#two half-orcs having a beef out of thin air

[bitchesgate3]

Been waiting for this moment since I started Act 2!

[thehoneyjournal]

Skidbladnir, the Finest Ship of the Aesir

Your vision fades to black, the faint sounds of your companions turning pages of their books lulling you into the trance that comes with the spell. Before your vision clears, you hear the sound of gulls crying out, the endless wash of the ocean’s waves, and the sound of a song reaches your ears as the darkness begins to recede, and you realize you’re standing on the deck of a square rigged, fat hulled trading vessel. The shanty continues unabated, the sailors not at all talented but giving it their all.

“Come all you young sailor men, listen to me I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea

And its windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys When the wind blows, we're all together, boys Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes

Up jumps the eel with his slippery tail Climbs up aloft and reefs the topsail

And its windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys When the wind blows, we're all together, boys Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes

And then up jumps the shark with his nine rows of teeth Saying, "You eat the dough boys, and I'll eat the beef!"

And its windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys When the wind blows, we're all together, boys Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes

Up jumps the whale, the largest of all "If you want any wind, well, I'll blow ye a squall"

And its windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys When the wind blows, we're all together, boys Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes!”

The song ends to rousing, raucous laughter, and you watch as for the next several minutes the crew scrambles about their duties, the sails humming in the strong, constant breeze emanating from the south. After about a half an hour of watching the men work, a voice shouts from the top of the mast.

“Oy, Cap’n! Sails on the horizon, Sou-sou-west! White sails, with a blue trident!”

A well-dressed elven man steps forward into your view, resplendent in a blue and green trench coat that clashes awfully with an orange tricorner hat. He snaps out a retractable spyglass, and you watch as the blood drains from his angular elven features. His voice, however, remains fairly clam as he turns out to the crew.

“Everyone, you will need to move more quickly than you ever have before today. First mate Olina will relay my orders. You are to perform precisely as I instruct. Is that clear?”

The captain begins relaying his orders through a small half orc woman to his left, whose booming voice is utterly incongruous with her small frame. As you watch, the crew in less then twenty minutes runs out a new flag, unfurls an additional small sail on an attachable, smaller mast at the bow of the ship, the ship begins to plow through the waves, kicking up more and more spray. You drift over to the captain at the stern of the vessel, looking for this other ship, and just barely in your vision is a wisp of sail with a bright blue trident. It seems to be rapidly closing the distance with the current ship you’re on, growing larger as you look at it. The captain and his first mate are discussing in low voices, and you drift over to eavesdrop.

“It’s him. You know it is. And we can’t outrun him. You’re just buying time, and not much. What’s the plan here, captain?” Olina says.

“I’m thinking. Shut up and let me think,” the elf growls, rubbing his forehead with a knuckle. After a moment he raises his head.

“Tell them to grab their swords and hand crossbows. Run out the Ballistae and secure them with pitch and torches ready should we need. Get Gilberto ready with materials for his transmutation magic. Maybe we can get lucky and transform our cargo into something innocuous.”

“Done,” the half orc growls, before perfectly relaying every order the captain gave at ear splitting, profanity ridden volumes. You watch as 8 Ballistae are rolled onto each side of the ship, their bolts loaded and winched back, the actual ballistae themselves sinking into the floor slightly, immobilizing their wheels in the wooden deck below. A human man appears on deck, blinking in the sun, clad in threadbare brown and grey robes. After about a half hour of watching this flurry of activity, you turn to look for the sails behind you, but cannot make them out. A moment later, you hear the voice from the crow’s nest again.

“Cap’n! Sails aren’t there anymore! I think we lost em!”

The elf frowns, clearly unconvinced.

“Keep a close- “

WHUMP. CRACK.

You spin around at the noise, and see an incredibly strange sight. A well-dressed Halfling man in fine, what looks to be silk clothing, stands on the deck, a rakish half smile on his lips. In one hand, lazily held against his person by a leather belt, is an odd device. A wooden handle, carved with a trident, attaches to a metal frame, a cylinder with 6 small holes in it. A long thin metal tube extends in front of the cylinder, poking through the halfling’s belt. The man steps forward, revealing a cracked and splintered piece of wood behind him, before sweeping into an ostentatious bow, his green cap being swept off his head. A low but perfectly audible voice emerges, light, carefree, but brimming with a very real sense of danger that makes you try to take a step back involuntarily.

“I greet you, crew and captain of the smuggling vessel known as the Black Rat. Word has reached the Lady of Geldorcraft that you have been engaging in cargo runs of a more nefarious sort, more recently. If you would not mind, as her instrument upon the high seas, may I inspect your vessel?”

The dry mouth breathing of the captain is audible. The halfling’s position hasn’t changed, but you watch as his hand slowly drifts upwards, removing the oddly shaped piece of metal and wood from his belt. As his hand begins to move, the captain steps forward, raising his hands.

“Good sir, we have only the usual cargo of spices and other herbs that we are taking to the good continental colony of Begrunsburg. While this is not strictly speaking legal by the laws of sea trade, I would ask that you humbly allow us to complete our journey safely before confiscating such cargo.”

The halfling thinks for a moment, his foot tapping against the deck of the ship. In one fluid motion he draws the device from his belt, the barrel glowing with a faint blue light as he points it at the captain.

“I think you’re going to show me the cargo. I think you’re going to show me the hidey hole you had built in this vessel downstairs between the first and second ballistae on the starboard side of the ship. And I think you’re going to explain to me why I just talked to a corpse on the bottom of the ocean two days past who swears that your crew boarded them, slaughtered them, then took their cargo and left.”

