Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

The Forsworn Retribution	By : Samson Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 60892 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls intellectual property, nor am I making any money off of this fanfic. Unauthorized duplication of this work is prohibited.

Chapter List
- 37
- 38
- 39
Epilogue

The Forsworn Retribution
Part X - "Forgotten Saviours"
By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson
Original Date Written: June 2, 2016

Time passed on like it always does. Events played out just as predictably as Maximus and the rest had anticipated. For the sellswords, there was no vindication. As far as Markarth was concerned, Maximus had simply been a traitor to the Empire, a Talos worshipper in defiance of the White-Gold Concordat, and had been taken away by the Thalmor - an example to the public, a warning not to cross the Aldmeri Dominion. Jarl Igmund, the Jarl of Markarth, quickly accepted the Thalmor’s official explanation of the situation, which served to further sour his opinion of mercenaries. He promptly wrote Maximus off as a disloyal vagabond, damning his memory, disavowing the work Maximus put into fighting the Forsworn.
When word reached him of the slaughtered patrol meant to take Maximus to Northwatch fortress, Ondolemar, captain of the Thalmor forces in Markarth, quickly amassed a Justiciar task force made up of reinforcements sent from the Thalmor Embassy. This task force swiftly discovered the burned corpses Sabrina had left behind in the mountain cave she and the others had recuperated within, and determined the evident truth behind the prisoner escort’s fate. Everyone in the escort was accounted for, aside from two: the prisoner, himself, and a single Thalmor soldier. Examinations of the bodies proved that the one missing soldier was one of the females. While the bodies had been burned too thoroughly for individual identifications to be made, it still seemed prudent to assume that a traitor had helped the prisoner escape.
A turncoat soldier and an escaped Talos worshipper was an insult that the Thalmor was not willing to suffer. Anya was replaced in Ondolemar’s personal guard, and the Justiciar task force was dispersed across Skyrim, specifically seeking out any female Altmeri that might be the traitorous soldier. Maximus’ file, collated by Anya, was passed on to the Thalmor embassy, and Elenwen, First Emissary of the Thalmor to Skyrim and thus, essentially, the de facto leader of all Thalmor forces in the country of Skyrim, spread copies of the file throughout her network of soldiers, spies, and Justiciars. If anyone by the name of Maximus Iron-Heart ever showed their face anywhere, any measures deemed necessary would be taken to either bring him in for his scheduled interrogation, or simply execute him on the spot.
Ulfric Stormcloak evaded capture for his murder of High King Torygg, and continued to insist he had claim to the throne. The gesture of murdering Torygg, a symbolic move proving that the leadership of Skyrim was weak, successfully brought more Nords to the ranks of the Stormcloak army, and the Emperor, Titus Mede II, felt forced to intervene. As Skyrim was still a part of the Empire, if it was led by an open Talos worshipper who not only was willing to reinstate Talos worship in his country, but was also adamant about going to war with the Aldmeri Dominion, it would be perfect grounds for another Great War, one that the Empire was not yet prepared to endure. The Legions entered and occupied Skyrim, accompanied by a bolstered Thalmor presence, and the civil war began.
The throne sat empty for some time. The Empire supported Jarl Elisif, widow to the late High King Torygg, for High Queen. Ulfric Stormcloak, supported by his Stormcloak army, claimed that he, instead, should be High King. Skyrim was divided nearly straight down the middle between Jarls and Holds that supported the Empire, and those that supported Ulfric. Only Whiterun Hold, the heart of Skyrim, remained neutral in the civil war, a position all knew would be impossible to maintain, indefinitely. In the midst of it all, the Aldmeri Dominion watched with thinly-veiled smiles as Skyrim and Cyrodiil weakened one another, taking advantage of the chaos through the overbearing eyes of the Thalmor. Anyone suspected of Talos worship simply disappeared, often without a trace, and the combined terror and indignity of it all further motivated both sides of the conflict to escalate the war.
Following the arrival of one General Tullius, a tactical genius of the Empire, Ulfric Stormcloak was led into an ambush and captured. Finally, it seemed as though the civil war would end, and in the Empire’s favour, as well. Unfortunately, this presented the military leader with a quandary: holding Ulfric captive inside Skyrim was sure to bring down the might of the entire Stormcloak army, in an attempt to free their leader. However, extrication from Skyrim for a much more appropriate execution before the Emperor, in Cyrodiil, was not an option, either. Turning Ulfric’s execution into as potent a political statement as his own murder of Torygg simply did not seem possible, and so, a hasty execution for him and his troupe was scheduled in Helgen, a fair village between Whiterun and Falkreath Holds. If a message could not be made with his death, simply eliminating him from the equation would have to do.
Ulfric, soundly gagged in order to prevent his use of the fabled Thu’um, was brought before an executioner alongside some close Stormcloak companions of his, and even some strangers with the poor luck of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Without warning, a bellowing cry was heard on the horizon, and an enormous, black dragon began laying waste to Helgen. With the execution interrupted, almost all of the prisoners began escaping in the confusion. General Tullius, too concerned with the well-being of Helgen’s villagers, was unable to prevent Ulfric and his troupe from slipping away, free to fight another day. Ulfric, as mystified as Tullius was by the appearance of a mythical dragon, returned to Windhelm. General Tullius, meanwhile, returned to Solitude. The civil war returned in full strength, unabated by the return of the dragons...

Anya

Following her departure from Maximus’ company, Anya called in a favour with an old acquaintance of her’s, requesting a discreet carriage ride from Markarth to Riften. Thankfully, this took place very briefly before Ondolemar’s reinforcements arrived from the Thalmor embassy, allowing her carriage to pass through Skyrim without Justiciars stopping them and demanding to perform inspections of the occupants and cargo. Once in Riften, Anya’s assumption had proven correct: the Bosmer she had wished to see, the flesh sculptor, had been given asylum by the Thieves Guild, who had planned on making use of her extraordinary services in some of their most daring jobs, yet.
Anya fearlessly strode down into the Ratway, found the Ragged Flagon, and when confronted by the small crowd present in the underground tavern, admitted her unenviable situation without hesitation. She knew that everyone present was a member of the Thieves Guild, she knew that this was their headquarters, she knew that Galathil the flesh sculptor was present, and she knew that if she was to save her own life, she would be in need of the Bosmer’s services. In exchange for allowing her access to the Bosmer, Anya would recompense them however they desired. Once she had changed her face, she would leave behind everything associated with her old life, and begin anew. Surely, in her new life, there would be room for her to do a favour or two for the Thieves Guild.
Anya’s plight drew sympathy from the higher-ups of the Guild, who were, themselves, no big supporters of the Aldmeri Dominion. One of them, a man named Delvin Mallory, even offered to pay the flesh sculptor’s fee, upon discovering that Anya had not a single Septim to her name. When Anya was introduced to the Bosmer woman, she explained her situation. The flesh sculptor, a consummate professional, undertook a vow of privacy on Anya’s existence, and began the procedure to alter the Altmer’s face. When Anya awoke with her new face, she was approached by Delvin, who explained to her the mutually beneficial deal he and his associates had thought up. What they were in need of, more than anything else, were trustworthy, reliable fences that they could sell their goods, to.
Anya had mentioned she planned on going to Windhelm, and the Thieves Guild thus far had not established a fence in that Hold, so the trade seemed obvious. If she could ingratiate herself well enough in Windhelm to become a merchant, if she could butter up the right sailors to open up contacts in the pier, the Thieves Guild could make use of her services for enormous profits, on both sides. The Guild would even forward the money she’d need to open her own shop or goods stall, and would additionally arrange for her to arrive at Windhelm by ship, which would help support her fabricated story of being a recent immigrant to Skyrim from Summerset Isle. If she worked with the Thieves Guild for but a couple years, she’d be wealthy enough to retire a young woman. They’d even roll along with whatever lie she decided to tell to people about her history, especially if it involved cooperation with the Thieves Guild. In short, they’d help legitimize her new life story, and all she had to do in exchange was work with them.
The answer was easy, for Anya...

