Elder Scrolls One Shots

Damnation

TW: Violence, blood/minor gore

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This isn't romance and/or smut, this is straight up just me writing a character totally obsessed with Molag Bal in a fanatic zealous worshipper type of way.

I've wanted to experiment with it for a while now as a concept.

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Veril

Everything must be perfect. If it is not I will never achieve purebloodedness.

The twentieth of Evening Star, during Chil'a.

He will grant me this. He must.

"Lord Bal." I whispered, kneeling at the altar clasping my hands in prayer to him.

"Now!" I hissed at the small, weak Bosmer woman to my side, holding the mace gifted to me by my Lord Bal himself. A mace rusted from blood spilled with it.

I hissed out in pain as she struck me.

Despite her frail look she can swing a mace well.

"Lord Bal!" I cried out to him as tears rolled from my eyes. Despite my voice shaking I managed to perfectly recite the words of the ritual I have prepared for for years now.

I will summon Molag Bal. I will offer everything I am to him.

It stung to be struck repeatedly by the mace. But I loved every second of it. All of the pain inflicted upon me was in His name.

I spared a glance to my underling, a wicked grin sat on her lips as she struck me. My heart swelled with pride at the sight. She is the only other worthy one.

Would Lord Bal take her too?

I could feel my blood run down my back and arms as I chanted, begging my Lord to come to me.

I must repent for my decades of life spent in service to Boethia. What better way than to offer everything I am to Boethia's rival.

I heard a sickening crack as I was struck on the shoulder by my underling. I nearly cried out in pain. My voice broke as I continued chanting, ignoring the way her beating had intensified.

The beatings stopped finally, leaving me a panting, bloodied mess. I was ready to lash out at the woman when I felt him, his overwhelming presence.

"My lord!" I cried, prostrating myself before him.

"What have you called me for?" He demanded.

"Master," I began, looking up, nearly gasping at the sight before me. My underling now lay at my master's feet, body a pile of naught more than gore now.

His glare made my heart race.

"Speak, mortal!" He demanded, a low growl escaping him.

A shiver wracked my body.

"I beg you, master, give the gift to us." I pleaded. "I will use it to bring pain and suffering to all."

He growled at me. "You've no offering for such a gift? Where are the followers you promised to me?"

"I offer myself! No others in my coven are yet worthy of your gift!" I responded. "I will spread your unholy gift to all in my coven once they are worthy, if you deem me worthy now, my lord." I continued. "Strike me down if I am not worth your gift," I begged. "I will spend eternity in Coldharbour, my Lord!"

"So eager to please," He growled, taking a step forward.

My breath hitched.

"My Lord," I pleaded. "I deserve nothing less than death for my service to Boethia for so long, but I beg, forgive me for it. You own me, body and soul,"