The captain’s face twitches, before he suddenly and violently turns to the side, vomiting loudly for a few seconds. The halfling rolls his eyes, his attention slackening, and he begins to turn away, opening his mouth as if to speak. The captain pops back up behind the rail suddenly, drawing a hand crossbow in one fluid, fast motion.

CRACK.

Where the captain’s head once was is a smoking crater, bits of meat and skull scattered about the ship’s stern. The halfling sighs, blowing a bit of smoke away from the barrel of his weapon, which had just produced a bright blue bolt of electricity, lancing out unbelievably quickly, leaving a scorch mark in the railing that the captain had been using. It appeared to your eyes that the halfling had been able to turn, sight, and fire before the captain even drew his weapon. The halfling eyes the rest of the crew, who are noticeably angered by his action.

“Lads, I wouldn’t do anything hasty. You know who I serve. She wouldn’t let you all within 100 miles of the sea if you were to kill one of her chosen heroes, now would she? Besides…. It looks like you’re all outnumbered now anyways.

A shadow falls over the ship, and you watch as the sailors of the pirate vessel look up, their mouths and faces going slack with fear and wonder. Hanging above you in the air is a magnificent longship, forty oars to a side, two sails, floating in the air silently. You watch as ropes begin to fly down, sailors sliding down them with practiced ease, drawing fine rapiers, cutlasses, and hand crossbows, methodically and professionally disarming the pirate vessels crew members. They outnumber the smuggler’s crew by almost two to one. After a bit, they begin bringing up gold, jewels, and other valuable cargo from below. The halfling bows to the crew of the pirate ship.

“Now then, my lads and ladies. We have taken only the cargo that you have taken first. It will be given to the families of the men and women you killed and drowned two days ago. Additionally, a charm has been placed on this vessel. It will take you to the colony you stated you were heading to, but if you try and change course, it will sink this ship. The authorities of that colony have been contacted via sending stone. Have a nice day.”

The halfling grabs a rope, scaling it hand over hand incredibly quickly. You watch as the ship begins to silently float higher into the air before the sails unfurl after a shouted word in Halfling, and it escapes into the sunlit air, disappearing behind a bank of clouds. After a moment you hear the half orc’s voice growl out.

“I fucking hate Bjorn Ironsides and that fucking Ship.”

[dunesofblack]

Bunyip

I am really aggrivated at myself for putting this off but some time ago I commissioned several pieces for my Skyrim characters. Remember those? Back at the very beginning of this rather “interesting” tumblr page (okay, maybe half as interesting but still =b). I also wrote a short story that is supposed to prequel these two commissions. Both are done by the wonderful writer Scape. Funny, ‘chill’, and as of this post currently open for commissions. 

This is my story. It is SFW and just a ‘get to know’ for characters. I just hope I did them justice. 

“SKYRIM INN”

Drifts of snow warmed to a mist as it drifted off the sharp sides of High Hrothgar. Ides of a warm summer had bowed the chill of fall and now winter. Ivarstead sat as busy as the outpost town could. Between travelers seeking Riften Hold over the mountains and pilgrims seeking to journey the Thousand Steps, the locals kept business running along the riverside with logging as well. Wilhem, barkeep of the Vilemyr Inn, and barmaid Lynly Star-Sung, or Svidi to the Black-Briars, held up most of Ivarstead as the Vilemyr took in more business than most others.

Strangers came in the night, nine all together, from the corners of Skyrim. Each with their own rank and wear as an invitation of questionable origins drew each of them to the mountainside town. A few knew of the existence of one another, others heard only rumors, but the majority were ignorant.

The first to enter were punctual, a pair of Imperial soldiers who had remained garrisoned within Skyrim’s borders as the civil war ended. None paid them attention as they entered the Vilemyr Inn from the cooling night and strode to the reserved room with little more than the rasp of leather from their Imperial armor. The aged Breton Istndre Vaudik took the lead as he sat opened the door, pulled out a chair, and promptly sat without so much as a word. His stooge, fellow soldier, or whatever one might wish to call the brute that was Virales Wotrucia closed the door behind them before taking his own place.

While Virales was strong, hawk nosed, proud chin, and the epitome of Imperial strength, Istndre was a different sort. His greying hair was balding from the crown and framed his calm, round face nicely. Brown eyes passively took in his environment before settling calmly though his sharp brows continued to impress attentiveness. A pair of white marks decorated his cheeks like boar tusks and marked his High Rock heritage. The right one was marred slightly by a burn received in combat, promising a good tale should the Breton ever speak up about it.

Virales was less impressive. Tall and invoked the image of a standing bear with his broad muscles straining at his Imperial uniform. Virales’s hair greyed though less than his companions. Neither had to wait long before a third person arrived, opening the door to the minstrel’s music and shutting it before poor Lynly could ask if they required service.

A cold faced Nord woman took one of the seats next to Virales without glancing his way, leaning back so her Elven armor clinked faintly against the chair. Every aspect of the newcomer spoke a lifetime of violence and her mixture of Elven armor with Dwarven sword and glass shield enforced the though. When they asked her name she merely introduced herself as Vylkrin without saying a word further. Imperial soldiers though they were, Virales and Istndre knew better than to pry. Skyrim once again belonged to the Nords under the High King. This woman, with her cold blue eyes, lips a frost-bitten purple color, numerous scars dancing across her lower face, and apparent habitually shaved head was no different. Beneath her golden brows the skin around her eyes appeared bruised or sunken in. Whatever this Vylkrin had for secrets she could keep them.

