Wicked_Fiction

Forged in Skyrim #67

Torin reached for the iron handle of the Harbinger’s door, his hand stopping an inch short as the heavy oak panel swung inward on its own.

Aela stepped out, her movements as silent and fluid as always.

She pulled the door almost shut behind her, then paused, her sharp eyes locking onto Torin.

A slow, wolfish grin spread acros...

Forged in Skyrim #66

Torin shouldered open the heavy door of Jorrvaskr and walked into a wall of sound. It wasn’t the usual low rumble of conversation and clinking tankards. This was a full-throated roar, a chorus of cheers, jeers, and shouted encouragement that bounced off the ancient timber walls.

His own arrival, usually enough to turn a few heads, went c...

Scribble-Scrabble

I was ambushed by a series of random errands today so I didn't have time to write a chapter. What time I had left was just enough to turn something that's been bouncing around in my mind into this...

Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the streets of Hell's Kitchen glistening under the glow of sodium-vapor lamps. It didn't clean anything; it ...

Forged in Skyrim #65

The morning sun was just beginning to burn the chill off the stone of Whiterun when Torin shouldered his way through the main gate. The city was waking up in earnest, and the familiar, chaotic symphony of its daily life washed over him.

The market district was a hive of activity. A pair of hunters, their leathers still smelling of pine and...

Forged in Skyrim #64

Torin stood in the flickering gloom of the cavern, half-naked, barefoot on the cold stone, and glared at the robed figure with a fury that was white-hot and utterly justified.

He was, to put it mildly, not in a good mood.

The last two days had been a special kind of torture. He’d spent every waking hour hunched over t...

Forged in Skyrim #63

The hooded figure moved through the entrance of the Broken Fang cavern like a shadow slipping into a deeper dark. His boots—fine, supple leather, utterly out of place in the dusty wilds southeast of Rorikstead—scuffed softly against the stone floor, each step echoing a hollow protest into the emptiness.

He paused just inside the thresh...

Forged in Skyrim #62

Torin walked away from the heavy timber gates of Dushnikh Yal with a satisfied, if weary, smile on his face. A new, densely packed canvas bag hung from his shoulder, its strap biting into his tunic. With every step, the weight of his purchase made itself known—his stride was heavier, slower, more deliberate than when he’d first arrived.

Forged in Skyrim #61

Ghorbash’s frown deepened, a ridge of thick brow shadowing his eyes. “Do you even understand what you’re saying, boy?” His voice was a low rumble, like stones grinding together.

He shook his head slowly, the movement stiff from the bruising along his jaw. “Why would a pack of Nords ever allow an Orc into their mead-hall and their...

Forged in Skyrim #60

Seeing that Ghorbash was well and truly in a fighting mood, Torin didn't bother with further taunts. Words had done their job. He simply reached over his shoulder, his fingers closing around the familiar, comforting haft of his warhammer.

He hefted it and rested it casually on his shoulder, his posture relaxed, almost bored, as if they wer...

Forged in Skyrim #59

An hour later, with the sun fully risen and the morning chill beginning to burn away, Torin and Echo left their assigned lodging. Both were fully awake, the bear having finally deigned to start her day after a substantial breakfast of raw meat and root vegetables.

They made their way through the waking stronghold towards the chief's longho...

Discord Members!

This for those of you in my discord server. If you got a private message from me with a link, please don't click it. If you did, and you're on PC, I highly recommend you change your discord account's password.

I'm very sorry for any annoyance or inconvenience this may have caused you all, and merry Christmas to everyone.

Forged in Skyrim #58

As Torin followed the female Orc—who had introduced herself as Murbul, mother of the current chief, elder and wisewoman of the tribe—his eyes naturally wandered, taking in the stronghold’s interior.

It was just as vast from the inside as it had seemed from without, a small, fortified village nestled within the high walls. But it didn...

Forged in Skyrim #57

Torin frowned, his senses snapping to high alert. His eyes scanned the surrounding trees, the rocky outcrops, the riverbank—searching for any flicker of movement, any hint of an ambush. Echo’s continued low growl was the only sound besides the rushing water.

After a tense minute, he was reasonably sure the immediate area was clear of l...

Forged in Skyrim #56

The next morning, inside the Silver-Blood Inn, Torin sat at his usual corner table, mechanically working his way through a bowl of oatmeal. Echo was on the floor beside him, noisily devouring a bowl of meat scraps.

The routine quiet was broken by the sound of the heavy door swinging open.

Torin glanced up and saw Ghorza stride in. Sh...

Forged in Skyrim #55

An hour and a half later, under the watchful, impatient eyes of Torin, the guard, and a still-lurking crowd, Jorvan finally lowered his hammer. He barely resisted the urge to let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure relief. The shield was… done.

Though ‘repaired’ was a strong word for it.

