Uncommon Taste

She stood on a stone platform that floated in a void. The void was filled with smoky tendrils, and occasional glances of seemingly horrific, tentacled creatures, or equally horrific insectile abominations. They made skittering sounds, and soft screeches and chitters. Each would make a sane man flee in terror, but they did not faze her. She was more terrified by the dark woman, sitting on her throne of bones and flesh at the end of the platform. A spider hung above the distant woman, and several insects, spiders, and rats scurried about her feet, sometimes crawling onto her legs and up into her hand.

The dark lady's voice filled the void. "The time has come, my pet, for you to fulfill your promise to me. We have discussed this for the past year, yet, while you gave your oath to me, you have not fulfilled it. Why?"

"My lady..." She began, then stopped. She knelt. "I was- Am... Scared." The dark lady was Namira. She knew what Namira could inflict upon her, though she knew the Daedra did appreciate her as a worshipper, and the leader of her cult in Skyrim.

The Daedric Prince sighed, in frustration or in sadness she could not tell. "Trygga, you know that you have no need to fear. Any who would judge you pales to me. You are devoted to me, are you not?" She nodded in confirmation. "Then you have nothing to fear. Bring me to Nirn. Summon me, and you shall be rewarded well."

She shifted uncomfortably. Namira's rewards could be very double-edged, but she would accept whatever gifts her deity deemed to bestow upon her. "Yes, my lady."

"Trygga, wake. Someone has come to the cave, asking for you. She says she was directed by our lady to speak with you." It was the voice of the cults former leader. Eola, who'd stepped down when Namira had requested Trygga herself lead the cult. An honor, but a frightening, terrible responsibility.

Trygga groaned, her eyes cracking open, then shutting themselves from the light. "She was speaking to me, you know."

The scarred woman was glaring at her, she could feel it. "Up, Trygga. Just because you are Her handmaiden doesn't mean you can shirk yor responsibilities."

Trygga sighed, then opened her eyes again. Eola was, technically, her handmaiden now, but she really didn't treat the strong-headed woman as such They were friends, and rank didn't come into play. She smiled wanly at Eola. "I'll get to it then. What was this woman's name? Did she give it?"

Eola nodded. "She said her name was Ilena. She's a dark elf. Do you know of her?" The look on Trygga's face told Eola of the negative, and Eola moved on. "She brought something for you..." Eola handed over a medallion. "She wished to speak with you, but she did say that she had a way to help you with your task."

Trygga nodded, taking the medallion. It had a stinger on it, surrounded by a ring of tentacles. She chuckled softly. It certainly did seem like an amulet that would appeal to her mistress. She stood, walking to the door to her chambers and glancing back at Eola. "Don't stay too long. I'll be coming back, and I don't wish to have you snooping around my things."

She walked into the hall that served as her mistress' Temple. It had a banquet table in the main area, and her altar dominated the Dais. The room was empty, for the time being, so, instead, she walked up to the altar and laid her hand on the metal, her hand becoming sticky with the coagulated blood. She lifted it, then gently cleaned it off on the edge of the altar. She did not really understand why Namira had chosen her. She did not fit her Mistresses requirements for a handmaiden. Pretty, as mortals go, and not normally very inclined to defiling herself. She guessed at what the Dark Lady had in mind for her, but she was not sure. Possibly something along the lines of ruining her prettiness. She didn't honestly care. Physical attractiveness was never something she coveted.

The great doors at the end of the hall opened, and on that queue she turned, gazing down at the lady walking in. "Greetings, and welcome, to the temple of the Mistress of Decay, Namira. What brings you here, worshipper?"

The woman removed her hood. Her face was scarred badly from burns, and some bone was exposed on her skull and cheek. When she spoke, her lips did not obey her well. "Our lady has requested for me to bring this to you." She held out a scroll. "She says that it will help the summoning."

Trygga stepped down from the dais, then walked slowly over to the woman. Her hand was burnt as well, and some form of skin disease was upon it. She placed her hand over the other woman's, gently holding it for a moment. "You are devoted to her?" She asked the other woman.