Calls from outside drew the attention of the soldiers, but not the sword-maiden, to the door. Heavy knocks from high on the door rattled the wood portal on its hinges. When Istndre opened it out of etiquette he was greeted with a wall of muscled flesh and assorted heavy armor. The Breton would have thought the man was half-troll considering how tall he was, stooping to achieve access into the room, perhaps taller than the Altmer. When others thought of the Nords they pictured large, muscular men with flowing blond hair and piercing eyes as blue as the winter sky. This one fit the image. Just looking at him Istndre knew the man to be a warrior. An iron helmet with downward curved horns sat on his head and complimenting the long brown beard that hung over paldroned steel armor. His hands were clad in ebony gauntlets and feet shoed in Orchish boots. A glass battleax was slung over his shoulder and looked to be recently used. However, as he passed and took a seat, Istndre noticed the blank look in the man’s eyes. It was not the leagued stare of a veteran. More it seemed as the absent gaze of a fool.

Istndre closed the door and was almost to his seat before another knock came at the door. The veteran Imperial soldier gave a sigh but heeded the inquiry anyway. He was surprised further by an Orc woman looking to be in her middle years and wearing full steel armor favored by the Nords able to craft. Istndre quickly corrected his thoughts as he spotted a pair of gauntlets that appeared to be crafted out of large bone. The Orc introduced herself calmly in a deep but soothing voice as Jezveka Nehmwin. She was broad and thick, though not as large as some Orc, and had the impressive as well as obvious strength her kind was known for. However, it was perhaps her face the drew more attention. Her dark hair was bulled back to a sophisticated bun and kept in place by a pin, giving Jezveka an air of refinement that appeared almost completely out of context with the savage red war-paint on her face. It was reminiscent of the sharp-toothed maw of a beast slightly above her jaw, hooks beneath her eyes, and three blades holding the imaginary jaws together at her brow. Small, almost cutesy tusks poked out from otherwise enviously kissable and plump lips. As small button nose that seemed somewhat large in comparison rested above but had the ridges of feigned anger along its bridge, a thing most orcs could never be rid of it seemed. Last but not least were her distinctive yellow eyes outlined with red splashes of twilight. Jezveka’s eyes held a feral intensity yet also kindness and intelligence no mere beast could possibly imitate. She wore a dagger at the hip but also an ancient Nordic battleax at her back. An odd woman, especially an Orc considering she did not name a stronghold.

Entering, Istndre found himself staring at the alluring barbarian woman as he closed the door only to have it tap against something hard with a grunt. The same grunt earned the glances of everyone as a second Orc stood in the doorway. Grizzled, blocky face with accumulated scruff and medium length hair curled into a singular line of dark dreads front to back along his head. Scarlet warpaint framed his cheeks and enforces his brow, lined with Orc spikes along his forehead. The only scars he bore were three claw gashes along his face of a powerful animal that got the better of him. Istndre and Virales both gave the Orc a good looking over. What little armor he wore he had in a fur skirt kept around his waist and boots. Something told them that animal that had left its mark never got a second chance.

He was about to close the room to the hall when a slight cough caught his attention and the Imperial soldier turned to see a fellow Breton standing in the door with a disarming smile. Thin of body and light of skin, the man’s green eyes and red hair was a striking contrast to normal Bretons. It certainly made him stand out in Istndre’s eyes. The man’s smile widened, and he greeted Istndre with a silver tongue. Hinthaur Brobrok was his name, from Riften, and worked magic for entertaining travelers. The man’s hair was cropped and shot up in a singular backward spiked ridge with one long braid curling down his left side past his ear. His face had similarities with the noble busts of nobles with a proud nose, sharp brows, and pensive lips. If it were not for the green tattoos running up the sides of his neck to his lips and cheeks like roots of a sigil tree, Hinthaur could be considered less masculine. Toss an elegant dress on the man and most would think the Breton a woman. Istndre’s eyes narrowed as he allowed the man inside the room. His memory took him back to his time in Cyrodil and when he had seen the pretty men in gowns from the Summerset Isles. The Dominion and their damnable parties.

All sat around the table, seven in number. Between the three large warriors, Orc barbarian, Virales the Imperial, and the giant of a Nord, the remaining four spread themselves so as not to disrupt the lingering feeling of tension between the three. The barbarian Orc glanced in Jezveka’s direction and grunted, speaking something in their native tongue, but the woman ignored him. Instead, she sat next to Vylkrin who seemed as ambivalent to the male tension yet cautious. Then there was Hinthaur who was all smiles and Istndre who was deeply concerned about those smiles.

The door opened once more as the last of them stood in the doorway. Each of them eyed the stranger with interest as the woman, from what the keen-eared could discern of her velveteen voice, had Lynly bring a round of drinks, beef stew, and several apple dumplings. Waiting until the Nord barmaid had left, thanking her before closing the door, the stranger turned to the guests. A solemn grey mask of old design adorned her face, silted horizontally for the eyes and mouth, and a blocky stop at the chin. A gold-emerald ring adorned her left hand and a bone-hawk amulet around her neck. She wore hooded and fur lined robes that resembled a cross between regular mage attire and a triangular poncho draped across the front and back. The robe was obviously had crafted and of some special importance.

Instdre’s eyes widened as he recognized the make, bolting from his chair to stand straight with Virales following his example. “Greetings Archmage!”

A soft chuckle whispered from beneath the mask and grey-skinned hands, long fingered but not indelicate, pulled back the robe’s hood before removing the mask. “Thank you soldier, your attentiveness honors your legion and people. I am Azuhrunith Mezaref, Archmage of the College of Winterhold. It is a blessing to meet each one of you.”

