was her personal belief that they would have families that needed something to replace the loss of its son or daughter. Lydia spent time every month in the Shrine of Arkay in Whiterun while she was still alive. Most families visited their dead on a regular basis, leaving offerings to their ancestors.
Whoever this Malkoran was, he had gathered more than thirty dead men. She and Eola barred the door into the next room, setting weapons down and taking a well earned rest. “You’re tiring faster.” The other Breton pointed out, her armor dented from a particularly well aimed arrow. “And my last soul gem just emptied. These wraiths are taking a lot to put down.”
“I’ve got a filled greater one, still.” Elayne offered. “But my sword is getting worn down, too.” These shades had real armor and weapons from the dead soldiers. These were wearing down the edge of her weapon. With the door safely barred, they both were taking refuge in Kilkreath’s older section of ruins. The first sections looked like they had been used in recent generations, with well taken care of torch sconces and ritual chambers. The ruins below that looked completely left to rot. Old stone and rusting iron sconces littered the ground. They had put down maybe two score undead so far, but behind the door they had seen more desecrated corpses.
“My enchantment is gone.” She said of her own. “And we need to be ready for Malkoran. He’s got to know that he is running out of wraiths.”
“We should have gotten some silver weapons in Whiterun.”
“I haven’t seen any silver weapons, even in Markarth. There just aren’t that many ghosts in Skyrim.” Eola got out a whetstone, and was restoring the honed edge of her sword. Elayne’s was looking rather worn, but it continued to do the job, as both women sat next to the remains of a sconce and took care of their gear. “Nords don’t like making them as undead. They like making Draugr and such. Though their non tolerance of magic is something to be concerned about, since there is plenty of evidence that at one point they were really good at it.”
“They started trusting Bretons to do it for them.” Elayne joked.
“We make Liches and other nasty things.” Eola snickered. “But seriously, we also make ghosts. This Malkoran guy is going to have some kind of plan if he’s made,” Eola did math in her head. “More than forty ghosts?”
“Some of these corpses have been dead for months.” Elayne pointed out. “He’s been at this a while.”
“Most are Stormcloak, too. But I’ve seen Imperial Corpses too. He’s killing his own people. He’s got to be strong if he is dragging those corpses this deep inside this ruin.”
“Wagon marks. He’s no strongman.” Eola pointed at the dust in the corners of the room. There were clear marks of a wagon being moved through here. “We can at least expect to fight a battlemage that won’t be cleaving us in half.”
Elayne bit her lip, realizing what might help. “Here, let’s keep that greater soul gem. I’ll recharge the weapons.”
“What, are you some kind of pre-Oblivion crisis Mysticism mage?” Eola mocked. “Enchanters haven’t been able to do that for a few centuries at-” Eola stopped mocking her as Elayne pulled her dress apart, revealing the very full soul gems hanging from her nipples. “Oh. Sorry.” Eola got closer, ready to watch her recharge the weapons with rapt attention.
“Go gargle some ginger tea, Eola. I’m going to do this in peace.” The one eyed woman chuckled, but at least left her alone. She held both weapons to touch the soul gems, balancing two dwarven swords in line with the gems. Power started flowing from the gems, as the rings glowed, the moonstone lighting up with symbols. Elven symbols cast small pools of light from her breasts, as nerves throughout her body responded to the sensitive stimulation. She fell forward, slipping off of the small dias and onto a bench as the power shocked her too. But it wasn’t painful. It was a rush of feeling that ran from the top of her head to her toes, and then back through her breasts and through her entire spine before hitting her stomach and sensitivities with a gasping crash.
She sat on the floor for a minute or two, breathing in small gasps before the continued rush carried her to another height. At some point she dropped the swords, hands pressed to her own body as she writhed on the dusty floor. This dress would need cleaning, for sure. Eola didn’t laugh at her, or mock her. Instead she carefully raised Elayne back up onto the dias with her, the thicker thighs looking tanned and healthy. “So. Like your first fireball?”
“I still,” Elayne centered herself on the stone. “Haven’t actually cast one.”
“Maybe it’s better than an orgasm. Nords hate them, you know.”
“Well.” She shook, pulling her dress back into place over her miniscule breasts. “I’ll get there someday. I care more about illusion magic.”
“Makes me wonder why you haven’t learned a spell that makes your boobs look bigger.”
“That would be Alteration, Eola! And no one would invent such a spell, just in case they damaged their own body.”
“I bet you’re wrong.”
Elayne just sighed, catching her breath and picking up her sword. “I want us to be wrong. Now, I’m catching my breath and we are going to kick that mage’s ass.”
“Right.” Eola nodded. “Let’s do it.”
The wraiths became less of an issue, now that they knew what to expect. There were only a few of them, though they came to a large internal chamber. Meridia’s glowing reflected light was going through a large arching hole above the door, its light carrying through the room. “He knows we are coming. This is it.”
Eola nodded. “Let something else go first.” She summoned an Ice atronach, the creature lumbering forward through the doors. The poor thing was shot by four arrows, brought down by a few bursts of lightning that had her hair standing on end. “Oh he’s definitely a Battlemage.”
