Chapter 1

Inuel stepped out from the shelter of the wayshrine, treading gingerly on the ash. While she had never taken to wearing foot coverings that protected her soles, she hadn't set foot on the hot, powdery stuff since… had it really been five years? She had grown soft in her time away. She set her lip and strode, ignoring the heat, towards the hulking crabshell on the hill above.

The tents were all still there, just as she remembered them. They may have changed material here and there, but this tribe never left the site. The great shell Skar was a sacred place, and she felt exhilaration in seeing it again. Celebrants were already gathering around the great bonfire, and she saw the last touches being made on the special tents erected for this holiday. She felt her stomach flip, thinking about it.

The festival of Elitlaya was held every year, but only every ten years did Ashlanders from all over Tamriel convene for a night of (literally) thinly-veiled debauchery. She thought this last sentiment as she watched one of the veils of anonymity being hung in a nearby festival tent.

She couldn't believe she was considering going through with it. It had always been a sort of hushed topic of gossip among the young adults of the tribe for as long as she could remember. The ritual was never to be openly discussed, as it was a secret only the adult participants learned at the time of the ritual. Details, of course, had been leaked, and warped with each telling. She didn't know what to believe. All she knew was that the participants entered the tent from opposite sides, covered in long, hooded robes that concealed their identities. They did not reappear until morning, sometimes early afternoon, still shrouded and secretive. It was frowned upon to discuss the ritual at all, but it was usually all the teens could talk about. In hushed tones around the fire or over a meal, they giggled, dreaming of losing their innocence one day at Elitlaya.

The veil, for instance, was the one consistent detail discussed. Everyone could see it being installed the day of the event- a pristine black sheet of fine spider silk dyed with the finest ash, thin as water but completely opaque. Another detail that often cropped up was the presence of knives placed on either side of the silk sheet that bisected the tent. Confusing, to say the least.

Inuel's heart thrummed as her mind raced, but she merely gazed into the fire, outwardly serene.

Zanammu, one of the tribe elders, joined her. He also stared into the flames, pensive.

"It is interesting to see you here, at this time."

"Is it? There are so many Ashlanders returning, why is my attendance so different?"

He smiled, nodding.

"You always were more of an Ashlander than a Bosmer, weren't you?" Here, he glanced at her, looking her admittedly Bosmeri outfit up and down. Inuel felt judged, and folded her arms over bone beadwork.

"I spent some time in Grahtwood, yes. I like leather. It doesn't make me any less of an Ashlander."

"Indeed," he intoned, "all of this outward appearance- your garb, your skin, your… do you consider them antlers or horns?"

She touched her delicate antlers self-consciously. "It doesn't matter," she said, quietly defensive.

"No. It doesn't. None of it does. It is the black veil. It is that which separates us from truth. Perhaps, tonight, you will experience revelation for yourself."

The wood elf found herself exhaling deeply with anxiety. "So, I'm still allowed to participate?"

He nodded. "You will be the first Bosmer to do so. The first non-Dunmer, as well." He fetched a wistful sigh. "Don't take offense, but I wish I were a younger mer, tonight. Whoever shares your tent will be a lucky man or woman."

Her eyes widened. She had never considered being paired with a woman.

She asked softly, "Do we… get a choice?"

"Oh, of course. Not to worry, preference is taken into account."

She hadn't expected him to answer her. A thousand more questions rose, and she opened her mouth to let them pour out. He stopped her with a raised palm.

"I can tell you no more. I don't want to spoil the sanctity of Elitlaya. There is magic in mystery. To break one is to shatter the other."

With these cryptic words, he smiled and left.


She couldn't eat that evening, but did indulge in a couple cups of shein. It calmed her nerves a little. Then, she caught sight of a robed figure out of the corner of her eye. The rituals had begun, quietly and discreetly. Her fellow diners did their best to hold their tongues and pretend not to notice, but she saw the devilish grins on some of the young men. Her stomach sank. It could be any one of them. She averted her eyes as one of them glanced at her. She was the exotic prize they all hoped to win. It made her a little sick to her stomach; she rose from her seat by the fire and wandered into the darkening night.

She breathed deep the smoky air of her childhood. Closing her eyes, she could almost believe she was sixteen again. Her mentor would shout for her, soon, to return to her bed, as there would be early lessons and hard work the next morning. She could hear the sweet, many-part harmony of hymns sung within the colossal shell; its bizarre, organic acoustics resonating music to the whole of the surrounding village.

She jumped as she felt a hand on her back.

"It is time," a female voice whispered.

Inuel swallowed hard, turning to follow the gray-cloaked woman to a nearby changing tent.