Behind the mask a lithely thin but odd-looking Dunmer seemed to gaze back at them. Sharp of face, Azuhrunith had a complexion and build most unusual of her kind. A creamy grey skin like smoothed mountain rock, and set within were unnaturally milky pearls, the eyes of a blind man even though the Archmage seemed to look around as if capable of sight. Whether by magic or some other means, red pigment surrounded the lids of her milky eyes like flower petals in spring. Several small gashing scars marred the left side of her face from chin to cheek. Three slashing diagonally to her ear in a triangular pattern between mouth and lips, and a smaller fourth at the hollow of her cheek. Each revealed a tender pinkish flesh beneath the alluring grey visage. Silvery-pink cupid bow lips held a multitude of Azuhrunith’s subtle, and seemingly mischievous, expressions. Tribal, golden-yellow arrows dripped from the lower lip to chin just as others formed up and around from the corners of her eyes along the bridge of her nose. They stitched up across her brows before curling down like a ram’s horns along her cheeks and twisting just before reaching her jawline. Perhaps an attempt to hide the scars on her face with something a bit more striking though one may have predated the other. Hardened, prominent, and high-sitting cheekbones as well as chiseled brows without hair give her odd face an even more alluringly strange appearance. All of this, culminating with her naturally bald and rounded scalp, giving her an even stranger air of paradox and unwellness. Hairless save for the long lashes upon the lids of her eyes. The Archmage was less of stature than normal Dunmer, a full head shorter and most certainly smaller than all but the shortest of Bosmer.

When those lips opened to reveal oddly whitened teeth a voice issued forth as a divine matron speaking to her children. “Greetings, one and all; well met. As the good Istndre declared I am the Archmage though please call be Azuhrunith or Azuh as your tongues will allow.”

A click of the tongue before she continued. “Looks as if nine of us are present. Well then, shall we begin?”

“Pardonings Archmage,” The rough Nord man clad in armor rumbled in his thick accent. “But there be eight of us with you.”

“Mmm?” A ghost of a smirk tinged Azuhrunith’s pearly lips. “Two of them came in at the same time. The invisibility potion should be wearing off any moment now.”

“Throm not like mage elf.” The barbarian Orc spoke up this time, pointing a rough finger as he leaned in his seat. “Little head spells not work on Throm. Speak good or Throm take head of mage elf.”

Jezveka tensed next to a relaxed Vylkrin. The Nord man uncrossed his arms as both Imperial soldiers rose from their seats with eyes locked on the Orc. Only Hinthaur remained seated where he was, unconcerned by the imminent struggle which seemed fated to occur. But it never did. Just as the Archmage said, a figure became apparent in a false sunburst of dull gold and sunset purple. The last of the strangers was revealed to Throm’s great annoyance, the evidence of wanting to take his threat out on the newly appeared person evident on his face.

“Ladies,” Hinthaur stood next to the quickly visualized Dunmer. “Gentlemen. May I introduce Evinence Veel.

Unlike the Archmage, Evinence had the suspect traits of a Dark Elf. Sharp faced like most Dunmer, white haired spiked up like a bush while ivory sideburns fuzzed at his jowls, his compact body most certainly was taller than the Archmage while still short enough to sneak around. Dark grey skin looked as if it had been toughened over the years to provide a calloused weave to his taut muscles. The tribal imprinting of a red hand marked his forehead and the only sign of weakness he could not mask was the one scar, trailing down from the corner of his left eye. A reminder that not even the most skilled of vagabonds were always perfect. And Veel was most certainly one. Unlike Hinthaur who wore simple mage robes and expensive boots, Veel’s gauntlets and boots were of a dark material that seemed to blend into shadows while his body was covered in brownish armor covered in pockets and belts. But his face drew the most attention, not for his odd marks but for the iridescence of his orange eyes and the telltale red line that cut from his bottom lip.

“Lawful will not drink from same table as vampire.” The Nord rumbled as he rose, dull blue eyes becoming frightfully intense.

The one named Veel smiled as he reached for his crude looking Orc dagger, hissing in contest. But before either could touch their weapon, the Archmage clapped her hands together. They did not move but eyed the small Dark Elf with question.

“I did not spend resources and time to have you kill one another at this point.” Her voice was calm but with unwavering authority. “Please sit down. You are my guests here tonight, every one of you, and it is impolite for guests to maul one another before food or drink.”

Lawful the Nord grunted but sat down as his chair groaned in protest. “Still not drink from same table as filthy vampire.”

“I would expect no less of Lawful the Paladin.” Azuhrunith’s face never seemed to turn in address as if truly she was blind. “Now then, I am sure each of you is questioning why you have been summoned in such a manner and to such a remote location. Firstly, I have called all here for sharing something in common. Each of us has had dealings with the Dragonborn at some point.”

A round of breaths went around the table. Some gasping, some hissing, some calming, others easing. Each looked at one another with more interest than when they had first met.

The Archmage continued. “Yes, each of us had known the Laat Dovahkiin at some time and in some place. Allies, enemies, and opponents.” She stopped to give a pointed glare in  Throm’s direction, which was starting to become a common occurrence. “We have aided the Dragonborn and his companions in their quests across Skyrim. It is for this reason that I specifically called upon each of you. Second, we each would have crossed paths sooner or later and I would have us know one another before having at it in the least.”

Virales was next to speak. “You wish us to acknowledge the Dragonborn, hero of Skyrim and the Nords, Slayer of Alduin, Ally of the Companions, Defender of the Empire and Champion High Queen Elisif, Draugr-bane, traded horn-cups with a vampire and expect us to as well?”

