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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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How about instead of the super popular Characters we show some love for the Characters without any fills. Go to Delicious, open up the tags and pick a character with no fills and share some love. Fills of all shapes and sizes are welcome, multifills are more than welcome.

Anon you are after my heart aren't you?
I can think of one definite character who needs love.

I'm glad!
I was sad to see that one of my favourite characters has no love. I shall be self-filling eventually.

OP, if you don't mind, would you name a few you were thinking of specifically when you posted this? I like giving minor characters love. =)

Well as far as I can see Stenvar (The Sword for hire in Windhelm), Madesi (Argonian Jeweler in Riften), Aranea (Dunmer at Azura's Statue), Adelaisa Vendicci (Imperial who takes you to kill pirates for the East Empire Trading Company)... just to name a few. I'll have a hunt for a few more and try and make a list.
Honestly I may write something for Madesi, but I'd love if some one wrote something for Stenvar. He's a nice guy who wants money and adventures and is probably secretly a big softie.

If anyone does find any for these guys, don't be shy post a link. I'm just having a quick look now and I've probably not seen some.

OP here again... Is there no Captain Lonely Gale? I'm in shock. Something with him would be beautiful.

Also, Saerlund, Jarl Laila of Riften's son! I was so sad to see nothing for him.

Tags: Gen, fluff

The snow fell thick again, muting half the world and sharpening the rest. Cicelyn always loved the winter for that reason. It made everything look so pure, delicate, and magical. Knowing that underneath the appearances lay a world just waiting to rip the unwary apart or freeze them into a statue for next spring didn't hurt of course.

As she made her way up the switchback to the Whiterun gates, she admitted even the ruined walls could look magical under enough of the white stuff. Some fairy fortress from a children's tale back home, minus the guards of course. Nothing fairy-like about those men. "Hail, Thane!" called one of them.

With a smile, Cicelyn shouldered the sack of letters and waved. "Burd, aren't you melting in that armor yet?"

He and his partner laughed at the suggestion. "It's a wonder you aren't, milady! You're wearin' enough furs to make us think you're a bear!"

"Do what you've got to," she replied as they opened the gate for her. Inside the city winter became just as cozy as magical. Snowberry wreaths decorated doors and extra lanterns were hung to combat earlier nights. She hadn't been in Skyrim long enough to see if they would celebrate Saturnalia, or how they would handle Old and New Life, but she held up her hopes. Nords seemed plenty content to drink and party after a fight, so why not for a holiday?

And perhaps she could throw the odds in her favor by starting the good will early. Ahead she saw Brenuin layered in a couple of threadbare cloaks. The drunkard haphazardly shoveled snow, doubtless for the coin to seek his next drink. His face appeared redder than ever, but he seemed warm enough and in pleasant spirits. Unless spirits was the reason. Lords have mercy.

"Brenuin!" she called, tromping over. "Adrianne and Elrindir paying you to shovel snow again?"

"Heeey!" The man leaned on his shovel with a wide, lopsided grin. "If it ain't my prettiest drinkin' buddy. How's about you'n me hit up the Mare for a few rounds?"

Harmless and amusing, honestly; she'd heard ten year olds with more colorful come-ons. Besides, he was only in it for the booze. No harm. Smile broad, Cicelyn gave him a nudge in the shoulder. "You flatterer, you. But you know..." Eyeing his work, the Breton tsked. "You have really got to work on your straight lines. They pay more for those."

With a dismissive wave he brushed off that suggestion. "They just do it to keep me outta trouble."

"A futile gesture, I'm sure."

The remark earned her a guffaw. Attention turned to the veritable sack over her shoulder. "How'n Oblivion do you get so many letters all the time?"

"Because I write a lot of letters out," she answered mildly. "How are you not freezing your bum off out here?"

"Coz I had a few hot drinks before I started," he slurred with a grin.

Cicelyn hit her forehead with her palm. Of course. Alcohol. Did wonders to make you feel warm while actually draining every last bit of heat out of you faster. "Boethiah's tits, Brenuin, how on Nirn have you survived this long?"

