Skyrim Fanfics (Shorts and One-Shots)

[Cham]

I didn't just play Skyrim back in the day; I lived it. Then, I wrote about it. All my fics are up on the fanfiction site under the name DeLyse.

The Shape of His Heart

Brynjolf could spot a tourist from a mile away, and tourists meant easy septims. It was all about sizing up your mark. He needed only to glance at the couple to mark them as his next targets.

By the fancy Breton fashion they wore, he knew they carried gold and were willing to spend it. The pair were a strange match, though – the girl being at most in her mid twenties and the man double her age. He would have pegged her for a money-hungry swindler such as himself, if it were not for the look of pure awe on her round face. Most con-artists, especially females, held an air of confidence, walked with a lithe step, and spoke with a silver tongue. This girl seemed pure and innocent – aye, almost too innocent.

They entered the market circle, and he waited for the man to lock eyes with him to flash his best gentleman's smile.

“Good day to you both,” he said as they approached. The young woman looked his way, her face beaming with all the joys of being somewhere new. Brynjolf wanted to shake his head – this was going to be too easy.

“Good day,” the man replied back. “We're actually looking for someone...”

Brynjolf grinned. “I have just the potion for that.”

“You do?” the man asked, baffled.

“I do, lad. And it'll only cost you a mere fifty septims.”

The man smiled and shook his head politely. “No thank you. I am sure we will be able to find him on our own.”

Brynjolf knew the older man would be a bit more stingy with his gold. The girl, however, was another story.
“And how about the lass? Could I interest you in a vile of Falmerblood Elixir?”

The young woman looked up at his face, but avoided his eyes. She didn't seem to do it out of shyness. Something was off about her...

“Falmerblood?” She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and giggled. “That sounds both horrid and intriguing.”

There was something familiar about the way she would not look him directly in the eyes. Reminded him of his younger cousin, actually. He used to hear voices, and would often stare off into the space in front of him. The only difference between him and this girl was when you spoke to him and he heard you, his focus would immediately snap back to you as though he were there the whole time and not lost somewhere in his head. This girl just seemed to hear him just fine. He even had her full attention. But her eyes...

Oh, he realized. She's blind.

...Jackpot.

“Falmerblood Elixir isn't like most potions. Drawn from the very life essence of the snow elves, it is purer than other elixirs. Imagine the power those elves possessed... Imagine what it can do for you.”

He could see it in her rich, brown eyes; a sort of light. Hope. And while he knew he had hooked her, deep down, he felt a twinge of shame at himself.

Brynjolf promptly ignored it.

The man, whom Brynjolf now saw to be her caretaker, tried to interject – Brynjolf could tell just from his expression and body language that he had doubts about what was being said – but the sly thief stepped out from his stall and stood tall in front of the Breton girl before the man could draw breath to speak.

“May I see your eyes?” Brynjolf asked her, zeroing in on his target.

The girl was hesitant, but he could tell it was not from distrust. She was excited and unsure all at the same time. “Yes,” she finally said.

He took the soft curve of her chin between his finger and thumb and tilted her face toward him. He studied her features for a moment; the pale, milky skin; the small, upturned nose; full, rosy lips. More importantly, he noted the complete relaxation of her stance, and the way she exuded nothing but trust toward him. She must have grown up in a very sheltered environment to be so utterly gullible and naive. She had such wide-eyed, childlike wonder about her. He almost felt bad that he was about to rob her blind...so to speak.

The man beside her was becoming fidgety. Brynjolf had to act fast and seal the deal before the opportunity escaped.

“Two drops in each eye, every night,” he said, backing away. He took a bottle from behind his stall and held it now to the Breton man. “In time, I promise you, she will be able to see what colors look like.”

The man's eyes grew wide. He stammered, “H-How much?” as he reached into his coin purse.

“For you,” Brynjolf began, moving in for the kill...and then his eyes darted to the girl and all words died on his tongue, leaving behind a vile taste.