“Dragon, vampire, werewolf, giant, wispmother, hagraven, and Deadra.” Azahrunith spoke smoothly as she slipped into her chair. “Laat Dovahkiin considered all of us allies at one time or another. Here I amend we judge by no more than this.”

Though the Imperial let some of his tension pass, Evinence and his crony Hinthaur across the table only made the appearance of. He knew better than any of them, save perhaps the Orc Jezveka. Evinence had heard of her, the brawler, a blacksmith out of Markarth and trader in Falkreath. The Thieves Guild had gathered stray words on the wind for him and the vampire master thief so kept his throne underneath Riften. Hinthaur by his side, loyal and watchful, with silver tongue. Each one seated knew Evinence as a monster, it was to be expected as he was a vampire, but if they only knew how much more the Archmage was than he. He pondered how fearful they would become. Perhaps more afraid than he.

Evinence felt it though, those milky eyes upon him. Staring yet not staring. Without thinking he had reached for his dagger and caught himself. It was better not to cause trouble, not with her around. Evinence would play this game so long as both thieves left alive with a little something. His only worry was that they were already playing one of hers.

“Is the thought sound enough for everyone to take in?” Azuhrunith asked, face subtly shifting into a smile.

“It is fair.” Lawful the Paladin grumbled and Throm along side him.

The Imperial soldiers nodded, Vylkrin tilted her head, and Jezveka gave a slight bow from her waist.

“Very good then. As you know, Jarl Balgruff is superstitious after the civil war and the end of the dragon threat. I meant to reserve part of the Sleeping Giant in Riverwood. However, with the tripled guard and the nearby destruction of Helgen the townspeople have become inquisitive. An inquisitive mind and gossiping lips are to things I know some of you wish to avoid.” The Archmage allowed the corners of her mouth to widen a little. “Ivarstead provided a secluded location where people worry more about bears, bandits, or trolls rather than the odd stranger.”

“For us less than welcome persons?” Vylkrin’s voice bit at the end yet lacked Nord accent almost entirely.

The Archmage seemed to flinch at the comment, though it could have been a smirk. “Prying eyes and gossiping are what happen in most taverns. Nine strangers reserve a room. Two Orsimer, Two Breton, Two Nords, an invisible vampire, an Archmage wearing a mask for a disguise, and an Imperial built like a war horse. Care to guess how many enemies we have between us? No, I brought us here for privacy. Solitude in which to introduce ourselves, learn prospective boundaries, and perhaps for alliances if not neutralities.”

“Throm no care about privacy. No care about tavern. Why Throm not cut little mage head from shoulders?”

“Because then, my good Throm, you would not be able to hear what beasts and battles lie with your future.” The Archmage smiled as the barbarian quieted and leaned forward with interest. “Each of us has experienced many things in our travels with Laat Dovahkiin. And while I would enjoy nothing more than to spend all night and day listening to your tales, it would be best to simply introduce ourselves and give a brief account. In this way, we shall know one another and perhaps gain from this understanding.”

That is the witch’s game then? Evinence narrowed his glimmering eyes. Control the information and have a tight hold upon knowledge. With these two things one could topple dynasties. And she uses it to manipulate some of the most experienced persons in all of Skyrim simply by introducing them to one another and guiding conversation.

He did not appreciate being used but the Dunmer vampire knew better than to challenge the woman opposite of him, Archmage or not. But if I can strengthen my position as head of the Thieves Guild then all the more reason to participate. Perhaps a bit of lying is in order.

Evinence and Hinthaur exchanged a subtle look before the master thief turned back to the Archmage, consenting with a nod. Others around the table appeared interested at least in the prospect. The Orc barbarian most of all looked eager to have new fighting opponents, or at least companions who might tell him of powerful beasts to hunt.

“Very well then, I will begin.” The female Orc spoke with her soothing rumble. “I am Jezveka Nehmwin though some know me as ‘the brawler’ for beating my opponents without weapons. Falkreath is my home though not my hold. I declare no stronghold nor have I need of one. The Dragonborn and companion offered me a chance to end Silver-Blood and Foresworn rule in Markarth hold, I readily accepted as it was there I had settled to ply my trades at the time. I fought with them throughout the civil war and along side the Companions as well as the Circle.”

A few confused looks passed over the group, though only Azahrunith, Hinthaur, and Evinence knew the meaning. Only they were closely aware of the certain eccentricities of the Companions and their hunting behaviors.

“I abandoned Markarth after the Foresworn rebellion. The Dragonborn was able to introduce me to the Jarl of Falkreath and secure a position for me in the hold. I work there as an enchanter and blacksmith.” Jexveka finished and folded her arms.

“You craft and enchant as well?” Istndre asked.

Jezveka nodded and the Imperial soldier took the Archmage’s request of gathering in a new light. It was rare a blacksmith deviated from their trade. And one who could enchant anything, armor or weapons, that they themselves forged would be a prized asset. The Empire would be keenly interested in commissioning from this Orsimer woman.

“Let us be done with this then.” Vylkrin spoke up. “I am Vylkrin, sell-sword. Traveled with the Dragonborn over many paths and through many places. Little there is that I have not killed. While I am an enchanter and blacksmith as well, I prefer sword and shield to earn my coin.”

Hinthaur’s smile widened a little. Between these crusaders of the Dragonborn there was at least one who would do anything for coin. A blacksmith with enchantment skills none the less. Two for the price of one, even if this Vylkrin had not put her labored skills to practice in many seasons. Thieves used equipment just as hardily as warriors and enchantments were their lifeblood. It would be true that a good thief could do without, but an excellent thief understood to use every trick they might without compensating.

