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Scaly and Furry Adventures in Skyrim

Chapter 1

For Fyacin

By Draconicon

Fy'acin didn't live in Riften, but he enjoyed the air there, as well as the easy access to the black market and the Thieves' Guild under the city. If you could call it that, really; he was more used to the standards of Cyrodiil, where you could call a city a city rather than just a bunch of floating houses on top of the water.

The Khajiit shook his head as he watched the latest travelers pass over the bridge to the Bee and Barb, the central establishment of the sad little city. The cold air blowing down from the north promised that anyone still outside the walls would be in for a cold night, and he imagined that those that weren't inside the walls soon would find that there were no beds left. Well, save for with that slut of a Nord that lived a few doors down, but she was getting choosier by the day.

And he had evidence of that, considering that she'd just kicked him out that morning. Fy'acin rubbed his rump, shaking his head as he still felt the bruise of her broom against his furred cheeks.

"Ungrateful little - and to think that she would put me out. Me! Why, if I had the time, I'd sic half the Guild on her, to show her what it means. I swear, if she were not so far beneath my notice - hellooooooo."

The tan-furred feline cocked his head to the side as the city gates opened once more, the guards passing through an Argonian, of all things. Not that Riften had any particular shortage of those - he had seen many that worked for the Meadery, and more that lived as beggars along the huts that lined the lakefront walls - but this one was different. He wasn't some sellsword, but rather looked like -

Oh, he was a mage, Fy'acin realized as the lizard cast a ball of light from his hand, the little orb following the scaled figure around. The feline stood up a bit straighter against the railing beside the bridge, his lips turning up in a grin.

After all, mages meant artifacts, and artifacts meant septims. This very well could be his way out of this rotten little town and back to civilization, or failing that, back to one of the proper cities that Skyrim pretended were up to his standards.

The Khajiit huffed his breath - passable, for the most part - and dragged his fingers through his residual fur along his neck and down his back. He pulled it into a rough braid, smoothing it down until his whiskers showed more than the loose, overgrown bits of fluff, and strutted across the bridge. It didn't take long to reach the newcomer, who had paused to look in a journal that he'd pulled from his pockets.

Fy'acin bowed at the waist, clearing his throat to announce himself. The Argonian didn't look up. He cleared his throat again, and still received no reaction. It was only when he reached out to poke the scaly stranger on the shoulder that the Argonian finally responded, looking up with eyes so white that they looked almost blind.

"Are you that bad at taking a hint?" the stranger asked.

"Oh, hardly. But I believe you look like you could use a guide."

"Point me to an inn."

"Oh, dear, sir, I'm afraid you're quite out of luck. The Bee and Barb has sold out their beds."

"Hmm...is that so?"

"Indeed. Oh, but it would be the simplest thing to open a room for you, if you have the coin."

"I have enough of that."

Bingo, Fy'acin thought.

"Then pass me some small sample of it, and I'll put my considerable charm to work. A little work with my considerable talents will open any door that they have shut for you, and remove any obstacle before you."

"..."

"Do I speak too swiftly? Or should I curb my enthusiasm, good sir? I am aware that I am a bit -"

"You're offering to control the innkeeper and make them kick out another paying patron."

"Well...yes, if you have the money to bribe me to do it. Really, you should be a little more considerate. There are reasons that we don't just discuss these things openly, you know."

"And there are reasons that there are rules."

"Oh, rules. Fah. What use have rules ever held?"

"Mostly to keep those like them protected from those like you. And me."

"Oh? Oh, my, now, do my ears deceive me?" Fy'acin smiled, cocking his head to the side. "Does this one hear the voice of another thief? Some scoundrel that may, yes, be willing to put his talents in magic to use getting what need not belong to another?"

"...And you accuse me of being loud."

"Hmm? I am hardly loud."

"Citizen!"

Fy'acin stiffened, slowly turning around. Standing right behind him were two of Riften's finest, both of them with arms crossed, their helmets closed and glaring at the feline and Argonian alike. His new friend sighed, closing his journal.

"Here we go again..."

#

THUMP!

The city gates shut tight, and Fy'acin leaped back to his feet. It was said that one could not keep a good cat down, and he meant to embody it as much as possible. Even so, he glared over his shoulder at the gate, shaking his head.

"Ungrateful. After all the work I've done to liven up their city."

"I imagine that it would stretch even their low standards to allow a self-confessed thief and an apparent colleague to stay in the city for long," the Argonian said, pulling himself up a bit slower and brushing off his robe. "You were asking for it."

"I asked for no such thing. It was harassment, pure and simple. Why, when I get back in - where are you going?"

"Somewhere warm," the Argonian said.

"Ah, I hate to disillusion you, but this is Skyrim. Land of snow, ice, and mud? Perhaps you've heard of it, and the stunning revelation that - gasp - there are no warm spots anywhere outside the cities? Go out there, and you'll freeze to death."

"You'd be surprised."

"Oh, I wish I would be, but those are the rules, and no matter how hard I try, even I cannot bend the rules of nature."

"Heh. Now, that's where I come in." The Argonian paused, then turned to look the Khajiit in the eye. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

"Please. I won't even ask if I stuttered. I am too fabulous for that. Unstop your ears, lizard."

"Do you really want to insult the walking fireball maker?"

"...On second thought, lead on, oh venerable wizard."

#

They found a cave that was home to a sabertooth tiger that was reasonably willing to let them share it with the beast. Admittedly, it was only willing through the use of a fairly powerful Charm spell, but Fy'acin was used to calming the beasts. He sat down next to it, petting his feral brethren as the Argonian took a seat across the cave. He watched as the lizard held out his hand, several discharges of lightning carving a grove in the ground, followed by a final strike lighting the bramble that the wizard tossed within. They had a fire, though not a big one, but it would do.

