Comment!Fic Page 1 - "Oh, a little bit of this...a little bit of that."

[skyrimkinkmeme]

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>>IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU'VE READ PLEASE COMMENT!

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Welcome to the new Comment!Fic Thread. Some of you may know what this is, and others may not - comment!fics are small one - two comment (the LJ word limit for comments) fills based off of one word or one sentence prompts. All ES games are welcome here, as well as the DLC's. Please don't disclose spoilers for Skyrim's DLCs in your prompt, and if you have them in your fill please place warnings.

Comments

Stars and Moons 2a/?

[(Anonymous)]

The cave itself was familiar, the tight corners and turns, the reliable footholds and trustworthy shadows. It seemed to have housed a dozen different bandit clans even the short time she'd spent in Skyrim, though that was becoming less and less of a shock everywhere she turned. Nords, by and large, seemed to recover quickly and dramatically from even the most devastating of blows. So what if Skyrim's underbelly was merely as tough as it's middlefolk and upper crust? So she crept, silent step by step through the narrow passageways and broad cavernous openings until she heard nothing but the echoes of the last two inhabitants of the cave.

Must be the chief holding him... Thonnir, was it? Her memory blurred and she almost regretted doing another job for the infamous mead hall mercenaries. For certain, the money was good, but she had enough money. Had she a desire, she could settle down at any township or hold in any of the nations and live the rest of her life in comfort. The risk wasn't great, but she'd come too close to losing rescued captives before. Times when she would miss a bandit or vampire or what-have-you and both her meal ticket and sense of accomplishment would be nearly slaughtered before she'd have the chance to take aim with an arrow. Restoration spells and a bounty of potions guaranteed they never died, but the trouble of it was often more stress of the unfriendly kind than she truly cared for.

But nonetheless, she had taken this job and was now stretching the limits of her hearing to be certain only two voices remained. She gathered her breath and spoke the dragon language into the darkness of the final ancient nord-style antechamber, and had her suspicions confirmed. Her minds eye and soul were instantly flooded with the sight and knowledge of two souls ahead, their beating hearts pulsing through their skin, through armor, through walls. One on his knees, facing the door; the other standing, facing away. Through the door she could hear the low rumble of their voices, but could not make out the particulars. Carefully, Seravyn tread forward, pushing the door open by hairs breadths then slipping through and sliding it shut behind her.

The brief movement caught the attention of the bound captive, who seemed to lean forward, searching the darkness for an unfamiliar shape. Seravyn was somewhat surprised to have been noticed but satisfied herself by sinking into the shadows, soundlessly praying for Nocturnal's favor, and crept closer.

The men were arguing and to herself Seravyn wondered at the stupidity of a captive arguing with his captor. From previous jobs, she'd come to expect travelling merchants and farmers daughters, none of whom had the moxy to argue with strong, powerful bandit leaders with weapons of greater danger than a pitchfork or iron dagger could contend with. But this apparent farmboy was headstrong enough to respond to all the bandit's insults with his own. Unfortunately, judging by the armored mans voice, he was an Orsimer, and an angry one at that, and her charge was running out of free passes before the Orc lopped off his head, ransom be damned. So, as she had millions of times, she nocked an arrow, took a deep breath and held it in, then released with the arrow, rising from her crouch once the bandit fell dead, an Orcish arrow straight through his throat.

The gurgling of a dying bandit to cover her steps, she walked airily forward, ever-aware of how she placed her weight and the sound of her own movement. As she came into the light, she took a better look at the young man and put away her bow. He raised his face to the light as she passed him, ripping her arrow from the Orc's throat, then disgustedly tossing it away when she saw the head had snapped from the arrow itself.