Blood of the Daedra | By : mistressarachnia Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Morrowind Views: 1786 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls universe belongs to Bethesda. Soryn Uvirith belongs to me. I make no money from writing about his adventures. |
Blood of the Daedra
Chapter
5: Sacrifice
The next few weeks passed as though
Soryn were in a trance. Eldafire’s presence, rather than proving a
distraction, encouraged him to redouble his efforts in the study of magic as a
friendly rivalry erupted between the pair. Soryn was eager to impress her, and
spent what nights he had alone concocting new spells and potions. His
classmates were at first amused by this new love interest, teasing him
incessantly as he predicted they would, but the novelty of the situation soon
wore off and they adjusted to his new – less interesting, in their opinion –
state of being. In truth he hardly spent any time with his old companions
anymore, now that he had a new companion to share the island with. And how
could he resist? The number of places the pair explored together became
directly proportionate to the number of places where they explored one another.
One night they snuck off to the
upper balcony of Archmagister Naga’s tower after hours to enjoy the full double
moons in the hazy night sky. Eldafire had been fascinated with the organic
architecture of Sadrith Mora, and there was no better view of the living
scenery than from Tel Naga. They had both taken a large swig of homebrewed
silence potion to ensure that they were not caught, and kept a potion of
chameleon nearby in case the archmagister himself decided to venture out into
the cool night air. They hadn’t needed to use it, fortunately, although they
had counted themselves lucky to have it on hand when they ventured out into the
grazelands on the nearby shores of the main island of Vvardenfell for an
afternoon picnic. A pack of wild kagotii wandered appallingly near for
comfort, but they were much too enraptured with one another to stop and brace
themselves for battle. The pack wandered lazily by after a short time,
oblivious to the shadowed passionate pursuits taking place in the shrubbery
around them. After their departure, the elves were once again free to do as
they pleased as they re-emerged from the shadows in a fervent embrace, their
bodies locked in ecstasy.
The grazelands had more to offer
than just wildlife, however. Soryn found it an excellent training ground for
teaching his new love interest the finer points of Morrowind alchemy. Eldafire
seemed particularly intrigued by the mystical properties of whickwheat. The
herb looked like little more than grass to the untrained observer, but just a
taste could transport a person miles across the island, losing them forever in
a void if they had not had the forethought to cast a mark spell at a designated
location. But the mysticism spells were easy enough to learn, and Soryn
enjoyed instructing the enchanting girl. The pair strolled a bit further,
wandering hand in hand as Eldafire described to Soryn the beauty of the city of
Isle of Artaeum in Summerset with its idyllic orchards and clear pastures,
still and silent lagoons, misty woodlands, and the unique Psijic architecture
that seems to be as natural as its surroundings. The island was home to the Psijic
Order, the oldest monastic order in all of Tameriel and contained several ruins
and relics of a mysterious ancient civilization predating the Altmer by several
hundred years. However, this island also had a tendency to disappear into thin
air so few had ever witnessed its beauty. Eldafire herself had only heard
tales – for the island had not been seen in many years. Soryn was entranced,
and had many questions to ask, but was broken off by a sudden gasp from
Eldafire.
“Oh my! Is that… is that what I
think it is?” she asked, staring wide eyed at the deep black and purple angular
architecture that jutted menacingly from just beyond the green hills. The
towers were knotted in a severe fashion, creating a foreboding atmosphere of
sharp angles in the midst of the gentle grazelands.
“It looks like a daedric shrine,”
Soryn replied, a shiver running down his spine, “By decree of the new Tribunal Temple,
they were ordered to be abandoned some years ago. A few of the locals are
still upset about it. I never put much faith in the new Temple doctrine, but
then I also never paid much mind to the daedra. I never found much use for
religion. Personally, I prefer to rely on my own spellcasting abilities. One
never can tell what the results of meddling with Oblivion will be.”
“Ah, but that’s half the fun,”
grinned Eldafire, an evil gleam in her eye, “There is such power in daedra
worship – more power than you or I could ever hope to possess through studying
in silly mushroom schoolhouses. The daedra are immortal. Do you know what
that means? They have time to do anything, to grant any request, so long as it
suits their fancy. And I couldn’t help noticing that you yourself possessed a
daedric blade, a fine one at that. I remember seeing it back at your cave.
Where, pray, did you come by such an item if you claim not to practice daedra
worship yourself?”
“Yes, I know which blade you are
referring to. I found it near the shrine just outside of Sadrith Mora when I
was out exploring one day. It’s a small shrine – it wasn’t even completed
before the Temple ordered a halt on its construction. I’m not even sure which
daedric prince it was built to honor. I can take you there if you would like,”
he offered, “It’s something of an erotic hideaway nowadays.”
“Mmm, but this one looks more
promising. Come now, I’m dying to see inside!” Eldafire exclaimed wildly,
rushing forwards towards the menacing towers. Soryn bit his lip, taking a
mental inventory of the supplies he had thought to bring with him. He had only
two potions of restore health, and not enough ingredients to make more. His
instincts caused him to doubt that this was one of his lover’s better ideas.