There was a cold, crisp breeze in Windhelm, that morning. Anya had just a minute before arrived at her stall, and was still ostensibly checking her makeup with a tiny, palm-sized mirror she kept, tucked into her conservative dress. Everything had gone swimmingly, ever since she had “arrived” in Skyrim, some time before. The Thieves Guild had kept it’s promise, and more. She had been given the gold necessary to open up her own little stall of a shop, and she had turned her small initial investment into a full inventory of goods. She had no experience with moving stolen items, but she was a quick learner and a hard negotiator, and eventually, she got the hang of the ins and outs of being a fence.
She had made the right friends, greased the right palms, and eventually, she, an Altmer, was being treated better than many of the Nords in Ulfric’s own city. Coin was trickling into her pockets in steadily increasing amounts. Best of all, not a single Thalmor toady in sight. Everything had gone swimmingly, indeed. She gave a faint sigh, holding her mirror a little further from her face to avoid steaming the glass. She stared into her own eyes, now a vivid green, and followed the contours of her new face. At first, she had thought herself prepared to leave her face behind. The first opportunity she had to look into a mirror, however, and she found herself overwhelmed by a surreal sense of displacement. It had taken weeks for her to recognize what she saw as herself without finding herself feeling lost. Anya really was gone.
She kept her hair cut short these days, leaving it at the jaw in a bob cut. She had changed her name to something similar enough to make it easy to respond to, but dissimilar enough not to encourage any Thalmor spy from reporting on her. She smiled at the other woman in the mirror, watching the somewhat uncomfortable look in the woman’s eyes. Everything had gone according to plan. She, at least, had gotten her new life. Maximus and the others, though...She could only offer guesses and prayers. For her own protection, she had made the choice to cut them all off, entirely, upon beginning her new life. They were all being actively hunted by the Thalmor, and if postage from Windhelm were discovered in their belongings, well...
It wasn’t a choice she was necessarily happy with, but she understood all too well how tenacious the Thalmor were. This was for her own protection, and in some ways, for them, as well. The sword could cut both ways. If she drew attention to herself, was captured, and knew where the others could be found, she could be coerced into giving them all up. She gave another sigh, then lowered the mirror. Instantly, she spotted the figure approaching her from the alleyway next to the blacksmith’s, coming from the direction of the city entrance. She casually slipped her mirror into a pocket in her dress, then began smiling. Well, look at him! An Altmer, and quite the charming-looking fellow, at that. A customer, maybe? Or, perhaps, a suitor?
She had to admit, the frivolity might be nice, but rugged fellows like Lonely-Gale were more to her liking. The closer he came, the more she eyed his armour, the more her opinion began to shift. That leather armour of his...She had only seen that kind of make in the Thieves Guild, as well as on Gabriella. Was he a new member of the Guild, come to fence something? Well, better not take any chances. Better wait to see if he offers any hot items on the sly before mentioning anything. When the Altmer had walked up to her stall, he matched her smile with one of his own, briefly shaking the powdered snow off of his hood with a cultured wiggle of his hand. Warmly, she watched his eyes, saying “Hello there, come to buy or sell? I have everything from cookware to armour on hand, all at a fine price.”
The fellow Altmer quickly looked down and around at the items positioned on her stall, some hanging from hooks and pegs attached to the ceiling and supports. With a refined accent similar to her own, he nonchalantly stated “Ah, well, let me see...Hmm...Yes, while your wares here appear to be top-notch, I’m afraid I’m a bit short on Septims, at the moment. I’m not sure I’m prepared to make a purchase. I do have a nice trinket I was hoping to sell, however, as well as a business proposition for you, my good lady. Your name’s Niranye, isn’t that right? A bit new to Windhelm, correct?” Anya lightly raised her eyebrows, resolutely answering “Right on both counts, and you are?”
“Linwe,” he answered, his charming smile growing. Anya raised her eyebrows a bit further, ruefully stating “Well, Linwe, I’m sorry to say that I’m not looking for a business partner, at the moment. If you were interested in making an investment, however, I’m sure we could work something out. I don’t mind giving discounts to people who help me expand my inventory.” Linwe briefly narrowed an eye, glancing off towards the side as he slowly said “A business partner, no, that’s not what I had in mind. An investment, however, yes. Expanding your inventory? Most definitely. Let me cut right to the chase, my sweet.” Anya’s smile began to fade as he leaned in across the stall, nearly entering kissing distance. His brow furrowing a touch, he whispered “I know who you are.”
Anya’s face slowly went a shade paler. He leaned back out, giving her a moment to stew on the statement. Eventually, once her smile had withered entirely, she quietly replied “...I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Linwe gave a nod, his smile persisting, now taking on a decidedly mocking tone. Softly, he insisted “Yes, you do. I know who you work with. I know you offload their goods and make a lot more money doing it than you’d care to admit.” The colour quickly returned to Anya’s face. Her throat momentarily tensed as she swallowed. “Oh...Yes. I see. Well, I suppose if you know, then there’s no point hiding it. I assume you want something in exchange for not turning me in to the guards. Question is, what is it?”
“You’re a smart businesswoman. You figure it out.” Linwe answered, his smile momentarily growing into a grin. Anya blinked a couple times, raised her eyebrows, and suggested “...Would you like me to handle your goods, as well?” “Not just mine,” Linwe answered, “but my friends, too.” Anya shifted a step back as he planted his hands down against her stall, leaned in close towards her once more, and muttered “I’m here today as a representative of my group, the Summerset Shadows. From this day forth, you cease to deal with the Guild. You do not speak with any members. You do not deal with any members. They try, you call the guards. You only deal with the people in my team, now, and move our goods. Is that understood, Niranye?”
Anya’s eyes shifted past his sides, not so subtly checking to see if any guards had yet entered the market on their morning patrols. His expression was already darkening before she muttered “...That’s a lot to ask for, friend. If you had me jailed, my friends would bribe the guards and see me freed. I owe them a debt of gratitude, besides.” When his hand shot out and grabbed her by the collar of her dress, yanking her face within an inch of his, she gasped, her eyes going wide. His brow had furrowed deep. The charm had left his eyes, leaving them cold, empty. His lips were twisting into a sneer as he muttered “You think I’m afraid to kill you, right here, right now? No guards. I’m not a coward, like your friends in the Guild. You know, that’s a nice dress, you’re wearing. I could easily find some dumb Nord slut to pawn it off to, for a nice profit.”
Anya’s jaw tightened as her face began going pale, again. He was right. No guards. Nobody to catch him. Nobody to protect her. Nobody to vouch for her, if she defended herself. She couldn’t call for anyone, anyway - drawing guard attention to herself could escalate in who knew how many ways, especially if she defended herself and murdered this man. Bad enough she was a Mer who had become a relatively well-respected merchant, but becoming involved in any sort of crime could expose her to the Thalmor, or ruin her cozy living situation in Windhelm. She raised her eyebrows, hastily mumbling “O-Okay, okay, I...I’ll deal with just you guys, from now on! Let’s not get hasty, here!” He let go of her collar, making her jerk back until she could have her own personal space, again.
Linwe gave a smart nod, his easy smile returning despite the cold, dead look lingering in his eyes. “Good, good, glad to hear it. Do believe me when I say that we’ll be watching you, from now on. You so much as breathe a word of us to the Guild, and you’ll find me standing over your bed, in the middle of the night. Don’t leave town, and don’t try to cheat us. You think the guards will give half a skeever’s ass for another dead elf?” His smile grew as he raised his hands, gave a smart tug at the collar to his leather armour, turned his head with a light crack in his neck, and casually said “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, what say we commence with our first order of business, hmm? I have a necklace here, recently acquired from a departed friend, and I expect nothing but your very best price, for it. Here, take a look.”
Anya ran her hands across her dress, smoothing out the areas where he had pulled at the fabric, trying not to give him a resentful stare. When he reached into a pocket in his custom leather armour, she watched as he pulled out a silver locket, laying it down over the top of the stall table. Anya’s brow subtly furrowed as she reached out and took the locket, giving it a look. There was an insignia engraved over the face of it, and she couldn’t help but feel like she had seen it, somewhere before. “Well? I expect close to a hundred Septims, for that thing.” Linwe stated, holding back a chuckle. Anya’s eyes widened as the insignia clicked, in her mind. She knew where she had seen this emblem, before. This was the Cruel-Sea family’s crest.
Anya’s face went pale, again. By the gods, it all made sense. Hadn’t the daughter been murdered, recently? And Linwe had said he had acquired the necklace from a “departed friend.” Anya tried not to simply drop the locket to the stall, out of disgust. His brow twitched downwards as she laid the jewellery back down on the stall, shook her head, and muttered “I can’t buy this, I’m sorry.” “Why not?” He quietly snapped, his eyes going cold as they went half-shut. She glared right back at him, jaw tightening up as she hissed “Because the Cruel-Sea emblem is on it, you idiot! I can’t sell it anywhere around here, or anywhere else, for that matter! Use your head, moron! Not even somebody in Solitude would buy a necklace with another family’s insignia, on it! If I tried selling it around here, everyone would think I took it off her blasted corpse! What were you thinking?”
Linwe’s face flushed with colour, out of rage. For a moment, Anya thought she might’ve crossed the line with him, but then Linwe was smiling, again. The colour left his face as he nonchalantly answered “Fine, I’ll just hold onto it, myself. I could use a new necklace, anyway.” His smile taking on that mocking twist once more, he added “I’ll be more careful with my future acquisitions. Don’t forget what I said. See you around, Niranye.” He lightly rapped his knuckles down against the stall, slipped the locket back into his pocket, turned, and started walking away. Anya stared daggers at him until he had finally exited the market, then deflated with a hard sigh, planting her hands against the stall as she hung her head down.
Her eyes started to sting. By the gods, what was she going to do? Working with people like him? Coming to Windhelm and starting a new life had been a dream come true, for her. If she had to work under Linwe’s conditions, she’d be living a nightmare, instead. No, no, there had to be a way out. There had to be a way. What, though, and how long would it take to pull off? If Max were here, he’d know how to handle something like this, someone like Linwe. Anya closed her eyes and brought a hand to her forehead, out of frustration. What was she going to do?...

Bunny

Following the group’s victory over Sun Eater’s clan, Bunny and the rest separated themselves from the encampment, putting distance between themselves and whatever creatures might emerge to feast upon the dead. They wandered that morning, crossing the mountain range at a more languid pace than they ever had, discussing their plans for the future and how they might all keep in touch with one another. The realization that they all truly were going their separate ways weighed heavily, upon Bunny. She was quiet for a time that morning, doing her best to inwardly come to grips with the idea that her new clan, her new family, was now spreading to the four corners of Skyrim. These were her only friends, and now it was time to say goodbye...At least, for a time. Perhaps Max was right. Maybe they’d all be able to meet again, one day.
With that in mind, Bunny was able to move on from the sorrow of goodbye and focus on the joy of a new day, a new tomorrow, one free from the threat of her old clan. She wouldn’t have to worry about Straight Arrow hunting after her, or her mother and father sending others across the Reach for her, instead. She wouldn’t need to worry about hearing tales of the Forsworn swarming Markarth and turning it into the seat of a new kingdom, which would no doubt start a war with either the Stormcloaks or the incoming Legions from the Empire. Anya was tightlipped about her plans, but Svetlana was open about her desire to remain in the service of the gods.
The Dibellan Arts had been enjoyable to practice, especially with the lot of them, she admitted, and if possible, she’d enjoy remaining in Dibella’s service. If not, another temple would beckon to her, another god or goddess that required her, somewhere, sometime. It would be best, she admitted, if she was given places to contact the others at, rather than the other way around, as she could’ve ended up wandering, for a bit. Gabriella was also noticeably vague about her plans, Bunny was sad to note. Aside from mentioning that she’d be taking up new work in Skyrim, she didn’t say much. If the others wanted to contact her, they could direct their messages to the local tavern in Falkreath - it was out of the way enough, she said, that she could collect and send missives without fear of Thalmor eyes watching her.
When Sabrina mentioned that she might end up staying in the Reach, Bunny became excited. However, Sabrina then mentioned that the only reason she would stay so close to Markarth after being seen associating with Thalmor targets would be because of her library and the great inconvenience associated with transporting it and herself to a new home, and that she might simply end up sealing or hiding the entrance to her cave via Illusion or Alteration manipulation. Bunny was crestfallen, to say the least.
If the others wanted to communicate with her, Sabrina mentioned, then they could have their messages passed along to the Old Hroldan inn, a suggestion Bunny was quick to mirror, for herself. The inn was deep enough in Reach territory that the both of them would be able to fairly easily get to it, and out of the way enough that it was unlikely to be watched by Thalmor agents. Maximus admitted to them that he honestly wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, or where he was even going to go. He had never considered it, if he was being brutally honest. He supposed he had saved up enough gold from the group’s mercenary work that he could afford to travel somewhere quiet and find new work, or even settle down. If possible, however, he’d prefer to stay within Skyrim’s borders. If he found a quiet town away from Thalmor attention and changed his name, perhaps...
It was hard to say for certain what the future would bring, he admitted. Sabrina suggested that, if he wanted, he was welcome to stay with her until such a time that he decided what he wanted to do with himself, and he readily remarked that he just might take her up on the offer. When it came time for Bunny for explain her plans, the young woman was a bit quiet for a minute, but then she began to smile. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with herself...And, she was fine with that. She would stay in the Reach, her ancestral home.
She would find a quiet, secluded place, far away from other Forsworn, far away from Markarth and any trace of civilization that might encroach upon her space. She’d find a tranquil paradise to make her own. By Shor, she’d even climb over the mountains into High Rock, if she had to - of course, if she did that, she’d make sure to get word to the others that they’d need to send their missives to a new address. There, she’d hunt for her game, she’d collect her water from a mountain spring or river, she’d practice alchemy, and just enjoy the quiet life in nature. It would be perfect.
Before they all parted ways, Bunny made sure that she had them all promise to keep in touch with letters. Anya gently refused, but consoled the Breton by mimicking Max’s suggestion, that perhaps they’d all meet again, one day. Bunny took hugs from each of them, and whispered into Max’s ear that she’d always miss him. If he ever wanted to visit, she’d love to show him her new home. Maybe then, he could find himself in a Forsworn camp without hating every second of it. He chuckled. “Sure thing, Tiger,” he had said. This didn’t need to be the end, if she didn’t want it to be. They could keep in touch, and he knew she’d get along just fine, on her own...