"Yes. I am. Are you?" The elf gazed levelly at her. There was no hesitance in her gaze or her voice..

Tryhha nodded. "I am. I do not understand some of what she has done, but, I am." She pulled the parchment from the womans hand, then moved to the table, She slid a plate aside that still had a half-eaten meal upon it, shaking her head in annoyance, then opened the scroll. Inside was a lock of hair, and another, smaller scroll, made of flesh.

"You may wish to wait to open the second scroll, until you wish to enter the Scuttling void." The acolyte spoke. Her voice was rough, something she hadn't noticed earlier.

Trygga nodded, rolling up the larger scroll around the items, then placing it into her robe. "I thank you, Ilena." She took the elf's hand, looking into the womans red pools. "Go, and hold yourself true to our lady. You are particularly suited for her, and I feel that she will bless you greatly in the time to come."

The elf nodded. Her face cracked into a small smile, which moved the flesh across her bones, revealing muscle and tendon. Trygga almost shuddered, but kept herself from doing so. It wasn't proper for a handmaiden to express revulsion at revolting things. It went against Namira herself. She smiled in return instead, an honest smile. "We may visit, some other time, with each other."

The scarred woman nodded, then turned and left, returning her hood to its original state, covering her scarring. She pulled gloves and put them on as well, which Trygga did not fail to notice.

Trygga turned around, resting her gaze on her Prince's altar. It honeslty was a magnificent creation. It was tall, and had a perfect place to put her sacrifices. Meat sacrificed to Namira was always sweeter. She walked to the dais, kneeling before stepping foot on the steps, and breathed a soft prayer of thanks to Namira.

"You are welcome, my pet." The smooth, dark voice of Namira surrounded her. It made her shudder, not in revulsion, but enjoyment. It was amazing the effect that her Deity had on her. She stood quickly.

She heard someone walking behind her. "She brought this scroll?" It was Eola, her friend. She nodded, turning around to the spellcaster.

"She did. She said to wait on gleaning what was inside until I wished to look on the Scuttling Void." She quieted in thought, then spoke again. "I think she means when I summon our lady."

Eola nodded in return. "Yes. I doubt our lady would want you there, instead of her being here."

"It still confuses me, her purpose for wanting to be here. She may walk on thi world in her avatar. And, she has no particular desire for conquest. What purpose does she have to want her true form here?" Trygga sat at the table, fiddling with a human fingerbone. "There doesn't seem to be a reason to."

Eola nodded. "It is confusing. The only thing I can think of is that it has something to do with you. She never expressed any desire to do so, not until you came along... And, to be honest, you really aren't handmaiden material. The Elf who just left would be far more to Her liking."

Trygga nodded. "Yes, she would be. I honestly do wonder why she made me her handmaiden. It's... Stressful. Difficult, to be her handmaiden. I didn't even join this cult with the intention of rising in it. It just... Fit me. And, being able to join it without the requirement of scarring myself or intentionally uglifying myself was appreciated."

Eola sighed in disgust. "You're vain, you know that?" The mage shook her head. "Why do you still concern yourself with beauty when you serve Namira, Queen of the Reviled? Beauty doesn't have a place here."

Trygga looked up at Eola. "We have had this conversation before, Eola. You know it is something I battle myself about."

Eola nodded. "I know, it's just bringing up things we have already spoken about. It's just hard for me to understand, at times. I don't know why you are what you are. It's confusing. I get jealous sometimes... You know that."

Trygga smiled mischievously. "So jealous you want to share a bed, too, hmm?"

Eola growled at her. The barb had hit its mark. "You keep denying me."

"Yes. My affection is taken." Her "Affection", as it were, belonged to Namira. It was a strange view of her deity, that she had. She didn't really hope for anything, but she did appreciate her Prince. And, her Prince was where her loyalty lie, even if Namira confused her.

"Yes. I know. But, I still wish you would give it a break, whoever it is." Eola had wanted her for a long time. Honestly, not long after the two had met. She thought it was because of the attractiveness, a trait not normall found, and generally disdained, among the cultists of Namira.

