Skyrim Dark Elf Novels & Stories

I asked and he rolled his eyes, again! “Barely got a glance but I sure felt their presence” he said, his face telling of his annoyance with them. “If they're shy and don't like anyone beside Alari and her people, how are we going to catch one?” Pearl asked, leaving the table quiet. “And how can we know without a doubt that they know where the dark elves are?” It was Damien that asked this time and I felt like I was trapped in unending darkness, there was just no answers to these questions.

Victor scoffed, "I know I can beat you. Let's settle this." Both men shifted, growls deep and threatening as they circled one another. Alessandro no longer looked as he once did; his brown fur was dull and closer to a blond color with several patches missing, and his once vibrant, green eyes were black and dull. His body was twice its size, but misshapen and unnatural with his legs slightly bent at strange angles. "What happened to you Sandro? This is what you've been doing to yourself? What you wanted to do to others?"

“You’re serious? She’s a sacrifice, not a sodding pet!” “She’s a witch,” I replied, my voice steady as I traced the blade away from her throat and down her chest, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the cold steel.“That’s why I chose her.” “Is she a light witch or a dark witch?” Leon, another brother questioned, his brow furrowing in suspicion. I held Elara’s gaze, watching as surprise washed over her face. “She’s neutral,” I said. “But not for long. I want to break her. I want to turn her darker than any witch to walk the earth—darker than us.”

From its brightness came the picture of a woman screaming in the forest, the sky aglow with thousands of stars and the moon beaming down at them as though the woman hasn’t had enough. “Isn’t that familiar?” There was a hint of mockery on her voice as she looked at the now stony face of Dark whose eyes were magnetized in the scene unfolding before him. “Dark, the most unappreciated child of Henmulga, the phantom of the family tree, not even known in a century until he masked himself, not even by Henmulga herself was he identified. No one was any wiser that Dark Sylvania was a direct descendant of the first-ever Shadow Wielder. Why, even up at this point, Dark is unable to remove himself of hi

He helps you not only because he is your friend, but also because a part of him knows that he is always one step away from getting lost in that darkness that he can conjure up. Fighting for something good suppresses that darkness, at least for a while. He doesn't kill those elves because he hates them so much. They don't really matter to him. He kills them because while he slaughters them, that elf woman is safe from him. The darkness in him needs her dead, but there will always be

"Look around you. I have Darklings everywhere! The Dark Lord himself supports me. Not even you, the Elf King can take my life!" Zedekiel rolled his shoulders, letting out satisfying cracks. "We'll see about that." But before the Elf brothers could advance, Fredrick raised his hand, and a swarm of Darklings emerged from the shadows like wisps of dark smoke. They swirled around Zedekiel, Prince Ludiciel, Alaric, and Prince Ron, their green eyes glowing sinisterly. "Brother, I'll handle these creatures." Prince Ludiciel said. "Go and get that bastard."

He chuckled and asked where I'd heard that. "Faelon told me he has ljósálfar blood and Lucian carries dökkálfar blood," I mumbled sourly. "Well, princess one is of the light where the other is of the dark. I am dökkálfar or dark elf like I told you before and am Unseelie," he said with a grin. I furrowed my brow in complete confusion. "So the dark angel is of the light? Surely you jest," I huffed.

They revealed themselves at midday. Two figures stepped out from behind a cluster of boulders. They were tall and slender, their skin the color of ash, their hair white as bone. Dark elves. Their eyes were solid black, no whites, no pupils, just darkness that seemed to drink the light. They wore leather armor studded with metal spikes, and each carried a curved blade at their hip. The taller one smiled. His teeth were sharp. "Travelers," he said. His voice was smooth, almost musical. "What brings you so close to our border?"

"Feel like talking now? Sorry about killing your motorcycle. There is a good bus system here in town you can use." The elf glared at him. Rhychard knew the elf couldn't leave. He wasn't a gargoyle, the dogs of the Unseelie Court. He was a dark elf, equal to the Seelie Sidhe. Vargas would have him killed if he returned alive without killing the Warrior. This battle was not over. Not by a long shot.