“I’ll take the wraiths. You take the mage.” Eola smiled. “See how long he can fight for.”
Eola ran in first, throwing a pair of fireballs into the back lines. She had to dive behind a pillar as a massive wave of ice was returned back at her, freezing the stone and leaving behind stalactites of frozen spikes. Elayne went next, activating her racial ability and coming in sight of the battlemage. He was wearing black cowled robes, having abandoned the Imperial armored robes of his office.
“I expected someone else.” Malkoran spoke, surprised. “To send the Dragonborn after me I did not expect.” Her dragon priest mask was concealing her identity well enough. “You destroyed all of my thralls.”
“Meridia wants her Temple back.” Elayne spoke. Her headband was glowing from some effect or another. “Surrender, or else.”
Malkoran looked around his chamber, every single thrall he had summoned dead or destroyed. “And what then? Go back to killing Nords who don’t deserve it? Go back to a senseless war when the real enemy dines in the Blue Palace? I’ve watched Elenwen eat our food, sup our wine and waste our time and money on her pleasantries while she perpetuates this damn war!”
“What do you mean?”
“I caught Elenwen slipping a shipment of gold across the coasts. My patrol found their ship beached near Dawnstar, on that aedra-forsaken shore. I saw what they had. I know where it came from! That damn embassy is a front for money to go straight to the Stormcloaks! I had evidence of it all, and sent my squad here to this Temple.” He motioned around him. “The Thalmor came for me. I didn’t know what to do. We’ve been keeping Stormcloak bodies here for later return and burial, since Meridia would protect the bodies. Her light keeps back the dark. Unless someone turns it against her.”
“What did you do?”
Malkoran threw down his staff and weapon. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He whimpered. “They all died. I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to not let their deaths be for nothing!”
“You performed a sacrifice to Molag Bal…” Elayne realized. “You used their souls for the price!”
“I did.” Malkoran whimpered. “I surrender, Lady Dragonborn. I thought it was the Thalmor coming to kill me. I don’t know who to turn to.” The edges of his fingers flickered black, and Elayne noticed that they were cracked and broken in places.
“You too?” She blurted out. “You sacrificed yourself?”
“The Thalmor won. I was dying. I didn’t want them to get out alive.”
“They tracked you here?”
“They took back the evidence I had gathered. All the gold is still here, but they took all their evidence of it. And now I can’t leave. I’ve tied myself to the spell. I’m already dead.” He motioned back to an altar, where some kind of powerful item rested. His soul was tethered to it, just like all the rest. All of the wraiths were. “I don’t want to be forgotten after all I’ve done. I fought for the Legion all of my life. I don’t want it to end here!”
“That’s why you’re holding on to your body better than all the rest. Sheer spite.” Eola spoke up. “You want the Thalmor to pay for what they’ve done.”
“Yes.” Malkoran whispered. “I know you’re a good person. The Nords talk about your respect and dignity. I want to trust you to avenge me, to prove they are trying to extend this war. They had a sealed note, for Kai Wet-Pommel in Winterhold. I lost the note, but I know he is the one moving the shipments for the Thalmor! I just need someone to prove it! Then we can actually fight this war! Cut off Stormcloak’s funding and stop the flow of weapons and armor to the front for real!”
“What about the dead men here?” She asked. “Their bodies..”
“Our bodies.” Malkoran interrupted. “I did this. I won’t shy away from what I did.”
“Your bodies are desecrated. A Priest of Arkay is going to have a hard time with it.”
Malkoran sighed. “Lady Dragonborn, do you promise to complete what I died for? To help stop this war?”
“I don’t want to pick sides. I just don’t want people to die!”
“That’s an oxymoron, Lady Dragonborn. You can’t just expect someone like you to not affect its outcome. You’re here, aren’t you?”
She was here. “I, Elayne of Wayrest, accept your oath. I will find your evidence.”
Malkoran seemed to smile. “Meridia. I am sorry. I am undoing my spell. I never meant to defile your temple.” The Breton used the last of his energy, stepping between the glowing altar and beam of light. It hit his body, dark tendrils running past them to all of the other desecrated corpses in the place. “By my sacrifice, be they released!” His body was sucked into the beam of light, consumed by the energies as the ruin rushed with a single pulse of energy. The corpses no longer looked defiled, their skin color back to normal and not a burned look.
“He wasn’t a bad man.” Eola said with respect. “It’s too bad. I rather liked his spellwork.”
“It is Done. The defiler is defeated.” The voice of Meridia washed over them. “Malkoran has been redeemed. You have impressed me, mortal. A new day is dawning, and you shall be the champion of that dawn. Take Dawnbreaker from it’s pedestal, and purge the corruption and darkness from this land! And I shall strip from you the curses that have you so bound.”
“Good Daedra!” Elayne said out loud. “I mean, I thank you, Lady of Infinite Energies.”
“May the light of Certitude guide your efforts.”
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Skyrim: Plaything