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Slave of the Dead	By : TheMaskettaMan Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 12807 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the creative rights to, or the fandom of, Skyrim, I don’t get why we have to add legal disclaimers like this considering no one at all would think we own it, but I gotta follow the rules. I also make no money from this story.

Chapter List
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So, real talk, I was really disappointed when Day of the Defiling Dead got removed for whatever reason, and my attempts to recover it via Wayback Machine failed, although I have access to the first chapter.
Anyway, I really liked having that for whacking off to, so I basically went “If it’s not gonna be there and you want something done right…” so I’m doing it myself. This isn't a reposting, this is an original work, though I did use the old one as inspiration, and my own memory of what the second and third chapters were will fill in the gaps.
I do not own the creative rights to Skyrim, I don’t get why we have to add legal disclaimers like this considering no one at all would think we own it, but I gotta follow the rules.
The stone door slid open to the inner chambers of Bleak Falls Sanctum with a spray of dust, possibly the first time this door had been opened in hundreds of years.
Not that Freya cared. What mattered to her was that she got to whatever the grand prize of this cave was. The Golden Claw was in hand, and she could have headed back to Riverwood to give it to the Valerius siblings for her due, but… there was something about this cave. She had already braved bandits and frostbite spiders to get this far, but the Nine damn her if she were going to turn back now.
Things had been getting stranger and stranger as of late. It was pure bad luck that the Imperials had captured her. She had just been camping in the area, but happened to stumble upon a Stormcloak ambush for General Tullius’ arrival party and was lumped in with them and that horse thief. As her head had lay on the chopping block, the world all went to Hell after that.
She thanked Akatosh above that she had been able to escape to safety, fleeing in the caves under Helgen with Hadvar, and Ralof not far behind with a band of Stormcloak survivors.
Rather than head to Whiterun to warn Jarl Balgruuf, however, she had come up here. She needed coin now, badly. The Valerius siblings had promised to pay her a bit for some delving, and she figured she could loot the bandits in here as well, which she was happily doing.
Thus far, she had entered with nary a single septim to her name. Now she was approaching a few hundred from the thugs, not to mention the Golden Claw’s prize. Maybe she could make this into a business. Dive into caves for things. Retrieve money or sought-after goods.
She hefted her warhammer. Maybe she might be able to get a better one than just this lump of iron on a stick. Better armor, too, since she was just wearing a few scraps of iron and some furs, and a simple leather helmet.
Maybe she’d even pilfer something from this old structure, whatever it was.
It almost looked like a palace of some kind, or a fortress. Perhaps both. Must not have been a very good one, since it was currently empty.
Well, empty aside from the corpses.
Why were there so many burial crypts around?
The smell of death permeated the entire area, and she hated it. Earlier, it had been the smell of rotting flesh from the spiders, but now she was far deeper in some new locale, away from the mere bandits and spiders.
She stepped into a large room, with several side-areas that were blocked off by rubble, but there was one way forward. There were some tables with random objects on them, there was even a sort of insignia pinned up high to the stone wall. In addition, there were several sealed sarcophagi around the perimeter. However, what caught her immediate attention were the things in the room.
Two corpses. Two walking corpses. Or rather, Draugr as her people called them. Desiccated corpses wearing armor, carrying weapons, and staring at the world through lifeless glowing ice-blue eyes.
“Gods…” she muttered to herself, hefting her warhammer. Yet another moment of madness from the world. Why were the dead now walking?
The closest Draugr, wearing tattered armor not dissimilar from her own, noticed her and began to chatter in its dead gravelly voice to its compatriot.
Suddenly, more Draugr appeared, climbing out of sarcophagi and a few coming in from the room ahead and brandishing weapons. She counted seven of them. None of them seemed any more powerful than the other, so she charged, swinging her warhammer and managing to blast several of them sideways.
They tried to swipe at her, but she swung again, slamming it into two more of them and causing them to collapse. A third and final swing brought down the remaining Draugr. Letting out a satisfied breath, she hefted her warhammer onto her shoulder. This wasn’t so bad.
As she continued through the dungeon, however, the Draugr grew stronger. Some of them almost seemed to amuse themselves by letting her destroy them, simply standing idly by and letting her swing. What was going on? Why were they simply allowing her to destroy them.
Finally, she pushed past and finally broke free into the true sanctum, a moonlit alcove with a large wall written in old Nord script. There was a section of the wall that was glowing, and it seemed to call to her, which confused Freya. What was a wall doing calling her? How was a wall calling to begin with? Why were the words glowing?
She heeded the call.
Cautiously, she edged closer, noting with no small amount of trepidation the black sarcophagus next to the strange wall. The words on the wall seemed to speak directly to her, especially this glowing one. But what did that mean? How was she to understand it?
