Sexlivion

The Garden of Dareloth was a small garden in the Waterfront District. No one really knew why it was called the Garden of Dareloth or why it was there at all. There wasn't even anyone known as Dareloth, and it didn't really belong to any of the shacks. It was, however, a nice place for the locals and some of them took turns keeping the grass trimmed, and the place somewhat tended. The community spirit in even slummy areas can often be surprising to the people on the outside. A shady Redguard hung around there that night, with an argonian. As I approached, a rather cute pink-eyed wood elf also headed for the clearing. She sized me up, frowned, but then put on an aloof and confident look. "It's unusual to have three applicants... So instead of the usual test of skill and trustworthiness, I'm making this a contest." "That's not fair!" the argonian exclaimed. The redguard ignored him. "Whoever brings me the diary of Amantius Allectus -

Claudette arranged a very nice cot in her apartment upstairs to hide and also guard the Amulet of Kings. Though I could see Augusta had misgivings about me there, she said nothing. She did, however, give me the occasional "I'm watching you!" look whenever she dropped by, which was often, on the pretense of bringing some food from the Tiber Septim. Two days passed, and still Vinicia was no closer to discreetly contacting anyone in the Emperor's Secret Service. She just wasn't any good at this subterfuge stuff, and generally too nervous about it all. Besides, security was tightened in the wake of the Emperor's murder, and there was almost a paranoia around anything to do with the Blades or the Emperor. We were pretty sure that any mention of the Amulet of Kings would get us all arrested and interrogated. Besides, we didn't have any plausible story for how we found the Amulet. I had to do something on my own. Vinicia arranged for clothes with which I coul

To distance myself from sweet Augusta for a while, I decided to go about the farmlands and coasts outside the Imperial City walls to see what alchemical plants I could harvest. I had brewed up a few useful potions for the Imperial City's premier potions store, The Gilded Carafe ("I have everything for the budding alchemist under one roof" was the proprietress's motto), and was low on ingredients. The Main Ingredient in the Market District offered ingredients, but the prices were daunting and in any case I thought I might be able to do without their pricier exotic ones. The proprietress, a lovely Breton red-head named Claudette Perrick, suggested we make the final negotiations for price and future orders in the early morning. She was looking for a particular plant for a special customer in Skingrad, and could use the help. In exchange, she promised to take me to some of the better spots for harvesting around the Imperial Isle (knowing fully I was the itinerant so

Vinicia and I had a late breakfast at the Merchant's Inn before we parted ways, her to the Office to catch up on paperwork, probably piled to monstrous proportions. And me back to the Tiber Septim Hotel. One of the first things I noticed when I stepped into the lobby was that the bouquet I had bought for Augusta had mysteriously vanished. They were certainly fresh enough for a few days at least. Augusta was very professional when she showed me to my room--Which wasn't necessary at all as I certainly knew the way by now. When we arrived, she quickly looked down both sides of the corridor and, seeing no one, turned back to me. Her face darkened and she gave me the most terrific slap. "You make me so jealous!" she cried. She grabbed me and kissed me desperately. * In the privacy of my room, we sat close, side by side on the king-sized bed (or "emperor-sized" as the hotel brochure had it). Augusta was of course still cross with me, but there was a

It seemed my fortunes were finally looking up. All thoughts of my hectic days past had vanished, melting away every time I saw Augusta smile. She was busy in the hotel, of course, which was probably a handy thing because it nudged me out of procrastination. First thing in the morning, I splurged for an enormous bouquet of flowers for my dear lovely Augusta, guaranteed to pleasantly embarrass her whenever anyone asked about it, then went about my day. I dropped by the Office of Imperial Commerce to deliver the Anvil Well Crystals and received a second assignment to sort out the water wells in Cheydinhal, which water had for some reason become foul-tasting. There was a Mages Guildhall in Cheydinhal as well, and if I ever wanted to access the Arcane University in full I'd have to go there for a recommendation , so I agreed. Hopefully there wouldn't be any more crazy, murderous, Argonians. Some inquiries into local businesses and opportunities brought up the topic of real