The black cloak she was given was luxuriously soft against her naked skin. Her clasped hands trembled as she followed the woman to one of the festival tents. Her escort bid her wait before the entrance of the tent, while she entered alone. Inuel heard hushed voices for a moment within, then the doorflap parted. The woman beckoned her.

"Do you have a preference?"

"I… what? Oh… I…" Inuel stammered in a whisper, "I suppose I don't."

The flap closed again. More hushed voices. She leaned close to listen, then jumped when the tent opened a final time. She was led into the dim.

The single lamp was shaded red, causing lines to soften and blur. Inuel looked up at the looming black sheet, moths dancing in her belly. Looking around, she could make out the shape of a dagger lying on what looked like a pile of cushions. At least that rumor had been true. How many more might be?

She gasped as she was disrobed, the silent woman folding it and setting it aside. Inuel hugged herself, feeling uncomfortably exposed. She gasped again as her escort's fingers, slicked with warm, fragrant oil, traced from her neck to between her small breasts. Her skin practically glowed in stark contrast to the dunmer woman's hands. The escort's red eyes raised to meet hers, silently bidding her to unfold her arms. Inuel obeyed, shivering as the thin fingers trailed down her stomach… and lower.

She held her breath as her labia were parted and anointed, sensitive flesh tingling. The oil produced a novel sensation of heat, and was strangely stimulating all on its own.

The Bosmer exhaled her held breath, eyes fluttering closed.

"Are… are you my partner?" she whispered.

Before the Dunmer woman could respond, they heard a stifled masculine yelp from the other side of the veil. Both women covered their mouths, snickering.

"I suppose not, then…"

The escort bowed solemnly and left without another word.

Her heart hammering in her pointed ears, Inuel took several deep breaths, eyes closed, trying desperately to calm herself. She was finally here. The location of her first and most forbidden fantasies.

And she had absolutely no idea what to do, now.

She looked to the dagger, then to the sheet. They betrayed nothing.

She knelt on a soft pad before the veil, picking up the dagger.

"I don't-" she rasped, cleared her throat, began again,"I don't know what to do… no one explained anything… is there a blood sacrifice, or…"

She heard a soft chuckle from the other side.

"First time, eh?" he whispered back. Definitely a he, then. From the direction of his voice, he was also kneeling. Inuel released a shaky breath, feeling her pulse pound in her head, her fingers, and… yes, especially there.

"I never dared, before. It's all so-"

He hushed her, a soothing staccatoed susurrus from between his undoubtedly pointed teeth. Like a spell, it calmed her nervous fidgeting.

"I can do it, if you want."

"What… I mean… alright, then."

Barely visible, she saw the tip of the dagger pierce the silk sheet, making a small slit… she noted, at about hip-height on a kneeling man.

She looked away, her own dagger clattering from her fingers. It all made sense now. Of course. How could it have been for anything else? Her mind raced, replaying everything she'd heard, especially the equivocal words of Zanammu. The veil had been pierced, but only so much truth was allowed through. The anonymity, the mystery, the magic of the ritual… she could feel it all in intense realization.

"You'll have to come closer."

"Yes, I know! Don't rush me. I'm trying to have a spiritual experience!" she hissed, annoyed. He chuckled again.

"I can make another hole if you'd like. Whatever's comfortable for you," he breathed.

"I don't think we're even supposed to be talking," she replied, curtly.

"You started it."

She sat back, folding her arms in a huff.

He sighed, and she heard shuffling. The lights had dimmed further, as the short wicks ran out. Apparently they were only meant to have light for the first few minutes. They were soon plunged into total darkness.

"Is… is this part of it?" she asked, tremulous.

He did not answer, but instead repeated himself in a rasped whisper: "You'll have to come closer."

She bit her lip, shuffling forward, feeling faint. She reached out, touching the sheet, sliding her hand along it until she felt something solid beyond it. His chest… firm, warm, decently sinuous… he drew a quick breath as she grazed a nipple, and she apologized, then cringed. He coughed quiet laughter.

She soon felt the veil pushed her direction, a large hand seeking her chest in kind. She could not quell her hyperventilation, tingling under his touch. Her back arched on its own, and she leaned into his hand. He sighed, and pinched one of her pert nipples. She drew a sharp breath, batting at his hand involuntarily. It was his turn to apologize.

"No, no, it's alright…" Her hand dropped, and grazed against unveiled flesh. Startled, she jerked her hand away. Was that…

His hand searched for hers, taking it gently, and guided it back.