Suddenly, a wave of energy seemed to blast out of the wall, washing over her and sending a strange burning sensation into her head.
“GAH!” Freya cried out, dropping her hammer and clutching at her head, clenching her blue eyes shut as the word on that wall seemed to strike and dig itself deep down into the furthest recesses of her mind.
“AAM!”
And though she had never spoken a single word of the old tongue in her life, she somehow knew its meaning instantly.
SERVE.
Serve what?
The sarcophagus blasted open, and yet another Draugr pulled itself out of it. Unlike the others, however, this one appeared to be wearing very sturdy and far more ornate armor, and a wicked black blade hung at its hips. Freya desperately fumbled for her warhammer, fiding it on the ground, and assuming a ready stance. Just in time, too. The Draugr turned and looked at her, making no move to attack, but instead, it seemed to be sizing her up.
“What are you?” she asked, not caring if the creature understood her. It was something that needed to die again, she knew that much.
It let out a gravelly sort of laughing sound, as if her combat-ready stance was entertaining.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, tightening her grip on her hammer.
The creature opened its mouth.
“DUR AAM DILON!” it spoke, and a wave of energy blasted outward from its mouth, washing over her, and once again causing a stinging pain in her head as the words seemed to drill into her mind.
Shrugging off the attack, she charged, swinging the hammer downward. The Draugr sidestepped it with a lazy motion, before reaching out and grabbing her by the throat.
Freya sputtered, flailing and accidentally knocking her helmet off, spilling her white-blonde hair out behind her. The Draugr picked her up effortlessly and walked her back until she was pinned against the back wall.
“DUR AAM DILON!” it repeated, and again, the stinging pain in her mind renewed as the Draugr dropped her. Freya cried out, clutching at her head again. This was not worth it. Whatever it was saying was going to be the death of her.
She ran, trying to go back into the sanctum, where at least she knew the path was clear.
She made it through several rooms and into a sort of throne room before the Draugr caught up to her. It hadn’t ever truly lost her, it seemed to simply enjoy tiring her out more than anything.
“DUR AAM DILON!”
Freya fell to the ground again. Why was she running? She belonged here, serving the Masters-- wait, why was she thinking that?
She staggered to her feet, only to find the Draugr leering at her. It didn’t grab her by the throat this time. Instead, it grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her into the wall behind her off to the side.
“Oof!” she grunted, shuddering as another ache from her head reverberated through her system.
The hand around her throat returned, but instead of choking her, it simply seemed to hold her there, a lingering threat.
The Draugr was staring right into her eyes now, its rotten breath washing over her and causing her to nearly retch.
“GOL HAH JUL,” it said.
A much smaller wave of power washed over her, and she shuddered. Suddenly, she had lost control of her body. She tried to command herself to wrench free and run, only to find that she could not!
The Draugr let out another laugh, before motioning with its hands.
Freya immediately dropped her warhammer, and began to take her armor off.
“What?” she asked aloud. It seemed she retained control of her head. “No! No, stop!”
With a clatter, her iron armor fell away. After a few moments, she removed her boots and tossed those as well, before shedding her gloves and throwing those aside as well. Finally, she undid the last garments protecting her modesty, letting the leather bra and loincloth fall.
Freya now stood exposed to this Draugr. She was a warrior, and her body reflected this. She was toned, with very clear abdominal muscles, smaller breasts compared to some of the women of Skyrim, sturdier thighs and arms, and narrower hips. Her womanhood, just as blonde as her hair, was trimmed so as not to tangle and pull beneath her smallclothes and armor, but it was mostly unkempt.
The Draugr laughed again, before motioning with its hands once more. Freya fought, but her body betrayed her. She lifted her hands above her head and held them there, as if they were bound with rope. The Draugr began shedding its own armor.
She had, perhaps, known this was where it was going, but it still revolted her all the same when it removed all of its own garments and stood before her, revealing that it was a man, and its manhood still worked perfectly.
The Draugr’s cock was thick and veiny, as grey and rotted as the Draugr was, but despite this, it still seemed to glisten at its tip. When it was finished shedding its armor, the Draugr reached up with one hand and grabbed hold of her wrists. With its other hand, he motioned as he drew in close.
Freya spread her legs, grunting with exertion as she tried to fight whatever it was that was keeping her a slave to this being’s will, but she still presented herself to her master-- No! This thing was not her master! She had no master.
The Draugr lined itself up, seeming to relish the moment as it slid itself along her entrance, no doubt taunting her that she could do nothing about this.
“I’ll end you for this!” she spat, but it paid her no mind, pressing its tip up against her entrance, which caused her to let out a terrified gasp, her bravado quickly slipping away. She couldn’t even properly cry now. EEven that indignity had been taken from her.