Looking out at the sunrise, Tiger had to admit: she had gotten along, hadn’t she? She stepped away from her front door, walked up to the guardrail of her porch, leaned over, and rested her elbows against the smooth wood. She gave a long, slow sigh through her nose, her breath steaming into fog in the cold mountain air. The red sunrise cast a molten glow across her face, making her squint for a few moments before her eyes adjusted. The light exposed the faint ring of scar tissue around her left eye, matched by a pink splotch of additional scarring by her temple.
Her left eye had gone gray from the old injury, in spite of Svetlana’s best attempts to heal her. Now, her iris had gone nearly colourless, but Tiger didn’t mind, overmuch. It wasn’t so bad. It could’ve turned out a lot worse. She could still see, at least, and besides - the gray eye was intimidating, wasn’t it? Almost sexy, even. Maybe she didn’t need a face tattoo to prove she was an adult to people, anymore. Maybe this scar, proof of battle, would be enough. If not, well, she’d just have to stand up for herself, now, wouldn’t she? Tiger started to smile, pushing herself off of the guardrail with a deep inhale. Maybe not. She probably wouldn’t see another living human, today.
Another day, another quiet moment in her own paradise. What a beautiful sunrise to start it all off, with. She reached into her thick fur tunic, pulling free a small length of cord. Raising her eyebrows, she dropped her chin, held the cord between her lips, reached up, and began pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She hadn’t cut her hair ever since joining Maximus on his crusade, and now, it was long enough that she felt the need to tie it back, on her morning hunts - just to keep it out of her eyes, mind you. Once she was back at home, she let her hair down, giving her that little extra bit to stay warm. Once she had her hair in one hand, she grabbed the cord from her lips, knotted it around her locks, and reached for her Glass bow, leaning against the wall just next to the front door.
She stepped down from her porch, turning back to give her cabin a brief look. It was a beauty, but she could only take partial credit for creating it. Upon leaving Max’s company, she had drifted for a bit around the Reach, looking for a quiet place to call home. Eventually, she resorted to climbing the mountain border, scaling high above the Reach until she had stumbled across the site of a long-collapsed mine. An abandoned cabin, half collapsed with age and neglect, stood nearby, perhaps the foreman’s temporary residence. A great assortment of tools had been left behind in the snow, and while it had taken close to two weeks to chop all of her own wood, shape it, and nail it all into place, she had fixed up the cabin and turned it into something habitable. Now, it was home.
With the Reach so far below, doubtless she wasn’t going to be bothered by any Forsworn, any time soon. Tiger shouldered her quiver, strapping it tight against herself with a long leather belt. Holding her bow at the ready, she quietly began plodding off into the snow, moving southward from the cabin. Before stepping out into the sunrise, she had spent an hour munching on some breakfast while responding to Max’s latest letter. He was doing well, he had said. No trouble from the Thalmor, aside from a couple Justiciars already wandering the byways. He hadn’t settled down anywhere, yet, so maybe he could come by and visit, for a couple days. Just her and him, if she wanted. If the idea interested her, he could tell her a time and a place to meet, and he’d do his best to get there on time.
She had written that she was glad to hear he was well, and that, yes, of course, she would love to have him over, for a while. She hadn’t been able to help smiling as she said that the cold might be a surprise to him, but that he wouldn’t need to worry, too much - her bed was piled near to the ceiling with animal pelts, and would certainly keep the two of them warm. If he was serious, he could meet her at the Old Hroldan inn on the first Turdas of Frost Fall. She would be there, waiting to see him again, and from there they could begin the week-long trek up to her new home. It would be great to spend some time with him again, especially if it was just the two of them. Had he heard from the others, lately, she had to ask?
Tiger drew her fur tunic a bit tighter around herself. Aside from all that, she had written, she had crossed paths with a couple Forsworn scouts, the other week. They hadn’t troubled her on her hunt, in fact, they had assumed she was from another clan and brought her up to date on the latest news. News had spread concerning Sun Eater’s wiped out clan, slain to a man. Apparently, the message to the other clan leaders had been quite clear: do not attempt any sort of frontal assault on Markarth. That was not how they were going to win this war, not without suffering catastrophic losses that would only leave them vulnerable to counterattack, of which there most assuredly would be.
Nobody knew who had led the attack on Sun Eater’s clan, but theories ranged from a Markarth task force to a joint Markarth/Solitude effort. Evidently, Sun Eater’s clan had been conspiring alone in the plan to stockpile poisons and attempt a surprise attack on the city - few of the other clans had been willing to entertain the idea without widespread cooperation, which did not exist - and in the aftermath, many clan leaders had denounced Sun Eater’s plan and methods as too brash, even for the Forsworn. Still, to the rest of his people, he and his clan had become heroes, even if they were considered misguided patriots and martyrs. Madanach had given word that his old battlefield compatriot Sun Eater was to be honoured, and that the sacrifice of he and his clan was to be learned from. Always be vigilant: the Nordic dog would never rest, never hesitate to crush the life from the rightful rulers of the Reach.
Word was, Madanach, the King in Rags, was growing tired of his imprisonment. He was choosing particular individuals with particular talents to make their presence known, coming closer and closer to Markarth City itself, taking some of the war out of the hills and right up to their doorsteps. So far, there was still no plan to finally break him out of Cidhna Mine, but he would get the word out as soon as he had the right people with the right skills, at the right time. She didn’t think Maximus had any reason to worry, she had written. She didn’t think Madanach would be breaking out of Cidhna Mine, any time soon. It was the most secure prison in all of Skyrim for a reason, after all. And even then, if he ever did in the near future, the Legion or the Stormcloaks would no doubt deal with him, once the civil war was over. He and the Forsworn were a thorn in the sides of both participants in the conflict, after all.
Tiger froze after a mere twenty minutes of ranging. She quickly dropped low to a crouch in the snow, remaining as silent as possible. Perhaps thirty meters ahead of her, barely visible between the thick trees, was a beautiful elk, slowly walking along through the snow. She reached behind herself, drew a homemade arrow, and quietly notched it on her drawstring. Besides all of that business, she had written, did he know how Gabby and Anya were doing? It had felt like Anya had wanted to abandon them all, even after everything they had all been through, together. After all, Anya had come along on what had essentially been a suicide mission without as much fuss as one might’ve expected. Did he know where she had gone?
As for Gabby, well...She, too, had been quiet, and, well...She had always seemed the closest, to Max. For her to be silent about her plans with even him, well...It had her worried. Tiger had almost expected the two of them to stick together, in the end. Gabby had sent her letters, yes, but had never explained where she was or what she was doing, besides mentioning that she was around Falkreath if anyone needed to reach her. Sabrina and Svetlana, on the other hand, she knew were doing well. She had responded to letters from them just the day before, she had explained. Tiger raised her bow and drew back her arrow, taking careful aim at the elk. When it passed behind a tree, she was forced to sit still and wait for a full minute before the animal’s head and throat became visible, again.
Aside from all of that, she had written, she hoped he was doing well, hoped to see him next month, and assured him she was doing just fine. Maybe she’d be able to show off some alchemical concoctions she had come up with, while he was visiting. She let her arrow go, and it flew true. It struck the elk straight through the neck, piercing vital arteries, causing it to quickly collapse in agony. Tiger started to smile, again. Yes, she was doing just fine. She quickly stood up, made her way over to her prey, and withdrew a steel dagger from her thick tunic. Without hesitation, she dropped to a knee beside the elk and began slitting the poor beast’s throat, ending the creature’s suffering as quickly as possible. Tiger gave a quiet grunt as the job was finished, sighing as she wiped her blade off on the creature’s fur before replacing it inside her tunic.
She gave the body an apologetic patting over the flank, then looked off to the side, once more squinting under the intense morning sunlight. She was close enough to the edge of the plateau that she could see distant parts of Skyrim on the horizon, with the Throat of the World proudly dominating a good chunk of the skyline. She was so far away, from it all...The Imperials, Legions, and Empire. The Nords, Stormcloaks, and Ulfric. The Forsworn, all Reachmen, men and women like her mother and father. The Altmeri, the Thalmor, and the entire Aldmeri Dominion. Markarth, Madanach, and that ridiculous conflict over nothing more than a city of stone. She had done it, hadn’t she? She had managed to get away from it all, just like she had always wanted. She had finally become free.
She couldn’t help smiling, again, at the thought. The sky was so clear, she could see so far...She thought she could even see the Sea of Ghosts, out there. She gave a hearty exhale, billowing a plume of fog before turning back to her prey. Better get this thing home for tending before it attracted scavengers. Pulling another length of cord from inside her tunic, she knelt down by the elk’s legs, gathered them together, and tied the four limbs together at the ankles. Then, producing a metal hook from a pocket, she put it under the knot, secured it in for a good grip over her shoulder, and hoisted most of the elk’s legs up against her back, taking as much of the body off of the ground as she could before trudging off. With breakfast, lunch, and dinner in tow, she made for home.
She had survived. That was more than her family could say. She had gotten her revenge, and in the process, made some good friends. And, she had gotten her wish, hadn’t she? Finally, she was away from it all, living her own life in privacy, enjoying a casual pursuit of alchemy in nature. She was living a much happier version of things than her family had ever been able to provide for her, and she even had a lover, of all things. Go figure how a meek little Forsworn girl like the person she had used to be had ever found someone like Maximus, who cared about her. An old chapter in her life had closed, and today was the first day of the rest of her life. A new chapter was beginning, free from the shackles of yesterday.
Tiger smiled, then grinned, then chuckled. She could already feel it. It was going to be a good day.

