So, Just in case you guys wanna laugh at my misfortune, I couldn't sleep. I woke up at 2:30 AM and it's around 3 right now.

You're lucky I like you and this story enough to start so early.

Anyway, I feel like I need to clear something up for you, because JohnyS is wondering how Nekov thinks rape is repulsive. There are two reasons. A.) I wanted to get the connection between 'repulsive' and Namira in so it wouldn't confuse anyone later. B.) I hate rape, I will never write a long-standing character who does it. Besides, he was talking to his MOTHER. Someone tell me what mother wouldn't care about that stuff. It's relation to torture aside, it isn't something his Daedric Prince of a mother would allow to take root.

So I probably won't ever be bringing this topic up again until we meet Molag Bal and Serana. Which won't be at the same time and I've got some less than good ideas about it.

I also went about fixing that singular mistake that you pointed out in the 'tense'

Sorry about the long A/N, enjoy the chapter.


"So, tell me again, why are we going Karthwasten?"

After having to explain the fact that his mother is, in fact, a Daedric Prince, and that, yes, this is why he was in a rush getting to the shrine, Nekov had let Ayem lead their group out and away. Until his mother could fix the cowardly dragons somehow, he really didn't have anything to do.

So somehow they ended up going to some tiny, out-of-the-way back woods village that was far into the mountains of the Reach.

Nekov was not amused.

"We're going there because I'm an assassin, I kill people." Ayem stated, "Besides, mommy told me to." A jester's grin appears on her face, "And you of all people should understand why you should listen to your mother."

Namira turns to them, "Actually, he never disobeyed, it's always a good general practice to listen to a Daedra, you know." She smirks.

"Oh, so you're a mama's boy!" Ayem started laughing, prompting a sour look and a glare from Nekov, "But wait, how did a Daedric Prince even have a child in the first place?" Her laughter stopping quickly.

"It's a long story," Namira stated, "if we had more time I might tell you-"

"We've got plenty of time!" Ayem exclaimed exuberantly, "I really wanna know how something like this even happens."

"Well it wasn't what mortals would call natural."

"Soooooo…"

"I spent over a hundred years changing the inside of my own body, as well as manipulating many different kinds of energies. The result is what you see here." She said proudly, gesturing to Nekov.

"So it was some kind of magic?"

"No, no. Mortal magic could never replicate what I did. And I'm almost certain I couldn't do it a second time, it was extremely complicated." Her voice still filled with pride, "It's not like creating another, lesser Daedric Prince who shares my influence is easy after all." She stated, shocking everyone, and getting them all to stop walking.

"Wait, so I'm actually a Daedric Prince?" Nekov asked unsurely, his face pale.

"Not quite, but over time you would be able to do things like this." She moves to a tree on the side of the path. Placing a hand on it, the tree begins to rot, spreading from her hand. Not ten seconds later, the tree collapses.

"…Nekov, your mother is scary." Ayem said evenly, moving behind him and away from Namira.

"What else does it work on?" Asked Nekov.

"Animals, wood, plants… people." She finishes with a dangerous looking grin, and an excited look in her eye.

That look being matched by Nekov, scaring Ayem, who squeaks like a mouse and ducks down behind Allison, who's more interested than anything.

They continue walking.


Once in Karthwasten, the group split up, Ayem to find her target, Nekov and his mother to catch up, and Allison to talk to the people.

"Oi, old man, you know a girl name Fjotra!?" Ayem shouted, jogging up to what looked to be the village leader, a man in expensive looking brown robes.

"I-I don't want to talk about that… ask the girl's father if you must."

"Ah, alright…?" That didn't sound good. What would a little girl do to get that treatment?

After being directed to Enmon, a miner who was also Fjotra's father, she learned that the forsworn had raided the town only days before, and had only taken his daughter when they left. The man had started crying and wouldn't say anything else other than which of the redoubts she was probably taken to.

After explaining the contract to Nekov, and planning to meet them in Markarth, Ayem left the group behind.


Heading to Broken Tower Redoubt, she prepared herself for combat. The forsworn were idiots, but they weren't just going to let her take the girl, to kill her or not.