Tears were running down the girl's cheeks. Not normal tears, either. These were big, fat ones glittering with joy and hope and sunshine and all things miraculous and wonderful in life.

Brynjolf hung his head. Damn it all...

“...Free,” he finally finished, and it was the first time he had ever said that word to a customer in his life.

“Free?” the man replied, just as astounded as Brynjolf was.

“You may have it,” he said, pushing the vile in the man's face. “Take it.”

“This...must be a trick,” the man said, his eyes now locked on the elixir.

“Just take it,” Brynjolf repeated. He didn't care what they thought anymore. He just wanted them to leave.

[Cham]

Into the Skooma Den

Ka'ja looked around apprehensively. Nothing behind him but the cold, snowy wastes of Skyrim highlighted in eery moonlight, given off by the twin full moons high above. Once he was sure he was not followed, the gray and black striped Khajiit continued forward, making his way up to a cave entrance. Footprints from various directions all seemed to lead to this point.

To any non-feline humanoid race, it would seem to be pitch black within, but Ka'ja's sharp, yellow eyes gave him incredible perception in spaces with very little to no light. He could clearly see the makeshift door ten paces within, and headed for it with one last look behind him.

He stepped up to the door and tapped on it with his knuckles in a specific rhythm: knock, knock-knock (pause), nock-knock, knock. He waited a few beats before the door opened, revealing the biggest, most muscular female Orsimer he'd ever known.

“Good evening, Mo-grog,” Ka'ja said with a bow, letting the full brunt of his accent flood through his greeting. His tail curled in an S as he watched the expression on her face go from hardened and fierce to happy and pleasant.

“Hello, Ka.” She opened the door the rest of the way for him, and he stepped gingerly inside.

“Busy night?” he asked.

“Yes, very,” she replied with a raspy laugh.

Ka'ja left her behind with a polite nod and traveled forward, his boots making soft scuffing sounds on the cave floor. The cave seemed to become less of a cave and more of a corridor as he went, decorated with long, red rugs and a table here and there hidden in nooks, with two chairs at each and lit lanterns in the center of the tables. When he reached the end, a wide room opened up to him, revealing a scene that never failed to upset him.

Around the room were big, soft pillows of varying colors laid out in circles around hookahs, and surrounding these smoking devices were many different races. At once circle, there were at least four pale-skinned humans and a Bosmer; at another, a Khajiit, a Dunmer, an Argonian, and other human races he could not recognize right off. Except for the one Redguard, Ka'ja was never good at telling humans apart. They all looked the same.

The man and mer races were affected differently by skooma than Khajiit were. Everyone seemed to get the same effects from skooma, but man and mer never seemed to be able to handle it as the Khajiit could. The evidence supporting this was plausible to Ka'ja as he made his way through the circles, noting that the humans and elves seemed highly effected by the lethargy-high of skooma (as some were sitting there, head down, presumably in a state of half-sleep, and others were sprawled out on the ground, staring up at the cave ceiling with wide-eyes), while the felines all seemed to draw from the feeling of euphoria one experienced when under the influence of the condensed moon sugar. Most of them were purring loudly, their eyes half-closed, kneading the pillows beneath them, or even kneading on each other. A few couples were touching noses affectionately, and one orange-striped Khajiit in particular caught Ka'ja's eye – he was rubbing the side of his face against the cheek of a human girl, whom was giggling and laughing gleefully.

Sights like this – the entire thing – disgusted Ka'ja. Whatever happened to the times when Khajiit gathered together as brothers and sisters beneath the moons and consumed moon sugar or inhaled the smoke of skooma crystals to connect with the gods? What was happening to his people? He sighed inwardly. If it were not for the fact that street skooma was so dangerous nowadays (improperly prepared skooma could have dire effects), he wouldn't have to visit the drug den to get what he needed.