"I suppose this is where I thank you. Sadly, I have naught but the clothes on my back and the daggers at my belt, and I could scarcely part with those more than I would my life," Fy'acin said, shaking his head. "But perhaps I can repay your kindness with something a little...more?"

"If you're talking sex, I'm going to pass."

"What?!"

"I collect treasures. I'm pretty sure yours has been tarnished from being passed hand to hand. Or, rather, shaft to shaft."

"And sensual slit to sensual hole, allow me to add!"

"Hmm, tarnished indeed," the Argonian said with a chuckle. "But even something tarnished may yet be valuable, if polished again."

"Hmmph. See if I offer to raise my tail for you again."

"You will."

"And look at you, so sure."

"One learns, over time."

Fy'acin grumbled, taking his time to attend to his new pet, instead. At least the sabertooth understood and appreciated him. The long-fanged feline leaned over him, planting its head nearly in his lap. He smiled, scritching behind its ears as it all but purred for him. He wondered if it could.

The fire burned steadily between them, and the Argonian once more took out a book. He studied the tome, and Fy'acin cocked his head to the side.

"That doesn't look like the usual spellbook."

"It shouldn't. It's one of mine."

"You copy magical books?"

"No. I write them. There's a difference."

"Impossible. Magic's been a settled rule for centuries. There are no new spells, just better castings of the same ones."

"You would think that. And if it so suits you to continue, do so. It makes it all the better when someone thinks that magic couldn't be responsible for something. It makes it easier to get away with it in the long run."

Fy'acin opened his mouth, then closed it again. This sharp-toothed mage was certainly giving his tongue a run for his money, and he didn't particularly like that. He was used to being the one to deliver the quips, dammit. This was his role, and he wasn't going to have it stolen from him.

He patted the sabertooth, and it slid out from under him, giving him space to sit up. Crawling around the fire, the Khajiit lifted his head up just enough to peer over the edge of the pages. He expected to see some convoluted sphere of numbers and runes, something so impossible to translate that nobody would be able to convert it to a workable spell, something useless to the general public.

Instead, he saw something that had been stripped down to a single line of text, and moreover, it was in the common tongue. He blinked, narrowing his eyes.

"Is that..."

"A reasonably simple spell, but far more castable for the common man."

"Just...break?"

As soon as Fy'acin said it, the text glimmered in the book, and the lock that held the feline's belt closed snapped apart. So did the smaller lock that held his purse, a braced bit of metal that held a small chest he carried in his pack closed, and something under the Argonian's robes. All from one little word.

The dark-scaled, white-eyed lizard paused in his penmanship and studies, sighing as he closed the book.

"Well, I was going to need to refresh that one tomorrow, anyway."

"Hold on, hold on!" Fy'acin grabbed the Argonian by the arm. "How did you do that?"

"Old scribbles from Cyrodiil, combined with magical teachings from Morrowind, tossed together into a great deal of magical theory and a possibility engine, and more experimentation that you really want to think about."

"..."

"Hard work," the Argonian translated.

"Oof. I'm allergic to that," Fy'acin said, leaning away from the book. "You can keep that...unless..."

"I'm not looking to sell magic for sex."

"One. I'm not tarnished, I'm well-forged," Fy'acin said. "Forged in the amorous flames of hundreds of lovers."

"...Hundreds. Really."

"Enough to know that you've been staring at my ass the entire trip to the cave and that you've been wondering how I look without boots on."

The Argonian's eyes widened, and Fy'acin knew he was right. There had been some staring, but he hadn't been completely sure if it was at him or if it was for a different reason. Now he did know, and he had some leverage.

He leaned back, crossing his legs, wiggling his toes just enough for it to show through the tips of his boots. His new companion's eyes didn't seem to go down, but they might have. He ignored it, supporting the back of his head against folded hands.

"Two, you've given me an idea, oh fine scaly friend of mine."

"You're leaping to interesting conclusions there."

"Oh, I am just postulating, considering, developing ideas. Pay no heed to me, certainly not if you think that you aren't up for committing grand crimes against those that have too much to their name. I just think that there might be some interesting things that we could do. After all, I am a most accomplished thief in my own right, and there is so much that we could do to even things out here in this wintery hellhole.

"Why, with your magic and my connections...and skills...and charm...and wit...and -"

"I have yet to see any of these things."

"Don't interrupt. I have them all in spades, and I'm sure you and I could come to an arrangement. Something beneficial to the both of us. All we need is a first target. One little heist together. What could go wrong, hmm?"

"Considering you got us thrown out of Riften with your postulating, I'm sure more than I can guess."

"Give it a try. I'll even cover it, if it goes wrong."

"..."

"My word as an honorable thief."

"...Fine."

"Splendid. Now, my name is Fy'acin; what may I call you?"

"...Darts-Over-Parchment."

"Please, do not take me for a fool. That's hardly a proper Argonian name."

"Perhaps you should consider I'm not a proper Argonian." Darts chuckled. "Now, let me hear your idea, while I'm still in a good mood."

Wonderful. He had a partner. Now he just needed a good idea. Thankfully, he found one quickly enough. He just had to sell it.

The End

Summary: A quick little transplant of Draconicon and Fyacin to Skyrim, where the pair of them get into trouble.

Tags: No Sex, Sex Talk, Adult Themes, Offered Prostitution, Declined Prostitution, Khajiit, Argonian, Mage, Thief, Series,