Despite his reservations, he hurried after her.
The pair stopped just behind a
hill, ducking down as they surveyed the surroundings. Two Dunmer in golden
masks and blue robes stood near a round door with dark points radiating from
its center like spears. They had weapons drawn, but did not seem to have
noticed the two Altmer. Not yet, anyway.
“Temple guards,” whispered Soryn,
“They won’t let anyone inside the shrine. It’s probably best we go back before
they see us, but I can take you by the shrine outside of Sandrith Mora when we
return – that one is never guarded.”
“Templars should be easy enough to
deal with. Besides, if they are guarding something, then it stands to reason
that there is something inside that shrine worth guarding. Why go back to an
incomplete shrine when there is a fully intact one right here, just waiting for
us to enter? Come now, I’ll show you how to dispatch those guards in a
heartbeat,” she grinned.
“Wait! If they survive our attack
we will have more cause to worry than just about the trespassing charges we are
probably already facing. And I doubt they will be oblivious to our entrance
even with an invisibility spell in place,” Soryn hissed, grabbing her arm.
“Just watch,” Eldafire winked,
closing her eyes to summon up enough magicka for whatever plan she intended to
enact. In a flash of yellow light, a ball of energy released from her
fingertips and washed over the guards. For a moment they looked stunned, but
made no move to resist. Eldafire stood, sauntering confidently in their
direction. They made no move to stop her but merely stood, transfixed.
“You are ordered to leave your
posts and return to the nearest Dunmer temple,” she told them crossly. Soryn
stood, wide eyed, as the guards saluted and turned their backs to march towards
the hills away from the shrine. Eldafire turned to Soryn with a wide grin.
“See? That wasn’t difficult at
all. You really should have more faith in me. You aren’t the only high elven
mage here, after all. Come now, let’s see what was so secret that these two
were ordered to guard it to keep us away,” she smiled, gesturing for Soryn to
follow her as she attempted to move the large door in front of her, groaning
under its weight. Soryn, still stunned by the scene he just witnessed, hurried
once more to follow her.
With his help, they were soon
inside the abandoned halls. The interior was dark, but as their eyes adjusted
to the light they could see a massive stone statue down the dark corridor. The
statue depicted a sinister man with a reptilian face and an outstretched clawed
hand. At the statue’s feet were piles of gems and a single glistening black
blade with red daedric inscriptions on the side. There were more chests
arranged neatly around the altar, most of them locked. Eldafire picked the
blade up from the altar to examine it, turning it sideways to read the dark
inscription as she ran a golden finger down its edge. It was sharp.
“That one is much finer than the
one I own,” Soryn admitted, pleased that their search had not been in vain,
“And think of the price all of these emeralds and rubies will fetch. Look,
here’s a diamond – a huge one at that.” Eldafire grabbed his arm before he
could reach down to examine it.
“Wait. There are consequences for
stealing offerings to daedra lords from their altars. But this blade… I
believe it has another purpose,” she said with a smile, gazing up into the cold
lifeless eyes of the sinister statue, “Molag Bal. What a fortunate encounter.
Oh, this is marvelous!”
A deep guttural groan echoed from
the halls around them and Soryn quickly spun around to see its source, but saw
nothing in the dark shadows surrounding them. A crash sounded and he quickly
voiced a spell, grabbing Eldafire and levitating up as she squealed in delight.
“Oh Soryn, put me down! You can’t
turn tail every time you hear a strange noise. I’ve been in dozens of these
daedric shrines. After all, daedra worship isn’t banned in Summerset. It’s
quite common practice, really. You’ve been listening to too many of those dark
elf stories,” she scolded, laughing at his uneasiness. Spying an upper level
in the chamber overhanging the statue, Soryn set them down, confident that they
would be less likely to be disturbed from this inaccessible location.
“Ooooh… wonderful!” Eldafire
exclaimed, her voice echoing in the empty halls. A growl responded from below,
and Soryn looked down to see a huge bipedal reptilian beast with a long snout
and rows of sharp teeth. He recognized it from his studies as a daedroth,
although he had never seen one in person. It appeared that he had evacuated
them from the inner sanctuary just in time. The beast lumbered to the altar,
its massive head turning from side to side as it searched for the source of the
intrusion.
Eldafire, meanwhile, had found
something else to explore. There was a second altar on the upper level, black
with red markings. She was examining an ornate bowl on top of it, reading the
strange writing on its side with a wild look in her glowing violet eyes. She
climbed up on the altar, lying back as she gripped its ledges, her body splayed
out upon it invitingly. She closed her eyes, arching her back as an
impassioned moan escaped her lips and echoed through the dark shadows that
filled the shrine. The beast below responded with another growl, more urgent
this time as it lumbered away quickly down the dark corridors. Soryn stood,
watching, transfixed. Another moan escaped Eldafire’s lips and her body
writhed upon the altar. She opened her eyes wide, staring at the dark vaulted
ceiling as she began a breathless incantation. Soryn’s pulse quickened as she
turned to him.