Sabrina

Following the defeat of Sun Eater’s clan and the team’s dispersal, Sabrina returned to her cave by Markarth and found that, thankfully, her fears of looters getting into her library or animals setting up shop in her home had been unfounded. Everything was as she had left it...Waiting for her to settle back into her old life, her old routine. It was a bittersweet feeling. A more melancholic thought than going back to her old, lonely life, she couldn’t imagine. However, not all was as doom and gloom as she had envisioned. She kept in steady contact with the others via letters, was periodically visited by Maximus, sometimes with one of the other girls in tow, and swiftly had new, fascinating subjects to study...As well as new concerns.
It wasn’t long after news of the returning dragons reached her ears that she also picked up tell of the Dawnguard, an ancient, now revitalized order of vampire hunters, operating out of Riften Hold. This new threat was one she had to be particularly wary of. The Dawnguard was led by a fanatic named Isran, who espoused a very proactive approach to hunting the undead: track them down to their homes, if need be, and slay them where they sleep. Day and night, never rest, the hunt always goes on. Every vampire was a target. In the Dawnguard’s eyes, there was no such thing as a “good” vampire - not even she, a vampire who only preyed upon the troglodytes and outcasts of civilized society, and even then, refused to glut herself.
For a time, the Dawnguard concerned her, but after taking the necessary precautions to seal her cave with Magicka, preventing all but a chosen few friends from ever so much as even seeing the entrance, she lost her unease...And, when the escalating problem her own people were posing reached her ears, she found the Dawnguard’s resurrection much more reasonable. The number of vampires in Skyrim was skyrocketing, and they were becoming much too brash, too brazen. Small packs of them were beginning to waltz into cities, often in broad daylight in spite of the weakened state it left the native strain of vampires in, and would begin assaulting civilians. To call it a concern was an understatement.
That kind of behaviour, and the response of the Dawnguard, only supported what Sabrina had always believed: to survive means to accommodate. If an individual draws too much attention, they all suffer the consequences. These blood-starved ghouls were going to make life miserable for all vampires. After some investigating, Sabrina tracked the source of this unfortunate problem to scraps of an ancient prophecy that many vampires now believed was on the cusp of fulfillment, detailing the blackening of the sun, creating a world where vampires would be free of their natural shackles. She could see how the idea would be tempting for a lesser vampire, a slave to their own urges, but any sensible man or woman could make the obvious extrapolations and see how disastrous such a future would be.
The main instigator of this foolhardy prophecy appeared to be operating out of an island castle off of the far northwestern shore of Skyrim, behind Northwatch, in actuality, the Thalmor fortress that Maximus had almost been taken to. Even from a distance, Sabrina could sense the great many vampires living within, including one that was noticeably...Different. She considered infiltrating the grounds to further her investigation, but prudently decided that such action might be reckless. The problem had not already become so great that she needed to become involved, just yet. Perhaps she would never have to, perhaps the Dawnguard was the appropriate response, after all. And, besides...She would really like to get back to studying the return of the dragons, and this issue had eaten up enough of her time, already.
Although Sabrina maintained a close eye on current events as they transpired, she never involved herself or played any direct part, and stayed well deep in the shadows. The most impact she ever had in the civil war and the return of the dragons was sending an anonymous letter via courier to the figure proclaimed by the Greybeards as “Dragonborn,” detailing a Nordic ruin where they might find something of interest: in her own studies on the matter of the dragons, she had found an imposing wall there, covered over in carvings of dragon speech and filled with some untapped power yet foreign to her. If there truly was a Dragonborn, they might be able to harness such strength. Considering the events that followed afterwards, she could only assume her tip was of some small aid.
Ultimately, time passed on for Sabrina, leaving her unscathed, unweathered. Her scholarly pursuit of Magicka was never-ending, but that was alright. She had time everlasting to continue it, after all. When Maximus eventually passed away, as all mortal things inevitably must, Sabrina was quick to track down where he had been buried. In a quiet little corner of Falkreath’s cemetery, Maximus had been laid to rest, freed from the troubles of the mortal world. Surely, he had gone on to his Sovngarde, Sabrina believed. It was a comforting thought, but now, the loneliness was crippling. No other man would matter as much to her. The hole Maximus left in her heart would never fade. He had brought out a side of her she had never known existed, a gentler side, a better side. She had loved him.
She knew he had believed her, at least, and on some level, she believed he had felt the same way. They had spent so much time together...Was it greedy to want more? Every year, on the anniversary of his death, Sabrina would slip into the cemetery in the dead of night, leaving a bouquet of roses upon his grave. Many more times than that, she would stop by simply to remember her lost lover. The local groundskeeper, an elderly Altmer and priest of Arkay, eventually became aware of her visits, yet never disturbed her. Whoever the mysterious woman in black was, she had clearly lost someone dear to her heart.
Time eventually made things better, for Sabrina. She never forgot Maximus, however, or the others, as well as their all too brief adventure, together. She never forgot the way he used to hold her. She never forgot the way he made her feel so full of life...