“Virales.” Rumbled the barrel-chested Imperial, scowling lips and jutting hawk nose giving the man a dower impression.

“And Istndre, of Cyrodiil. Legionaries both.” The aged Breton finished for his comrade in arms. “We served under General Tulius while the Dragonborn aided us through the civil war, of which we are indebted. I am a fire-mage from High Rock, though Cyrodiil and the Empire has been my home since I was a wee lad. Most recently our outfit is stationed near Marthal at the Hjaalmarch encampment.”

Evinence subtly perked. He had business in the Hhaalmarch hold. Black-Briars wished to expand their trades and it was easy to slip flat bottomed lugs through the inlets of the marsh. It was near the East Empire Company docks but that made it all the better for shifting things in and out through the mists. The vampire thief glanced up to see Azuhrunith give him a meaningful glance and ever so subtle smirking twitch of her lips before turning to Istndre.

“As a fire-mage used to battle you have also learned restoration magic as well?”

“Quite. Though not as well as yourself or the renown teachers at the College of Winterhold.” Istndre offered a bow, he was too old to blush at a young woman’s charms. “I am well learned with the flame branch of destruction magic, restoration for wards and basic healing taught by High Rock elders as well as the Imperial Legion instructors, and alteration for battle armor as time required though I have laxed and my alteration would barely be called competent.”

“Truly?” Azuhrunith’s eyelids shifted ever so slightly. “Never the less, few in the college ever experience combat lest they turn to less desirable studies or take up alternative activities with mercenaries hunting beasts as well as bandits. Though we at the college are knowledgeable more than not, most lack experience. Quite a few come to the college now to practice destruction magic even though that the civil war is over. It would no doubt encourage such students to learn from an instructor experienced in such matters. And also provide an important opportunity for Imperial Legions should they be provided incentives by the Empire.”

Istndre’s eyes widened. “You would invite me into the sacred halls of the college to instruct?”

“What do you take me for? A Mage Guild conspiracist?” The Archmage laughed, a lightly thing like birdsong among spring wind leaves. “No, the College of Winterhold will open its doors to all interested in the aspects of magic so long as they bear no harm. Under the past Archmage, Savos Aren, the College of Winterhold stood firmly influenced by its own council. However, in recent events I have found it necessary to lend a slightly open hand to the Jarls and to the High Queen. I still maintain Savos Aren’s point that whatever happens outside the college is of little importance to the students unless it affects their or the college’s interests. I also maintain that students do nothing to bring harm to the college, the hold, or the persons within the college reach. Anything beyond this is theirs to explore. Should they choose to join the Imperial Legion after being inspired by a particular part-time instructor, that is between their families and Cyrodiil.”

“I thank you Archmage.” Istndre bowed as best he could in his chair.

Azuhrunith waved his gratitude with a little concern. “Please do not be so formal. I can only promise a seasonal position and little coin at the college. There is a woman who runs an oddities trade post in Winterhold named Birna. She lost her brother to wraiths a few seasons ago and lives by herself. I might convince her to rent part of her home to a reliable High Rock man should he bring some business her way.”

The smooth transitions the Archmage wove caught Istndre by surprise. For the cost of making Winterhold a traveled and sought market for the local Imperial encampment even if it was closer to Dawnstar, taking only a temporary position at the famed College of Winterhold, and providing a place to spend his retirement the Archmage had steered the old Imperial soldier in to the stable with only words. And only a fool would discard the offer. There was a chance she knew of Istndre’s retirement from the Legion though that was a far-fetched thought. One could make an easier run of killing the Emperor.

Such transitions were not lost on Evinence nor Hinthaur either. Azuhrunith was fortifying her position in Winterhold. College students would receive knowledge of combative magic outside of personal experience, the Empire would take a great interest in the College and the Mage Guild would have competition from the north, and the students were able to transition from the college to the Legion if they so pleased. It was a fine web the Archmage wove.

Virales appeared bored rather than excited. He had served with Istndre since joining the Legion. From Cyrodiil and the Sunset Isles and back, the men had fought in battles without glory and skirmishes that could never be told. Both were near retiring, unable to gain more rank as their prime had passed them and with few coin the Empire gave as compensation to those who had made it through many years of service. Only to be stationed at the far north of Tamriel.

“And Falkreath is a wonderful hold as well.” The Archmage continued, drawing the Imperial’s attention back to the present. “Cold and damp through the seasons but quite beautiful. It is a small hold but quite needy as it serves as the gateway to Skyrim. Jezveka Nehmwin, does not Jarl Siddgeir have need of warriors now that the war and strife is over?”

“He moans like the winter winds about it.” The Orsimer woman let out a heavy sigh and gave a shrug. “At last I heard he is recruiting from the local Imperial encampment, offering the position of thane should any person step forward. He has pestered even me to take up the post, but seats in the hold make me uncomfortable as I have enough work to accomplish at the forge.”

With the sway of a hand, the Archmage turned the attention back to Virales. “Then should an Imperial veteran, say one experience in many battles as well as having known General Tulius and Laat Dovahkiin, should come forward to inquire about the position they would be received with as much joy as a Nord can offer. Doubly so, I would think, if he were an Imperial able to converse freely with the Falkreath Imperial encampment.”

Grunting, Virales swelled his chest a little. Perhaps retirement would not be so taxing as he had foreseen. A Nord hold far from Cyrodiil is an odd place for an old Imperial, but times were changing. Warmth in winter and food till he was old and feeble was all Virales could ask for. His frowning lips evened though never turned upward and he gave a nod to the Orc Jezveka. He would accept the position at Falkreath should it be open to him.