Then, the Draugr pushed in.
Freya wanted to cry out. Whether it was from pain or pleasure, she didn’t know which, but she knew she couldn’t, even as inch after inch slowly was shoved into her passage. Her purity was gone, taken by this monster, which was still pushing itself further and further in. The further it reached, the more the sensations she was feeling magnified.
It was as though there were an emptiness inside of her, and her Master was fulfilling it. She needed to be filled. She relished every bump, every ridge, every vein of her Master’s glorious cock, and she would please him as was her duty
No, no, she needed to kill this thing! Yet her body still refused to obey her commands. Instead, her legs parted further and further wide, granting the Draugr easier access as it continued to push in. After only a few moments, she lifted her legs off the ground entirely as the Draugr pinned her to the wall, his hand keeping her wrists restrained, his hips pinning her own as he finally bottomed out.
With a soft plap, the Draugr’s hips met her own, and she let out half-grunt, half-cry, her eyes reflexively fluttering down to the place where they were joined, and resisting an urge to vomit, but that urge was also mixed with an urge to let out a moan.
Her Master was claiming her.
He began to pull out, inch by agonizing inch, until all that was left was the tip. With every passing second, and the sensation of her Master leaving her womb unclaimed, she wanted to cry. Had she displeased him?
No, no she wanted this! She wanted him out!
...right?
“DUR AAM DILON,” the Draugr said, a wave of energy washing over her. Unlike the previous times, this didn’t cause her pain. No, this caused her to cry out in ecstasy as he thrust back in the moment he said it, his tip brushing against her most sacred barrier. But it belonged to him, and to all denizens of this holy place that she was fated to serve.
Freya grit her teeth, fighting the stray thoughts that pushed their way into her mind, unwelcome. She would not be bested by this creature’s magic!
The Draugr pulled out.
“DUR AAM DILON.”
Freya whimpered as he thrust in again, the wave of energy once again causing her to reach heights of pleasure she had never known, even when pleasuring herself.
Out.
“DUR AAM DILON.”
In.
She no longer felt an urge to resist. Was it because she knew she was bested? Or was it because she wanted this now? Wanted to pleasure her Master with all of her being, mind body and-- no, no she didn’t.
While she was so focused on her mental battle and of the sensations coming from her vagina as the Draugr had his way with her, she was failing to notice the effect the Draugr’s Thu’um was having on her body. It caused no changes that would be visible to her eyes, but if one were to gaze into them, they may have been able to see a faint blue glow, exactly the same as the being violating her.
Out.
“DUR AAM DILON.”
In.
He was moving faster now. Was Master close? Would he seed her fertile womb? She needed it to be so--
“No!” she cried out again, resisting. No normal being, not even a fully educated Archmage would have been able to resist the pull for this long, but Freya, unbeknownst to herself, was the last Dragonborn. Her inner spirit would resist and resist, but even the mightiest and most impassive stony landscapes could be weathered away by a gentle river, eroding little bit by little bit.
“DUR AAM DILON.”
“Oh, yes!” she cried out as she felt herself grow closer and closer to that elusive peak, just out of her reach. But she knew that she would reach it the moment Master reached it himself.
Freya neither noticed nor cared when the spell that made her immobile had worn off. What mattered now was reaching her climax, and Master reaching his. That highest of highs needed to be attained, for his sake, and for hers.
She squeezed her insides as he sped up even faster, trying desperately to push him over that edge, and to her immense relief, he obliged, until he was hammering away as fast as he could.
“Please, please,” she whimpered, her hands falling to grab hold of Master’s shoulders as Master reached down to get a better grip on her hips with his other hand. She welcomed him now, let him do with her as he willed. She was his dedicated cocksleeve, she existed to whore herself to him. She knew her place, and she loved it.
Finally, the moment arrived. Master pushed in as deep as he could, his withered cock erupting. Spurts of dead seed flew into her, coating her insides, which triggered her own climax, and she let out a scream of utter joy as she came, spilling her own juices onto Master’s cock inside of her.
After an eternity of bliss, she came down… and reality set in.
“N-no…” she breathed, as she finally realized what had happened. She had been weak for just a moment, and now she was forever soiled. The Draugr cared little for her sudden hindsight, though. It pulled out of her with a loud squelch, releasing a torrent of their mixed cum and sending it to the ground in a puddle. She wanted to curl up and cry, but she was too exhausted.
The Draugr set her down gently-- why so gentle?-- and walked off to do… something. Freya desperately tried to get up, to try and escape, but her body was too weak to obey.
So she resigned herself as darkness began to take her. Shortly before her eyes fluttered shut and she passed out, however, they began to glow blue once more...
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Slave of the Dead