"Nosy people like you, mostly," he said without any annoyance.

"Well, yeah, I guess so. Come on." The Breton pulled him the few paces to Breezehome. After unlocking the door and stepping in, she dropped the sack and grabbed one of the fur cloaks kept on the shelf. Stepping back outside, she wrapped it around him. "You stay bundled. Working up a sweat and drinking the whole time will not stop you from catching hypothermia, you hear me?" While Brenuin fumed and fussed and protested, Cicelyn once again thanked the stars she'd convinced the baker Sonje to take in Lucia before the snows had set in. Checking in had discovered a fast bond and an even stronger shared passion for baking. Praise Mara.

"Now do not pawn that and don't bury yourself in a snowdrift! I'll beat you sixteen ways from Sundas if you do!"

"Yes, mother." Ha, now he was annoyed. Too bad. "Do I hafta wash my hands before supper, too?"

"Actually, you do. As soon as you're done you're eating with me and Lydia. Care to argue?"

"Yea- wait-"

With a laugh, Cicelyn pushed him back towards his work. "Go on and do a good job, I might save you a slice of rum cake!"

"I- I can do that!" The renewed enthusiasm with which he set into his task showed she'd hit just the right incentive. Good. Dinner this time of year was always better with company anyhow.

Oh my gosh this is adorable <2

I super love prompts like this because I like seeing minor characters get fills. Also: go check out the UESP wiki to look up full character lists for Skyrim, there are plenty of characters who won't have a tag here because they haven't been prompted by name yet. :)

(Stumbled across the Hall of the Vigilant for the first time the other day, in my newest playthrough, and was enchanted by the quiet aura of the place. Sad Keeper Carcette doesn't have a role in any questlines)

tags: char:F!DB race:redguard char:keeper_carcette kink:hurt/comfort

Fi hated the cold.

Her Redguard lineage had gifted her speed and skill with a blade, but left her always craving the warmth of a land she had never visited. Even the winters in the more temperate Highrock had nearly been the death of her, once there was no longer a warm home to return to in a blizzard.

She should never have left Highrock. Gods, she’d been a coward, running at the first hint of trouble. Damn the warrants for her arrest, and damn the false friends who had given away her name. Damn her own stupidity, for fleeing to the docks with some half-formed idea of buying passage to Hammerfell.

The old hulk she had booked passage on had wrecked right off the coast of Skyrim, the northernmost country in Tamriel and the last place she ever wanted to visit. Fi had managed to drag herself from the wreck and swim to shore, though her memories of exactly how were fuzzy. She had stumbled into a city called Dawnstar, and managed to scrounge up enough coin for a night in the inn and a little bit of food. A kindly priest of Mara at the inn had taken pity on her; he’d given her a map of Skyrim, and told her all he knew of its holds.

Fi had latched on to Riften, the capital of the hold called the Rift. Some half-remembered story of her mother’s had featured the city, and from what the priest told her it was exactly the sort of place she wanted to go; somewhere where a person like her could make a less than honest living.

That morning she set out had dawned clear and bright, the blizzard from the previous evening subsiding into sleek banks of snow. She had set out with a bit of bread, a hatchet she had borrowed from the inn yard, and her map. Though she couldn’t read, she’d memorized the pattern of Riften scrawled onto the map, and the coat of arms laid out next to her.

Not a mile down the road, the wolves had attacked.

She had left them behind her, their heads cleaved in messily with the hatchet she still clung to, but they had left deep wounds on her arms and torso. She’d done her best to bandage them with strips of her spare dress, but splotches of red had bloomed through the flimsy fabric in seconds.

The day had only worsened. By the time the snow started to fall, Fi’s wounds had begun to ache with a new intensity, burning and itching beneath their wrappings. That night she had huddled around the pathetic twigs she had managed to gather for a fire, and only just managed to light it. The fire that resulted produced more smoke then heat, but at least it was warmth. She had eaten the last of her bread.