“The gods surely smiled upon this council.” Azuhrunith clasped her hands as if in thanks, though Veel knew it to be simply for show. “Surely those in Sovngarde, Sand beyond the Stars, and the Far Shores smile down on us.”

“Not care about shores or wheat-hair die-happy.” Throm grumbled.

He received a glare for his declaration, even from the Imperial.

“Well then,” Azuhrunith shifted a little in her chair and crisscrossed her legs in spite of the furniture, revealing to others surprise feet only clothed in wrappings. “It is my turn for introductions then, though I feel slightly expectant in front of you warriors.”

Throm rumbled in pride while the others merely gave a nod in acknowledgement.

“I am Azuhrunith Mezaref, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Watcher of Spriggan Glades, Ally of Lady Valerica and Vampire Lord of the north wastes, Consort of Aedra and Daedra.” The Archmage made a slight bow, clasping her thin hands at her knees as she did so. “It is a blessing to finally meet all of you together.”

“Vampire Lord?”

“Yes?” Azuhrunith gave a sweet smile to the questioning Istndre.

The Breton quickly shook his head. “Nothing, apologies for interrupting Archmage.”

“I am Throm!” Throm banged his fist on the table, causing the stew and brew to stir in their containers, as he growled. “Throm will fight each of you and cut head off of half! Women he will take as mates to keep bed warm back at stronghold, but only if strong as Throm think. No little mage, Throm will use mage head for blood drink and piss in when Throm need leak.”

Unfazed, the Archmage simply gave the brutish barbarian a smirk. She held up a hand in which appeared a swirling orb of ghostly green energy before tossing the spell across the table to Throm. The barbarian made to punch the spell but it instead was absorbed into his being. A faint green in the same color as the orb flittered over his form as he fell back into his chair like a sack of potatoes.

“Well, I believe that answers you questions my good Throm.” The Archmage hummed, leaning back into her chair with legs crisscrossed. “Evinence I believe you are next?”

“Evinence Veel.” The Dunmer vampire hissed, interlocked fingers clasped in front of him, strange eyes almost glowing in the light. “I am master of the Thieves Guild, aid to the Black-Briars, ally of the Dark Brotherhood, and apprentice of the former Lord Harkon.”

At the mention of the last Jezveka’s face twitched ever so slightly. Odd orange and feral yellow eyes met meaningfully for a moment before Evinence split the contact with a smirk. The brawler remained stoic despite the subtle nudge.

“Plentiful talk from a leech and his thrall.” Virales rumbled.

“Court mage, actually.” Evinence corrected. “And a good one at that, brown nose.”

The large Imperial straightened and flexed in his chair, making it seem all the smaller. “At least I speak for myself leech, unlike your blood pet and spindle fingered cravens. Lingering about in the squalor of Riften.”

Hinthaur smirked at the big man’s gruff, the soft lines of his face easing like a practiced courtesan. “Oh, I speak for myself. And I am no thrall to be sure, unlike an Imperial mutt and his camp father. Though I may be misinterpreting and you both are more intimate than that.”

“Blood-giving bitch.” Virales sneered.

Evinence leaned in as well. “Easy talk for a whore of the Dominion and Altmer bastard.”

Istndre opened his mouth, hands clenched even as his faithful comrade made to part the table as water, but the calming voice of the matron Archmage overrode the tension in the room. “Gentlemen, please. Manners. There will be no blood shed or foulness while you are my guests here.”

All calmed but Evinence visibly flinched at the rebuke. He could have taken them, every single one of them. The brawler and the barbarian would be the hardest, the destruction mage and his hulking pet the easiest, the sell-sword was experienced but not enough to give him difficulty, and the one stupidly named Lawful could have only been a true threat if he did not act the incompetent. With ease the pair of thieves could slip in, poisoned the food and drink, and slit the throats of those who could not be killed by concoction alone.

He turned back to gaze at the vampire lord. Azuhrunith stared back at him with those milky blind eyes, head cocked to the side, seeing him without seeing him. The fact that he still had yet to determine whether she was able to see or not still unnerved him. Hinthaur stood by his side and began his introduction but Evinence heard nothing. Then he caught the Archmage’s head tilting again, moving ever so in a sweeping motion toward the Legion bound Breton. Azuhrunith made a rolling motion with her hands. Evinence swallowed the lingering saliva in his mouth and his fear. He knew the Archmage had gathered them together and it appeared that she intended for everyone to leave with something that benefited the others. If the Breton named Istndre carried a scroll of importance, it would be of great value to the Thieves Guild and their allies.

“I am Hinthaur Brobrok of Riften, mage of the Thieves Guild and council to master Evinence Veel.” Hinthaur’s smooth voice seemed to fill in the gap left by the tension before. “Through the Rift and afield I maintain peace amongst the various factions. I form alliances where there were once enemies, and I assure travelers and merchants are able to find hospitality awaiting them in the Rift. The Archmage may have heard of my times of mischief at the college from that old Orsimer librarian, if he is still alive, but I pray you do not hold it against me.”

“Not at all. A student knowledgeable in the ancient Dwemer and dabbler of Nordic ruins such as yourself is quite renown in the halls of the college.” Azuhrunith’s head bent slightly in respect but not looking directly at the man. “However, I should warn you, if you choose to rejoin the college I will not be so lenient to your meddling.”  

A grunt accompanied the large Nord standing as the comparably waifish Breton sitting back down. “I am Lawful of the winter lands. I quest across all lands and kill evil things, served with Dovahkiin in civil war and dragon fight.” He turned to Evinence with a dangerous glitter in his blue eyes. “Want to smite dark elf vampire, but good mage say no.”

