Lady Dibella's Charm and a Diabolical Dilemma: A Skyrim Fan-fiction

Chapter 1

Audiences, please be warned this  story contains (or will contain) copious amounts of smuttiness and coarse language of which may be poorly written due to the authors-(my) inexperience in this field of writing. However if indeed this piece presents itself fluent and descriptive in its message then I am going to hell. I advice you, my dear audience, to not judge too harshly the following painful described scenarios. I have been meaning to write this for a while, just because the fool of hearts deserves a little more lovin’ then he gets. Also having a fatal skyrim addiction has left me with nothing better to do but fantasise about unhinged lunatics in jester outfits. OKAAAAAAYYYY. ;p

I do not own Skyrim/characters of Bethesda this is purely a fan-fic.

May the nine divines have mercy on my corrupted soul. Hope everyone enjoys this. :)

Chapter 1

Rielle slammed the doors open to Vlindrel Hall with violent malice, all the while spewing forth curses, fit to leave Lady Mara in tears. She was mad; absolutely apoplectic with rage at the day’s turnabouts. She had found herself trapped in a situation she had caused, starting with letting a stranger rescue her from a highly inconvenient and dangerous situation; a situation which would have likely resulted in her death.  She hated when things were beyond her control, and even more so, when a giant fucking bag of loot was taken from right under her nose, and “shared” amongst “friends” supposed “comrades in arms”. She wanted to vomit for eternity, because it made her sick to her stomach to even think about such petty trifles being used as excuses for simple personal greed and covetousness.

“FUCKING PISS-FACED NORDS!!” Rielle roared, her voice echoing throughout her decrepit house.  Filled with hot spite, she kicked the nearest thing she could find, which happened to be an old Dwemer pot. The pot went flying, ricocheting off the stone walls before wedging itself in the farthest corner of the hallway. She sighed in exasperation, her anger quickly dissipating into irritation and discomfort as her foot felt the after-effects of her hissy fit. She pinched two gloved fingers between her eyebrows, already feeling the onset of a migraine. Always, always....with those damned hired thugs... the problem of sneaking into ANYWHERE was inconceivable to them, most of the time they were too idiotic to identify what a pressure plate was. It was definitely asking too much of their pea-wee falmer brains to FUCKING WALK QUITELY FOR TWO DAMN ARMSPANS. Then there were those two noble warrior-types she had the misfortune of hiring, who not only irritated the flipping Chaurus-balls out of her with their jolly banter and fucking Nordic heroic auras, but they demanded twice the pay she had promised them.She had lost count of how many times she had to restrain herself from killing them, her assassin’s instincts finding the moments which would have been perfect for lethal execution...for that perfect jab of the blade.... But her merchant’s cunning was telling her she needed them, until that big payout. Rielle let out a nervous burst of laughter at the absurdity of it all. She felt what was left of her sanity slipping out of her grasp...like sand.

With disturbed thoughts Rielle trudged up the slanting platform of her dilapidated house and headed into her gloomy, barely decorated, dining hall. She really needed to repair that broken chair and bookshelf, and then kill Argis, that good-for-nothing bastard housecarl who came in and didn’t give a shit about the state of the place, instead sitting his ass on one of the chairs near the bookshelves and staring into space whilst drinking some briar mead. Today his absence probably saved his life as Rielle the “Stoneheart” (or so the locals of Markarth had taken to calling her) was in a dark mood.  She retired to her room, kicking her chest open and dumping her loot for the day in it. She was in the process of savagely unpacking the more precious items she had pilfered when she felt a presence behind her.

“Malacaths balls!” She cursed and flinched, as she turned and came face to face with Cicero. She had almost forgotten about that menacing little lunatic. Deciding to take him out of the Sanctuary on a contract seemed like a good idea at the time, his stealth and dagger-work were...impressive. But it was times like these she JUST wanted to wring his stupid little-

“The sweet Listener never mentioned she lived in such a LARGE dwelling, fit for a Jarl...yes YES! It’s very homely, plenty of those nice frostbite spiders! Their webs seem to have taken over the poor listener’s room! I wonder Listener ...have you considered maybe taking a broom and-“

Rielle rubbed her temple again before giving Cicero a withering look as he remained glued to her side, breathing down her neck and blabbering away. Being a Breton, she was used to others towering over her, however being on eyelevel with anyone was...uncomfortable. She glared daggers at the Jester as his mouth continued to make noises and spew forth irritating comments about her house.

"Cicero...I no longer require your services...you may return to the sanctuary." Rielle said through gritted teeth, making a quick dismissive gesture with one gloved hand. Her curt response made the Jester pout and cross his arms sulking at her harshness. However poor Cicero was ever forgiving of his dear Listener and took her coldness as a sign of fatigue from the day's events. After slaying twenty men (of which a few had been those pesky priests), jumping from a waterfall to get a damned enchanted sword and bargaining with a sly-mouthed Khajiit his Listener was right about ready to kill someone. Again.

 “The listener seems tired and stressed...hmmm? Is there anything poor Cicero could do? Maybe a massage with some soothing oils would do the listener some-"

"DO I EVEN VAGUELY RESEMBLE THE NIGHTMOTHER?? AND HAVE YOUR EARS FAILED YOU FOOL?? OR ARE YOU TOO THICK TO UNDERSTAND WHEN I ORDER YOU TO LEAVE!” Rielle’s seething yet calm demure shattered as she snapped at him, her blue eyes flashing him a warning. Cicero's jaw set for an instant, before the madness took over and he burst into a giggling fit.

“AHAHHAHAA the Listener has such a beautifully powerful voice! Ice Wraiths would burst at your approach dear listener—oh...ah... But of course poor Cicero is your loyal servant, always and forever...“Cicero cooed, backing away slightly and fidgeting with his gloved hands, still reluctant to leave her side.

Rielle sighed in irritation closing her eyes and letting her head fall back. Sithis take me now...

 “Just get out of my room fool...I’ll come...get you... when I require your services again.”Rielle interrupted, sounding haggard and awkward. Cicero smiled triumphantly. The listener had not dismissed him...oh no his listener needed him, it was often that she fell into one of her prickly moods...Cicero knew she would be herself again as soon as she vented some of her frustrations out on somebody. By killing them! Or perhaps in other ways... Cicero’s thoughts dipped in places where they had often gone before, but without the listener’s knowledge. He quickly shut those thoughts away for later. Oh no. That would not do, inappropriate to think about. The listener would cudgel him if she ever found out...Cicero glanced up anxiously to see whether the listener had registered the look that came over his face when he thought of such dirty things. But the listener had closed the doors to her room behind her, and poor Cicero was left with his lonely desperate thoughts.