"Hehehehe." If sanity was based off of facial expressions, Ayem would probably be one hundred percent insane.

The grin is just that fucking creepy.

"Hey! Who the fuck are you!?" Victim number one yells from down the road, pulling out his makeshift sword.

"Get her!" Victim number two shouts to the guys standing outside the ruined fortress.

"Hey…" Ayem starts, tilting her head "…Would slaughtering rabid animals make me a bad person?" She finishes, the sick and twisted grin firmly planted on her face, threatening to split it in half, her eyes wide and darting from person to person.

Victim number one runs forward, his sword hung low at his side. Before he could swing, Ayem appears in front of him, moving so fast it looks as if she had teleported.

And then she stabbed him once.

Twice.

Three times.

And the rest of the forsworn were stopped in their tracks, watching their comrade be mutilated and turned to nothing but chunks of meat, blood covering every inch of skin.

Ayem brings the Blade of Woe up to her face, and cleans the blood off with her tongue, ignoring the stunned enemies in front of her.

"Ah…" She shivers in delight, before looking up, blood running from her mouth, and smiling.

"More please."


"Why do I get the feeling that letting her go off alone was a bad idea?" Nekov turns to his mother, "It was, wasn't it? I saw Uncle Sheo written all over that face she had when she left."

"I saw it too, but don't worry about that for now. We have plenty of time to organize another tea party with your uncle later." Namira states, entirely unworried over the fact that they left a probable murderous psychopath alone.

"Oh, well that'll be fun." Nekov says, a pleasant smile sliding onto his face. "I wonder how he's doing, having transferred into that mortal. It's not every day that happens. I'd wonder what the Hero of Kvatch was thinking then, but it really doesn't matter all that much now."

They had made the trip to Markarth in only a couple hours, and Namira had insisted that Nekov spend some time showing her around. And so, the three of them – including Allison – had been walking around the city for the past hour.

"Hey, can I have some gold?" Allison asks, a look in her eye that made shivers run down Nekov's spine.

"What for?" He asks.

"I want new clothes." The shiver returns, and Namira smiles.

"Of course you can, dear." Turning to her son, "Why don't we all go? I'm sure whatever you're wearing under that horrible cloak has no place in any casual setting." Pulling at his cloak, she takes it swiftly, revealing a set of armor.

But it wasn't any normal looking armor. It didn't have any large steel plates or unwieldy pauldrons, having only a chestplate and gauntlets, which were colored a dull grey. The chestplate was closer to a vest than anything, and the gauntlets ran up the entirety of his forearm, with the backs extending past the elbow*. He was wearing matte black clothing underneath, with boots that had similar plating on the shins.

"Well, it's better than I thought. But it doesn't look like something you could wear around without getting some strange looks." Namira was impressed, these were definitely made by Nekov himself, as no smith would make something like this.

Most of these mortals probably thought that more steel means better armor.

More steel slows you down. Ask the adventurers whose souls were stuck in Oblivion. All of them wore some sort of heavy plate armor.

Taking his cloak back and fixing it back around his shoulders, Nekov gave his mother a sour look. "That's why I wear a cloak in the first place. No one looks at the guy in a cloak, it is well known that the people who do get a knife in the back." With a smirk, "The guards don't even care, because it's their fault that they looked. I have a reputation that precedes me and I will make work to my benefit." His mother scoffs.

"You boys and your knives, I knew I shouldn't have let you in Malacath's forge when you were little." She lets out a chuckle, "He still sends them to me, you know, those knives he sent you every year. He expected me to keep them until this Dragonborn business is done."

"And did you?"

"Of course."


Ayem was hunched over the bloodied corpse of the ritual master that stood in the final room, the briar heart in hand.

"So…" She looks to the frightened little girl in a cell at the end of the room, "You're Fjotra, huh."

A mirthless laugh, and the sound of steel piercing flesh echoed throughout the entire bloody fortress.


A/N: Absolutely marvelous. Hope you guys enjoy sadism and insanity, there's gonna be quite a bit when killing happens.

*Picture something like the ANBU uniform from the anime Naruto.