“Ka'ja! Come here. What is wrong, old friend?” Dar'jzi, a reddish-brown furred Khajiit said as Ka'ja approached. Two women were asleep on Dar'jzi's lap, a Khajiit on one side, and a young human on the other. “Tell me, what ails you?” the kingpin asked.

Ka'ja had thought his ill feelings were hidden, but the tip of his flicking tail betrayed his emotions. “It is nothing,” he said.

“Correction: it will become nothing once you try what I have for you today,” Dar'jzi said.

“This one only has so much to spend.”

Dar'jzi shook his head with a smirk. “Come. Follow me.” He held out his clawed fingers to Ka'ja to take, and he took them and helped the Khajiit to his feet. The two women groaned in displeasure at his parting. After taking a moment to gain his bearings, Dar'jzi wobbled his way over to another bodyguard, this one most definitely a Nord. Ka'ja could tell because of his snow-white skin and sheer height. The armored Nord stepped aside, revealing a chest of Dar'jzi's stash. The Khajiit took a key from around his neck and popped the lock, then opened the chest.

Inside was a skooma addict's dream. Bottles and bottles of the stuff, in liquid and in crystal form, alongside various skooma pipes and jugs of aged wine.

“My alchemist has been working on some new stuff,” Dar'jzi said, shuffling through the vials. He brought up one and Ka'ja took it to examine it. “It's leaf-skooma from Solstheim.”

“I do not want skag,” Ka'ja said, frowning.

While moon sugar was the base of skooma, nightshade was the additive. Different parts of the nightshade plant produced different types of skooma: the leaves a cheaper, more bitter-tasting skooma that was said to shorten one's lifespan considerably; the flowers and berries of the plant could make a more fragrant skooma and was often purchased by higher-class people. The root of a nightshade plant was where it was truly at – the active ingredient within the plant that heightened the effects of moon sugar were found to be most concentrated within the roots. Leaf-based skooma, or skag, was the least expensive, while flower- and root-based skooma was a bit more pricy.

“This is much better than Elsweyr skag,” Dar'jzi went on to say.

“My coin purse is not that light.”

“Right, my friend. My apologies.” Dar'jzi put the leaf-skooma back in the chest and pulled out a few more vials. “How about these, instead? These are new.” He handed the vials to Ka'ja.

“What are they?” he asked.

“Poppy-skooma.” He pointed to the one in Ka'ja's left hand and said, “That one is Bitter Coast marshmerrow skoo. Has a very sweet taste.” He then pointed to the one in Ka'ja's right hand. “That one is Black Marsh dragon's-tongue. Rivals nightshade in potency, and gives one endless endurance.”

Poppy seed skooma was very new to the market, and while Ka'ja didn't know much about it, he did know that it was more powerful than nightshade skooma, gave the user higher ups and lower downs, and that the high you got from it was more of a physical and emotional high. Nightshade seemed to be more of a spiritual high.

“Let us stay within the nightshade family,” Ka'ja said.

Dar'jzi gave him a cheshire grin. “Stick to the familiar. A safe bet,” he said, taking the two vials back from Ka'ja to place in his chest of goodies. He dug all the way to the bottom, pushing bottles to the side, until he found what he was looking for. He brought the bottle up to examine it before handing it over to Ka'ja. “Elsweyr skooma, made from the root. Double-distilled.”

Ka'ja felt his ears perk as his eyes widened. He had not yet been able to find any skooma that was double-distilled. He looked from Dar'jzi's grin, to the vial, and back to Dar'jzi.

“How much?”

“For you, my most loyal customer, a deal. I will take ten gold off the top. You can have it for fourty-five septims.”

Ka'ja tensed. He only had fourty-seven gold to his name.

After a long moment of thought, the Khajiit reached into his coin purse and withdrew all of his gold, putting two coins back inside the pouch. He handed the money over to Dar'jzi and took the bottle, tucking it into the breast of his leather armor.

He might have to live on other people's scraps for the week, but tonight, he would soar past the moons, and perhaps touch the very stars themselves.