Sabrina, smiling to herself, sat down in her throne-like chair, picked up her spectacles, and set them over the bridge of her nose. She dabbed her quill in her inkwell, then set the tip to parchment and continued writing her response to Max’s latest missive. “...Yes,” she wrote, “the new dresses are a perfect fit. It’s a lovely surprise, thank you so very much. The courier was certainly confused about the destination of the package, amusingly. However did you get my measurements just so, for the seamstress? Well, I suppose you’d be familiar enough with my figure to give an approximation, but it’s just so perfect, so exact.”
She gave her bottom lip a gentle nibble, then added “That includes the underwear. I love it, it’s so comfortable. I feel so unbelievably sensual, wearing it. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I lost control, upon first slipping it on. I love the way it looks, on me. Thank you, so much. The seamstress must have thought you a lecher for specifying a brassiere so big, or panties so small. The silk feels so good on my body, I can’t wait to show you, in person.” Sabrina’s smile wasn’t the only thing growing when she set her quill back down in her inkwell, giving a warm huff of a sigh through her nose as she stood back up from her table. Looking down at herself, she couldn’t resist a smile. Fresh from one, and raring to go for a second.
She had walked away from the attack on Sun Eater’s clan without so much as a scar on her perfect, voluptuous body, in spite of the multiple flames she had been forced to endure. The only things she was wearing, at that particular moment in time, was her new set of underwear, purchased courtesy of her lover. Now, finally, she had a bra to accommodate her enormous bust, that one final piece of femininity that her wardrobe had always lacked. Girding her chest was a black bra of some of the finest silk Sabrina had ever felt, with cups plentiful enough to support her immense, firm breasts, pressing the perky, head-sized globes a touch closer together, further accentuating the look of their size. The black silk was partially transparent, with designs of black roses running across the cups, shying away her nipples and sizeable areolae.
Given that her nipples were presently hard enough to visibly poke through the fabric of the cups like little pebbles, the modesty of the design had perhaps been defeated. Even still, the sensation of wearing a bra was one of the few womanly things she had yet to experience, and that the opportunity had been supplied by Maximus made it all the sweeter to enjoy. Down below, she wore the matching thong, another delightfully erotic piece that struck all the right chords, with her. When she had worn her frilly pink panties, Maximus had often teased her by pushing the fabric between her voluminous cheeks, digging the material into her expansive valley to tantalize her sweet maidenhood. Now, with a thong, she always had that sensation, forced to constantly endure that feeling of fabric stretched tight across her little hole.
The front of the thong was no better. That tiny triangle of black silk, which should’ve been happily spread across a woman’s cleft and mons, instead had Sabrina’s rather sizeable manhood to contend with. No easy feat, indeed, especially at that moment in time, when she was at half-mast and stretching the fabric out even further. Still, the black rose design across the material helped shy away the end of her big, veiny rod, provided she was soft enough to comfortably rest inside, of course. Unlike her girly pink panties, the thong was simply unable to accommodate her full, dense undercarriage. In spite of herself, the vampire’s full, smooth, and, as always these days, visibly bloated undercarriage spilled out from either side of the thong’s string, making the woman’s orbs instantly visible to anyone she lifted her dress, for. For whatever reason, the partial exposure couldn’t have been more erotic, to Sabrina.
Sabrina nibbled on her bottom lip, again, as she gave the front of her packed thong a rueful stroking, feeling her touch prompt an immediate acceleration in her own growth. No more, she had to tell herself. She had already lost control and descended into a furious masturbation session, a few minutes before. No, she needed to save up as much as possible, for Max. Although she had meekly protested it at first, ever since he had started her on the path of sexual self-discipline, the allure of building up her lust for him had become irresistible. Nothing excited her like waiting for her lover to take her, to show him the full extent of her need for him, to make every experience involve him. He could satisfy her better than anyone and anything. What better proved she loved sharing her bed with him than blowing a massive load underneath herself, as he pounds away at her enormous bubble butt? She wouldn’t be able to do that, if she constantly milked her cock on her own.
No, she needed to exercise self-restraint and show him how much she needs and misses him, whenever he visits. Sabrina grinned, to herself. She glanced over at her nearby stack of new dresses as she sat herself back down in her chair. Silk, suede, velveteen; one of red, one of black, one of white; one low-cut to preclude a bra and show off plenty of cleavage, one modest and genteel for sophistication, one frilly with lots of ruffles and lace, fit for a wedding; they were all her’s, courtesy of her lover, and she simply adored them. She couldn’t wait to start wearing them regularly, but perhaps it would be best to save them for special occasions. The last thing she’d want is for them to be damaged, after all. Lifting her quill once again, she finished her earlier thought, then continued in a new paragraph.
“I can’t wait to be in your arms again, my love. I burn for you, every day. You’re all I long for. I have a surprise for you as well, something I’m sure you’ll love just as much as I will. Do you remember when we were all together, when Svetlana took her sudden detour back to Markarth in order to stop by the temple and see if she could renew her position as a priestess? This was right around the time we discussed High King Torygg’s murder, and planned our attack on Bunny’s clan. I’ve told you about the satchel of, ahem...“Gifts” she supplied me with, didn’t I? Masturbation aids, essentially, to spice up my alone time. She seemed particularly intent on giving me something to fill my posterior, with. I appreciated the thought, but I don’t need much aid, in that regard. Well, I finally decided to open up her gift, after all this time. Even if the gift was rude, it’s been equally rude of me to leave it sitting around, all this time.”
Sabrina raised her eyebrows, drew in a breath, glanced skyward, and sighed back out through her nose. Still, a faint hint of pink began to bloom in her pale face as she glanced off to the side, in the general direction of her bed. Then, she was looking back down at her parchment. “There was a pair of underwear, in there. Another tiny pair of panties - I suppose you weren’t the only one who wanted to see me in that look. Alongside various lubricants, lotions, and skin creams, there was a plug with an obvious destination, a shamefully distended replica of a man’s blessed anatomy, and some tiny clamps that I can only assume are meant to be placed over my nipples. When she stated that she wanted to put together a veritable kit of marital aids for me, it truly was not in jest.”
The warmth blossoming in Sabrina’s face began to escalate into genuine heat, her breathing slowly escalating as she gave her quill a quick dip in her inkwell. “However, there was...One particular item of interest. I think you’ll like it, my love. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, but I quickly discovered the purpose it was intended, for. It’s a leather strap with a metal ring at one end, with some peculiar little attachments...It’s a gag, very specifically for someone like myself. Wearing it, my mouth would remain wide open. The tiny attachments to the ring would cover certain front teeth, preventing any mishaps. The ring is just so that something might pass through it, unhindered...Need I explain further?”
Sabrina swallowed, trying to ignore how tight her thong had become. Her beautiful, flowing writing started to become a bit hasty, reflecting her breathlessness. “Please, my love, consider it. That’s the one thing we’ve never experienced, together. I’ve fantasized of it so many times, the number is beyond counting. I’m dampening my underwear, just thinking about it. You know you can trust me, but this gag will now ensure it. Please, my love, allow me the opportunity to pamper you. I promise you will not regret it. The day you feed me straight from the source is the day I feel complete. Nothing would fulfill me more, at this point. I lust for your lust, always.” Sabrina had to put her quill aside and rest for a minute, giving herself time to catch her breath and cool off, a little. Eventually, however, she resumed writing and finished her missive.
“Gods forbid the courier from opening this letter. Everything aside, I hope this dispatch finds you well and in good health, my sweet. I trust you to be cautious, but for me, please, take no risks - I don’t know what I’d do if I heard that you had been taken by the Thalmor. You’re never far from my thoughts. Do stay safe, I should have more news for you regarding the Legion’s movements by the time you respond, but from what I can tell thus far, you’re well out of the way of their routes. Sincerely yours, Sabrina.”
Sabrina set her quill down in her inkwell, then carefully raised the parchment up from the table, brought it to her face, and closed her eyes. She pressed a long, deep kiss against the parchment, just beneath her signature. When she brought the paper back down and opened her eyes, a tender smile spread across her face. A big, black lipstick mark, a clear definition of her puffy, pouty lips, now stood starkly against the cream paper. If the words didn’t convey her affection, maybe the kiss would.
Sabrina gave a happy sigh as she offered the ink a minute to settle and dry, then set about folding the parchment up into a neat rectangle. After sliding it into a little envelope, she took a nearby red candle of sealing wax, upturned it over the closing flap of the envelope, and, after dripping out a nice little patch, sealed it with the stamp of a tiny insignia stick, pressing the wax into the emblem of the long-defunct Mages Guild of Cyrodiil. The wax, too, was given a minute to cool, and then Sabrina was turning the envelope over, signing Max’s pseudonym into the front before rising to her feet. She found a black nightgown, thin as silk and short enough to barely cover her thighs, and draped it around her shoulders, loosely tying the sash around her narrow waist, ensuring her wide hips and waspish figure were on full display.
She made her way towards her cave passageway. The usual courier was sure to be by, soon. She was no doubt his most unusual customer, but she gave him plenty of eye candy to drool over, and she wasn’t afraid to be charitable with coin if it meant a quick, safe, and, most importantly, private deliverance of her missive. He had come to understand that she, as a client, was not fond of the concept of anyone but the proper recipient reading her private thoughts, especially any Altmeri in black robes who wandered the roads. She, in turn, had come to understand that he wasn’t afraid to go off the proper paths and takes to the hills, if it meant cutting down on travelling time and the number of prying eyes who might want to intercept letters from enemy forces.
With a flick of her wrist and a twirl of her hand, she had cast a pink Mysticism spell upon herself, allowing herself to pass through the complicated barrier she had placed upon the mouth to her cave. To anyone who might’ve witnessed the phenomenon, she would appear to have stepped out of solid stone, passing straight through a nondescript boulder sitting in the middle of a valley, utterly uninteresting and entirely common aside from, perhaps, the size of it. As far as the courier knew, this was just some private, out of the way meeting place she liked to arrange, and not, in fact, the exterior to a sorceress’ secret dwelling. Sabrina had stood out in the moonlight for but a minute before she noticed the warm glow of his body on the distance, the faint red glow of his living form shifting and growing in the darkness as he came nearer.
In the gloom, she knew he’d never be able to make out the healthy, unladylike bulge stuffing her thong, but he could certainly see her enormous cleavage, and that’d be more than enough to motivate him. Usual destination, usual recipient, usual rules: if the seal is broken before the recipient has obtained the missive, payment is forfeit, and all future work will be cancelled. As always, the courier agreed, took the envelope, and went off running. Sabrina watched him disappear over the nearby mountain ascent, then vanished back into her secret cave. Her future was as bright as it ever would be. She had friends, she had a safe home, and she had new mysteries to unravel, new world events to observe unfolding.
But, most importantly, she had Maximus. The pursuit and investigation of Magicka was ever ongoing, ever evolving. An endless font of curiosity as well as a thirst to understand everything around her had always kept her engrossed in the study. She had never thought anything would be more important, to her. Now, she had someone who broke up the monotony, someone she could pour her heart into. Her future was set, so long as it involved him. Yet, she always knew that their time together was destined to end. She’d need to make the most of it while she could, enjoy it to the fullest while she still had the chance. If only he’d live with her, she’d take care of his every need. She knew she could make him happy, but alas, he had always been a wanderer, it seemed.
Still, he’d always have a home there with her, whenever he wanted it. She was nothing if not devoted, and for the man she loved, she’d take on the gods, if need be. She’d always be there for him, whenever and however he needed her. Always.

Svetlana

Following the defeat of Sun Eater’s clan, Svetlana was the only member of the group who left Skyrim, entirely. Although she was loath to leave her homeland behind, she eventually came to the decision that the Thalmor would likely be keeping a close eye on all temples in every Hold, ensuring Talos worship never occurred in any house of the gods. If their presence would be in every temple, it would be too simple an affair for them to connect her to the fair, blonde priestess that had entered Maximus’ company, shortly before he stood accused of Talos worship. If she wished to continue her dedication and service to the gods, she decided that she might be best off leaving. And, so, she did just that.
Buying passage onto a caravan bound for the cities of Hammerfell, Svetlana began several weeks worth of travel out of Skyrim, into Cyrodiil, around the Jerall Mountains, and up into toasty Hammerfell. The priestess had considered going to Valenwood, considered trying to find her mother’s origins in the Bosmeri territory, but decided it wasn’t a wise time to visit. The Thalmor presence there was supposedly much thicker than in Skyrim or even Cyrodiil, and so, Hammerfell it was, the nearest country she knew was very much embroiled in it’s own civil war to resist the Aldmeri Dominion. The caravan driver, apparently no fan of the Aldmeri Dominion, himself, did not stop the carriage until he had reached what he had called a “city friendly to the people.”
As far as Svetlana was concerned, Hammerfell was a gorgeous country, but the heat was staggering. Next to Elsweyr, which was probably smotheringly windy as well, Hammerfell must’ve been the warmest country in Tamriel. Much of the countryside was desert, a far cry from the snow-filled forests of her homeland, but that had it’s own brand of beauty that she quickly came to recognize. There was a tranquillity to the dry expanses of sand, the rolling dunes, the subtle breeze that would send the ground delicately shifting beneath her feet. Upon arriving at their destination, the carriage driver supplied her with a new set of traditional clothing that would help her blend in as well as fight the heat, but he warned her that she could expect a Nord in Hammerfell, of all places, to earn some bemused looks from some of the locals.
Svetlana didn’t mind. Once she was there, she was quick to make herself at home in the beautiful city of sandstone. It took a little bit of time for her to become accustomed to some of the local expectations and ordinary behaviour, but things weren’t different enough from Skyrim that she ever felt like she couldn’t adapt. Perhaps the most startling difference was the traditional Redguard pantheon of gods, which was entirely alien to the pantheons of the rest of Tamriel. All across Tamriel, aside from perhaps the Daedra-worshipping Dunmeri in Morrowind, the gods generally appeared to be the same. Each culture seemed to know aspects of the very same gods responsible for the very same deeds, only by slightly different names and faces. In Hammerfell, however, the Redguards of ancient Yokuda worshipped almost entirely alien deities.
In time, however, Svetlana found a temple dedicated to a couple historically human deities from the rest of Tamriel, including Mara, Kynareth, Talos, and Dibella. There, she found that her skills in Restoration, which her journey with Maximus had helped hone to a Master’s touch, were more than welcome in Hammerfell. It was comforting to see that in a culture where many forms of Magicka were looked upon with great distrust and hostility, Restoration, at least, was embraced as a universal good. When Svetlana professed her history as a priestess of love and beauty to the other resident priestesses, as well as her enduring faith and longstanding desire to serve the gods, she was readily embraced with open arms.
Without delay, Svetlana wrote up letters to her friends and informed them of her happy new situation, as well as where they could send their responses. She was doing quite well, she assured them, but she missed them all, and she couldn’t help feeling a little homesick. The city she was now living within was a part of the anti-Thalmor resistance, and while she wasn’t fighting on the front lines, she was helping in her own way by putting her skills towards healing the sick and injured soldiers who returned from battle. Occasionally, she coyly admitted, she lifted some spirits by displaying some Dibellan Arts, but that was a little secret she trusted her chosen few to keep.
Late one night, while Svetlana was tending to the temple alone as the other priestesses went out to join in on a festival, a mysterious visitor appeared inside the temple, seemingly out of thin air. She could only assume that the towering man was a Redguard, but given that his body was entirely hidden by an enormous suit of Ebony platemail and he never so much as removed his helmet, she couldn’t be sure. The man was polite, if a bit jaded in his manner of speaking. He asked her what a Nord was doing in Hammerfell. Wasn’t she far from home? Why was she there, of all places, in a Redguard house of worship? Svetlana didn’t give an entirely truthful answer, just in case the man was a Thalmor spy. She was avoiding a civil war, she said, and she was a priestess because she had always been one of the faithful. There wasn’t much more to it, than that.
The answer seemed to satisfy the man. He claimed himself to be an adventurer, a bit of a wanderer, always in search of new glory to be had. Now, he was looking for a new horizon, and wanted to hear her tell of Skyrim. Was it a beautiful country? Would recent events make for excitement? What were the people like, there? A homesick Svetlana was eager to answer such questions, and spoke wistfully of her homeland until the early morning light. The adventurer listened attentively to every detail. Of particular interest to him, it seemed, was news of the returning dragons. He had always been aware of dragons and their connection to the history of Skyrim, but now, new life had literally been breathed into their immortal bones. Perhaps they would make for an appropriate foe to test his mettle against.
Minutes before the other priestesses returned to the temple to take to their bunks, the hulking Ebony warrior thanked Svetlana for her time, paid her for her stories in a handful of precious gemstones, and informed her that she had helped make up his mind. He had exhausted the opportunities for glory, in Hammerfell. His new destination, the new nation he would adventure through, was Skyrim. Perhaps there, he would finally find the challenges he sought, the adversity needed to sate him. Svetlana, stunned by the unsolicited payment, turned to set the gemstones aside, and when she turned back, the Ebony warrior had vanished as quickly as he had come. She never saw the man, again. She could only hope he found that which he had sought out...