He sat down with a thud before picking up a mug and draining it in one pull.

“Well then, let the sup commence.” Azuhrunith took up her own mug and raised it.

The others did the same as bowls were passed around to served portions of the inviting stew within. Whomever had prepared the meal knew what they were doing. Perhaps Ivarstead was the prime place to begin the Thousand Steps because it had the best vittles. Or the other way around. Either way, those who had come as strangers shared meal with one another. Speaking to the Archmage and sell-sword rather than the others, Lawful began a tale of his travels through High Rock’s hunting down a deadly werewolf cult dedicated to Malicath. He told of his search in the wintered forests of Wrothgar, trading the Reachmen and their trained harpies. Lawful finished off his story in a blood-filled battle against an aged werewolf priest across tenuous ruins of Old Orsinium.

Soon Hinthaur, Jezveka, and Virales were telling tales of their own to much laughter and gasps of imagined horror. Azuhrunith and Vylkrin, with hesitation, added their own with Istndre attempting to do his best though he was a bumbling storyteller. Though the night wore on and the brew continued to flow readily, none bothered to stop for rest. There was too much to tell and too little time. As their past travels lead far and wide, all were bound together by the powerful Dragonborn until they met tonight. The gates had been thrown open and the lives of one another came calling to each other. Long into the night they talked, past the time of slumber and served food, until each understood it was time to leave. Azuhrunith, ever the gracious host the Archmage should be, offered several rooms she paid for in advance but few took them.

Vylkrin was the first to leave with little more than a farewell. However, as Azuhrunith clasped her hand to tell her of a potential Jarl in need of a sword, Hinthaur slipped a note into Vylkrin’s sword belt. Each side had opportunities and a sell-sword worth their strength knew to pick up offers where they could. Lawful stood, grumbling about taking one of the beds, and bid the rest good travels blessed by Kyne. Veel and his mage Hinthaur left with much glaring from the Legion pair, but with enough distraction from Azuhrunith for Hinthaur to slip a hand into his fellow Breton’s pouch and retrieve a small scroll. A treat they would wait to replace when the Imperials exited.

Four remaining strangers lingered a bit long while Throm slept the night away in blissful ignorance. Jezveka eventually stood and bid the others good night, lingering near the Archmage as she traded words with the brawler. Virales and Istndre followed later with much thanks and expressed gratitude.

Azuhrunith alone remained in the room with the snoring Throm. She slipped out of the chair, lightly wrapped feet making no noise as they braced against the wood floor, and looked down upon the Orsimer. Her eyes, though milky white as a blind man, still saw clear as day or night. Not that the mysterious Archmage would ever let others come to the truth of the matter themselves. With a smile fitting for the likes of Azura herself, Azuhrunith cast a sleep spell upon the slumbering barbarian.

She turned to the door and listened intently, the sounds of fire flickers and hushed breaths fading away as she concentrated to perceive one being in particular. Veel’s figure huddled close to Hinthaur as they hurried off after the leaving Legionaries. The Archmage smiled to herself, picking up the mask formally belonging to dragon priest Morokei as she left the empty room. Lynly gave her a questioning look for the slumbering Orsimer but closed the door after Azuhrunith passed her a small bag of coin. The Archmage left the small inn and wove her way through the small town toward Shroud Hearth Barrow.

When the Archmage was hidden within the shadows of the barrow, she slowly began slowly slipping off her clothing and folding them neatly. All that was left were her wrappings and bone hawk amulet. Even mages toiled in their work and Azuhrunith was no exception with her lithe build amplified by her short stature. Her figure remained in youth, seemingly frozen in time, with bowstring muscles akin to hardened scales and small upturned breasts. The pair sloped slightly, peaking in the cold air, but were barely a handful. Never the less, the Archmage was pleased with them. She let a hand play over the smooth grey surface of her skin before letting it fall. There would be time for pleasure later.

Arching her back, Azuhrunith let a black mist overtake her body as she grew and shuddered under a terrible transformation. Twin newborn limbs snapped from her back as she hissed between sharpened teeth. Azuhrunith the vampire lord flexed her skinny bat wings experimentally, finding the appendages operating to her liking, and slipped back out into the night. Twin moons revealed her form.

Neither larger in height nor width, the Archmage’s skin also remained the same. But it was the fierce features that set her apart. Pointed Dunmer ears had elongated along her hairless skull. Her fingers had become clawed and talons curved from her feet. Ever muscle in her body seemed to stretch tight in anticipation. However, the most noticeable of all were the muscles around her neck and shoulders that had grown larger along with the addition of the faint wings reminiscent of a bat. She opened her mouth, throat echoing with a muffled click as the world became aglow before her. The guards were mingling about well out of eyesight and the townsfolk had tucked themselves in long ago.

With a fanged smile, Azuhrunith jumped and propelled herself into the air. Her wings would not fly but were enough to glide through the forests without trouble. She would make Windhelm by daylight before finishing her journey to Winterhold on foot. Perhaps she would enjoy a snack along the way, the bandits had become bolder in recent seasons.

Sorry for whatever typos you find. 

Links to commissions. You have been warned Hentai Foundry is a +18 site. DO NOT GO IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. 

Making the Rounds: https://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/Scape/35147/Making-rounds

Bounty in Winterhold: https://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/Scape/41121/Bounty-in-Winterhold 

And also Scape’s e-book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Byte-Paradise-Tales-Hotel-Succubus-ebook/dp/B019YR6AGM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1479763411&sr=8-1&keywords=Byte+of+Paradise