Out of Skingrad I headed east to the Imperial City . The capital city of the Empire is very different from every other city in that the huge marble slabs are Ayleid. Overall, the architecture is of that ancient elven race, but repurposed into contemporary living spaces. It is situated on the drably named "City Isle" in the vast Lake Rumare. On the eastern and side the Isle is close enough to the mainland to not inconveniently swim, but the only way to and from the mainland that doesn't require getting wet is from the west, past the village of Weye and into the affluent Talos Plaza. Even from far away I could see the tall, narrow White Tower of the Imperial Palace. By night, the lights from the tower gave the capital city a beacon, like some sort of lighthouse of civilization. The roads around the lake shore were well patrolled, and for the first time since setting foot on Tamriel did I feel safe, and, though cautiously a first, let my guard down. It was a profoun

"What took you so long?" Adrienne scowled. The sun had already set by the time I had bathed, put on clean clothes (I really just threw on a standard-issue Mages Guild robe for convenience, and was going commando underneath -- not that I thought anyone would know), and grabbed a quick bite from Skingrad's most famous bakery, Salmo 's Sweetrolls. When she answered the door to her private quarters, she had changed into something much more relaxed and comfortable, a satiny bedrobe of sensual red trimmed with black. "As you might have guessed, this... uh... meeting will be about your recommendation letter," she explained. She maneouvered behind me to shut the door firmly, then traced the outline of the lock with one finger. There was a flare of bright green and I heard the click of the lock. Magically locked. Hmm... "I don't like interruptions," she explained, then walked to a luxurious armchair where she sat and crossed her legs with al

Finding Erthor for the Skingrad Mages Guild was a thankfully uncomplicated affair and I returned in short order. He'd been deep in Bleak Flats Cave and blissfully unaware that Mehrunes Dagon had opened gateways to hell all over Tamriel. I wondered if we'd really done him a favour calling him back to Skingrad. Adrienne's second task was straightforward as well, but a bit daunting: The recover of some dwemer artifacts. The Arcane University had lost a shipment of dwemer mechanical parts required for overdue repairs to the Orrery (and honestly, I had to look up on the sly what an orrery was). By "lost", Adrienne explained that they were not merely misplaced but stolen. A ransom letter had been delivered and I was to recover the items. The University refused to pay up, and normally the Imperial Legion or their Battlemage division (having connections with the Mages Guild and all) would help. Except with the Oblivion crisis, there was now also a manpower crisis a

There's something about short pigtails on a middle-aged woman that makes me shudder. Well honestly, Adrienne Berene , the head of the Skingrad Mages Guild, wasn't bad looking, and there was something cute about pigtails, but it just didn't quite fit her. Her hair was pulled back in a really severe schoolteacher sort of way, which rather fitted her personality. Adreinne was blunt and no-nonsense, and generally didn't have a lot of time for anyone. Even before the Oblivion crisis she was this way, but with Kvatch reduced to an ashen heap , she was busier than ever. I think she had dreaded me to be a new Mages Guild wannabe, but I had Carahil's recommendation behind me and her whole outlook brightened. After Kvatch and closing the Oblivion gate, I had determined I wouldn't play hero anymore, but Adrienne bluntly told me she needed something done, and as she'd run out of staff to do it, she was sending me -- That is, if I wanted any sort of recommendation

I quickly scavenged whatever looked useful from the dead and scrambled to find somewhere to hide and think things through. At least the Oblivion Gate that had brought me here was still behind me. The sheer stupidity of what I had done was only now just sinking in with greater clarity. I really had no guarantee that the gate would still be there or accessible when I stepped through. This place could have been swarming with daedra ready to tear me limb from limb or torture me. I could be lost forever in Oblivion. I might still not make it out alive. Honestly, I really wanted to turn back. This was work for heroes, not mere mortals like myself. I had come to Tamriel for a new beginning. To see sights, make new friends, form new relationships, and have mind-blowing sex with hot women. So far I'd done all of these, but impressive and intriguing though the sights of Oblivion were, I really could have done without. But I was here now, and people were counting on me. And fortuna

I had a wonderfully relaxing night with Sigrid. The poor dear was still tired after her desperate flight from doomed Kvatch , and from her wild "rides" last night. She had invited me to ride her, then we turned over for her to play cowboy. Finally exhausted, she had fallen into a contented, purring sleep on my chest, and so the night passed. By dawn's dim light, surely everyone had guessed at what had gone on between us, and a handsome orc woman (though admittedly I do have a very hard time with finding long flat noses and boar fangs jutting from their lower jaws to be attractive on any woman) came by to delicately wake us. It was time to get moving. Still no reinforcements from Anvil or Skingrad, and Savlian surmised that they had their own troubles. I escorted them to the nearby GottShaw Inn where an injured Legion Soldier assigned to road patrol offered to take them the rest of the way to Anvil. He'd had to rest the night after being waylaid by camps when he