The truth was, Torin’s shield was stil...

Forged in Skyrim #54

The next day dawned grey and damp, a typical Reach morning. In the smithy, Jorvan was pacing back and forth like a caged bear, his mood as foul as the weather.

A daunting pile of work lay before him: a stack of broken picks and shovels from the mines, three spears from the guard needing new heads, and two new sword orders from wealthy merc...

Forged in Skyrim #53

It goes without saying that Torin was shocked. Out of all the things one might expect upon returning to a rented room—a mess, a thief, even a particularly bold skeever—the sight of an Orc warrior-smith calmly waiting on your bed was very, very low on the list.

Unless, of course, one was married to an Orc, which Torin...

Announcement

Hey everyone,

Just wanted to give you a quick update on why things have been quiet. My uncle (on my mom's side) had been unwell for a while, and since we live close by, I've been helping care for him. Sadly, he passed away yesterday, so things are even more busy right now with the funeral.

I’m hoping to get back to my usual schedul...

Forged in Skyrim #52

The Nord smith, his argument with the Orc woman apparently spent for the moment, finally seemed to notice Torin’s presence. His eyes widened slightly, and a flicker of something like alarm crossed his florid face. He quickly pulled the frustrated miner aside, bending his head to whisper something urgent in the young man’s ear.

The mine...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #51

One day later, as the sun bled its last fiery light over the jagged peaks of the Reach, Torin and Qasim finally laid eyes on their destination. The city walls of Markarth, the capital of the hold, rose before them, ancient and imposing, with Echo padding wearily at their heels.

To Torin, it was both a familiar and an utterly unfamiliar sig...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #50

Eyes narrowing against the spirit’s ethereal glow, Torin spoke up, his voice cutting through the spectral chill. “Alright. Who are you? And what is it you want?”

The massive, armored spirit seemed to ponder, the blue light of its form flickering like a dying flame. “I… I have forgotten my name,”&n...

Currency Change!

Hey everyone,

You might have noticed I switched the pricing from USD to EUR. That's because Patreon finally lets creators outside the U.S. get paid straight to their bank—no middleman (Payoneer) needed!

The thing is, my country's policies block sending or receiving USD internationally (pretty annoying, I know). Plus, I got tired of...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #49

Torin’s stunned silence was broken by the creak of the stairs. Qasim descended with calm purpose, his curved sword held low and ready, while Echo padded hesitantly behind him, her nose twitching at the strange, cold energy in the air.

“A spirit…?” Qasim murmured, his dark eyes scanning the blue-lit room before settling on the pantr...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #48

The innkeeper gave Torin a strange, sidelong look as his laughter finally died down. “Oh? And what did you imagine this place was, then? A den of cutthroats? A coven of witches?”

Torin’s laughter cut off instantly, replaced by an awkward clearing of his throat. He straightened his posture, trying to look dignified....

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #47

Torin leaned back in his chair with a deep, satisfied sigh, pushing the now-empty platter away. It had been a masterpiece of roasted meats—thick slices of tender beef, venison seared to perfection, and even some surprisingly flavorful mutton.

The real shocker had been the seasoning. It wasn't just salted; there were herbs, a hint of garl...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #46

After a full day of picking their way across the Reach's unforgiving, stony ribs, they were all feeling it. Torin’s feet ached in his boots, Qasim moved with a quiet weariness, and even Echo’s usual boundless energy had faded to a slow, plodding walk beside them.

The sun was dipping behind the jagged peaks, painting the world in deep b...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #45

Life in Skyrim had a way of taking the simplest plans and snapping them over its knee. It was a land of strange twists and stranger turns, where a straightforward errand could spiral into a saga before you’d even finished your morning ale.

Take Torin’s visit to the Silas Mine, north of Falkreath. He’d gone there with a hopeful stride...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #44

The common room of the Dead Man’s Drink was quiet, the way only a Falkreath tavern could be. The air was thick with the smell of stew and woodsmoke. Torin sat at his table, the new amulet cool and surprisingly light against his chest.

He spooned up the last of his venison stew, the simple, hearty meal a welcome comfort after days of trai...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #43

The small, hidden camp felt hollow now, its owner nothing but a cooling corpse wrapped in a spare cloak a mile back. Torin sat on a mossy log, the dead bandit's journal open in his hands.

He’d found it tucked in a small, lockbox under a pile of furs that served as a bed, the cheap lock yielding easily to a swing of his hammer.

The ...

Made in Cyrodiil, Forged in Skyrim #42

Torin’s fingers wrapped around the haft of the silver throwing axe, the cool metal a familiar comfort. His world narrowed to a single point: the golden-skinned elf staggering back, swatting frantically at the embers smoldering in his hair and furs.

The idiot was stationary, half-confused, and completely blinded by pain and surprise. At t...