She had fine features, Nordic, and speaking of an air of nobility. Her hair was blonde, long, healthy, and had a wave to it that other women envied. Her eyes shone a clear blue, piercing, yet captivating. Her only feature that could even be considered unattractive was her slim lips, which gave her a serious look to her countenance. Almost a perfect Nord woman. Thus, the confusion about Namira's choosing her.

"It won't. She's very special. And, while you are my friend, I wouldn't make an exception. She's not the sort of person I wish angry at me. Or you, for that matter." Trygga stood. "Now, come. Let's find some food. Would you like a fresh sacrifice, or some older flesh? I don't mind either."

"I would prefer fresh, myself, so that we may give a sacrifice for Namira." Eola fell in step beside her.

"Very well. I think I know of a good place..."

The priest of Arkay walked along the footpath, an Aedric medallion sitting on his chest, the god of Death's sigil. He was encamped in the forest, and he was interring the body of one of his brethren. The man had died of old age, his heart giving way due to the natural processes of nature. His fellow priests had mourned him, then celebrated his death as a new passing. He was just gathering some herbs before the sunset, so that he could perfume the body before he interred it. He stopped, however, when he heard a rustle and a soft voice from the brush on the side of the road.

"So, priest of the Cycle... What bring you?" A lady stepped out in front of him. A beautiful breton, marred by a scarred eye, the eye itself white and occluded. He shivered at the woman. Something was off about her.

"I am here to interr one of my brethren. And you? Are you a worshipper of Arkay?" His voice wavered only slightly. He prayed to Arkay that it did not show.

The scarred Breton laughed. "No, I do not worship your deity. I worhip someone else. Someone more honest, and... Shall we say, better. Her name is Namira, Lady of Decay. You, my good priest, are a dead man."

He gasped in surprise and fear, then turned to flee, only to be caught by another woman, behind him. This one was beautiful, almost entrancing.

"Do not run, Priest. You should not fear." The words were laced with enchantment, and it lulled his mind to the fear.

Trygga walked the priest into her Lady's temple. "My Mistress, Namira. I bring you an offering and ask that you judge it's worth." She brought the man to the altar, letting him stand in front of the altar to be judged by Namira.

"I find him fitting, my pet. Place him upon the altar. Worship me with your offering." Her lady was pleased, and it showed in her voice. Arkay and his followers were irksome to the Daedra.

The priest looked at her, still under her enchantment. She bade him to lay upon the altar, then pulled the sacrificial knife from it's place on the altar, on the far edge of the metal platform. She ran her finger over the blade. It was a spider, it's fangs serving as the blade, it's bodt serving as the handle, and it's legs wrapping around the hand to encase the weilder in it. The legs would move to prevent the blade from being dropped until it had sated its thirst. It was disconcerting, the first time she had used it, but since then, she had grown comfortable with the sacrificial instrument.

She plunged the blade into the chest of the priest. The fangs bit down on his heart, she knew, severing it. It would be consumed by her later. For now, she held the blade in the priest as the last of his life left his eyes. Her Prince's voice filled the room with a feminine purr. "You have done well, my Pet. Congratulations, and well done. Feast upon him tonight."

Many hours later, she sat in her small room. Eola and the others were still feasting. She had joined them, for a time, then excused herself. She wanted to prepare to summon her Prince. She still was confused as to her desire to go to Tamriel, but she did not want to displease her deity. She had promised Namira she would bring her across, and she would. She was vulnerable to her fear, but she had reaffirmed herself with Namira's message and Namira's messenger. She pulled the scroll to her.

Inside the scroll was still the small scroll and the lock of hair. She ran her fingers over the skin. She thought it was human, and considering her patron, it would make sense for it to be. The hair confused her. She'd have to ask Namira about that. She didn't think that her deity would outright tell her, but she wasn't sure.

She kept playing her fingers over the flesh of the scroll, lost in her thoughts, until her door slammed open and the breathless voice of Eola greeted her. "Trygga! We need to go! The temple is under attack!"