It was. He had… inserted himself through the small slit in the veil. The skin was surprisingly soft, like the spider silk of the sheet. She imagined it in her hand, dark as volcanic ash. Pulling back the foreskin, would he be just as dark underneath, or would it be a sensitive pink? She smirked, considering summoning a light to her free hand, just to sate her curiosity. She felt him swell against her palm, grinding lightly. She gripped him gently, sliding her hand to its base, the line of warm anointing oil on it spreading with her touch.

No, the mystery must remain. Such was the ritual.

He emitted a small sound of disappointment as she released him, rising. His hands pressed against the sheet, searching for her.

They eventually rested on her hips, sliding along the curve of her posterior.

"That's it… good choice," he murmured low. She was on all fours, back to him. It felt primal, vital. It felt… right.

Seizing her hips through the veil, he pulled her against him, probing and tracing her blindly with his implement. She cringed as he briefly grazed the wrong orifice, but thankfully, he repositioned himself.

He ground the exposed head against her gingerly, parting her slicked lips.

Her breath caught in her chest as he began to slide inside.

This… didn't feel right.

Something was wrong…

He felt somehow… familiar. Odd, since she had never engaged in sex with a man before that night. Women, yes, not that she preferred them… Her mind searched frantically for a reason for this sensation, finding none.

She tried to pull away, but he dragged her back against him firmly. He sank into her as she strained, stopping only when he could go no further.

The two froze, panting for a moment, merely existing in this strange moment. The silk between them was comforting, stretching, molding to their forms like an impossibly soft skin.

She felt his pulse deep within. As she measured her breaths, her pulse slowed to match.

The heady scent of the fragrant oil blended with the scent of their bodies, one fitting into another like pieces of machinery.

(She realized distantly that she had been spending far too much time in the Clockwork City.)

The wrongness was still there, but it was… intoxicating. No one was here to stop them. She wondered why she thought such a thing. Of course no one would stop them…

She felt him leaning over her, the sheet pulling and stretching. His hands slid up her sides, under her, cupping her breasts. She whimpered quietly, pushing back against him, feeling him slide incrementally deeper. Ooohhh, that was the spot.

"Good… you gonna fight me any more?"

She shook her head, her antlers sliding against the sheet.

"That's it. You want me to…?"

"Yes… please…"

He began to thrust gently, slowly, twisting her nipples between veiled fingers. Their breathing was heavy, but both strove to stay as silent as possible. Too much noise would break the spell.

His pace quickened irresistibly, and slapping sounds were made as the sheet around the slit became slick. He shifted slightly, thrusting more upward, and he struck her in just the right place, causing her to cry out lightly. She clamped a hand over her mouth, but he didn't stop. He kept at it, plunging at just the right angle, melting her beneath him. Her stifled moans crescendoed until she had to hold her breath, climaxing, sinking her teeth into her knuckles. Her eyes rolled back… she felt deliciously lightheaded.

His hands now slid upward along her back as his pace slowed, thrusts more violent. The slapping was so loud, she was sure they could hear it at the bonfire tens of yards away.

"Don't… stop…" she whispered.

But he did stop, quite suddenly. His hands had found her antlers.

Inuel sighed with exasperation.

"Well, secret's out. I guess you know my identity."

He remained silent, gripping them with both hands.

She waited for a few moments, then ground back against him.

"Come on… I was close…"

He recoiled a bit, letting go of her horns and sliding almost all the way out of her.

"Wait… please… it felt so good… you liked it… didn't you? What does it matter what race I am?"

"That's not…" he didn't finish the statement, but sighed heavily.

Hesitantly, he pressed himself back in. She groaned quietly, head dropping to her folded arms.

"You like it?" he asked, voice low and uncertain.

"Nnnnh, yes. You know all the right spots…"

He sighed shakily.

"In for a copper," he muttered under his breath. Then he resumed his pummeling, gripping her hips tightly. He thrust so rapidly, he was practically vibrating.

She no longer had the presence of mind to be quiet. Her cries echoed off the looming shell of Skar above them, ricocheting off the surrounding cliffs. She didn't care. She was lost in intense orgasm, waves that crashed and crashed and intensified.

He bent over her, his breaths coming ragged. He groaned rhythmically in her ear, slowing, growling as he came. Still, he continued slowly oscillating, as his organ thickened and pulsed, filling her abused insides with his hot release.

Inuel lay in a puddle beneath him, a dazed smile unseen on her face. She didn't even care about the lack of foreplay.

He pulled away, somewhat un-gently, and left her there without a word. She could dimly hear him pacing barefoot on the other side of the now stretched and soiled barrier.

"Oi… what's wrong?" she giggled drunkenly. "Can't believe a tree-hugger made you come?"

She sat up, smoothing her tousled hair between her antlers.

"I grew up here, you know."

"I know." His voice was low, solemn.

"So… you know me. Of course you know me."

"Stop."