I honestly thought to find some large fire somewhere... but the entire city of Kvatch  -- the entire mountaintop -- was a smoking ruin! There was not grass or leaf left among the ashes, and what trees were left had been practically reduced to charcoal. Some enormous magic or unimaginable might had shattered the city walls and broken the buildings within. I dismounted and sent my skittish horse back down before she bolted or threw me. She'd probably find her way back to Anvil. From the city gates, a motley crew of city guards were hustling a handful of survivors ahead while they desperately tried to hold off monsters harrying them from behind. This was some kind of hellish daedric invasion! Right in front of the city gate was a grand, flaming gateway. An oval of obsidian framed that looked like it had sprung out from the very earth. Fortunately for me, the invasion was over and the main forces, having razed the city, had pulled back for now. There was nothing here for them,

Interesting days were ahead! Gweden Cathouse was up and running, though for the moment, with very limited staff (it was just Tsarrina, and Maeva the Buxom was intrigued enough to try it part-time) she ran it more as a small inn for the moment. Mirabelle had the idea to stock some of my "get it up" potions, as she called them, at the Cathouse and promised to forward my share of sales to the Mages Guild in my absence. Tsarrina begged me to keep an ear peeled for anyone who might be interested in being an escort. She'd heard that the Tiber Septim Brothel had recently been sold to foreign investors and reverted into merely an upper class hotel , so there might be several freelancing prospects in the Imperial City. I'd be going in that direction on my way to Bruma anyway, so I agreed. Research had yielded that the Shrine of Namira was just to the east of Bruma, out in the wilderness and frequented by a few anti-social worshippers. I was sure that the  spooky phant

Maeva had passed out, her body slick and hot from perspiration. I lay weakly atop her, still deep inside her hot, juicy sex. After a moment, Mirabelle lay down beside me and gave me a playful kiss. I'd forgotten all about her! "I was sure she was going to outlast you," Mirabelle grinned mischievously. I kissed her back. "Never." She looked sadly at how tired I was, and fondled my hand. "Can you at least cuddle with me a while?" "I can do better than that," I winked. She raised an eyebrow, but waited patiently. I slowly pulled out of Maeva, and gently carried her to the rug by the fireplace and tucked her in for the night. Then I went to my gear to get a potion that quickly restored stamina. One of the most basic potions alchemists are taught to make are potions that restored stamina. Not only are ingredients commonplace and plentiful but the applications were very wide. Soldiers could march further. Watchmen could be more alert.

"Thank you for recovering RockShatter!" cried Maeva. She cradled the weapon fondly and gave a happy, relieved, sigh. "Mirabelle and I talked today. We were hoping you could possibly do me another favour." "Oh?" "Yes... I..." she cast a mischievous look at Mirabelle, who grinned and drew the latch on the door before moving close to gently embrace me from behind. She affectionately lay her head on my back. I tensed. For just a moment I thought she was running her own version of the Gweden Sirens and I was in desperate trouble. Maeva was, like most Nords, tall and sturdily built. She's run the farm on her own for a long time, and an impressive build, however feminine she might carry herself--I was sure she could daze a horse with a solid right hook from her well-muscled arms. Maeva leaned close to breathe in my ear, "I want to know what a hero feels like." And just to make sure there was no mistaking her intentions, she rubbe

Mirabelle continued to be attentive and affectionate (though definitely not in a clingy girly way!) all through the next morning when we took an inventory of what Tsarrina needed to fix up Gweden Cathouse and replace various items, such as the bloodstained carpet. On our way back to Anvil for the necessary shopping, we dropped by Whitmond Farm, a small place growing corn and potatoes just outside Anvil's northern gate. There, the lone caretaker, Maeva, kindly loaned us her small cart driven by a weary mule. Maeva was a lovely, friendly Nord woman with probably the biggest breasts this side of Cyrodiil. Doubtless the reason that she was known affectionately as Maeva the Buxom. She was clearly once a beauty with creamy white skin and excellent complexion, but long hours under the sun and a hard farmer's life had roughened her hands and given her a bit of a tan, though Nords generally didn't tan well. I was concerned that she'd be leaving the farm untended to come with