“Soryn, I need you. I need you
inside of me… now!” she cried, her voice echoing from the walls. The scene had
a dangerously erotic aura to it. All reservation left him and he rushed to
her, lifting her deep purple velvet skirt above her waist as she let out
another moan of ecstasy. Her juices were already flowing down her golden
thighs, wetting the altar upon which she lay. Quickly he untied his robe,
eager to fulfill her request. When he entered her she cried out again, arching
her back as she rose to meet him. Grabbing her roughly by the neck, he drew
her delicate face up to kiss him. She threw her arms around his back and
wrapped her legs around his thighs eagerly.
“Take me, yes, harder still,” she
pleaded, a single tear running down her cheek as she gasped for breath. Soryn
kissed it away, leaning over her as he felt her body shake. Her legs locked
tightly around him and she arched her back, throwing back her head wildly as
she came, hard. The chamber was filled with an eerie reverberation as her
cries rang out in the darkened empty chambers. Her violet eyes opened,
studying him intently as she pulled him closer.
“Do you trust me?” she asked
suddenly, her voice quieted in a whisper. Soryn answered her with a passionate
kiss, feeling her lips open to receive him as she trembled under his touch.
“Yes,” he murmured, kissing her
deeply as he moved her dress higher and he felt her muscles tighten around him.
“Good,” she replied, another
impassioned moan escaping her lips as her body once again erupted in spasms.
The glint of dark metal caught Soryn’s eye, but he paid no mind to it as she
reached up and cast his robe aside, arching her back with fervent passion as
she pulsed her hips tighter against him, his eyes glazing over as she pulled
him further down over her writhing body. Waves of pleasure washed over him,
even as he felt a sharp scratch from the back as she reached behind his body,
the pain only intensifying his pleasure as he rode her harder still, delighting
in her cries of ecstasy. The experience seemed draining, more so than usual,
but so pleasurable that he could not stop himself.
It was not until he released into
her, the warm soothing waves bringing him down from his heightened arousal
state, that he noticed the thick dark fluid running over their panting bodies.
Blood. His own blood.
Eldafire reached up, kissing him
and licking away some of the ruby red juice that ran over him, savoring its
dark texture on her pink tongue. He suddenly found himself exhausted, yet
found that his passions were not satiated. He wanted her more than ever. His
head was spinning, but he made no protest when Eldafire shifted her weight to
throw him off balance, pinning him to the altar as she straddled him eagerly.
It was only then that he noticed
the blade in her hand, dripping with crimson fluid. He opened his mouth in
protest but she bent down to kiss him, taking his breath away as she spread the
warm liquid over the source of his passion so that he could only cry out in
pleasure even as his body begged for release from this torture. She held the
knife over him, closing her eyes as she called out another incantation. He
wanted to protest, to question, but no words came out. His mind was spinning
out of control. The blade marked his forehead and warm blood ran down his golden
face in streams. He tried to lift his hand to stop her, but she held him down
tight, bringing the cool blade against his burning flesh until she determined
where to make her final cuts. Two quick incisions over his chest would
suffice, causing him to startle as the dagger ran its course. As his blood
flowed down on the altar, he tried to grab her arms once again, feeling the
passion welling up even then, draining him, but so exquisite that he could not
resist her advances. His loins were on fire even as his perceptions dulled.
“Please, Eldafire… what in
Oblivion…” he whispered, feeling the blade at his neck, silencing him as she
moved down to take the source of his passion in her mouth, causing him to moan
in ecstasy even as he felt the sharp point at his throat. With a final cry, he
released into her waiting lips, feeling his entire body go limp.
He could still feel his flesh
trembling, but it no longer mattered. His body was tingling, radiating from
his heart to his fingertips. It was as though he were flying overhead, looking
at himself from an outsider’s perspective. He did not feel as though he
belonged in this drained naked body on a daedra lord’s altar with cruel crimson
streams flowing down his dark golden skin. It wasn’t his. It couldn’t be. He
smiled. It… it no longer mattered.
Looking down at the warm bleeding
form on the cold stone slab, he thought to heal himself, to clean away the flow
of red, but found he had no magicka left to do so. His bright green eyes
opened wide, emerald gems in a ruby sea. He could hear a deep voice coming
from somewhere in the room, but could not make out the words. He heard
laughter, and the melodic voice of Eldafire. What was she saying? What had
she done to him? He turned his head and saw her, still naked with a glow of
golden energy around her, radiating, pulsing. A golden gateway opened from
thin air, and the beast Soryn had seen below, or one very like it, stepped out
of the portal. Was he seeing this right? He tried to move, to stop this thing
from devouring them both, but his arms failed him and he could only lie panting
as the beast lumbered towards him. Was it real? With another word, Eldafire
turned to it, and a second gate opened, as the creature stepped though. She
turned now to the bleeding body on the altar and knelt.
“I love you, Soryn. Thank you so
much for this gift you have given me. I love you so much,” she whispered,
running her hands through his thick black hair and bending down to kiss him.
He had so many questions, but no time to ask them. For in another instant, his
vision darkened and he lost consciousness.
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