She hushed, smile wilting.

"I don't … want you to know who I am."

"I know, it's part of the-"

He cut her off. "It's not just because of the ritual. You…" he sighed, growling. "I don't know how to feel…"

She scooted close to the veil, pressing her hand into it, reaching for him. She wanted to comfort him. It was as though an invisible thread connected them, and it tugged her toward him.

He dropped to the cushion, meeting her hand with his. It was like a magic trick, in the blackness.

"We don't have to do it again," she whispered.

"I mean… I want to…" his voice sounded almost vulnerable. It was so strange.

Inuel laid down alongside the sheet, her back to him. His hand slid along the curve of her hip and side, and he laid down to spoon her.

"You'll have to cut another hole…"

"No… this is nice."

In the silence, they could hear the distant crackle of the bonfire, hushed conversation in the tents around them, and, yes, muffled sounds of pleasure. The mystery man pulled the wood elf close, laying an arm along her side, and they soon fell asleep on the soft, shared mat.


Early morning light filtered blue through the cracks in the tent. His body still fitted snugly against hers. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept so well. It had probably been when she was a child, in this same village. She felt so safe, and so… fulfilled. She couldn't think of a better word for the current sensation.

Sitting up, dagger in hand, she gently felt around on the sheet, pulling it away from him in order to cut a small, horizontal slit. He jerked a bit as she slipped her fingers around his stiff organ.

"Hah… good morning…" he whispered from a dry throat.

"It is now. I want to try something…"

She felt him shift a bit, heard the slosh of a water skin. Not a bad idea. She found her own.

Looking back after taking several long draughts, Inuel noticed he had shifted positions, now sitting up, and she could barely make out the shape of his dark phallus, somewhat lighter than the sheet through which it jutted.

"What do you have in mind?" he whispered.

She grinned, scooting up to him on her rear, spreading wide her legs, and lying back. She then folded in half on her back, thighs flush with her stomach. His hands roved along her body, sheet sliding as he investigated.

"Oh, I see…"

Inuel giggled. "I've read about this position. Always wanted to try it."

He wasted no more time, dragging his exposed head around her engorged bud. She jerked involuntarily, inhaling in little gasps. He kept her clit between thumb and forefinger as he guided himself in.

Immediately, he had found the right spot. She squeaked, then bit her forearm, fighting the urge to burst out in giddy laughter.

He picked up an easy pace, hands on her calves, thrusting. He could make out the outline of her breasts beneath the sheet, being jostled by his movement. It was hypnotic.

Forgetting about their promise of silence, both succumbed to involuntary vocalizations of ecstasy, almost harmonizing as they climaxed together.

Panting, he pulled away, resting back on the heels of his hands.

"How many do you think we woke?"

Inuel laughed at this, a sound like water falling on glass bells. The unknown Dunmer winced at it; the familiarity, and yet the beauty of it, pained him.

Her hands reached for him again, and he sighed, meeting them with his own. Their fingers intertwined, sheet molding to them like gloves.

"I don't want to leave… I wish I could know you…"

"You know the rules. It's just the one night. I… I'm sorry. I want to be with you, as well."

"Then, why not? Can't we just cut a bigger hole? No one's going to stop us…"

His grip tightened on hers.

"No. Please."

She sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. She listened to the thud of his heartbeat for a time.

"Find me, then."

"Wh… what?"

"You know who I am. Find me after. Meet me for breakfast. Or, lunch. Bloody teatime, I don't care. Find me. I just… I feel so comfortable around you. I haven't felt like this with anyone, not since I left my family."

He let go of her hands, standing and stepping back. Inuel almost fell, but caught herself. She felt on the verge of tears.

She heard the rustle of fabric. He was donning the black robe.

She buried her face in her hands, holding her breath so he wouldn't hear her sob.

Just as he opened the tent flap to leave, he paused.

"I'll find you, Inuel."

She looked up, startled.

"Promise."

"I promise."

And he left.


The sun was barely cresting the top ridge of the volcano when Inuel emerged from the coupling tent. She knew she should feel tired, but she felt positively electric. She all but skipped to the changing tent.

Fully dressed, she went to the fire, picking up a carapace cup and pouring tea from a hanging teapot. Taking a sip, she grimaced and spat it back. One of the women sitting by the fire laughed.

"First time, then?"

"Augh, yes. What in Sotha Sil's name is this swill?"

"Drink it. You'll regret it if you don't."

Inuel gleaned her meaning, and drank deeply.

She looked around, head on a swivel. Her mystery man promised to find her. She racked her brain for who it might be. She searched the faces of the disheveled folk around the fire, then froze, meeting a claret stare.

"Amanis?!"