The next morning, though the fire was naught but a cold memory, Fi still felt warm. A check beneath her makeshift bandages found the skin around her wounds inflamed and discolored, and a strange heat was burning through her. She forced herself to stand anyway, to smother the last smoky remains of the fire in snow and hobble onward.

Now the blizzard swirled around her, enveloping her in its merciless assault. She had left the road in some misguided hope of a quicker crossing to Riften, and could find no other guidance in the storm.

The cold had crept under her thin cotton dress and cloak, warring with the burning heat of her skin. The map held out before her blurred, its ink seeming to run down the pages to her hands as the snow danced across her vision. Her hands were trembling- from fever or cold, she was beyond telling- but she kept a tight grip on the hatchet and the map.

To her left, something growled. When she glanced over the shape speeding towards her seemed impossibly large, distorted by the snow and her wobbly vision no doubt. It lunged at her, teeth gleaming, and something seemed… wrong.

Its jaws snapped on air, right where her head would have been if she hadn’t started running. The snowstorm enfolded her senses, drowning out all other sound in a ceaseless roar, but a glance behind her told her the thing was still coming. She’d thought it a wolf, but it was impossibly tall.

Claws met her back, easily tearing through the flimsy fabric of her dress and meeting the flesh beneath. She was thrown forward, smashing into a snowbank. The shock of pain was enough to overwhelm the cold numbness that was beginning to seep through her, and she scrambled forward, feeling the hot breath of the creature behind her as it snapped and missed again.

The clawmarks down her back where lines of red-hot agony, driving her crawl through the snowbanks. Tears were streaming down her face. I don’t want to die I don’t want to be eaten oh divines please please I’d rather be hung back in Highrock I should have stayed in Highrock.

Her arms gave out beneath her and she collapsed forward. Her head was turned at the right angle to see the dark form in her vision growing bigger, walking like as a man or mer would, but far too big and canine to be any sort of Khajiit. Its eyes glowed were fixed on her, dull yellow glowing through the blizzard.

She was about to close her eyes to her fate when the snow behind the massive wolf seemed to coalesce, forming a figure clothed in robes as white as the blizzard. The figure lunged forward, slamming something spiked and metal against the wolf’s muzzle.

The next minutes were a blur of black and white as the figure and the wolf danced across the snow, blurring in Fi’s vision until she could hold onto consciousness no longer.

* * *

Warmth flooded Fi, flowing over her skin and smoothing over the jagged gashes torn into it. The warmth slipped through her cracked lips, smoothing its way down to her the center of her chest where it began to spread out ward and burn.

The pleasant numbness the cold had brought her was replaced with a searing, painful burning that pulsed from her chest out into her limbs. A scream tore its way through her as she convulsed, trying to escape from the fire, and her eyes snapped open.

A woman loomed above her, the figure from the blizzard. Its gleaming white robes and silver armor were marred by droplets of crimson. The face peering down at her was twisted into an expression of concentration, eyes burning with an intensity hat froze her screams in her throat.

The woman’s steel-gloved hands were pressed against Fi’s chest, holding her there as golden magic flowed from her fingers and over Fi’s body. Each twitch of the woman’s fingers sent a fresh wave of pain through her.

Fi thrashed under her hold, trying to escape those hands and the pain they inflicted. For a moment the woman’s magic was broken, but she quickly pressed one of her hands back down against Fi’s chest, while the other went to run a hand through Fi’s tangled hair.

“Stay calm,” the woman’s voice was cool, but held some measure of gentleness that calmed Fi a little. The woman pressed her hand against Fi’s forehead, soothing the burning there with her cool touch. “It will only hurt for a few more moments more.”

The agony stretched those moments on to seem like years, but at last the searing pain faded to an echo and subsided. In its place, a more gentle warmth spread through Fi, soothing her towards once more towards sleep.

The last thing she heard was the woman’s voice, reciting some prayer or invocation. The only word Fi caught was Stendarr.

This was beautiful. I'm sad there isn't more of it

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