Svetlana gave a warm sigh as she finished off her letter, putting in the final paragraph to her response to Maximus. “...It’s hard for me to say when I’ll be able to leave. They really need me here, the other priestesses already look up to me. They even came together to buy me a crate of genuine honeyed mead, the other day. Plus, the Thalmor are always on the other side of the horizon. Imagine the Stormcloaks and Legions, only one side are the Redguards and the other is the Aldmeri Dominion - that’s how thick the elves are, here. But, I miss you a lot, all of you. Maybe when I visit Skyrim, we could see Gabby? I miss her little pouts. Maybe some time late next month? The trip is long, after all. Hope to hear from you soon. With love, Svetlana.”
Just as she was setting her quill aside, there was a light knocking at the reading room’s door. Svetlana looked up from her desk, smiling as she answered, in a lilting voice, “Yes?” A pretty Redguard woman with hair cut so short that it was practically stubble opened the door a little, stuck her head inside the room, and pleasantly said “Lana, a young miss Chantel is here to see you.” The woman gave a titter, then added “This is her third visit this week, she must really like your advice. Are you busy, or shall I send her into the reading room, here? If she wants private counsel, we’ll all leave you two be.” Svetlana smiled more and gave her fellow priestess a jokingly dismissive wave, then said “I was just finishing up in here, but send her in, we can chat. She probably wants more advice on the man in her life.”
The Redguard woman gave a nod, withdrew her head, and quietly shut the door. A few moments later, the door was opening up again, this time by a different, younger Redguard woman. Svetlana smiled widely, one elbow to her desk, her head propped up by her hand. One leg crossed over the other at the knee, she gestured towards the chair across from her desk, towards her right side. “Chantel, it’s nice to see you, again. More troubles, I guess?” The cute Redguard gave a sheepish nod, quietly closing the door behind herself. As she walked over towards the offered chair in small, timid steps, she softly said “Y-Yes, Mother Svetlana, it’s...It’s Nazeem, again. I...Oh, where do I begin?...”
Svetlana arched her eyebrows, giving a patient sigh through her nose. Oh, dear. What was it this time? Chantel was a pretty little thing, she shouldn’t have been having these boy troubles. Then again, she was certainly a shy one, as well, but if anything, that should’ve just made her even more appealing to a hot-blooded man. Svetlana turned in her chair, facing the young woman as she took a seat. Not for the first time, the priestess looked Chantel up and down, subtly ogling the girl’s appearance. Like most Redguards, she was a bit on the tall side. Her skin was a deep, chocolate hue, while her hair, cut into a rather fetching bob, was a dark brown to match.
Her eyes, a simple brown, were complemented by the light purple eyeshadow she wore, a very faint touch of purple blush applied to either cheek. Her lips were positively scarlet with a surprisingly vibrant lipstick, and her loose, flowing dress, no doubt made of silk, was multicoloured and designed with numerous small shapes and emblems. Svetlana, meanwhile, looked much the same way she had during her adventure with Maximus, with her long, dirty blonde hair left flowing behind her in a cascading waterfall, down her back. Her icy blue eyes were filled with an unspoken amusement at the girl’s plight, and, just like in her homeland, she had been able to use her favourite combination of makeup: lavender lipstick, black eyeshadow, and a bit of mascara.
Her garb, meanwhile, had changed. She wore a new robe now, a little looser than the one she had worn in the Temple of Dibella, and made of a much thinner material, too, in order to improve air flow and prevent capturing too much heat. The robe was coloured a deep purple, while the sash tied around her waist was a dark red, matching the red sandals she wore on her feet. The reading room they were in was modest, but served Svetlana’s private consultations perfectly well. The walls and ceiling were all pale sandstone, while the floor was covered over in multicoloured rugs. There were two narrow stained glass windows set into the wall behind Chantel’s seat, and just next to her chair, there was a desk made of ivory wood, a few knickknacks, books, and half-burned candles sitting overtop.
Against the far wall in the room, there were two plain bookcases, filled with multiple religious texts. Svetlana sat at a second desk just like the first one, a couple books lying open overtop, turned to various pages. Alongside those, of course, there was Svetlana’s quill, inkwell, letter, and awaiting envelope, simply waiting for her to return her attentions to. Chantel held her knees, her posture tight and rigid as she avoided Svetlana’s eyes. She gave the slightest whimper, then said “I...I tried very hard, Mother Svetlana, I really did, but...Oh...” She glanced at the door to the reading room, then looked over into Svetlana’s eyes. Leaning in a little, she quietly said “I tried doing what you said, but I forgot the things you told me to say, a-and it was...It was less than incredible...”
“What do you mean? He didn’t like it?” Svetlana asked, raising an eyebrow higher in curiosity. Chantel’s eyes were a little dewy as she gave a restrained shake with her head. “Oh, no,” she hastily said, “he seemed to like it...At least, I think he did. I don’t think he was faking it. But, well...Um...Y-You know...I had a little bit of trouble focusing, like you wanted me to, a-and I had a bit of trouble doing it without touching him with my teeth, and...I was just really, really nervous, and I think he could tell that I had no idea what I was doing, and it just wasn’t that great of an experience...” Svetlana slowly leaned her head back, mouth hanging open as she slowly said “Ahhh...I think I understand.”
Chantel was already burying her face into her hands when Svetlana smiled from ear to ear, consolingly murmuring “It’s nothing to feel ashamed of, my dear. You said he liked it, right? I take it that means you brought him to the end, then? Did you swallow it, like I told you to?” Chantel shook her head, still hiding her face. Voice muffled by her hands, she sheepishly admitted “I forgot to, I just let it run out!” Svetlana gave an audible sigh, commenting “Ah, well, that doesn’t help. Did you enjoy yourself, at least? Did you have fun, besides being nervous?” Chantel didn’t respond, for a few moments. Eventually, Svetlana, grinning, repeated the question. Chantel slowly gave a little nod, without dropping her hands.
Svetlana raised her head up from her palm, dropping her arm down to her lap. Quietly, she said “Well, to be honest, I still think that that’s your best bet. You just need some practice, you’ll eventually stop feeling quite so shy, about it. Back in my homeland, the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but from what I hear, you’re in a bit of trouble, in that area. Without cooking, the best way to a man’s heart is through his cock.” Chantel finally dropped her hands from her vividly flushed face, the Redguard taking in a sniffle to settle herself before quietly blurting out “Gods, Mother Svetlana, you make it sound so easy, but there I was - I had blundered my way into it, and I messed it all up! If only I were more like you, I bet Nazeem would like me so much more, then! I must be so boring, to him...Why is it so hard to make a man like you?”
Svetlana gave a brief chuckle, remarking “It’s not, Chantel!” “That’s easy for you to say,” Chantel hastily replied. Bunching her hands together over her lap, her legs shifting as she fidgeted about in her seat, she gazed into Svetlana’s eyes as she mumbled “I’ve heard the way some of the soldiers talk. I have brothers, you know. I know the kind of women they want...They think foreign women are so exotic, women like me just seem boring, I guess. You’re beautiful, Mother Svetlana. I could never be a priestess of Dibella, like you. A light-skinned, blonde-haired, curvaceous woman like you?”
Chantel’s eyes went down to her knees, her lips twisting into a self-conscious knot. “...Nazeem would probably like you, so much more than me...Compared to you, I’m nothing special...I’m so jealous of you, women like you drive them wild...” Svetlana grinned. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said “You’re too hard on yourself, Chantel. You’ve got a nice figure, yourself, and besides - every man out there has different tastes, just like every woman does. Now, back in Skyrim, I knew this one man that I really liked. He was practically my best friend, before I left for Hammerfell. He shared my bed more than a few times, but you know what? He chose a dark elf, over me. There’s no hard feelings about it, he and I are probably better off as friends anyway, but it just goes to show that I don’t have it all. Now, Nazeem hasn’t been ignoring you, has he? You haven’t seen him in another woman’s arms, have you?”
Chantel slowly shook her head, hesitantly looking up from her knees. With a broad smile, Svetlana reassuringly asserted “He does like you, but maybe you’re a bit too shy for your own good. Are you sure you can’t remember what I told you to say to him, or were you just too shy to say something saucy, like that?” Chantel’s face started flushing, again. Her eyes shifted off to the side before she mumbled “...Maybe a bit of both...” Svetlana grinned and commented “I thought so. Are you willing to try and seduce him, again?” Chantel slowly gave a nod, but her eyes went unsure. “W-What if I mess it up, again? I made a fool of myself just getting into it, the first time, and then I had no idea what I was doing. I forgot to do the stuff with my hands you told me to, a-and I was just so nervous...”
Svetlana puckered her lips and shifted them around. Almost under her breath, she answered “Well...The Dibellan Arts don’t always come easily, to people. Practice makes perfect, though. I’m sure you’ll-” “Would you be able to help me, somehow?” Chantel interrupted, nearly blurting the words out. Eyes wide with excitement, finally beginning to smile, the young woman leaned forward in her chair, hands still clasped together in her lap. “I, I can’t go to any of the other priestesses about this, Mother Svetlana. They just, um...” Chantel glanced at the reading room door, lowered her voice to a whisper, and continued. “I don’t think priestesses of Dibella get the same sort of training, out here, that they do in Skyrim...You’re the only one I can really trust to help me, with Nazeem. I think you’re the only priestess here who really knows about boys and men.”
Svetlana smiled, raised an eyebrow, and hastily said “Well, how do you expect me to help you, do you want me to hold your hand while you do...?” Svetlana trailed off. Her eyes widened, and her smile grew wider and wider until it was spreading from ear to ear. Her eyes fell half-closed and, as she began to playfully bob her crossed leg up and down, she softly said “...Actually, that might be perfect. If I may make a suggestion, Chantel...If you’re comfortable with it, if you trust me...I may be able to demonstrate on Nazeem what you must do to make him happy.” Chantel’s eyes began to widen to the size of dinner plates, her face flushing dark. Svetlana continued, murmuring “We could do it, together. You could consider me your trainer. You’ll follow my example. I’ll be right there to show you what you must do. There’ll be nothing to worry about, with me at your side.”
Chantel, in a very small voice, squeaked “Do you mean...?!” Svetlana smiled warmly, practically purring as she hummed “Mhm.” Chantel dropped her chin, slowly looked left and right a couple times, then looked back up to Svetlana’s eyes. She nodded her head, an embarrassed look on her face. Svetlana grinned, stood up, and began pulling up her robe, high. Chantel watched, cross-eyed, her mouth hanging open a crack as the priestess unabashedly exposed herself. With a smile and a pleasant sigh through her nose, Svetlana cooed “Then kiss the Crown of Dibella, my dear. Nazeem will love the surprise you’ll be bringing him, tonight, and I’m sure that if you’re taught firsthand what to do, you’ll never forget. Blessings of Mara upon you and Nazeem.”
Chantel gave a dopey nod, closing her eyes before she puckered her lips and leaned in. Svetlana’s entire body gave a quake as her head began hanging back. Hammerfell was no Skyrim, but it was a beautiful country with a beautiful people, and, well...She could be a proper priestess of Dibella, again. If she was teaching her brand of the Dibellan Arts, what did she have to complain about? Life was as sweet as Moon Sugar, for Svetlana...

