I own nothing. This is written purely for fun and not for monetary gain in any way, shape, or form.

Part 1. Bargains in the Dark

Chapter 1: The Fly and the Spider

Var walked slowly into the entrance of Reachcliff cave. He glanced about, wary of what might be lurking inside. After lighting a torch and readying his Imperial issue blade, he took his first steps into the almost tangible darkness. This was not the first time he'd ventured into ruins like this, however it was the first time he'd ever done so in the name of the Empire.

He'd grown up in the slums of Markarth, abandoned at an early age. Life was tough, though that was true for most in Skyrim. Living on the streets had in a way strengthened him some, preparing him for the harshness of the world he lived in. He took to the blade early, and managed to make a decent living doing some mercenary work. Nothing too shady, he believed in the Divines and tried to live a decent life.

Mercenary work was risky though, and the pay was inconsistent. All of his applications to join the guard had been denied. To be a guard you had to come from a reputable family or have a friend in the system. Var had no friends at all, let alone any with connections. He'd always had trouble relating to others. He was a quiet and thoughtful man, the drink most of his kinsman enjoyed held little appeal to him, as did the music and women they also indulged in. He preferred to be on his own.

However, as he ventured into the tomb he began to wish someone else was with him. He kept glancing behind his back, wary of the draugr. He could sense something was not right, all of the draugr here were dead. They were not dead in the normal sense, but dead as having been re-killed by someone. He could see where they had risen from their crypts, and fought with some attacker. Many appeared to be blown apart by some powerful force, others were hacked to pieces by what appeared to be a sword, and some were felled by magics.

Someone else had already been here, that was clear. He was not wholly surprised by that, when the Legate at Markarth had ordered him to inspect the cave he had told him that the guards reported seeing a person traveling with the priest on his way to the cave. The priest had never returned, and that was the source of alarm. Of course, people disappeared all the time. The wilds of Skyrim were dangerous and for the most part uncivilized, people died every day. Still, it was unusual that a competent magic user like a priest would just vanish.

Fear crept into his mind as he continued deeper. He was a good swordsman, but if this person had managed to coerce a priest into traveling here and then managed to kill him and all of the draugr, he must be a powerful individual indeed. Secretly, Var hoped to find nothing, and that the murderer had fled the scene. He did not want to die for the Empire, he just wanted his pay.

He saw more and more slain draugr as he continued on. He noticed it seemed to get darker and darker, as though the shadow in the air was closing in on him. He'd never experienced anything like it before, and he was no amateur adventurer. He began to contemplate the possibilities. He hoped that it was all a misunderstanding, that the priest never came to this cave as the guards had overheard him say he was going to. He also hoped that it was just some treasure hunter that cleared this place out in search of lost Nord gold. But, deep down he also feared the worst. What if some Necromancer was down here doing dark experiments? What if the Stormcloak Talos fanatics had murdered the priest and had set up a base in the cave, what would they do to a man in Imperial uniform? What if it had something to do with the Dragons?

He shook these fears off; it would do him no good to be afraid. He could not turn back now; soldiers that disobeyed orders did not get paid and were often jailed. He eventually came to a large door. He could almost feel the darkness the closer he got to it. Knowing there was no alternative; he swung the door open and stepped into a large chamber.

At the center was a large stone table, littered with bits of rotten human flesh and dishes. More horrible still were the corpses, several bodies were scattered about the room. All were rotting and had sword wounds. He had never expected this. Who was behind this? What was this? Necromancy? He stepped into the room further. The place looked abandoned; whoever had done this was long gone. Suddenly, Var noticed what was at the far end of the room. It appeared to be some sort of altar.

The priest was on the altar. He was dead, and rotting, as the others in the room were. Var sighed, somewhat relieved that nothing appeared to be in the room. He was alone with the dead. He walked over to the priest, turning him over. An amulet of the Divines was on his neck, so he was definitely the priest. Turning away from the priest, he looked up to inspect the altar. Above the platform where the dead priest lay, a grotesque figure of a woman was carved into the altar

He scanned the room, ensuring no one alive was there with him. Satisfied, he sat down at an empty place at the table to rest for a minute; it had been a long journey. He took the canteen from his pack, and sipped on the water. Another man would likely have fled the room, disturbed by what he had encountered, but Var was not really bothered by the grisly scene before him. He had a rather high tolerance for gore, living alongside filth and violence in the slums had for the most part desensitized him. It would take more than a few rotting corpses to turn his stomach.

Var was a brave man. But, there were things that could unnerve him. As he sat trying to collect his thoughts and rest, a voice spoke to him. A sultry female voice that seemed to come from within his very head said, "Why, hello there. I am impressed; there are not many who are able to sit comfortably at My dinner table".

At that sound, he sprung up and saw a figure sitting on the floor next to one of the corpses. The woman appeared to be young, in her twenties. She wore black robes, but her pale face was visible and raven black hair framed it. Her features were almost too perfect, as if she was a painting of a woman and not an actual one. Her dark eyes were cruel, and she grinned maliciously at Var as he stared at her with dark surprise. She spoke again, this time her voice coming from her mouth and not inside his head, "I am Namira, Lady of Decay. And... you are?"