Maximus & Gabriella

Things did not go as well for Maximus as they had for most of his lady friends. For a brief time following the defeat of Sun Eater, things were relatively quiet, peaceful. As he discovered, however, the Thalmor were willing to try any dirty trick in an attempt to capture him, or to at least draw him out of hiding. When Ondolemar received his task force of Justiciars, they scoured the roads of the Reach in search of Maximus. In a great irony that never ceased to amaze Maximus, the Forsworn inadvertently came to his defence against the Thalmor. They were no friendlier towards the Dominion than they were to the Empire or the Nords, and frequently launched ambushes against the Altmeri, hindering the very people hunting the man who had sworn himself an enemy to the natives.
Of course, the Justiciars wandering the roads were only the most overt threat. If it wasn’t a Khajiit wretch in the Thalmor’s pocket trying to spy on him, it was suspicious slatterns wandering into taverns, looking for Imperial men to ply with drinks and take behind a closed door. If it weren’t plainclothes Thalmor agents masquerading as merchants with supply wagons on the roads, it was new couriers with overly fat coin purses bringing him oddly worded letters from his lady friends, asking him to meet up with them at strange times in strange places. Eventually, Maximus tightened up his behaviour, cleaned up his circle of trusted places and couriers, and all but wiped out each of these problems.
Ultimately, when none of those tactics succeeded in trapping Maximus, the Thalmor considered resorting to arresting his adoptive family for Talos worship, believing that that would draw him out in an attempt to protect them. Unfortunately for the Thalmor, Maximus had already thought ahead. Having anticipated that possibility, he had already supplied Hanse, Gertrude, and Joric with enough coin to pack up their belongings and flee Skyrim, sneaking out of the country for a new, anonymous destination. Maximus’ one regret was that he hadn’t been there to see the astonished looks on the faces of the Thalmor soldiers, as they beat down the door to the family farm.
After that, the Thalmor continued to escalate their aggression, possibly out of annoyance that this single human sellsword had so far outsmarted them. They spread Maximus’ description to the Captains of the Guard in each Hold loyal to the Empire, who were thus obligated to cooperate with the Thalmor in order to keep the peace. Maximus couldn’t set foot in an Imperial city without someone attempting to arrest him, leaving him with no choice but to stick to the wildernesses of the countryside, far away from the roads and byways through each of the western Holds.
Regardless, Maximus was a resourceful young man. He could find the food, water, and shelter that Skyrim could provide, even deep in the wilds. The solitude didn’t bother him. He wasn’t afraid to keep moving, day in and day out. Even during it all, he kept in touch with his lady friends. For a time, he stayed in the village of Ivarstead, which was far enough out of the way in Stormcloak territory that Maximus felt like he was relatively safe, so long as he kept his head down, yet he nevertheless wisely didn’t overstay his welcome.
As the civil war escalated, things improved a little, for Maximus. The Thalmor found itself too preoccupied with other trouble individuals and more easily-handled problems to devote the same level of resources to capturing Maximus, anymore. It became much easier for him to live off of the land, and after a few months, he found he could set foot inside a Hold’s capital city without drawing any attention to himself, provided he changed his name and kept his visits brief. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
When Bunny informed him of the potential for an escape from Cidhna Mine by Madanach, the King in Rags, Maximus didn’t feel much in the way of anything. By that point in time, Madanach was likely so old that he was bordering on a walking skeleton. With one foot in the grave, he wasn’t about to be leading any wild revolutions, any time soon. And, besides, in the months following Sun Eater’s defeat, Maximus had found that his unending rage and vitriol towards the Forsworn of the Reach had lessened.
He still had nothing but ill things to say of them, and wouldn’t have shed a single tear if a surprise genocide eliminated them from Skyrim’s countryside...And yet, he no longer felt any need or desire to seek them out and slay them, himself. He had not gotten the full extent of the revenge he had wanted, yet he had certainly taken more lives than had been taken from him. While his inner demons may not have been exorcised, they had at the very least been sated. His life was finally his own.
He often visited with his lady friends over the years, or in the case of Svetlana, was visited by, and typically spent a couple weeks at a time with them. The Imperial never settled down, not necessarily because it didn’t have an appeal to it, but because he realistically knew that such a thing would only make him easier for the Thalmor to catch. And, besides, the one woman he could’ve seen himself settling down with had eventually been taken from him. She had never explained - for his own protection, she had said, she had wanted him to know as little as possible of her new life - but when her letters stopped coming, he instinctively knew the reason.
She had warned him that it had been coming. She had felt it. He had tried to reassure her. He had tried to offer whatever help she needed. But, in the end, a response never came. It took weeks of digging and coercion, but Maximus eventually found out who had been responsible, and why: a Penitus Oculatus commander, already long dead, was rumoured to have led a successful assault on the last Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary in all of Tamriel, located just a stone’s throw from Falkreath’s capital, before winding up with a slit throat on a Solitude dockside. There had been no survivors from the assault. Gabriella had always wanted her messages sent to Falkreath. Putting two and two together made for an obvious conclusion.
Maximus had always known, even if Gabriella had never wanted to tell him. He didn’t know why, but she must have had her reasons. For a time, it tore at him that she had never been able to say goodbye, until he realized that that was precisely what she had been trying to do, in her last letter. She had somehow known that the time was coming. She had wanted him to know, to have an answer as to why she wouldn’t be able to see him, anymore. She didn’t want him to go on without any sort of explanation. She had wanted him to be able to close the book.
You never forget the first one. No matter how many women came and went in his life, he’d never forget his first serious lover. He’d never forget the things he hadn’t told her, or the things he should’ve said to her while he had the chance. Gabriella had been the one. He’d never forget the first one that really made him care...

“...There you are,” he said, smiling broadly as she stepped out from behind Gjukar’s Monument. She smiled back, not quite as strongly at first, but then it was growing wider. It had only been a short while since Sun Eater’s defeat and everyone’s separation, but so many things had already happened in her life, it had felt like a century had passed. Try as she might to hide it, she had missed him. She slipped back her hood and waited for him to walk over, and when he reached his arms around her waist in a tight hug, she reached up, looped her own around his neck, and squeezed him just as mightily. She gave a long, contented sigh by his ear, closing her eyes. He smiled, gave her a fond patting to the derriere, and slowly released her, looking her up and down as she slipped her hands from his shoulders.
It was a bright, sunny morning, in Whiterun. Not a cloud marred the sky. The massive stretch of plains by the tall monument went on for as far as the eye could see, utterly empty. It was a warm, quiet place, perfect for their reunion. He hadn’t changed much, since the last time they had seen each other. He had acquired a new set of scaled armour, which he kept protected from the elements under a forest green surcoat. Slung over his shoulder, he kept a leather satchel of supplies, including the majority of the Septims and jewels he had earned from his mercenary work. He had a few more scars to his name, now, thanks to their last mission together, including a highly visible one on his face, stretching from his chin to just past the left corner of his mouth.
She, on the other hand, had entirely changed her look. Her makeup was a different colour. She wore her hair a little differently, now. She had replaced her custom leather armour with an entirely different outfit: now, she wore a conspicuous set of black and red hooded robes, including a red pair of fingerless gloves and soft, black shoes. His expression went a little aloof when he noticed the rather obvious emblem emblazoned over the chest of the robes: a single black hand. When she noticed him looking, she became visibly uncomfortable. His brow faintly furrowed in curiosity, he faintly remarked “That’s, uh...That’s quite some getup you have on.”
“It’s not important, it’s just a part of a debt I’m repaying, right now. I hope it doesn’t bother you. I couldn’t find anything else, in time.” She said, starting out quickly, slowing down considerably by the second sentence. Max passively gazed into her eyes, for a couple seconds. It was fairly clear that she wanted to avoid the topic. He shifted his jaw to the side, smiled, and teasingly said “What’s this debt, then? I thought I was the only person you ran up debts, with. What, I’m not special, anymore?” Gabby didn’t smile. Lightly raising her eyebrows, she said “It’s not all that important, you don’t need to worry about it. I got myself into this mess, I can get myself out of it.”
“Is it gold?” He asked, raising his eyebrows with a little shake of his head. Her eyes darted away from his, and he lightly eased his head to the side, trying to find her eyes, again. “Because, you know, I have gold I can part with, right now-” “That’s not it,” she lightly interrupted, looking into his eyes, again. A breeze began blowing about the monument, making his surcoat, as well as her robe, shift and ripple across their bodies. She shook her head. “It’s not something I can just pay off. I have to work at it. Even then, I don’t...I shouldn’t talk about it. I don’t want you getting mixed up in this, Max. I don’t want any of you getting involved, this is my problem. Besides, it’s easy work, and the pay is fantastic. It has perks.”
“I see,” he answered, giving a slow nod. She avoided his eyes for a couple seconds, lightly shifting her jaw about. Eventually, however, she looked back up to his eyes. Raising a hand, she swept away some bangs that the wind had blown into her eyes, murmuring “Thanks, though. I appreciate the thought. If I could take you up on it and just leave, I would. This isn’t exactly how I expected things to turn out.” “How did you want things to turn out?” He asked, shifting his weight to one foot as he crossed his arms over his chest. She rolled her eyes as she drew in a deep breath, sighing out “Beachfront property in Anvil, maybe. Somewhere warm and quiet. Not this.” “Room for two, in there?” He teased, grinning.
She didn’t answer with words, but the response was obvious enough to witness. Her eyes drifted down to his stomach, her body gave a subtle little shift, and she looked back up to his eyes, her own falling half-closed. He grinned. “Is that a maybe?” She was visibly fighting a smile, now. Her lips barely moving, she remarked “Why, would you be able to make it worth my while?” His brow furrowed. He stepped in close, grabbing her by the hips. The breeze blew her hair about in raven locks as he put her back against the monument, leaning in and locking lips with her. She reached her arms around him, fingernails digging into his surcoat. It felt like ages since the last time he had kissed her, like this.
It was fiery. It was needy. In moments, they were parting their lips. Their tongues coiled between their mouths like snakes. Even in the new getup, the new makeup, and the new hairstyle, she stilled smelled like her old self. In spite of it all, she was still his Gabby. They were both breathing a little heavily by the time they parted lips. They stayed close for several moments, gazing into one another’s eyes. Eventually, in a soft murmur, she whispered “It’s a nice dream to have. Maybe some day.” He gave a faint sigh through his nose, a bit of energy draining from his eyes. She answered by giving his lips a peck, stroking one hand up across his chest.
He took a step back from her, and she stood up from the monument’s wall. She gave a slow sigh, reaching up and fixing her hair. “How have you been?” She abruptly asked, gazing into his eyes with a ghost of a smile on her lips. He gave her a half-smile, calmly stating “I’ve been fine, thanks. I’m more concerned about you. C’mon, what kind of trouble have you gotten into now?” She looked off to the side, her smile dying. “I can’t talk about it, Max, I’m serious...This is the last thing I want you to get involved, with.” He opened his mouth to argue, his brow furrowing. She looked him right in the eye, her own eyes widening, a touch, as she firmly insisted “Max, it’s for your own protection, alright? You don’t know the kind of people I’m working with, right now. These people...”
She lightly shook her head, her eyes dropping an inch from his before meeting them, again. “...Once you’re in, there’s no way out,” she finally declared. He didn’t know how to respond, to that. They were both quiet for a few moments before she tried to change the subject, again. Smiling a little, she said “...C’mon, we haven’t seen each other in weeks. Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself. There are more important things to talk about. Have you seen your mother and father, yet?” He gave a nod, shrugging with his eyebrows as he said “Yeah. Gave them a heap of coin, enough to fix the problem. They were worried sick about me. They even asked me about you and the rest of the girls. They asked about your wedding to Lana, by the way.”
Gabby quietly groaned in her throat, her eyes slowly drifting upwards and off to the side. “Of course they did,” she muttered. He grinned and chuckled, then said “And, uh, I haven’t seen any Thalmor on the roads. Not just yet. That’s bound to change any day, now, though.” She gave a little nod, then said “Well, if you ever feel like things are getting tense, just send me a letter at Falkreath. I could arrange for a little getaway, for you.” He smiled, then said “Thanks, but it’d probably hurt Sabrina’s feelings if I didn’t go to her, instead. You know what she’s like.” “Indeed I do,” Gabby slowly answered, raising her eyebrows. He grinned. No need to get jealous, now. He had more than enough free time to go around to everyone.
“Heard about Helgen?” Max raised an eyebrow. Gabby pulled a bit of a face, shrugged, and mumbled “It’s probably exaggerations, anyway. Forget it. Heard from Anya?” Gabby asked, reaching up and holding his shoulders. Max momentarily looked over her shoulder, sightlessly looking off into the distance past the monument. “No, but that’s alright. She told me her plan. Unless she’s changed it, she’s in Windhelm. I know where to find her, if I ever want to see her. Although, that might just bring the wrong kind of attention to her cover.” “Right,” she answered, giving a nod. He went quiet, looking downwards. She placidly watched him until he raised his head. Smiling, he remarked “...Beachfront Anvil property, huh?” The corners of her mouth shifted upwards. Her lips barely moving, she mumbled “What, is it starting to grow on you, now? I wasn’t really being serious.”
“Never been to Anvil. Heard it’s nice,” he answered, smiling more. “So have I. I’ve always wanted to see it,” she murmured. “All it would take is getting on one good ship, then following the coast around to Cyrodiil,” he thought aloud, looking upwards in thought. She gave a quiet chortle, then repeated “I wasn’t really being serious, Max.” He smiled, leaned in, and gave her another long, deep kiss. She closed her eyes and found one of his hands, threading her fingers between his, holding tight. When they parted lips, he quietly asked “How much time do we have?” She gave a disappointed sigh. “Not enough,” she answered. “I’m fresh from a job. They’re already expecting me back. If I’m too late, they’ll think something’s happened to me.”
“When can we meet again?...” He asked, kissing her, again. His hands were starting to wander. The robe didn’t hide her body as well as her leather armour had, something he was quick to discover. Her eyelids fluttered. She gave another sigh, and this time, it was steamy. “Not quickly enough,” she answered, gazing into his eyes before giving him a kiss of her own. He gave a deep exhale. As he reluctantly slipped his hands out of her robe, she explained, murmuring “It’s best if we meet while I’m out on a job. Makes things simplest for me, back at home. Trouble is, I have no idea when my next job is going to come in...My boss hears tell of it, and I get the details afterwards. It could be a couple of weeks, even months.”
“Gods, that’s too long,” he snapped, to which she quietly answered “I know...But, I know where to reach you. I know a reliable courier. If anything comes up, anything at all...” He grinned. She started smiling. They gazed into each other’s eyes for several long moments, but eventually, she gave a sigh through her nose, looked downwards, and mumbled “...Well...I should get going.” She closed her eyes, brought a hand up, and wearily covered an eye. Tiredly, she mumbled “Azura, this wasn’t enough time...” “You can make it up to me, next time. I’ll make it up to you,” he commented. Her smile widened. She dropped her hand, looking up into his eyes, and playfully retorted “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to find out, huh?” She narrowed an eye, but then she was reaching her arms around him, burying her face into the side of his neck as they embraced. He smiled, bringing a hand up to the back of her head, feeling her soft hair even as the breeze shifted it about. He felt her body expand in his arms as she drew in a deep breath, then deflate against him as she let out a long, contented sigh. He smiled, a little more. This was perfect. For a man who had survived his own suicide mission, things didn’t get much happier than this little slice of paradise, right here. It took a minute, but finally, they were letting go of one another, however reluctantly. They met eyes as she took a step back from him. The air went still as the breeze abruptly faded.
Without warning, a faint, booming rumble filled the air, a tremor passing through the ground beneath their feet. It lasted a half second before a myriad of distinctly human voices erupted, seemingly from the very sky.
“Doh...Vah...Kiin!”
Maximus and Gabriella both quickly turned their heads, looking back towards the Throat of the World. What in Akatosh’s name had that been?...

The End

(Author's Note - And, here you guys are, the conclusion to The Forsworn Retribution! Sorry for the wait:). I really hope you guys enjoy, I put a lot into this finale:D. Let me thank you guys so much for following this story for this long, I know it isn’t always easy to follow a story for this kind of time frame and wait weeks for updates, and I really appreciate that you guys have enjoyed the story enough to put up with my delays:). All of your great feedback was tremendously encouraging, it’s hard to express how motivating and fulfilling it is to hear from readers:D. It’s because of your feedback and support that this story evolved from where it was at the initial point - darker, angrier, crueler - to where it ended up, with a group of friends and lovers on an adventure.
This doesn’t need to be goodbye, though, if you all don’t want it to be:). I’m open to doing bonus standalone chapters for extra sex scenes and “What ifs?” that might be fun. Mostly, I’m looking for suggestions from you guys, but I do have some ideas of my own that you can vote on, instead, if you’d prefer. I had wanted to set up some kind of poll, somewhere, with all of my ideas present, but I’m afraid I’m a bit strapped for time at the moment of this posting, so maybe I’ll get to go that route in the first bonus chapter, or something:). So! I suppose I should come right out and say that the first planned bonus chapter will be that rough Maximus, Sabrina, and Anya threesome suggestion that came in, oh so long ago. After that, I had a few more potential scenarios, but nothing that feels quite as pressing as a proper sex scene with Anya:D.
If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out the rest of my gallery, you might find something else you enjoy:). If you stop by my writing thread on the Hentai Foundry forum, you can find a list of gallery links to easily navigate to all of my stories, as well as a brief plot explanation alongside a list of fetishes and kinks to better explain the sexual content you’d find catered to in each story. That’s also where I post various updates and sometimes extra written content, so if you want an easy way to hear if chapters will be late or are already out, as well as announcements of new stories, that’s the place to keep an eye on:). Hey, it’s also where you can private message me, if you want!
Again, I hope you all enjoyed this conclusion, I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it:). It’s certainly been a ride. See you all next time!)
- 37
- 38
- 39
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Forsworn Retribution